“Jimmy, your call,” Frade said.
“I don’t have any problems with that at all.”
“You can have the sergeant,” Frade said. “But may I ask why?”
“Well, he’s obviously extraordinarily bright. Though another reason I’d like him in the room with me is that Major Orlovsky has had very little contact in Holy Mother Russia with men that size or with skin the color of coal. He finds them disconcerting.”
Frade and Cronley chuckled.
“If that’s the case, General,” Cronley said, “you can have Sergeant Tedworth, too.”
“That might even be better,” Gehlen said. “One final thing. May I bring Colonel Mannberg into this?”
“Of course,” Frade said. He paused, then went on: “That about winds it up for me here. Unless you have something else, General?”
Gehlen shook his head.
“In that case, sir, what I would like to do — if it makes sense to you — is go see Orlovsky, taking Cronley with me. I will tell him we have to leave — hell, I’ll tell him the truth: I’ll tell him I have to get back to the States, and then to Argentina, and that he will be dealing with you and Cronley.”
Gehlen nodded. “I think it important that Jim remain involved.”
“And this time, Captain Cronley, you will heed the sage advice of this expert interrogator no matter what he suggests.”
Cronley nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And, Jimmy, you and I should get back in the Storch and go to Munich. The sooner I can get a look at Pullach and get to Frankfurt, the better.”
“Taking the Storch may not be a good idea. We better drive.”
“Why?”
“The Air Force doesn’t like Storches.”
Cronley explained the trouble he had had at Eschborn and the trouble he thought they would encounter at the Army airfield outside Munich.
“I don’t want to lose the Storch, Clete. Either of them. I think I’m really going to need them. And losing them’s a real possibility.”
“You are a lucky man, Captain Cronley,” Frade said. “When you fly back here in your Storch after dropping me off at Rhine-Main tomorrow morning, you will be privileged to witness a genuine expert outwit a Russian NKGB agent. Few people have an opportunity to see something like that. And when we land at this airfield where you think they will try to take away your airplane, you will be privileged to watch a genuine Marine expert outwit difficult Army — or Air Force, as the case may be — bureaucrats in uniform. Few people are privileged to see something like that, either.”
Cronley shook his head.
“Say, ‘yes, sir,’” Frade said.
“Yes, sir.”
General Gehlen laughed and smiled warmly.
Clete offered his hand. Gehlen took it, but what began as a formality turned personal. They wound up hugging each other.
[THREE]
“Schleissheim, Army Seven-Oh-Seven understands Number One to land on Two-four,” Cronley said into his microphone, then moved the switch to INTERCOM and went on, “This is certainly going to be interesting.”
“What?” Frade asked.
“Well, Schleissheim means ‘Home of Strip,’ so I’m hoping we’ll be greeted by two fräuleins in their underwear. But I’m afraid what we’re going to get is some of those officers I told you about, the ones who’ll want to take my plane away from me.”
“Just do what I told you to do. Say, ‘yes, sir.’”
“Yes, sir.”
Jimmy moved the switch back to TRANSMIT and announced, “Seven-Oh-Seven on final.”
A major, two lieutenants, and a sergeant walked up to the Storch as Cronley parked it in front of a building that combined Base Operations with a control tower, a double-door fire station, and what looked like a PX coffee shop.
The sergeant went to the tail and started writing on a clipboard.
“He’s righteously writing down our tail numbers,” Cronley announced.
“Go,” Frade ordered.
Cronley climbed out of the airplane, took his CIC credentials from his pocket, and opened the folder so the major could get a quick look.
“Good afternoon,” Cronley said cheerfully. “We’re going to have to top off my tanks and then put the airplane in a hangar where as few people as possible will see it. Any problems with that?”
Clete was now out of the airplane.
The major saluted.
“Good afternoon,” Clete said, crisply returning it, then addressed Jimmy: “We’re running late. Where’s the car?”
“I don’t know, Colonel,” Cronley said.
“Well, Major?” Frade demanded. “Where is it?”
“Sir, I don’t know anything about a car,” the major said.
“You did know we were coming, correct?”
“No, sir.”
“My God, Mr. MacNamara!” Clete snapped to Jimmy. “Can’t the Army do anything right? Does General Tedworth expect me to walk to the Vier Jahreszeiten? Find a phone somewhere and get General Tedworth on the line. If he’s not available, I’ll talk to General Dunwiddie.”
“Yes, sir,” Cronley said.
The major looked up from his clipboard and quickly said, “Colonel, we can get you a car. No problem.”
“Please do so,” Frade said. “And quickly. You heard me say we’re running late. And when I come back here very early tomorrow morning, I expect my aircraft to be ready to go. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. No problem, Colonel.”
The major’s face showed that he was not going to ask any questions about the Storch. Colonel Frade turned his back to the major and winked at Captain Cronley.
“Take not counsel of your fears,” he announced. “I believe General Patton said that, so you might wish to write it down.”
[FOUR]
Sergeant Friedrich Hessinger, wearing pinks and greens, intercepted Cronley and Frade as they headed for the elevators in the lobby of the hotel.
Elegant as usual, Cronley thought. The only thing missing is the blond — or two blonds — he usually has hanging on to his arms.
“Colonel Mattingly and the others are waiting for you in the bar, Captain Cronley,” he announced.
“Colonel, this is Special Agent Hessinger,” Cronley said. “Freddy, this is Colonel Frade.”
“It is my pleasure, Colonel,” Hessinger said.
His accent was so thick that Frade, without thinking about it, replied in German.
“And mine. Who are the others?”
Hessinger recited: “General and Mrs. Greene, Colonel and Mrs. Schumann, Major and Mrs. McClung, Captain and Mrs. Hall, and Major Wallace, sir.”
“Wonderful!” Frade said sarcastically. “This should be lots of fun!”
Hessinger gave him a strange look.
“Lead on, Herr Hessinger,” Frade ordered.
“Well, everybody’s here,” General Greene greeted them cordially.
“And about time, too,” Mrs. Greene interrupted. “Mr. Hessinger and I want to get to the English Garden before everything is gone.” She smiled at Hessinger. “Don’t we, Mr. Hessinger?”
Hessinger had told Cronley about the English Garden. It was in the famous Munich park that Germans swapped silverware, crystal, paintings, et cetera, with the Americans for cartons of Chesterfields, Hershey bars, and Nescafé. It was officially illegal, but no one seemed to care.