It wasn’t generally known that Eisenhower was staying at the Greenbrier, but word had gone around the hotel staff that the young officers were something of VIPs, which was enough to get them their own table in the crowded bar and a complimentary bottle of Hennessy VSOP — rare stuff these days. Ty rolled the cognac on his tongue, enjoying its mingled bite and sweetness. He lit another cigarette.
“What do you think of Little Ike?” Ty asked as he exhaled.
“He’ll do all right,” Kit replied. “It wasn’t so long ago that we were just as green behind the ears.”
“He and his old man are thick as thieves,” Ty said, with what he realized was just a touch of envy in his voice. “Even if Ike is a bit critical of him.”
“Can’t be easy having a four-star general for a father.” Kit took a sip of the cognac and a long drag on his cigarette. “By the way, I saw that sniper you brought in. Tough old bird. Looks like he won’t have any trouble taking care of business. Hell, maybe we should send him to shoot Stalin or Hitler or Churchill or whoever is behind all this.”
“It wouldn’t stop the war.”
“Neither will shooting Ike,” Kit agreed. “But it might lose it for us. I don’t think there’s anyone else who could pull off Overlord without making a balls-up of it.”
“Balls-up? Christ, you’re starting to sound like a Brit.”
“Cheerio.” Kit tipped back his glass. “The thing is, we can’t let that Russian sniper shoot Ike.”
Ty was a little annoyed. “I wasn’t planning on letting him.”
“Maybe you should post a few more guards.”
“Ike won’t like it.”
“Which is why you might have to go to a higher authority.”
“Who? Roosevelt?”
“Actually, I was talking about Mamie.”
“That might work.” Ty nodded, thinking about it. “That is, if she doesn’t shoot him herself.”
Kit chuckled, then turned serious again. “Meanwhile, have you thought about setting a trap for this sniper? Something to lure him out?”
“Like what?”
“Why don’t you ask your new friend. Sergeant Yancey. I’ll bet he knows a trick or two.”
Chapter 24
Eva knew there would be trouble as soon as Colonel Fleischmann came through the door. He reeked of scotch and wore a sly grin that she didn’t trust. The problem with Fleischmann, she decided, was that when he thought he was one step ahead of you, he usually was.
“How is mein leipchen this evening?” he asked, slurring the words a bit.
She forced a laugh. “No one has called me leipchen for many years. That’s what you call a young girl. Like you Americans would say baby.”
“I could call you a lot of things,” Fleischmann said. “But let’s start with leipchen for now.”
Eva wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. His leer reminded her of the way the cat looked at the canary. They were in the front room. The colonel stood appreciatively in front of the fire and held his hands toward the flames. “Can’t be more than twenty degrees outside,” he said.
Fleischmann had come at nine o’clock at night. Late for him, because he liked to be home when his wife called from New Jersey. She wondered what kind of explanation he would make to his wife tomorrow. Working late. Out with the boys. Certainly not seeing my mistress.
She noticed that he kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn’t watching. Eva did not take this to be a good sign. He was the sort of man who drank to work up his courage. The colonel wanted something. What was he planning? Nothing good, she was sure. Maybe he had read in a book about some sexual perversion that he wanted to try. Did he have a tube of lubricant hidden in a coat pocket? Eva shuddered, wondering how much more of this man she could take.
“You brought champagne,” she said, struggling to add a note of excitement to her voice. “It is late to be celebrating the New Year.”
“I didn’t get to celebrate with you,” he said, hefting the bottle.
Eva could not resist. “You were home with the wife and children.”
The colonel shrugged. “Every now and then one must be the dutiful family man.”
Eva got a look at the label on the bottle. From her fleeting days of stardom in Berlin, she knew something about champagne. She had once accepted a glass from none other than Reichsmarshal Hermann Goring, who had praised her role in a film then popular. Goring was ridiculed in America as a fat buffoon who liked to play dress up in his many uniforms. That was only so much propaganda. The Goring she met had been a charismatic charmer. He was also a cunning political operator.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been in the movie Goring liked so much, but no matter — there was no point in contradicting the future Reichsmarshal.
The bottle Fleischmann had brought was nothing expensive, just the sort of champagne one picked up for a midnight toast on New Year’s Eve. Cheap bubbly, the Americans called it. It was just like Fleischmann to think he could get off easy with her. That was what she was to him, she mused, a cheap date.
Fleischmann. Eva realized she always thought of him by his last name. No terms of endearment came to mind where he was concerned, unless it was the word bratwurst. A thick, greasy sausage filled with gray meat that burst open when one poked it with a fork. Mein bratwurst, she thought.
“It was good of you to come see me,” she said, trying for a note of gratitude this time. Fleischmann was in a strange mood and he could be a bully even when he wasn’t drinking. Best not to antagonize him. “I know how busy you have been. Have you eaten? I can have Petra bring you something.”
He waved off the suggestion, then began to wrestle with the champagne cork. It finally let go with a resounding pop. The cork struck the wall so hard it gouged the old-fashioned plaster. Strands of horse hair sprouted from the hole. Fleischmann laughed as the cork finally skittered away under the sofa. The corners of Eva’s mouth had turned down in a frown. It had been her experience that most men didn’t much care to drink champagne, but they enjoyed making the bottle pop.
“Such aim,” she remarked. “You should think about becoming a marksman.”
“Do you know something about shooting?” he asked pointedly.
“Let’s talk about more pleasant subjects.”
The colonel took two champagne flutes from the liquor cart and poured. “Let’s toast to the year ahead. I can tell that 1944 is going to be a very good year for me.” He raised his glass. “And a good year for America. Not such a good year for you Germans.”
Eva did not sip her champagne. “I am done with Germany.”
“Are you? I wonder.” Fleischmann raised his glass and drank alone, smacking his lips at the taste. “When I left yesterday I asked myself about the note you sent warning of the assassination attempt on General Eisenhower. How would you know about it unless you somehow were party to the assassin’s plans? Yet you sent a warning. I’m not sure why. Perhaps you were concerned that your precious Captain Walker might get in the way? Unless, of course, he was in on it himself. Turns out he was quite the hero of the hour. I understand you two spent some time together that afternoon.”
“Carl, I don’t know what you are suggesting —”
“Come off it, Eva. I know what you are.” The colonel began to pace the room and Eva saw that he was thinking out loud, solving the mystery like some detective at the end of a novel. “Not that I really believe Ty Walker was involved. Ike’s staff worships him, you know. They’re all a strait-laced bunch — duty calls and all that — which is why Ike can’t stand the OSS. What we do is too freewheeling for Ike. As for your friend Ty, he nearly got his head bashed in single-handedly chasing the assassin. Very brave — I’ll give him that — but stupid.”