Top Secret

[ONE]

First Sergeant Chauncey L. Dunwiddie, easily holding two large china mugs in his massive left hand, knocked at the door to Captain James D. Cronley Jr.’s bedroom with the knuckles of his right fist.

“Come!”

Cronley was sitting on his bed, pulling on his pointed-toe boots.

“Coffee?” Dunwiddie asked.

“Oh, yeah. Danke schön.”

Dunwiddie handed him a mug.

“You all right, Jim?”

“Why do I think you have a reason for asking beyond a first sergeant’s to-be-expected concern for his beloved commanding officer?”

Dunwiddie hesitated momentarily, then said, “I’ve been wrong before. But when I got back at oh-dark-hundred and walked past your room, I thought I heard you crying in your sleep. I almost came in then, but my back teeth were floating, so I took a leak. When I came back, you’d stopped.”

Cronley hesitated momentarily, too, before replying.

“I wasn’t crying in my sleep. I was wide awake. I had what is politely called ‘a nocturnal emission.’ I started crying when I woke up and realized that wet dream — and every goddamned thing associated with it — was never going to come true.”

Dunwiddie didn’t reply.

“Am I losing my mind, Tiny?”

Dunwiddie hesitated again before replying, and when he did it wasn’t a reply, but a question. He pointed at the chart case. “What’s that?”

“That’s an aviation chart case. Experienced pilots such as myself use them to carry maps — aviation navigation charts — around.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Eschborn. As soon as I have breakfast.”

“Mattingly sent for you?”

“I told him I needed to talk to him.”

“You going to tell me what about?”

“Orlovsky.”

“He told me to deal with Orlovsky, Jim.”

“That’s what I want to talk to him about.”

“I heard you went to see our Russian friend. Twice.”

“Sergeant Lewis told you?”

“Sergeant Lewis waited until I got back from Sonthofen to tell me.”

“I gather he didn’t approve?”

“Actually, he began the conversation by saying, ‘You know, our baby-faced captain isn’t really a candy-ass. He told Bischoff to fuck off, and then he told me if I told anybody but you what he said to Orlovsky he’d cut off my dick with a dull bayonet.’ Or words to that effect.”

“That’s close enough.”

“Mattingly doesn’t want to know what Gehlen does with the Russian. That’s why he told me to deal with it.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

“Do I have to point out that first sergeants — and brand-new captains — do not question what full bull colonels tell them to do?”

“Do first sergeants question their orders from brand-new captains?”

Dunwiddie didn’t reply.

“Let’s try one and see. Sergeant, if the prisoner Bischoff attempts to talk to Major Orlovsky, you will place him under arrest.”

“You’re crazy, Jim. He’ll go right to General Gehlen—”

“I’m not finished,” Cronley interrupted. “You will immediately assign enough of our men to protect Major Orlovsky around the clock from any attempt by any of the Germans to kill him. The use of deadly force is authorized to protect Major Orlovsky. The foregoing is a direct order.”

“Jesus, Jim!”

“The answer I expect from you, Sergeant, is ‘Yes, sir.’”

Dunwiddie looked at Cronley for ten seconds before coming to attention and saying, “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Mattingly is not going to like this.”

“Probably not. On the other hand, I don’t like the way he’s trying to cover his ass about the Russian. If he wants to let the Germans shoot him — or, for that matter, torture him — I don’t know right now what I can do about that. But I do know I’m not going to let him get away with saying, ‘I didn’t know anything about what happens at Kloster Grünau,’ and then blame whatever happens on you and me.”

“You really think that’s what Mattingly is doing?”

“It may not have started out that way, but yeah, I think — I damned well know—that’s what he’s doing. He considers you and me expendable, Tiny.”

“Operation Ost is really important, Jim.”

“So important that Mattingly is perfectly willing to throw you and me to the hungry lions to keep it going. That’s the point. But I’m not willing to be fed to the lions.”

“You realize the spot you’re putting me in?”

“Are you going to obey the direct order I gave you?”

“You heard me say ‘Yes, sir.’”

“Then you’re off the spot. I just moved onto it.”

Dunwiddie threw up his hands in resignation.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Cronley said.

[TWO]

“Eschborn, Seven-Oh-Seven understands Number Two to land on Niner-zero behind the C-47,” Cronley said into the microphone.

He looked at his wristwatch and saw that he was ten minutes early.

A minute later, he saw that Colonel Robert Mattingly was also ten minutes early; he was leaning against the front fender of his Horch, which was parked next to what had to be Base Operations.

Did he come early to be a nice guy?

Or has Gehlen called him and complained about my behavior — and he can’t wait to put me in my place?

A minute after that, the Storch was on the ground. A Follow me jeep led it to the visitors’ tarmac in front of Base Operations.

As he was shutting down the Storch, Mattingly walked up to the airplane and waited for him to climb down from it.

He smiled and offered his hand.

“Right on time, Jim. Ready to go?”

I guess Gehlen did not complain.

“Sir, I have to see about getting it fueled, and I want to check the weather.” He pointed to the Base Operations building. “It won’t take a minute.”

“Fine,” Mattingly said with a smile, but Cronley sensed he was annoyed.

There were two signs over the Flight Briefing Room. One read FLIGHT PLANNING/WEATHER. The other read PILOTS ONLY.

Mattingly nevertheless followed Cronley into the room.

Why not? Full bull colonels get to go just about anyplace they want to.

Cronley studied the weather map, and then caught the eye of an Air Force sergeant.

