Baker-Bates sighed. “In point of fact, General, he bought me one.”
“He bought you one,” the General said, packing his tone with incredulity.
“A Scotch and soda.”
Knocker Grubbs nodded slowly several times. He had a big chunk of a head, still vaguely handsome, with small, very pale blue eyes that looked stupid, the way some very pale blue eyes do. His best features were his strong nose and chin, which rescued his profile from not enough forehead and a wet, weak mouth. What was left of his hair was a smoky gray.
Grubbs stopped nodding, but kept his voice full of amazement. “And so you just stood there, bellied up to the bar with this Kraut killer that half the Army is looking for, and you and him just bullshitted each other: have I got it right, Major?”
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid that you do.”
“And you couldn’t tell from his accent that he wasn’t American?”
“He had no German accent.”
“None at all?”
“None that I could detect, General. But he had two American accents. One was what I suppose could be called American standard, and the other was Texan.”
“How the fuck would you know what a Texan talks like?”
“Are you from Texas, General?”
“Amarillo.”
“Actually, sir, he spoke very much the way you do.”
“Like I do?”
“Yes sir.”
“You’re not trying to be cute, are you, Major?”
“Only accurate, General.”
“I’d hate to think that you were trying to be cute. I don’t know what they do with majors with funny little cocksucker mustaches who turn cute in your army, mister, but I know what they do with them in mine. And I’ll tell you one more thing, fella; you’re goddamned lucky you’re not under my command.”
“Yes, sir, I would think that I am. Lucky, that is,” Baker-Bates said, and decided that Knocker Grubbs wasn’t quite real.
“So you two, you and this Kraut killer, parted the best of pals, right? And then you sat down all by yourself in the American officer’s club and had a nice, hot American meal, and maybe smoked a couple of American cigarettes and then when all that was done, you wandered over to see Lieutenant Meyer here, maybe an hour later, and that’s when you found out you’d been boozing it up with the Kraut killer that everybody’s looking for. And that’s when you told the Lieutenant here that maybe it might be a good idea to seal off the complex on account of this crazy Kraut killer you’d just had a friendly drink with might still be killing an hour or two hanging around the PX or the Class Six Store, right? Except that he’d long skipped, and we’ve got fuck-all ideas about where he skipped to. Are those the facts, Major? I wanta be good and goddamned sure I got the facts right for the report I’m gonna have to send your CO.”
“Your facts, sir, are essentially correct.”
“How ’bout you, Lieutenant: you think I’ve got the facts right?”
“Yes, sir: except that we’re having copies made of Oppenheimer’s photograph, and we’ll distribute them throughout the Zone.”
“You know what they call that down in Texas?”
“No, sir, I don’t,” Lieutenant Meyer said, wondering how long this dimwit was going to continue with his reaming out of Baker-Bates — who, in Lieutenant Meyer’s estimation, had slyly got in a few licks of his own, especially that one about the Texas accent.
“Well, I’ll tell you what we call it down in Texas,” Knocker Grubbs said. “We call it locking the barn after the horse is gone.”
“Gosh, sir, that’s vivid,” Lieutenant Meyer said.
“They don’t say that in England, do they, Major?”
“Not recently, General,” Baker-Bates said.
“Well, I’m gonna tell you one final thing, sonny. You’re down here because Berlin wants you down here. But you fuck up one more time, and Berlin or no Berlin, I’m gonna have your sweet ass for Sunday breakfast. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite clear, General,” Baker-Bates said. “In fact, extremely so.”
“Dismissed,” the General snapped.
Baker-Bates and Lieutenant Meyer rose.
“Not you, Lieutenant,” Knocker Grubbs said with a mean smile. “Hell, I haven’t even half started with you yet.”
16
After the plane landed at Frankfurt’s Rhine-Main airport, Jackson and Bill Swanton, the INS man, watched as the Army wives filed out of the aircraft first. While the two men waited, Swanton took out a notebook and a pen.
“You ever see one of these?” Swanton said.
“What?”
“The pen. They call ’em ball-points. I bought it for twenty-nine ninety-five on sale in New York.” He wrote his name and his Berlin address in his notebook, tore out the sheet, and handed it to Jackson. “Maybe if you get up to Berlin, I could be of some help on your book.”
“Thanks very much,” Jackson said.
Swanton gave his pen one more admiring glance before returning it to his shirt pocket. “You know what they say these things will do?”
“What?”
“Write underwater. Now, just what in hell would you want to write underwater?”
Jackson thought about it. “Maybe a suicide note if you were drowning yourself.”
Swanton brightened. “Yeah, that’s a possibility, isn’t it?”
He followed Jackson off the plane. When they reached the terminal, he held out his hand. Jackson took it. “Thanks for the booze, Brother Jackson,” Swanton said. “And in Berlin. If you get up there, look me up.”
“I’ll do that”
When they entered the terminal, a loudspeaker was calling Jackson’s name. “Will Mr. Minor Jackson report to the information desk. Mr. Minor Jackson.”
The information desk was manned by a harassed Air Corps staff sergeant
“I’m Jackson.”
“Okay, Mr. Jackson,” the Sergeant said, opening a drawer and taking out an envelope. “This is for you, and so is the Lieutenant over there.” He nodded at Lieutenant Meyer, who was standing nearby and trying not to stare at Jackson.
“What’s in the envelope?” Jackson said.
The Sergeant sighed. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t open it. I don’t usually open other people’s envelopes, but if you’d like me to, sir, I will. All I know is that an Air Corps captain gave it to me about three hours ago and made me swear that I’d get it to you. And that’s what I’ve just done, haven’t I, sir?”
“You’ve been swell,” Jackson said.
“Can I be of assistance, Mr. Jackson? I’m Lieutenant Meyer.”
“From Milwaukee.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My nursemaid.”
“Liasion, Mr. Jackson, but if you want to call me a nursemaid, or anything else that might come to mind, even something a little vulgar, well, that’s just fine, because I’m used to it on account of this very afternoon I spent one hour and fifteen minutes having my ass chewed out by a one-star general who’s not very bright, but who does know how to chew ass, and who called me names that are a lot worse than nursemaid. So if you want to call me that or, as I said, anything else that comes to mind, that’s just fine, Mr. Jackson, sir.”
Jackson stared at him. “You’re in shock, pal.”
“Probably. It’s been a very long, very rough day.”
“What kind of orders did you get from Washington about me?”
“Very explicit ones. I’m to be at your beck and call and worm my way into your confidence.”
“We’re off to a good start.”
“Yes, sir. I was hoping you’d think so.”
“Think you could beckon or call up a drink around here?”