“And, if somehow they do find you, can they break you?”
“No,” Cronley said. “I’ve thought about that, too.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I’m not going to let them break me. What we’re doing is important. I’m not going to let them hold Operation Ost over the President. I know I’m expendable, so what happens to me, if they catch me—es wird sein Wille.”
Gehlen laughed.
“I think that’s que será será in Spanish, am I correct?”
“Yes, sir. At least that’s what it is in Texican, which I speak.”
“Do you plan to show this message to Major Orlovsky?”
“I will, if you agree it’s the smart thing to do.”
“He’s liable to ask questions about the FBI.”
“Which we will answer truthfully.”
“He’s liable to wonder that, if they find you, you might break, and he would be left hanging in the wind.”
“But he will also know — I hope — that we’re telling him the truth.”
After a just perceptible pause, Gehlen nodded.
Cronley turned to Sergeant Lewis.
“Are you going to remember to keep your mouth shut, or should I continue to call you Sergeant Loudmouth?”
“My mouth is shut, sir.”
“Okay. Sergeant Lewis, go to Major Orlovsky… No, first things first.”
He reached in his pocket and handed him a slip of paper.
“Those are the names of the three men Dunwiddie has picked to drive two ambulances to the Pullach compound. They will first pack them with as much stuff from here as will fit. They will take with them enough clothing to last a week. I am telling you, but you are not to tell them, that they’ll be in Frankfurt for about a week. Sergeant Dunwiddie will tell them the rest when he sees them. Get them on the road as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you have done that, go to das Gasthaus and show Major Orlovsky this last message. Tell him if he has any questions, General Gehlen and I will be happy to answer them if he can find time in his busy schedule to take lunch with us.”
“In other words, sir, go get the Russian?”
“No. Do exactly what I just told you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Sergeant Lewis, round up Colonel Mannberg and tell him that General Gehlen and I request the pleasure of his presence at lunch.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Lewis sounds better than Sergeant Loudmouth, wouldn’t you agree, Sergeant Lewis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Christians, such as myself and General Gehlen, Sergeant Lewis, believe to err is human, to forgive divine. You may wish to write that down.”
“Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”
“Carry on, Sergeant Lewis.”
[TWO]
Preceded by Staff Sergeant Harold Lewis Jr., two of Tiny’s Troopers led Major Konstantin Orlovsky into the room. The Russian was shackled, his arms strapped to his sides, his hands cuffed behind him, and he had a duffel bag over his head.
Cronley gestured for Lewis to take off the bag.
“Konstantin,” Cronley said as Orlovsky squinted in the sudden light, “I asked Sergeant Lewis to tell you that General Gehlen, Colonel Mannberg, and myself would be pleased to have you join us for lunch, over which we will answer any questions you might have about the latest SIGABA message. And if you just came to ask questions about the latest SIGABA message, I will understand that is a matter of principle. But I hate to ask my men to go through the inconvenience of getting you out of what you’re wearing and into something more appropriate for lunch if it is your intention to sit there with your arms folded self-righteously across your chest while you watch the three of us eat. Which is it to be?”
“I accept your kind invitation to lunch,” Orlovsky said.
“Please assist the major in changing, Sergeant Lewis,” Cronley ordered.
When they had gone into Cronley’s bedroom and the door had been closed, General Gehlen very quietly said, “An unorthodox interrogation technique, but I’m starting to think an effective one. Wouldn’t you agree, Ludwig?”
“Captain Cronley has the advantage of a Strasburgerin mother. Everyone knows Strasbourgers can charm wild beasts.”
Does he mean that? Or does he realize I’ve won the interrogation technique argument with the general?
Orlovsky came back into the room, now dressed in olive drab trousers and a shirt from Cronley’s closet.
“Can I have Sergeant Lewis get you a beer, Konstantin?” Cronley asked.
“That would be kind of you.”
“Get the major a beer, please, Sergeant Lewis. And then ask them to serve our lunch.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before we get into any questions you might have about the SIGABA message, Konstantin, Ludwig — Colonel Mannberg — is curious why you changed your mind about breaking bread with us.”
“I gave the matter some thought after I passed on dinner last night,” Orlovsky said. “I realized there was nothing I could do to get you to stop this… this childish theater of yours. And then it occurred to me that there was no reason I shouldn’t eat while I was being forced to listen.”
“That not eating was sort of cutting off your nose to spite your face?”
Orlovsky shook his head.
“If you like,” he said.
“Good for you. And you’re drinking beer, presumably, because of what Christ said according to Saint Timothy?”
“Excuse me?”
“‘Take a little beer for thy stomach’s sake and thine other infirmities’?”
“Wine, Jim,” Gehlen said, chuckling. “Take a little wine…”
“Is that what He really said?” Cronley asked innocently.
“Actually, I think what He said was vodka,” Orlovsky said.
“And, Ludwig, you didn’t think that Konstantin had a sense of humor,” Cronley said. “Sergeant Lewis, go to the bar and get a bottle of vodka. Major Orlovsky needs a little belt.”
“That’s going too far, Captain Cronley,” Orlovsky said. “I will have one beer. One. But I’m not going to let you ply me with alcohol.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for trying. What was it Lenin said, ‘All’s fair in love and war’?”
“Lenin said nothing of the kind,” Orlovsky said.
“If you say so,” Cronley said. “So, what didn’t you understand in the SIGABA message? Let’s get that out of the way before the meat loaf arrives.”
“You remember what I said about the last message? That you can’t possibly believe I would believe you would show me a classified message?”
“Yes, I do. And I remember what I replied. ‘Why not? You’re never going to be in a position to tell anyone about it.’ So tell me what aroused your curiosity.”
“The FBI is looking for you?”
“I can see where you might find that interesting. The FBI is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It’s run by a man named J. Edgar Hoover. It’s something like your organization, the NKGB, except they don’t have cells in the basement of their headquarters building where they torture people, and they can’t send people they don’t like to an American version of Siberia. We don’t even have an American Siberia.
“All the FBI can do is ask questions. What they want to ask me is what I know about the rumor that we’re sending some of General Gehlen’s people and their families to Argentina to keep them out of the hands of your former associates in the NKGB. As I don’t want to be asked that question, I have been making myself scarce.”