“It doesn’t look good for the south this afternoon, does it?”

“Not good unless you’re a penguin. Penguins don’t fly.”

“When do you think that front will move through southern Bavaria?”

“Very late this afternoon.”

“You think it will be clear in the morning?”

“Probably.”

“Who do I have to see to get fuel?”

“Me,” the sergeant said, and produced a clipboard with a form on it. “Name, organization, type of aircraft, tail number, and fuel designation. And signature.”

Cronley filled in the blanks and the sergeant examined the form.

“Twenty-third CIC, huh?” the sergeant said, pronouncing it “Ex Ex Eye Eye Eye See Eye See.”

“Guilty,” Cronley said.

“And what the hell is a Fieseler Storch?”

Cronley pointed out the window.

“Funny-looking,” the sergeant opined.

“It flies that way, too.”

“Kraut?”

“Not anymore.”

“I’ll have your tanks topped off in half an hour.”

“No rush. I’m not going to fly into that weather. I’ll try to get out in the morning. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cronley looked at Colonel Mattingly and gestured toward the door.

When they were out of the building, Mattingly said, “I gather you have to spend the night?”

“Yes, sir. There’s a front moving across Bavaria that I don’t think I should fly into.”

“I defer, of course, to your airman’s judgment. But what I had in mind was that I don’t like leaving that airplane here overnight. Questions might be asked.”

“What would you like me to do, sir?”

“Well, if you can’t control something, don’t worry about it. You might wish to write that down.”

He saw Cronley smile. “Did I say something funny, Captain?”

“No, sir. But that’s a paraphrase of what Major Orlovsky said to me. He quoted a Roman poet named Ovid. ‘Happy is the man who has given up worrying.’ Something like that.”

“You’ve been discussing Roman poets with an NKGB officer?” Mattingly asked incredulously.

“It came out during my interrogation of him, sir.”

“Your interrogation of him?” Mattingly asked even more incredulously.

“Yes, sir.”

They were now at the Horch.

“Get in,” Mattingly ordered.

“Sir, where am I going to stay tonight?”

When Mattingly didn’t immediately reply, Cronley said, “I’ve got an overnight bag in the plane. Should I get it now?”

“Get your bag,” Mattingly ordered.

Immediately after they had left the airfield, Mattingly explained what was going to happen.

“We’re going to the Schlosshotel, which is now a field grade officers’ facility. We’re going to get you a room. After lunch, we will have our little chat in the privacy of that room. Following that, I will go back to my office, and you will stay in the room, leaving it only for supper and breakfast. You will not, in other words, take advantage of the golf club, nor whoop it up tonight in the bar. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will arrange for a car to take you from the hotel to the airport after you’ve had your breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The fewer people who see you in the hotel, the better. Questions would be asked. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

[THREE]

Mattingly and Cronley had taken perhaps ten steps into the lobby when they were intercepted by an attractive American woman. Cronley noted that she had a shapely figure, a full head of black hair, and appeared to be in her early thirties.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here, Colonel,” she said. “But you’re very welcome!”

“Mrs. Schumann,” Mattingly said, turning on the charm. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“And have you brought us a newly arrived?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, he’s wearing the triangles,” she said. “And he doesn’t look old enough to be a major. And he’s with you. So I have leapt to the conclusion that he’s one of us.”

“Mrs. Schumann, this is Special Agent Cronley.”

She offered Cronley her hand. He took it. She didn’t let go.

“I’ve so wanted to meet you,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Cronley said.

“You are the young man who shot the engine out of my husband’s car, right?”

“He told you about that?” Mattingly blurted.

“Well, Tony is pretty sure I’m neither a Nazi nor a member of the NKGB, and we are married. So why not?”

Mattingly gathered his thoughts.

“Well, are you or aren’t you?” she pursued, still hanging on to his hand and looking into Cronley’s eyes.

He thought she had very sad eyes, not consistent with her bubbly personality.

“There was a misunderstanding,” Cronley said.

“About which the less said, the better,” Mattingly said.

“My lips are sealed,” she said, letting loose of Cronley’s hand so that she could cover her mouth with it.

“Is Colonel Schumann here?” Mattingly asked. “And what’s going on here?”

“He arranged to be in Vienna so he wouldn’t have to be here,” she said, and then pointed toward the entrance to the main dining room.

Cronley followed her gesture. He saw a brigadier general walking toward them. And then read a sign mounted on a tripod:

“Shit,” Colonel Mattingly said under his breath, and then he said, “Good afternoon, General.”

“Rachel,” the general said, “may I say how lovely you look?”

And how very sad, Cronley thought. I wonder what that’s about?

And who’s the general?

“Colonel,” the general said, “I’m more than a little surprised to see you here.”

“Truth to tell, sir, I forgot about the luncheon. I’m here on other business.”

“Really?”

The general put out his hand to Cronley.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m General Greene.”

“General, this is Captain Cronley,” Mattingly said.

“I thought it might be. I’ve heard a good deal about you, Captain.”

“How do you do, sir?”

A captain wearing the aiguillette and lapel insignia of an aide-de-camp walked up to them.

“I think, Jack,” General Greene said, “that you know everybody but Captain Cronley.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “Ma’am, Colonel.” He put out his hand to Cronley and said “Captain” as he examined him very carefully.

“Colonel Mattingly has brought Captain Cronley as his newly arrived,” General Greene said. “So, what you’re going to have to do, Jack, is rearrange the head table so there’s a place for them.”

