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Chapter 10

March 11, 1949, National Naval Hospital, Bethesda, Maryland

Jenny felt a migraine coming on. The fastidiously uniformed, blond-haired blue eyed Navy nurse had been chattering away ever since they arrived. 'And yet' Jenny thought 'she really has nothing to say.'

The nurse opened a door to the Psychiatric Ward. "Those nasty newspapermen, they said terrible things about poor Mr. Forrestal. They say the old man just couldn't take it any more."

Matt rolled his eyes in Jenny's direction. He too was wearying of the nurse's babbling.

Jenny suppressed a smile, which Matt caught. He couldn't help a brief grin himself.

The nurse had paused. "You two are awful quiet." She stopped for a second. A worried look came over her face. "I haven't been talking too much have I? Oh no, I always talk too much."

"Oh no, no. Not at all."

"Absolutely not! Very informative."

"What exactly is afflicting Mr. Forrestal? Ms….umm…" He glanced at her name tag. "….McMichaels?" attempting to keep the conversation going.

The nurse blushed, obviously flattered that he'd 'remembered' her name "I'm not quite sure to be honest. His doctor's been quite tight-lipped about it." She drew close to them and whispered "Sometimes, these…illnesses…can be rather, well, embarrassing." She pointed a finger at her head and spun it around to indicate lunacy.

Both agents nodded in return.

"I honestly don't even know if they'll let you see him."

They turned a corner and quickly averted their glaze. There in front of them, out the window the lifeless form of James Forrestal lay sprawled on the roof.

*Shibe Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (Same day)

Kim Philby was growing bored of this American baseball. Although, as the consul had pointed out earlier, it did bear a superficial resemblance to Philby's beloved cricket, Philby found it was course, required only a modicum of intelligence or sophistication to understand and play, and was endlessly dull, much like the prosperous but air-headed nation that birthed it. The Phillies were clearly winning, and yet the clock kept dragging on, with little new activity. 'Almost the 7th Inning,' he thought, his demeanor unchanging despite the ball of nervousness in his stomach.

The day had started out well.

He had driven in from Washington that morning and arrived at the Honorary Consulate down on Market Street.

There had been no major headaches at the small office, just a routine inspection, lots of hand-shaking and sweet-talking. At one point a visibly worried consul had taken Philby aside and told him with the utmost of sincerity that he suspected the Russians were watching the place. Philby had almost laughed. The NKVD could care less about a little honorary consulate. They went for the jugular. As First Secretary of the British Embassy, and one of Britain's most important intelligence agents in the United States, he knew NKVD tactics like the back of his hand.**

"Suppose I sound a bit of a worry-wort," the consul had said, embarrassed. "It's just, all these rumors of spies we keep hearing..."

Philby had patted the man on the back. "Nonsense! Just doing your duty as a loyal civil servant of His Majesty***. As for the Reds, rest assured the intelligence services are working night and day to foil these treacherous rogues."

The man had left the meeting with a giant smile on his face.

'Stupid old fool' Philby thought to himself. 'Wouldn't know a Soviet agent from his grandmother.'

Then again, such ignorance was to be expected from a man educated in the state schools.

"Out!"

It was the beginning of the 7th Inning. He tapped the consul and told him that he'd be back. The consul gave him a knowing glance and discreetly pointed to the earplugs in his ears. Apparently Philby wasn't the only one who hated hearing the famous 7th Inning song.

He slipped down the wooden stairs as the raucous singing began and slowly made his way toward a series of concession stands. He was soon joined by another man, pretending as if he hadn't seen Philby."

"What do you want?' Philby said dryly. He always hated handlers.

"Bobby wants to know why you sacrificed the lamb."

"Our pigeon at Aberdeen crowed."

"For what reason?"

"He said he knew him from the war, that he might talk."

"After all our efforts to discredit him?"

"That only made him more desperate. At any rate, our bear made it look like a suicide."

The handler looked around. Saying such explosive words in such a public place made him nervous. "The Doves already suspect something."

"Relax" Philby says. The Doves have no idea what's going on. I should know, after all." His handler didn't seem convinced. "Cyphreus checked out who they've assigned to the case. A low-level operative named Jennie Hamilton. Young, inexperienced, naïve. She wouldn't begin to suspect someone in the embassy. And if she does, well, there are some dangerous places in Washington a young girl shouldn't be after nightfall."

*Shibe Park (later called Connie Mack Stadium) was the baseball stadium used by the Phillies from 1938 to 1970.

**Amongst many other things, (some of which will be revealed in this story) Kim Philby was in fact First Secretary of the British Embassy in Washington DC, as well as being one of the UK's top intelligence operatives in the US.

***King George VI (depicted in The King's Speech) was the reigning monarch in 1949. However, by the time of this story, his health was already deteriorating severely and he died three years later in 1952. He was succeeded by his daughter, Queen Elizabeth II, who currently reigns.

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