"Okay," Cronley replied. "How's things in Marburg?"

"About the same. What is this place?"

"If there is no objection from anyone, I'll ask the questions," Dunwiddie said.

The CIC agent displayed his credentials.

"No offense, Captain," Special Agent Hammersmith said, "but this is a CIC matter. I'll handle it from here."

Dunwiddie pulled his own CIC credentials from his jacket and displayed them.

"As I was saying, I'll ask the questions," Dunwiddie said.

"Sorry, sir," Hammersmith said. "I didn't know."

"You've got packages for Cronley?" Dunwiddie asked. "And letters?"

"Yes, sir," Hammersmith said. He took two letter-sized envelopes from his Ike jacket and extended them to Dunwiddie.

"They're addressed to Special Agent Cronley, sir."

"Then give them to him," Dunwiddie ordered. "Packages?"

"Four, sir. They're in our car. They're addressed to Lieutenant Cronley."

"One of you go get the packages. Ostrowski, help him."

"Yes, sir," Hammersmith and Ostrowski said on top of one another. Then Hammersmith gestured to the other CIC agent to get the packages.

"Now, who sent you here?" Dunwiddie asked.

"Major Connell, who's the Twenty-second CIC's exec, sent us to General Greene's office in the Farben Building. Then Colonel Mattingly sent us here."

"Hessinger, did we get a heads-up about this?" Dunwiddie asked.

"No, sir."

Dunwiddie looked at Cronley, who had just finished reading one of the letters.

He extended it to Dunwiddie.

"When you're finished, give it to El Jefe," he said.

Robert M. Mattingly Colonel, Armor 2 January 1946 Special Agent J. D. Cronley, Jr., CIC C/O XXIIIrd CIC Detachment Munich BY HAND.

CC: Rear Admiral Sidney W. Souers Lt Col Maxwell Ashton III Dear Jim: Vis--vis the packages addressed to you at the XXIInd CIC Detachment, and which were opened and seized as contraband by agents of the Postal Section, Frankfurt Military Post Provost Marshal Criminal Investigation Division.

I have a.s.sured both Major John Connell, of the XXIInd CIC Detachment, and the FMP DCI that the cigarettes, coffee, Hershey Bars, and canned hams were being introduced into Occupied Germany in connection with your official duties. The four packages of same were released and will be delivered to you with this letter.

May I suggest that you notify General Greene, or myself, the next time you feel it necessary to directly import such materials, so that we may inform the DCI and avoid a recurrence of what happened here?

With best personal regards, I am, Sincerely, Robert M. Mattingly Robert M. Mattingly Colonel, Armor When Dunwiddie had read the first letter, he pa.s.sed it to Schultz and then looked at Cronley. Cronley was not finished with what looked like a very long handwritten letter.

It was.

F-Bar-Z Ranch

Box 21, Rural Route 3 Midland, Texas Christmas Eve 1945 Dear Jim, I really hate to burden you with this, but there is no other option.

We have - your mother has - heard from her family in Strasbourg. This came as a surprise to us, as the only time we have ever heard from them was a few years before the war when they notified us that your mother's mother - your grandmother - had pa.s.sed on.

That obviously needs an explanation, so herewith.

In early November of 1918, I was a very young (twenty-six), just promoted major. Colonel Bill Donovan sent me to Strasbourg to get the facts concerning rumors that he (and General Pershing) had heard about the Communists wanting to establish a "Soviet Government" there.

After the abdication of the German Emperor, Wilhelm, the Communists had done so in Munich, and were trying to do in Berlin and elsewhere.

Our little convoy (I had with me four officers and a half dozen sergeants traveling in half a dozen Army Model T Fords) arrived in Strasbourg on November sixth and found very nice accommodations in the Maison Rouge Hotel.

I immediately sent one of the officers and one of the sergeants back to Col. Donovan's HQ with the news we were in Strasbourg and prepared to carry out our orders to report daily on the situation.

I was by then already convinced I had been given the best a.s.signment of my military career. It had nothing to do with the Communists, but rather with a member of the staff of the Maison Rouge, a strikingly beautiful blond young woman who had, blushing charmingly as she did so, told me her name was Wilhelmina.

Right. I had met your mother.

She had also told me that she could not possibly have dinner, or even a cup of coffee, with me, else her father would kill her.

Nothing would dissuade her from this, but over the next few days, I managed to spend enough time with her at the front desk to conclude that she was not immune to my charm and manly good looks, and it was only her father's hate of all things American that kept her from permitting our relationship to blossom.

The Communists solved the problem for us. on November 11, 1918 - Armistice Day - they started trying to take over the city. There was resistance, of course, and a good deal of bloodshed. Citizens were ordered by the French military government to stay off the streets, and to remain where they were.

The threat was real. Two of my officers and one of my sergeants were beaten nearly to death by the Communists.

Your mother's family lived on the outskirts of town and it would have been impossible for her to even try to get home. The Maison Rouge installed her (and other employees) in rooms in the hotel.

She was there for almost two weeks, during which time our relationship had the opportunity to bloom.

Finally, on November 22, General Henri Gouraud, the French military governor, had enough of the Communists. Troops, including Moroccan Goumiers, moved into the city and restored order. Brutally.

The next morning, I loaded your mother into a Model T and drove her home. I had the nave hope that her father would be grateful that I had protected his daughter during the trouble and would be at least amenable to my taking her to dinner, if not becoming her suitor.

Instead, when he saw us pull up outside your mother's home, he erupted from the house and began to berate her for bringing shame on the family. I managed to keep my mouth shut during this, but when she indignantly denied - with every right to do so - that anything improper had happened between us, this served only to further enrage him.