“General,” Mattingly said, “as I said, Captain Cronley and I are here on business—”

“So you said,” Greene interrupted. “But you have to eat, and if you eat with us, all the newly arrived will get to see the deputy commander of EUCOM CIC sitting right up there beside the president of the CIC Officers’ Ladies Club at the head table, won’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” Mattingly said.

This general is sticking it to Mattingly.

Ordinarily, I’d be delighted, but Mattingly is already pissed at me, and this is likely to make that worse.

“And we wouldn’t want to deny the newly arrived that, would we?” Greene went on. “So, Jack, you rearrange the head table while Mrs. Schumann, Colonel Mattingly, Captain Cronley, and I slip into the bar for a little liquid courage. When everything’s set up, you come fetch us, and we’ll make our triumphant entry.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide-de-camp said.

“How may I serve the general?” the German bartender asked, in British-accented English.

“Well, since Colonel Mattingly has so graciously asked us to join him for a little nip, I’ll have a taste of your best scotch, straight, water on the side. Better make it a double.”

This Greene is really sticking it to Mattingly. And enjoying it.

“Yes, sir. And you, madam?”

“I’ll have a martini, please,” Mrs. Schumann said.

“As before, madam? Vodka, no vegetables?”

A vodka martini, no vegetables? “As before”?

Lady, you don’t look like somebody who drinks vodka martinis, no vegetables, before lunch.

“Precisely.” She smiled.

“Colonel?”

“Scotch, please,” Mattingly said.

“Sir?” he asked Cronley.

“Jack Daniel’s, please. On the rocks.”

Their drinks were quickly served.

“I’d like to offer a toast,” General Greene said. “To our happy little CIC community.”

“Not to forget the ASA,” Mrs. Schumann added, as she raised her glass.

“To our happy little CIC and ASA community,” Mattingly toasted with no visible enthusiasm.

Yeah, the ASA, Cronley thought as they all sipped drinks.

Kloster Grünau and that station in Berlin are connected to the Vint Hill Farms ASA station in Virginia. Certainly the ASA here must also be connected. Does that mean then that the ASA here can read our encrypted traffic?

More important, why hasn’t Mattingly told me whether or not they can?

Which leads me to wonder what else I should know he hasn’t told me.

Mrs. Schumann’s leg brushed against his, and he quickly moved his out of her way.

“Can I ask what this luncheon is about?” Cronley asked.

“The CIC/ASA Officers’ Ladies Club…” Mrs. Schumann began, turning to him on her swiveling bar stool. Cronley was standing, so when she swiveled toward him, her knee grazed his crotch.

“Of which Rachel, Mrs. Schumann, is the very capable president,” General Greene furnished.

“… has a ‘Welcome Newly Arrived’ luncheon every month…” she went on.

Cronley pulled back his crotch, which caused her knee to move off his crotch as far as the inside of his left knee, against which it now lightly pressed.

That has to be innocent.

The bartender saying “as before” may mean this is her second martini — or her fourth.

She’s a little plastered — that would go along with those sad eyes — and doesn’t realize what she’s doing.

“… to which all newly arrived CIC and ASA personnel,” Mrs. Schumann continued, “and their dependents are invited. The idea is to welcome them, let them meet General Greene and Major McClung — he runs ASA EUCOM — and tell them what they can expect during their tour of duty in the Army of Occupation.”

She took a sip of her martini, then turned and set the glass on the bar. Her knee moved off his.

“You didn’t come to yours, Cronley?” General Greene asked.

“No, sir. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

What actually happened, General, was that when I joined the happy little EUCOM CIC community, the XXIInd CIC Detachment in Marburg, the executive officer thereof, Major John Connell, welcomed me by inquiring of my qualifications to be a CIC agent, and then said, “Well, we’ll find something for you to do where you can cause only minimal damage.”

“Well, pay attention when we get in there. It’s never too late to learn, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

General Greene’s aide-de-camp appeared moments later to announce, “They’re ready for you, Mrs. Schumann, and the colonel, sir. The captain?”

“Show Cronley where he’s to sit at the head table.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cronley examined his drink, took another sip, then put the still-half-full glass on the bar. Mrs. Schumann put her martini glass on the bar, but only after drinking it dry. She then steadied herself to get off her bar stool by holding on to Cronley’s arm.

[FOUR]

General Greene’s aide installed Cronley in a chair near the center of the head table. He sat alone. Everybody else in the dining room was lining up across the room passing through the reception line. There were a dozen people in it, lined up apparently by rank. The first three people were Mrs. Schumann, General Greene, and Colonel Mattingly. Next was a large mustachioed major wearing the crossed semaphore flags insignia of the Signal Corps. Cronley decided he was probably Major McClung of the Army Security Agency.

A waiter in a crisp white jacket appeared and asked if the captain would like a drink.

“Jack Daniel’s, danke,” Cronley answered, and then wondered if that had been smart.

I’m going to have to deal with Mattingly when this happy CIC/ASA community bullshit is over. And the way to do that is stone sober.

The drink was delivered as two officers made their way to their seats at the head table. They were both majors, and he saw from their lapel insignia — a silver cross and a golden six-pointed star — that they were both chaplains.

I knew the Army had them, but that’s the first Jewish chaplain I’ve ever actually seen.

And why not a Jewish chaplain? There’s a hell of a lot of Jews in our happy little CIC/ASA community.

The Christian chaplain looked askance at Cronley’s whisky glass.

Why do I suspect you’re Baptist, Chaplain?

