"You want me to go with you, Jim?"

"No. Thank you, but no."

"What do you have to do tonight at Kloster Grnau?" Dunwiddie asked.

"There's a problem with one of the Storchs. I promised Schrder I'd have a look at it."

"Tonight?"

"I promised him yesterday."

That's all bulls.h.i.t. Schrder didn't say anything about a problem with a Storch.

What I want to do is have a little time to think, and I won't have it if I stay in Pullach, and I don't want to spend the night in the Vier Jahreszeiten.

But I didn't have to think about coming up with an excuse to go to Kloster Grnau. The excuse-the story, the bulls.h.i.t, the lie-leapt to my lips.

Why am I surprised?

Everybody in this surreal world I'm now living in lies so often about everything, and I'm so used to that it never even occurred to me to tell the simple truth that I need some time to think.

[FIVE].

Kloster Grnau Schollbrunn, Bavaria American Zone of Occupation, Germany 0015 30 December 1945 The conclusion Cronley reached after thinking all the way to Kloster Grnau was that not only would he be way over his head when he became chief, DCI-Europe, but that Admiral Souers d.a.m.ned well knew it.

So why isn't there some grizzled full-bird colonel available to do what I'm clearly unqualified to do?

The non-availability of such a grizzled full-bird colonel-and Lieutenant Colonel Maxwell T. "Polo" Ashton would not qualify as even a grizzled lieutenant colonel even if he showed up here, which, considering his broken leg and other infirmities, I now think seems highly unlikely-was not a satisfactory answer to the question.

So what to do?

Face it that Gehlen has taken over Operation Ost.

Not for any political reasons, but because nature abhors a vacuum.

So how do I handle that?

Sit there with my ears open and my mouth shut?

It's already obvious that he and ol' Ludwig are only telling me what they think I can be trusted to know.

Not one word about Mata Hari, the super Mossad spy, until tonight.

A/K/A Rachel.

And didn't Fat Freddy pick up on that?

Does he suspect anything? Fat Freddy is pretty d.a.m.ned smart.

So what do I do about Gehlen not telling me what I should be told?

"See here, General, you and ol' Ludwig are going to have to tell me everything."

To which he would say, "Absolutely," and tell me not one G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing he doesn't think I should know.

So what should I do?

Admit you don't have a f.u.c.king clue what to do, and place your faith in the truism that G.o.d takes care of fools and drunks and you fully qualify as both.

When he drove the Kapitn past the second barrier fence, Cronley saw that floodlights were on in the tent hangar built for the Storchs.

Maybe something is wrong with one of them. Truth being stranger than fiction.

He drove to the hangar.

Kurt Schrder was working on the vertical stabilizer a.s.sembly of one of them. And apparently being a.s.sisted by Lieutenant Max-whose name Cronley was wholly unsure he could ever p.r.o.nounce.

Schrder seemed surprised to see him. Maksymilian Ostrowski looked as if he had been caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"We've got a frayed cable, not serious, but I thought I'd replace it," Schrder said.

"And drafted Lieutenant Max to help you?"

"I hope that's all right, sir," Ostrowski said.

"Fine with me, if it's okay with Kurt."

Cronley's half-formed wild idea about the Pole popped back into his mind.

Where the h.e.l.l did that come from?

And now that it's back and I'm entirely sober, I can see it's really off the wall.

Or is it?

Why the h.e.l.l not?

Who's going to tell me no?

None of us are supposed to be flying the Storchs, so what's the difference?

"Tell me, Max," Cronley said, "what's the name of your guy who served with the Free French?"

"Jaworski, Pawell Jaworski, sir."

"Could Pawell Jaworski take over the guard detachment?"

Ostrowski thought it over for a long moment.

"Yes, sir. I'm sure he could."

"Okay. On your way to bed, wake him up and tell him that as of 0600 tomorrow, that's what he'll be doing,"

"Yes, sir," Ostrowski said. "Captain, may I ask what this is about?"

"Oh, I guess I didn't get into that, did I?"

"No, sir, you did not."

"Presuming, of course, that Kurt can get that vertical stabilizer a.s.sembly back together and working, what he's going to do at 0600 is start checking you out on the Storch."

"Checking me out?"

"They didn't use that term in the Free Polish Air Force?"

"Yes, sir. I know what it means."

"Try not to bend my airplane, Max. I've grown rather fond of it."

Cronley turned and walked out of the tent hangar.

That was probably a stupid thing to do.

Colonel Mattingly would almost certainly think so.

But since I'll be running, as of January 2, DCI-Europe, I don't have to worry about what that b.a.s.t.a.r.d thinks.

That's my plan for the future.

Do whatever the h.e.l.l I think will be good for Operation Ost, and keep doing it until somebody hands me my a.s.s on a shovel.

Abraham Lincoln Tedworth, his sleeves now adorned with the first sergeant's chevrons to which he had been ent.i.tled since 1700 the previous day, was waiting for him when he walked into the bar.

"This came in about ten minutes ago, Captain."

He handed Cronley a SIGABA printout.

"Top, I just relieved Lieutenant Max as commander of the Polish Guard," Cronley announced.

"With all respect, sir, that was a dumb move."

That's what they call loyalty downward.

"I deeply appreciate your unfailing confidence in my command decisions, First Sergeant."

"Well, you better reconsider that one. Max is a d.a.m.ned good man."

"That's why I am transferring him to the Operation Ost Air Force. I told Schrder to check him out in a Storch."

Tedworth thought that over for a minute, and then announced, "Now that, sir, is a fine command decision."

"I'm glad you approve, First Sergeant," Cronley said, and then read the SIGABA printout: PRIORITY.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN.

FROM POLO.

VIA VINT HILL TANGO NET.

2210 GREENWICH 30 DECEMBER 1945.

TO ALTARBOY.

UNDERSIGNED WILL ARRIVE RHINE-MAIN MATS FLIGHT 343 ETA 0900 2 JANUARY 1946. USUAL HONORS WILL NOT BE REQUIRED. A SMALL BRa.s.s BAND WILL SUFFICE.

POLO.

END.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

IV.

[ONE].

Arriving Pa.s.senger Terminal Rhine-Main USAF Base Frankfurt am Main American Zone, Occupied Germany 0915 2 January 1946 Cronley watched through the windows of the terminal building as the pa.s.sengers debarked from the Military Air Transport Service Douglas C-54 "Skymaster," which had just flown-via Gander, Newfoundland, and Prestwick, Scotland-from Washington.