I would say he slapped her, but the word is inadequate to describe the blow he delivered, which knocked her off her feet. At this point, I lost control and took him on. He wound up on the ground with a b.l.o.o.d.y nose and some lost teeth.

I loaded your mother, who was by then hysterical, back into the Model T and returned to the Maison Rouge.

When we got there, we found Colonel Donovan and a company of infantry. They had come to rescue us from the Communists. The French had already done that, of course.

When I explained my personal problems to Donovan, he said there was one sure way to convince your mother's father that my intentions were honorable, and that was to marry her.

To my delight and surprise, your mother agreed. We drove that same morning to Paris, armed with two letters from Donovan, one to the American amba.s.sador, the other to the manager of the Hotel Intercontinental on rue de Castiglione.

The amba.s.sador married us late that afternoon, and issued your mother an American pa.s.sport. We spent the night in the Intercontinental and then drove back to Strasbourg as man and wife.

There was a black wreath on the door of your mother's house when we got there. Her father had suffered a fatal heart attack during the night.

Your mother's mother and other relatives attributed this to the thrashing I'd given him. While obviously there was a connection, I have to point out that your mother told me he had had three previous heart attacks.

Your mother was told she would not be welcome at the funeral services.

I managed to get myself a.s.signed to the Army of Occupation, and your mother and I moved to Baden-Baden, where I served as liaison officer to the French authorities.

We were there nearly six months, during which she made numerous attempts to open a dialogue with her family, all of which they rejected.

Then, on a beautiful day in June, we boarded the Mauretania at Le Havre. Eleven days later, we were in New York, a week after that I was relieved from active duty, and four days after that we got off the Texas & Pacific RR "Plains Flyer" in Midland.

There was no more communication between your mother and her family until May (June?) of 1938, when she received a letter (since they had our address, it was proof they had received your mother's letters) from a Frau Ingebord Stauffer, who identified herself as the wife of Luther Stauffer, and he (Luther) as the son of Hans-Karl Stauffer, your mother's brother.

That would make Luther your first cousin. In this letter, Frau Stauffer told your mother that her mother - your grandmother - had died of complications following surgery.

When your mother replied to this letter, there was no reply.

We next heard from Frau Stauffer the day of Marjie's funeral. That night, your mother told me that she had received a letter begging for help for her literally starving family. I asked to see it, and she replied, "I tore it up. We have enough of our own sad stories around here."

That was good enough for me, and I didn't press her.

A week or so later, however, she asked me if I had the address from the 1938 letter, that she had thought things over and decided she could not turn her back on your Cousin Luther, his wife and children.

I was surprised, until I thought it over, that she didn't remember the address, Hachelweg 675, as it was that of her home where I had the run-in with your grandfather. Your mother said she intended to send a "small package or two" to your Cousin Luther's family.

The next development came when the postmaster told her they could neither guarantee nor insure packages to Strasbourg as they seemed to disappear in the French postal system.

Your mother then asked me if she "dared" to ask you to help. I told her you would be happy to do anything for her that was within your power.

Now, between us, man-to-man.

What this woman has asked for is cigarettes, coffee, chocolate, and canned ham. According to the Dallas Morning News, these things are the real currency in Germany these days, as they were after the First World War.

There are four large packages of same en route to you.

This woman also asked for dollars. I told your mother not to send money, as that would be illegal and certainly get you in trouble.

If you can deliver the packages to this woman without getting yourself in trouble, please do so.

Knowing these people as I do, however, I suspect that if this pull on the teat of your mother's incredible kindness is successful, it will not be their last attempt to get as much as they can from her.

Do whatever you think is necessary to keep them from starving, and let me know what that costs. But don't let them make a fool of you, me, or - most important - your mother.

As I wrote this, I realized that while I have always been proud of you, knowing that I could rely on your mature judgment to deal with this made me even more proud to be your father.

Love, Dad Cronley was still reading the long letter when Ostrowski and the CIC agent came back with two heavy packages and announced there were two more. Dunwiddie waited until they had returned with these before reaching for the letter Cronley, finally finished reading it, was now holding thoughtfully.

"It's personal," Cronley said. "From my father."

"Sorry," Dunwiddie said.

Cronley changed his mind. He handed Dunwiddie the letter, and then went to one of the boxes-all of which had white tape with "Evidence" printed on it stuck all over them-and, using a knife, opened it.

He pulled out an enormous canned ham.

"Anyone for a ham sandwich?" he asked.

"Does that about conclude your business here?" Dunwiddie asked Special Agent Hammersmith.

"Sir, could I get a receipt?" Hammersmith asked.

"Hessinger, type up a receipt for the special agent," Dunwiddie ordered. "Get his name. 'I acknowledge receipt from Special Agent . . .'"

"Hammersmith," Hammersmith furnished.

"'. . . of one official letter, one personal letter, and four cartons, contents unknown.' For Captain Cronley's signature."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain Cronley?" Hammersmith asked.

Dunwiddie did not respond to the question, instead saying, "Special Agent Hessinger can arrange rooms for the night for you, if you'd like, in the Vier Jahreszeiten hotel in Munich."

"I'd appreciate that," Hammersmith said, adding, "Captain, can I ask what's going on around here?"

"No, you can't," Dunwiddie said simply.

Hessinger came back into the sitting room with the announcement that the two CIC agents had gone.

"Jim, you knew those guys when you first came to Germany, right?" El Jefe asked.

Cronley nodded.

"In Marburg," he said. "And the first thing they're going to do when they get back there is tell Major Connell-"