Hessinger hoisted the skirt of his tunic again and said, "They also work under an Ike jacket, Colonel."

Schultz took a good look, and then asked, "Who would I have to kill to get one of them?"

Hessinger didn't say anything, but he looked at Dunwiddie.

Cronley laughed.

"I have enough for everybody," Hessinger said. "I thought we would need more than one, so I had the extras made for us."

Cronley laughed again and then asked, "Freddy, how long have you been carrying a .45 in that Secret Service holster?"

"Ever since Tedworth caught the Russian," Hessinger said. "The first Russian. I thought the NKGB might try to kidnap one of us, and then try to make a swap. You didn't think about that?"

No, G.o.ddammit, I didn't.

One more entry in the stupid column.

Cronley saw El Jefe scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Ashton.

What the h.e.l.l is that?

"Freddy," Cronley asked, "you just said 'we' and 'for us.' How strongly do you feel about that?"

"When I was growing up, my father told me you couldn't choose your parents, but you should choose your a.s.sociates. Then I was drafted and found out you can't choose either," Hessinger said. "Why do I think there is a question behind that question?"

"Because you're not nearly as dumb as you look?" Dunwiddie asked.

"Now that you're an officer, you're not supposed to insult junior enlisted men," Hessinger said. "Isn't that right, Captain Cronley?"

"Absolutely. That's two apologies you owe Fat Freddy, Captain Dunwiddie."

"And one, I would say, Captain Cronley, that you owe the sergeant," Ashton said.

"Excuse me, Colonel," Hessinger said. "We do this all the time. What it is is that they're jealous of my education."

"Did I mention that Hessinger is a Harvard graduate, Colonel?" Cronley asked.

"I'll try not to hold that against you, Sergeant Hessinger," Ashton said. "We all have a cross to bear, and your Harvard diploma must be a very heavy one."

There were chuckles all around. Even Hessinger smiled.

"Why did you ask me what you asked before?" he asked.

"Freddy, what if I told you Colonel Ashton believes, and so do Tiny and me, that if Operation Ost blows up in our face, everybody from Admiral Souers on down is going to throw us to the wolves?"

"That surprises you? In Russian literature there are many vignettes of the n.o.bility throwing peasants out of troikas to save themselves from the wolves. Which is of course the etymological source of that expression."

"What's a troika?" El Jefe asked.

"A horse-drawn sleigh," Dunwiddie furnished.

"Three horses, side by side," Hessinger further amplified, using his hands to demonstrate.

"If we can turn from this fascinating lecture on Russian customs to the subject at hand, stemming the tide of the Red Menace?" Cronley asked. "Freddy, we've decided that if getting tossed from this three-horse buggy is the price that we have to pay for trying to protect Operation Ost and the President, okay, we'll take our lumps."

Hessinger was now paying close attention.

"And, further, we have decided that if we get tossed from the buggy, it will be because we f.u.c.ked up somehow, not because we blindly followed the friendly suggestions of anybody-Mattingly, Greene, or even the admiral-on how to do the job.

"And, we have concluded that despite our best efforts, the odds are we're going to wind up over our a.s.ses in the snow with the wolves gnawing on our b.a.l.l.s. Both the colonel and I have decided, with Captain Dunwiddie concurring, that we have to ask you whether or not you wish to join the lunatics or whether you should return to the bona fide CIC and chase n.a.z.is."

"In other words, Tubby," El Jefe said, "there's no reason you should get your a.s.s burned because these two nuts think they're Alan Ladd and Errol Flynn saving the world for Veronica Lake and Mom's apple pie. You want to take my advice, get as far away from this as soon as you can."

"Thank you just the same," Hessinger said, "but I don't want your advice. What I do want is for you, Jim, to tell me what I have done to make you think you had to ask me that question."

"What does that mean, Tubby?" El Jefe asked. "Are you in, or are you out?"

"Don't call me Tubby."

"Why not? It fits."

"They can call me 'Fat Freddy' or whatever they want. They're my friends. You're not. You can either call me 'Sergeant Hessinger' or 'Mr. Hessinger.' Got it, Popeye the Sailor Man?"

"Enlisted men aren't supposed to talk to officers like that, Freddy," Dunwiddie said.

"When I'm in my CIC suit," Hessinger said, pointing to the blue triangles on his lapels, "n.o.body's supposed to know I'm an enlisted man."

"Mr. Hessinger's got you, Captain Dunwiddie," Cronley said, and added, "Yet again."

"May I infer, Mr. Hessinger, that you wish to remain allied with us, despite the risks doing so entails?" Ashton asked.

"Yes, sir. He didn't have to ask me that."

"No offense intended, Freddy," Cronley said.

"Offense taken, thank you very much," Hessinger said.

"At this point, I would like to introduce an intelligence a.n.a.lysis I received a short time ago," Ashton said. "Would you read this aloud, Captain Dunwiddie?"