Even though he had very carefully nursed his Jack Daniel’s, the glass was empty before all the handshaking was over and everybody came to take their seats at the head table.

Mrs. Schumann took her seat beside him, steadying herself as she did so by resting her hand high on his shoulder.

He smiled politely at her.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have very sad eyes?” she asked.

“I wondered the same thing about you,” he blurted.

And that’s the last of the Jack Daniel’s.

“Maybe we have something in common,” she said.

He smiled politely at her.

“Major McClung,” a voice boomed in his ear. He saw the mustachioed Signal Corps officer sitting next to him with his hand extended. “They call me ‘Iron Lung.’”

“Jim Cronley, Major.”

“Mattingly’s man, right?” McClung boomed.

Cronley nodded.

He looked down the table and saw Mattingly sitting at the far side of General Greene.

He felt Mrs. Schumann’s knee press against his.

The waiter appeared and placed drinks in front of the senior officers. And one in front of Cronley.

Well, I just won’t drink it.

General Greene stood up, tapped his scotch glass with a knife, and announced, “Chaplain Stanton will give the invocation.”

The Christian chaplain stood up, looked around impatiently, and then intoned, “Please rise!”

Everyone stood.

The invocation went on for some time. It dealt primarily with resisting temptation. Finally, he invoked the blessing of the Deity and sat down, and everyone did the same.

Mrs. Schumann leaned toward Cronley and whispered, “I thought he was never going to stop.”

When she leaned away from him and shifted on her chair, her hand dropped into his lap. She found his male appendage and took a firm grip on it.

Holy Christ! Now what?

After a moment, and a final squeeze, she turned it loose.

He recalled the advice of a tactical officer at A&M. During a lecture on the conduct to be expected of an officer and a gentleman, he had cautioned the class about becoming involved with a senior officer’s wife.

“It don’t matter if she jumps on you and sticks her tongue down your throat. Keep your pecker in your pocket. It’s like having a drunk guy on a motorcycle run into you when you’re doing thirty-five in a fifty-five-mile-per-hour zone. Right and wrong don’t matter. You’re at fault.”

He looked at Mrs. Schumann. She smiled and gave him a little wink.

He smiled back as well as he could manage.

He spent the rest of the meal with his legs crossed, sitting as close to Major Iron Lung McClung as he could, and not looking at Mrs. Schumann.

She made no further attempt to grope him until the affair was about to adjourn for farewell cocktails, and Mattingly came to stand behind him.

“I’m sorry I have to take you away from all this fun, Captain Cronley,” Mattingly said. “But we still have our business to take care of.”

“Yes, sir,” Cronley said, and stood.

So did Mrs. Schumann.

“It was very nice to meet you, Captain Cronley,” she said. “Perhaps we’ll see one another again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She offered her right hand and quickly groped him with the left.

“My husband will be fascinated to hear I’ve met you.”

[FIVE]

When the Army had requisitioned the Schlosshotel Kronberg to house OSS Forward, the German staff had come with it. Now, the hotel manager greeted the former commander of OSS Forward warmly.

Thus, Cronley was not surprised when, despite the inhospitable sign — THIS IS A FIELD GRADE OFFICERS’ FACILITY — behind the marble reception desk, the smiling manager assured Mattingly that he would be happy to accommodate Captain Cronley and arrange for a staff car to take the captain to the Eschborn airstrip in the morning.

The room that the manager assigned Cronley was one of the better ones. A small suite, it was on the ground floor. French doors opened onto a flagstone patio overlooking the golf course.

In the sitting room, Mattingly waved Cronley into an armchair. He took the one opposite it, leaned forward, and waved his hand in the general direction of the main dining room.

“I’m sorry about all that. If I ever knew about that damned newly arrived luncheon, I forgot about it.”

“Well, it gave General Greene a chance to stick it to you, didn’t it?”

Mattingly’s face tightened.

“You do have a flair for saying things you really shouldn’t, don’t you, Jim?”

“Sir, no disrespect was intended. But it was pretty obvious the general was sticking it to you. And liked it.”

Mattingly considered that for a moment.

“Okay. That’s as good a point to start as any. Did you wonder why General Greene was enjoying, to use your colorful phrase, sticking it to me?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“I was assigned as his deputy commander over his objections. I didn’t have the opportunity, the authority, to tell him why until Admiral Souers gave me the authority when we were in Washington. I told Admiral Souers that I had to tell him, so that he could get Colonel Schumann off our backs. Greene has known about Operation Ost and what’s going on at Kloster Grünau only since I told him the day we got back.

“Greene didn’t like being kept in the dark. That’s understandable. But now Schumann has been told to back off.”

“He was told about Operation Ost?”

“Of course not. Greene just told him that Kloster Grünau is off-limits to him, and to forget about you, and you shooting up the engine in his car. With him in it.”

“He apparently told Mrs. Schumann.”

“They call that ‘pillow talk.’ It happens. I can only hope that Schumann told his wife not to spread it amongst the girls of the CIC/ASA Officers’ Ladies Club.”

“Do you think he did?”

“Probably. Tony Schumann is a good officer. But he’s also Jewish, which means that he won’t stop looking into the rumors that somebody is getting Nazis out of Germany to Argentina, and wondering if what’s going on at Kloster Grünau has something to do with that.”

“Jesus!”

“And General Greene knows what I’m probably thinking about in that connection. So, yeah, he found it amusing that I showed up, with you in tow, at that CIC/ASA Officers’ Ladies Club Welcome Newly Arriveds luncheon, to be met by Mrs. Schumann.

