“Four years.”
“The next three years and some months counting toilet paper rolls at Camp Holabird. Or some other place where they send stupid young intelligence officers so they can’t do any more damage.”
“If you’re waiting for me to say I’m sorry, don’t hold your breath.”
“What time does the sun come up?”
“What?” Jimmy said, and then understood. “Half past six.”
“And it takes how long to get to the airfield?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Be waiting for me in the lobby at six. Good night, Jimmy.”
[THREE]
Cronley went to his room, took a shower, packed his bag, and went to bed.
There was a chance, he thought, that Rachel would somehow ditch her husband and come to see him. He had just decided that would be really stupid on her part and wasn’t going to happen when there was a knock at his door.
And there she was.
“This is not smart,” he greeted her.
“I know,” she said, and pushed past him into the room.
“General Magruder came back from dinner with General Eisenhower,” she said, “and asked Colonel Mattingly and my husband to join him for a drink in the bar. I passed. I said I was going to walk off all the food I’d had. We have no more than thirty minutes. That give you any ideas?”
She tugged off her shoes as she headed for the bed.
“Where were you?” Rachel asked, perhaps ten minutes later. “If you’d been here the first time I knocked, we’d have had an hour.”
“Talking to Colonel Frade.”
“About what?”
“Rachel, you don’t have the Need to Know.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought maybe you were talking about the Russian you caught at your monastery.”
“What Russian? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No,” she said, chuckling, “of course you don’t. Need to Know and all that.”
She looked at his face and then changed the subject.
“Maybe Tony will be called away somewhere and we can have a little time together in Munich.”
“That would be nice. Rachel, what if your husband starts looking for you and can’t find you?”
“That would be a disaster, wouldn’t it?”
She put her clothes back on as quickly as she — they — had taken them off, and left.
PART VIII
[ONE]
First Sergeant Chauncey Dunwiddie and Technical Sergeant Abraham L. Tedworth had heard the Storch approaching and were waiting next to the former monastery chapel when Cronley taxied up to it.
They spotted Frade and curiosity was all over their faces.
Frade and Cronley climbed down from the airplane.
Dunwiddie softly ordered, “Ten-hut!” Both non-coms popped to attention and crisply raised their hands to their eyebrows.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Dunwiddie barked. “Good morning, Captain. Welcome home.”
Frade and Cronley returned the salute. Dunwiddie and Tedworth crisply lowered their arms and popped to parade rest.
“As you were,” Frade said. “Good morning.”
“Colonel,” Cronley said. “This is First Sergeant Dunwiddie and his field first sergeant, Technical Sergeant Tedworth.”
Frade offered them his hand.
“My name is Frade.”
“Yes, sir,” the two non-coms said in unison.
“Command of Operation Ost has been given to me,” Frade said. “So you now work for me.”
“Yes, sir,” they again said in unison.
“For the moment, Captain Cronley remains in command of the monastery. How long he will retain command depends in large measure on how much damage to our relations with General Gehlen has been caused by his taking over the interrogation of the NKGB agent.
“As you may have surmised from this odd uniform I’m wearing, I’m a Marine. In the Marine Corps, when you want the real story behind what looks like a FUBAR situation — you do know what FUBAR means, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Dunwiddie said.
“Fucked Up Beyond All Repair, sir,” Tedworth helpfully furnished.
“Correct,” Frade said. “What you do is rustle up a couple of senior non-coms and ask them what the hell’s going on, what went wrong, and what they think should be done about it. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the truth as opposed to them telling you what they think you want to hear.”
Frade pointed at Tedworth.
“You first, Sergeant. Be advised I will tolerate no bullshit.”
Tedworth, visibly uncomfortable, looked as if he was carefully considering his reply. Finally, just perceptibly, he gave a fuck it! shrug.
“Colonel, maybe Captain Cronley should have talked it over first with Colonel Mattingly and he probably should have been more tactful with Bischoff when he told him to butt out, but other than that, he was right.”
“Captain Cronley isn’t famous for his tact, is he?” Frade said, and then pointed at Dunwiddie.
“Sir, I agree with Sergeant Tedworth,” Tiny said.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Frade asked. “What is your assessment, Sergeant, of the damage Captain Cronley’s actions have had on his — which are of course our — relations with General Gehlen?”
“Sir, I don’t know.”
“What is your assessment of General Gehlen?”
“Sir, do you mean do I like him?”
“Try that.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“But?”
“He’s a general, sir. And a German. Generals, and maybe especially German generals, don’t like having their decisions, their orders, questioned. Particularly by junior officers.”
“But?”
“That’s it, Colonel.”
“Where is the Russian?”
“In his cell, sir.”
“And General Gehlen?”
“He’s in his office, sir.”
Frade pointed at Tedworth.
“You will take me to the Russian.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pointed to Dunwiddie.
“You will present my compliments to General Gehlen. You will ask him if it will be convenient for him to meet with me in Captain Cronley’s office after I’ve spoken to the Russian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Frade pointed to Cronley.
“You will go to your quarters and await my pleasure.”
“Yes, sir.”
[TWO]
The office was furnished with a desk, on which sat two telephones — an ornate German instrument and a U.S. Army EE-8 field telephone — a typewriter, an ashtray made from a bent Planters peanuts can, a White Owl cigar box, and a box of large wooden matches.
There was a wooden office chair on wheels behind the desk. Two similar chairs without wheels were in front of it.
Former Generalmajor Reinhard Gehlen, who had on an ill-fitting, well-worn gray tweed suit, sat in one of the latter. He rose to his feet as Frade walked through the door that Sergeant Tedworth held open for him.
“General Gehlen?” Frade asked.
“I am Gehlen.”
“My name is Frade, General,” he said, offering the slight man his hand. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”