Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [170]
Saturday evening passed quietly, but by Sunday morning Nan had had enough. She had taken her sister aside and talked about calling the authorities. That morning she wrote a note to her brother-in-law, Henry Voss, and slipped it into a pack of cigarettes. “Henry,” it read, “You can go to Rhinelander and call as planned. Not one word to anyone about it. Tell them to line up the highways. There will be more here tomorrow and don’t let anyone know where you are going or why. We want to be protected by them as best as they can. Tell them that.”16
Around ten Dillinger handed Wanatka $500 in cash and told him the gang would be leaving the next morning, Monday. A little later Lloyd LaPorte, the fishing guide, appeared in the barroom. Nan noticed Dillinger and Nelson to one side, listening. “Gee,” LaPorte said, “I left my cigarettes at home. You got a pack, Nan?” Nan handed her brother the pack with the note in it. He strolled back to his car and drove to Birchwood Lodge, where Henry Voss read the note. The telephone was a party line, and neither man trusted it. They headed south, toward the town of Rhinelander, where they planned to call the FBI.
Purvis was reading papers in his Chicago apartment around one, enjoying a rare day off, when his manservant, President, brought him the phone. It was the U.S. Marshal’s office in Chicago, relaying an urgent message from someone named Henry Voss in northern Wisconsin. Purvis dialed the number he was given and found himself talking to Voss. “The man you want most is up here,” Voss said, cryptically.
“You mean Dillinger?”
Voss wouldn’t say. Purvis pressed, thinking he might be a kook, but finally Voss admitted it: yes, he said, Dillinger and four other men were holed up at the Little Bohemia Lodge at Manitowish. Purvis asked where the nearest airport was. Here in Rhinelander, Voss said, fifty miles south of the lodge. Purvis told Voss to meet him there at six. For identification he was to wear a handkerchief around his neck.
Purvis dialed Washington and briefed Hoover, who agreed that the call sounded authentic. Hoover ordered Purvis to round up every available agent and head immediately to Rhinelander. Purvis phoned St. Paul and relayed Hoover’s orders to Hugh Clegg, who set about doing the same. Both offices erupted into scenes of barely controlled chaos; the atmosphere was martial, kinetic, aviators scrambling madly for the runway. Phone calls ricocheted between agents grabbing catnaps at their homes; several leaped into cars half-dressed, tires squealing as they headed for the office. Purvis arrived at the office buttoning his shirt and tightening his tie. In both cities men unlocked their weapons lockers and hauled out every piece of heavy equipment they had, including machine guns and tear-gas guns.
In St. Paul, Clegg arranged a thirty-five-cent-per-mile charter from Northwest Airways. He would take Inspector Rorer and three agents and fly north; Werner Hanni and three others, who admitted their fear of flying, threw the tear-gas guns into a car and drove. In Chicago, Purvis chartered two planes and chose eleven men to fill them. Rhinelander was a three-hour flight. It took an hour just to get everyone to Municipal Airport. As they piled into the planes, Purvis noticed the pilot had only a road map to guide them. He crossed his fingers.
As that Sunday afternoon wore on, the men of the Dillinger Gang began to grow restless. Everyone sensed it; something wasn’t right. There were too many people coming and going, too many people who had seen them. That night there