“In a way, it was amusing. But it could have turned out the other way. She could very easily have not been as charming to you as she was. Some wives might be offended that a young officer had shot out the engine of their husband’s car and act accordingly. You follow me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She could have asked, ‘I’m curious why, Colonel Mattingly, after Captain Cronley fired a machine gun at my husband, he’s here and not in the EUCOM stockade awaiting court-martial?’”

I wonder why she didn’t?

Maybe Colonel and Mrs. Schumann aren’t the happy couple everyone thinks they are.

Happily married women don’t usually drink four martinis before lunch and then grope officers under the table.

“As you suggested, sir, Colonel Schumann probably told her not to ask questions about what happened at Kloster Grünau.”

“What I’m worried about, Jim, is that you don’t fully understand (a) the absolute necessity of maintaining the security of Operation Ost, and, more important, (b) that you’re in a position where a careless act of yours can cause more trouble in that regard than you fully understand.”

Here it comes.

“I must respectfully argue, sir, that I fully understand both.”

“Then what the hell did you think you were doing when you interrogated the NKGB agent? I told Dunwiddie to deal with that situation.”

When Cronley didn’t immediately reply, Mattingly went on, “Cat got your tongue, Captain? I’m surprised. You usually have an answer for everything at the tip of your tongue.”

“I have an answer, sir, but I suspect you’re not going to like it.”

“Let’s find out.”

“For one thing, sir, Major Orlovsky is my prisoner, not General Gehlen’s.”

“Your prisoner?”

“And I didn’t like the way he was being treated by Gehlen’s man, Bischoff.”

“What do you mean your prisoner?”

“Sir, Orlovsky was arrested trying to sneak out of Kloster Grünau by one of my men. Doesn’t that make him my prisoner?”

“I am beginning to see where you’re coming from,” Mattingly said after a moment. “So tell me, Captain Cronley: What are your plans for your prisoner? What are you going to do with him?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out, sir.”

“Has it occurred to you that he may have to be disposed of?”

“If you mean shot, yes, sir.”

“And, that being the case, it would be much better if he was disposed of by someone other than an American officer?”

“If Major Orlovsky has to be shot, sir, I’ll do it. I’m not willing to turn that — or Major Orlovsky — over to Gehlen.”

“It didn’t take long for those new captain’s bars to go to your head, did it?” Mattingly said furiously. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the officer you put in charge of security of Operation Ost, sir.”

“Captain, I am the officer in charge of security for Operation Ost.”

“Sir, that’s not my understanding.”

“What is your understanding, you impertinent sonofabitch?”

“That you, sir, are in charge of the European functions of Operation Ost, that Lieutenant Colonel Frade is in charge of the Argentine functions, that the whole thing is under Admiral Souers, and that, far down on the Table of Organization, I’m in charge of security for European functions under you.”

“And would you say that gives me the authority to tell you what to do and how to do it?”

“So long as your orders are lawful, sir.”

“Meaning what?”

“That I don’t think you have the authority to grant authority to Gehlen to take prisoners, to interrogate prisoners, and certainly not to shoot them.”

“Maybe you do belong in the EUCOM stockade. For disobedience to my orders to you to let Sergeant Dunwiddie deal with the NKGB problem.”

“If you put me in the stockade, sir…” Cronley began, then hesitated.

“Finish what you started to say,” Mattingly ordered coldly.

“… or if I should drop out of contact for more than a day or two… or should something happen to me, Colonel Frade would want, would demand, an explanation.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? God damn you!”

Cronley didn’t reply.

Mattingly tugged a silver cigarette case from his tunic pocket, took a cigarette from it, and then lit it with a Zippo lighter.

He exhaled the smoke.

“This has gone far enough,” he announced.

He took another puff and exhaled it through pursed lips.

“My mistake was in taking you into the OSS in the first place,” he said thoughtfully, almost as if talking to himself. “I should have known your relationship with Colonel Frade was going to cause me problems. And which I compounded by sending you to Argentina with those files.”

He looked into Cronley’s eyes.

“So, what do I do with you, Captain Cronley? I can’t leave you at Kloster Grünau thinking you’re not subject to my orders.”

“Was that a question, sir?”

“Consider it one.”

“You can let me deal with the problem of Major Orlovsky.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me see if I can get the names of Gehlen’s people who gave him those rosters.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to try. And, sir, I don’t think that I’m not subject to your orders. I just think you’re wrong for wanting to turn the problem over to Gehlen.”

“Don’t you mean ‘General Gehlen,’ Captain?”

“Herr Gehlen has been run through a De-Nazification Court and released from POW status to civilian life. He no longer has military rank, and I think it’s a mistake to let him pretend he does.”

“It makes it easier for him to control his people, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t care if they call him Der Führer. I am not going to treat him as a general in a position to give me orders. It has to be the other way around.”

“Or what?”

“You have to go along with that, or relieve me.”

“Whereupon you would tell Colonel Frade why I relieved you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what makes you think Frade wouldn’t think relieving a twenty-two-year-old captain who wouldn’t take orders was something I had every right to do?”

“I’ll have to take that chance, sir.”

Mattingly looked at him a long moment. “My biggest mistake was in underestimating your ego,” he said, almost sadly. “I should have known better. Why the hell couldn’t you have stayed a nice young second lieutenant who only knew how to say ‘Yes, sir’ and wouldn’t dream of questioning his orders?”

