Frade looked around the tearoom.
“Admiral!” he called.
Cronley saw that Souers was talking to General Greene, Greene’s aide-de-camp, and Lieutenant Colonel and Mrs. Schumann.
“Admiral!” Frade called again, and this time he got Souers’s attention.
“Have you got a minute, Admiral?” Frade called.
Souers walked over to them, bringing everybody with him.
“Getting to know one another, are you?” the admiral smilingly inquired, and then asked, “Do we all know one another?” He looked around, decided that everyone did not know everyone, and began the introductions.
“This is General Greene, the Chief of EUCOM CIC,” he said. “Captain Hall, his aide, Colonel Schumann, his IG, and the charming Mrs. Schumann. This is Colonel Mullaney, through whom we’ll channel the analyses that Colonel Parsons and Major Ashley will develop at Pullach once Captain Cronley gets that up and running.”
There was an exchange of handshakes and courtesies.
Frade waited until it had concluded, then announced: “Small problem, Admiral. Colonel Mullaney just announced that he cannot accept Captain Cronley as commander of Pullach.”
“Oh?”
“Inasmuch as Cronley is junior to Colonel Parsons and Major Ashley,” Frade went on.
“Well, I’m glad the question came up,” Souers said. “Let’s get it out of the way right now.”
“It’s not that I have anything against Captain Cronley, Admiral,” Colonel Mullaney offered, “as far as I know he may be an extraordinary young—”
“Colonel,” Souers interrupted him, “it doesn’t matter what you think of Captain Cronley. What matters is your conception of your role in the South German Industrial Development Organization. Let me tell you how I see that. You are to facilitate, in the Pentagon, the transfer of intelligence produced at Pullach, when it’s up and running, to your superiors in G-2 and Naval Intelligence. Even to the State Department. Without getting into where that intelligence came from. Any questions so far?”
“No, sir. Admiral—”
“You will also funnel requests for intelligence vis-à-vis our Soviet friends from ONI and G-2 to Pullach, without, it should go without saying, telling them to whom you are going for answers to their questions. Do you have any questions about that?”
“No, sir.”
“As you can well imagine, it is in our interests to keep General Gehlen and his people happy. You understand that, of course?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“General Gehlen has developed a rapport with Captain Cronley. They seem each to respect the other’s role in the arrangement…”
Jesus, Cronley suddenly thought, what’s going to happen when he finds out this kissy-kissy relationship he thinks there is between me and Gehlen went out the window when I took the Orlovsky interrogation away from his interrogator? And then threw gas on the fire when, in a manner of speaking, I told Mannberg that he and Gehlen could take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut if they didn’t like it?
“… and for that reason, Colonel Mattingly gave command of Kloster Grünau to Cronley and recommended to me that he be placed in command at Pullach when that opens. I accepted that recommendation. That’s it. It is not open for debate.
“Now, so far as your people at Pullach are concerned, they will serve there at Cronley’s pleasure. They should have no question in their minds that Cronley will be in command. Any questions about that, Colonel?”
“No, sir. No questions.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s all cleared up,” Souers said.
“I’ve got one more question, Admiral, that at best may seem ill-mannered,” Frade said. “What’s this lovely lady doing in here with all of us ugly old men?”
“Ugly old men talking about material classified Top Secret — Lindbergh, you mean?”
“Yes, sir,” Frade said.
“We’d planned to get into this later,” Souers said. “But since you brought it up, now’s as good a time as any. General Greene?”
“Admiral Souers, Colonel Mattingly, and I were talking about needing a cover for Pullach,” Greene began. “People are going to wonder about it. What Mattingly and I came up with, and suggested to the admiral, was that we let people think it’s an ASA installation hiding under the South German Industrial Development Organization sign. Everybody, including the Soviets, knows we have the ASA, and keep its installations secret and behind barbed wire and armed guards.
“Major Iron Lung McClung, who runs EUCOM ASA, says it’ll be no problem at all to move an ASA listening post — with its antennae farm — he already has in the Munich area into the Pullach compound. And — this was a gift from Above — McClung says he can set up some wire recorders he liberated from the Germans to transmit gibberish all the time in case those clever Soviets are listening.
“All the Americans in the compound will start wearing Signal Corps insignia. There’s plenty of housing for dependents…”
Dependents? Wives and children? What the hell?
“… so with almost no effort — most good ideas are simple ones — we have what we think will be an effective cover.”
“And where does this charming lady fit into this effective cover?” Frade asked dubiously.
Jimmy noticed that that earned Clete a forced smile from Colonel Mrs. Schumann.
“It’s important, Mattingly and the admiral agreed,” General Greene said, “that while I keep abreast of what’s going on at Pullach, my going there, except rarely, would draw attention to it. We then considered who, on the other hand, could go there frequently, without it looking suspicious.”
Greene looked around and then answered his own question. “My IG is also the IG for ASA. And this charming lady is president of the CIC/ASA Officers’ Ladies Club. And sponsor of the CIC/ASA NCOs’ Wives Clubs. No one would find anything suspicious in Colonel Schumann visiting Pullach every other week or so. Or that he be accompanied by his wife when he did. Or Mrs. Schumann going to Pullach alone to meet with the ladies.”
Cronley looked at Rachel. She met his eyes momentarily.
“Which, I submit, neatly solves the effective liaison problem,” Greene said.
“Mrs. Schumann of course has a Top Secret — Lindbergh clearance?” Frade asked drily.
“Does Mrs. Frade?” Admiral Souers asked.
“No. And I have never told her anything about anything that was classified in any way. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Boy Scout’s Honor,” Frade added, making the Scout sign.
That got laughs.
Souers looked at his watch.
“We had better get back in there. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
[THREE]
Cletus Frade said, “In that case, forget it,” and hung up the telephone.
He turned to Jimmy.
“The management regrets that it will take a half hour for room service.”
“I’ll go to the bar and get us something. Jack Daniel’s?”
Clete went to a soft-sided suitcase, opened the zipper, and came up with a bottle of Dewar’s scotch whisky.
“I learned to drink this in Argentina. Okay with you?”
“Anything.”
“We don’t have to have this conversation now, Jimmy. You want to wait until after dinner?”
“I’d like to pass on both.”
Clete found glasses, poured whisky into them, then handed one to Cronley.
“You don’t have any option about Colonel and Mrs. Schumann’s kind invitation to dinner,” Clete said. “You will go and smile. I think Schumann will be very useful to you. He obviously likes you…”