Ashton handed Dunwiddie a small sheet of paper.

That's what El Jefe handed him.

"'If Jim wants to let him go, overrule him. Trust me. We need this guy,'" Dunwiddie read.

Hessinger looked at El Jefe for a long moment, and then said, "Thank you, Lieutenant Schultz."

"Just the honest judgment of an old chief petty officer, Mr. Hessinger."

"You can call me Fat Freddy, if you like."

"Thank you. Fat Freddy, if you ever call me 'Popeye the Sailor Man' again, I will tear off one of your legs and shove it up your a.s.s."

"Moving right along," Ashton said, "what I think we should do now is go to Munich and meet with General Gehlen."

"Stopping along the way wherever Fred has stashed the other five .45 holsters he said he has," El Jefe said. "I want one."

"They're in the Kapitn," Hessinger said. "I thought you would need them, so I brought them out here with me."

[FOUR].

Quarters of the U.S. Military Government Liaison Officer The South German Industrial Development Organization Compound Pullach, Bavaria The American Zone of Occupied Germany 1735 2 January 1946 Ashton had trouble getting off the couch, which had been bolted to the floor of the ambulance, and then had more trouble getting out of the ambulance and onto his crutches. The ground behind the ambulance's doors was covered with frozen snow ruts. Ashton looked to be in great danger of falling, but bluntly refused Schultz's and Dunwiddie's offer of "a ride": "When I need help, I'll ask for it."

So the others followed him very slowly as he hobbled on his crutches through the snow from the curb to the small, tile-roofed building.

"Who is this guy?" Schultz demanded of Cronley, "and what's he got to do with us?"

"What guy?"

"The military government liaison officer."

Cronley motioned for El Jefe to come close, and then whispered in his ear, "We really can't afford this getting out, Popeye, it's something we really don't want Joe Stalin to find out. It's me. One more brilliant move to deceive and confuse our enemy."

"Wisea.s.s."

Hessinger plodded through the snow and opened the door for Ashton. Then he held it for Cronley, Schultz, and Dunwiddie.

Former Major General Gehlen and former Colonel Mannberg were in the living room of the building, sitting in armchairs reading the Stars and Stripes. Both rose when they saw Ashton come in.

Ashton made his way to Mannberg and awkwardly held out his hand to him.

"General Gehlen, I am Lieutenant Colonel Ashton."

"I'm Reinhard Gehlen," Gehlen said. "This is Ludwig Mannberg, my deputy."

Cronley thought: I would have made the same mistake. Good ol' Ludwig looks like what Hollywood movies have taught us senior German officers look like. And the general looks like a not-very-successful black marketeer.

But that does it. Gehlen gets some decent clothes.

"Well, I hope that's not a harbinger of future confusion," Ashton said.

"Sometimes, Colonel, confusion in our profession is useful, wouldn't you agree?" Gehlen asked.

"Max," Cronley ordered, "sit down before you fall down."

"I'm sure you've noticed, General, that every once in a great while Captain Cronley does have a good idea."

He hobbled to an empty armchair and collapsed into it.

"This is Lieutenant Schultz," Cronley said.

"El Jefe?" Mannberg asked.

Schultz nodded.

"How did you know they call me that?" he asked, on the edge of unpleasantly.

"Otto Niedermeyer is one of your admirers," Mannberg said in Spanish. "He warned me not to arm-wrestle with you."

"Did he tell you I also cheat at chess?" El Jefe asked in Spanish.

"Not in so many words," Mannberg said in German.

"In English, Colonel," El Jefe said, in English, "we have a saying-'It takes one to know one.'"

Mannberg laughed.

Very clever, Cronley thought. They haven't been together sixty seconds, and already they know how well the other speaks German, Spanish, and English. All of these guys are far more clever than I am.

"Ludwig," Cronley said, "see if you can guess where Colonel Ashton got his Spanish. Say something in Spanish, Max."

"I have need of the bathroom. Where is it?" Ashton said in Spanish.

"Interesting accent," Mannberg said. "Not pure castellano, but close. Is that the Argentine version?"

El Jefe went to Ashton and pulled him out of the armchair.

"Through that door," Cronley said. "First door to the right."

"Actually, it's Cuban," Ashton said, and then switched to English. "If you will hand me my G.o.dd.a.m.n crutches, I can handle it from here. But while I'm communing with nature, see if Captain Cronley has any medicine."

"What kind of medicine?" Cronley asked, with concern in his voice.

"Almost anything that comes out of a bottle reading 'Distilled in Scotland' will do," Ashton said, as he began to lurch across the room.

When he was out of earshot, Gehlen said, "Interesting man. I like his sense of humor."

"Don't be too quick to judge him by that," Cronley said. "He's very good at what he does."

As the words came out of his mouth, Cronley thought, What am I doing? Warning Gehlen about the man he's now working for? That's absolutely a.s.s-backwards!