Cronley didn’t reply.

“We seem to be back to: ‘What the hell do I do with you?’”

“You can let me see how I do with Major Orlovsky.”

“My question was rhetorical, Captain Cronley. I was not asking for a reply.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Prefacing the following by saying that this conversation is by no means over, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now. In the morning, you will return to Kloster Grünau. I’ll give you a week to see what you can learn from Major Orlovsky. One week. Seven days from now, you will come back here and report to me what, if anything, you think you have learned, and offer any suggestions you might have regarding the next step.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t entertain any illusions that you have come out on top of our little tête-à-tête. Whatever happens, our relationship in the future will be considerably less cordial than it has been in the past.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Now, presuming you still take some orders, I don’t want you to leave this room until you get in the staff car that takes you to the airfield in the morning. There is room service. You will eat your supper and breakfast in the room. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want you bumping into Mrs. Schumann. Your first encounter with her ended without anything untoward happening. I want to keep it that way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mattingly got out of his chair and left the suite without saying another word.

Cronley looked at the closed door, and then wondered aloud, “Why the hell couldn’t I have stayed a nice young second lieutenant who only knew how to say ‘Yes, sir’ and wouldn’t dream of questioning my orders?”

Then he walked into the bathroom to meet the call of nature.

[SIX]

When Cronley came back into the sitting room, he pushed the curtains on the French doors aside and looked out. It was drizzling, a precursor, he thought, of the bad weather moving in. Defying the drizzle, four golfers were walking down the fairway with their caddies trailing after them.

He let the curtain fall back, having remembered that there was room service.

A little celebratory Jack Daniel’s is in order for the prisoner in Room 112.

After that confrontation with Mattingly, while things are certainly not ginger-peachy, Mattingly knows he can’t let Gehlen’s men shoot Orlovsky. At least right away.

He had just picked up the telephone when there was a knock at his door.

Shit! Mattingly’s back with something devastating to say to me.

He swung open the door.

Mrs. Colonel Schumann was standing there.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“Mrs. Schumann, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Would you prefer that I cause a scene in the corridor?”

He backed away far enough for her to enter, leaving the door open.

She glanced at it. “If you leave the door open, someone’s likely to see me in here.”

“I don’t think us being in here behind a closed door is a very good idea.”

She moved quickly around him and slammed the door closed.

“I have no more interest in getting caught doing this than you do.”

“Ma’am, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“Just enough to find the courage to do this.”

She advanced on him. He retreated until his back was against the door.

Jesus, she’s going to grope me!

“Shut up and kiss me,” she ordered. “And for God’s sake, Jimmy, stop calling me ‘ma’am.’”

She raised her face to his.

And then she groped him.

[SEVEN]

Why do I really not want to open my eyes?

Maybe I’m thinking that if I just lie here keeping them closed I won’t have to face what I just did.

Cronley felt Mrs. Schumann’s fingers on his face and opened his eyes.

She was beside him in the bed, supporting herself on an elbow, looking down at him.

“What did you do, doze off?” she asked.

She had a sheet and blanket over her shoulders, but they did not conceal her breasts, her stomach, or her large patch of black pubic hair.

“What we just did wasn’t smart,” he said.

“Probably not. But we did it, and we can’t take it back.”

He looked at her, and then away, and now he saw their clothing scattered between the bed and the door to the sitting room.

“So tell me about those sad eyes,” she said.

He didn’t reply.

“They’re what attracted me to you. So tell me.”

“You really want to know?”

“I really want to know.”

“Okay. The day after we eloped, my wife was killed when a drunk hit her head-on with his sixteen-wheeler.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“When did this happen?”

“Five days ago. No, four.”

“I don’t believe that. And if you think you’re being amusing, you’re not.”

“Boy Scout’s Honor, Mrs. Schumann. And if you don’t believe that, try this on for size: That same afternoon, the President of the United States, the Honorable Harry S Truman, pinned the Distinguished Service Medal, and captain’s bars, on me. And at nine o’clock — excuse me, let’s keep this military — at twenty-one hundred hours that same night, Colonel Mattingly and I got on the plane that brought us back here.”

“My God, you’re telling me the truth!”

“Yes, Mrs. Schumann, I’m telling you the truth.”

“And now I did this to you. Jimmy, I’m so sorry. If I had known…”

“Mrs. Schumann, it takes two to tango, as they say in Buenos Aires, where, putting your credulity to the test once again, I was three days before I got married.”

“You have every reason to be disgusted with me, but could you bring yourself to call me Rachel and not Mrs. Schumann?”

He looked at her and found himself looking into her sad eyes.

“Sure, Rachel, why not?”

“Jimmy, I am so very sorry.”

“Rachel, if you’re on a guilt trip, don’t be. You may have noticed I was an enthusiastic participant in what just happened.”

She smiled.

“I noticed. I feel a little guilty about… not knowing what happened to you. But not about what I did. Understand?”

“No.”

“Are you interested?” she said, then before he could reply added: “I think I should tell you.”

He still didn’t reply.

“Despite what it looks like, I don’t jump into bed with every good-looking young officer I meet.”

His face showed his disbelief.

“Or touch them under the table,” she went on. “Testing your credulity, this is the first time I’ve ever been unfaithful to my husband.”

“Is that so?”

“We grew up together. We got married when Tony graduated from college. I was nineteen. He went into the Signal Corps. His degree’s in electrical engineering. We had our two children, Anton Junior, who’s now fourteen, and Sarah, who’s now twelve, when we were stationed at Fort Monmouth—”

“Rachel,” he interrupted, “you don’t have to do—”

She silenced him by putting her finger to her lips.

“It’s important to me that you hear this. Tony was first a student and then an instructor at Monmouth. Then he went into the Army Security Agency, and we moved to Vint Hill Farms Station — do you know about Vint Hill, the ASA?”

Cronley nodded.

“And then the war came along, and somehow Tony moved into the inspector general business, first with ASA and then with the CIC. I guess you know about Camp Holabird? In Baltimore?”

He nodded again.

“We went there, and we had just found an apartment when Tony was assigned to Eisenhower’s Advance Party when Ike was sent to London. He made major, and then they sent him back to Washington, where he made lieutenant colonel. And then when the war was nearly over they sent him back here. He became involved in collecting evidence to be used against the Nazis when they were to be tried. I think his seeing what they did to the Jews was what did it.”

“Did what?”

“Make him decide to assert his Jewish masculine superiority by… stupping it to every German shiksa he can.”

“I don’t know what that means. Stupped? Shiksa?”

“What it means is that when the kids and I got over here six weeks ago, I found out that Tony…”

She stopped, chuckled, then ran her fingers over his face tenderly. “‘Stupping,’ my goy lover, is Yiddish for what you just did to me. Goy means ‘gentile man.’ And shiksa is Yiddish for ‘gentile girl.’”

“How did you find out about your husband?”

“It doesn’t matter. I found out.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel.”

She ran her fingers over his face again.

“So, what were my options? If I left him, the kids would have learned that not only is their father a sonofabitch stupping it to all the shiksas he can, but that he prefers them to me. And what would I do? I’ve been an officer’s wife since I was a kid, I don’t know how I would make a living.”

She paused, then went on: “So, what did I do? I did what a lot of women here do — Tony’s not the only officer who has found that fräuleins, or for that matter, die Frauen, are more interesting in bed than their wives. I started to drink, is what I did, Jimmy.

“And then I began to have this fantasy. I would pay the sonofabitch back. What’s sauce for the goose, et cetera. I would find a lover, preferably a goy. That would show him.”

“Christ, you’re not going to tell him about us?”

She laughed and smiled.

“No, Jimmy, I’m not going to tell him about us. If I did, my children would learn that their mother’s no better than their father. Or as bad as their father. It would be enough, I thought, that I would know I had paid him back.

“But the fantasy went nowhere. I didn’t come across anyone that I wanted to take to bed. I began to understand that my fantasy was just that — fantasy.

“And then I ran into a young goy officer my husband really hates. More importantly, he had the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. Perfect, I thought. Except you showed no interest in me whatever. So I took another sip of my martini of liquid encouragement and… let you know I was interested. You still didn’t show any interest, but — and this really came as a surprise — what I had done to you really excited me.

“I waited until Colonel Mattingly had driven away and then I came knocking at your door. And here we are.”

When he didn’t reply, she said, “No comment?”

He rolled on his side and looked at her.

“I’m glad you didn’t give up, Rachel.”

“I hope you’re just not saying that.”

He put his hand to her breast. She laid her fingers on top of his hand. He felt her nipple stiffen.

“Jimmy, are you feeling guilty about betraying the memory of your late wife?”

“She’s dead, Rachel…”

“I feel so sorry for you.”

“… and I’m alive.”

He took his hand from her breast, caught hers, and guided it to his member. She closed her fingers around it and it sprang almost instantly to life.

“Oh, God!” she said.

And then he rolled on top of her.

[EIGHT]

“You look lost in thought,” Jimmy said to Rachel, who was standing before the mirror in the bath and combing her hair.

She turned from the mirror. She had showered and wrapped a towel around her waist, leaving her breasts uncovered.

“You’re not supposed to be looking,” she said, but didn’t seem offended. She turned back to the mirror and resumed running the comb through her hair.

“I’ve got a lot to think about,” Rachel said.

“Like what?”

“Like — not that it matters — I’m too old for you. Like I really have to keep Tony from finding out and, for different reasons, my kids from even suspecting.”

“For different reasons?”

“Because Tony really hates you. My kids, thank God, don’t even know you exist.”

“Your husband hates me because of what I did to his car?”

“Because he suspects you’re involved in getting Nazis out of Germany to Argentina, and he can’t do anything about it.”

After a moment, Jimmy said, “And the different reasons for the kids?”

“No mother wants to have to come off the pedestal of virtue her kids have put her on.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure your kids don’t find out.”

“The only way we could do that for sure would be for me to get dressed, walk out of here, and never see you again.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“No. But that’s moot. Eventually, we’re going to run into each other again. We’re just going to have to be very careful.”

“Can I interpret that to mean…”

“Do I want to be with you again? Of course I do. I know I should be overwhelmed with remorse right now, but the truth is I like standing here combing my hair while you stare hungrily at my breasts.”

“Wow!”

“But we’re going to have to be very careful and pray we don’t get caught. And I mean that about praying. I don’t want my kids to get hurt.”

“Understood.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Involved in sneaking Nazis out of Germany to Argentina?”

“Jesus, Rachel!”

“I thought so. Tony is ordinarily very good at what he does, and so far as that business is concerned, he’s passionate. I guess he feels that if he can stop it, that will be even better for his Jewish masculine ego than…”

“Stupping the shiksas?”

She laughed.

“If you suddenly start spouting Yiddish, people will wonder who’s teaching you.”

“Then I will spout it only to you, my shiksa.”

She laughed and turned to him.

“I’m not your shiksa, mein Trottel goy. I’m your khaverte.”

“Is that what you think, Rachel, that I’m a fool of a Christian?”

“That’s right, you do speak German, don’t you? And Yiddish is really bastard German.”

“My mother is a Strasburgerin. I got my German from her.”

“I was just about to say, ‘That was said lovingly,’ but we have to be careful about using that word, don’t we? Or even thinking about it?”

“Can you have a lover, be lovers, without love?”

“We’re going to have to try to, aren’t we? Or at least without saying it, or even thinking it?”

When he didn’t reply, Rachel said, “Oh, my God, Jimmy. You’re not thinking that what happened between us… That was lust, Jimmy. Lust. Not love.”

He smiled.

“What’s funny? This is not funny!”

“When I was in the eighth grade, thirteen, fourteen years old…”

“As old as Anton Junior. So?”

“Our teacher, Miss Schenck, introduced us to classical music. Started out easy. We were all ranch kids in West Texas. She set up her phonograph and said she was going to play a Viennese operetta for us. She said it was called Die Lustige Witwe and that meant ‘The Merry Widow.’ So I put up my hand and said, ‘Excuse me, Miss Schenck, but lustige doesn’t mean ‘merry.’ It means ‘lusty.’ And she said, ‘What are you talking about?’ So I told her, ‘Lustige means “horny.” You know, like a bull is when you turn him loose in the pasture with the cows.’”

“Oh, Jimmy, you didn’t!”

“Miss Schenk snapped, ‘James Cronley, you go straight to the principal’s office! This instant!’”

Rachel laughed.

“So my mother was called in, heard what happened, and told me I was just going to have to learn (a) I should never correct my teachers, and (b) I should never try to explain what lust means to any female.”

“And here you are discussing lust with me.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we leave… what we have… to that, Jimmy?”

“The only other alternative that comes to mind is chastity, and as I stand here ‘staring hungrily’ at your breasts, that doesn’t have much appeal.”

She smiled in the mirror. “To me either.”

“If you really want to see lust in action, drop that towel.”

“My God!” Rachel said, and shook her head in disbelief.

Then she put down the comb and dropped the towel.

[NINE]

“The kids get home from school about five,” Rachel said. “I have to go.”

She got out of bed and went to the armchair onto which she had put her clothing after gathering it up from where it had been on the floor.

“It was nice bumping into you, Mrs. Schumann. We’ll have to try to get together again real soon.”

“I’m going to do my best to see that doesn’t happen for a long time. But when it does, you better remember to call me Mrs. Schumann.”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you going to tell your husband about me?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell him everything, mein Trottel. It wouldn’t surprise me that he’s already heard that you were here with Colonel Mattingly.”

“I should have thought of that.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said, turning her back to him to put on her brassiere.

“Rachel, about this unfounded rumor your husband has heard about some people smuggling Nazis out of Germany…”

“What about it?”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say, hypothetically, that there’s something to it.”

“And?”

“You don’t seem to be very upset about it.”

“I don’t like it. But I think General Greene must know about it. And I’m sure Colonel Mattingly knows about it, and probably is involved with it. And I know you are—”

“You know nothing of the kind,” he interrupted.

“If Tony strongly suspects you’re involved, you’re involved. And you as much as admitted to me you are. What did you expect I would think when you told me you had just been in Argentina? That you were on one of those ninety-nine-dollar all-expenses-paid Special Service tours, a little vacation from your exhausting duties in the Army of Occupation?”

She turned to face him as she stepped into her skirt.

“Rachel, you could cause a hell of a lot of damage to something very important if you dropped that little gem into any conversations you have with your husband.”

“As I started to say, if General Greene and Colonel Mattingly know about it, and they do, then the fact that it’s still going on tells me there has to be a good reason for it.”

“There is.”

“Hypothetically speaking, of course?”

“Hypothetically speaking.”

She put her blouse on and buttoned it, and then tucked it into her skirt, and then she reached for her jacket.

“Where do you live?”

“Hoechst. Not far. A little suburb not far from the Eschborn airstrip. It somehow didn’t get leveled in the war.”

She slipped into her shoes.

Jimmy got out of bed and went to her.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to like this.”

“You won’t like what?”

“Don’t say anything foolish, Jimmy, please.”

“Okay.”

“And you don’t have to tell me not to tell my husband about what you let slip.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t try to entice me back into bed. I really have to be at home when the kids get there.”

“What gave you the idea I was going to try something like that?”

“This,” she said, putting her hand on him. “You know what happens to me when it stands up and waves at me like that. I lose all control.”

“What do I do now?”

“Kiss me quick, and then go back to bed. Alone.”

He kissed her. It was quick.

She took her hand off him and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

After a moment, he walked into the sitting room. Rachel was gone.

So, what do I do now?

I take a shower. Then I get dressed.

And, fuck Mattingly, I go to the dining room and get something to eat.

He looked at his watch.

Well, since the dining room doesn’t open until five, and I can’t drink as I’m flying in the morning, what do I do for the next thirty-five minutes?

I take a little nap is what I do for the next thirty-five minutes.

And then I take a shower and go get something to eat.

[TEN]

He first had trouble waking, and then he couldn’t find the goddamned ringing telephone.

“Captain Cronley.”

“Captain, your car is here to take you to the Eschborn airstrip.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Jesus Christ, I never woke up!