"That's comforting," Max said.

"The Likharevs don't have DCI credentials," Cronley said.

"Army hospitals treat indigenous personnel requiring emergency medical attention," Wallace said.

"What's 'indigenous' mean?" Cronley asked.

"Native. German."

"The Likharevs are Russian," Cronley said.

"So we tell the aid station they're German," Wallace said impatiently.

"What if one or more of them are dead?" Cronley asked. "What do we do with the bodies?"

Wallace considered the question.

"More important, what do we tell Colonel Likharev?" Cronley asked.

"Whatever we tell him, he's not going to believe," Wallace said.

"We fly the bodies to Kloster Grnau," Max said. "Where we put them in caskets and bury them with the full rites of the Russian Orthodox Church. The ceremony, and the bodies in the caskets, are photographed. Photographs to be shown to Colonel Likharev."

"The nearest field hospital is the Fifty-seventh, in Giessen," Tiny reported. "There is an airstrip."

"Photographs to be taken to Argentina by Captain Dunwiddie," Wallace said.

"If Mrs. Likharev, or the oldest boy, survives, Dunwiddie takes her, or him, or both and the photographs of the funeral, to Argentina," Cronley said.

"Tiny," Wallace said, "have Colonel Wilson arrange for a Signal Corps photographer to be here from the moment the Storchs take off. When he shows up, put the fear of G.o.d in him about running his mouth."

"Yes, sir."

"Our story to Colonel Likharev," Cronley said, straight-faced, "would have more credibility if one of us-Max, Kurt, or me-got blown away and Tiny could show the colonel a dozen shots of our b.l.o.o.d.y, bullet-ridden corpses."

"You're insane, Cronley," Wallace said, but he was smiling.

Ostrowski, shaking his head, but also smiling, gave Cronley the finger.

Kurt Schrder's face showed he neither understood nor appreciated the humor.

"Moving right along," Wallace said. "Best scenario, everybody is standing intact on the hangar floor. Objective, to get them to Argentina. Question: How do we do that?"

"Simple answer. Load them in either the Twin Beech or the Gooney Bird, fly them to Rhine-Main, and load them aboard a South American Airways Constellation bound for Buenos Aires," Cronley said.

"Now let's break that down," Wallace said. "What are the problems there?"

"Well, we don't know when there will be an SAA airplane at Rhine-Main," Cronley said.

"Tiny, maybe-even probably-Hessinger has the SAA schedule. Find out."

"Yes, sir."

"Medium-bad scenario," Wallace went on. "The next SAA flight is not for three days."

"Can we fly them into Eschborn-and we can, in either airplane, I've seen Gooney Birds in there-and stash them at that hotel for the bra.s.s-the Schlosshotel Kronberg in Taunus?"

"Yeah," Wallace said.

"Even if one or more of them is 'walking wounded'?" Cronley asked.

"And what if Mrs. Likharev is on the edge of hysteria?" Ostrowski asked.

"And that, the walking wounded, and the possibility of Mother being hysterical, raises the question of how do we care for them while they're en route to either Rhine-Main or Eschborn?" Wallace asked.

"Get a nurse from the aid station here when we get the ambulances," Cronley said. "No. Get a nurse and a doctor."

"Why both?"

"Couple of reasons. The nurse, because the presence of a woman is likely to be comforting to Mrs. Likharev if she is hysterical, or looks like she's about to be, and the doctor to sedate her, or the kids, if that has to be done."

"I don't like the idea of taking a doctor-and that's presuming we can get one-and a nurse to either Rhine-Main or Eschborn," Wallace said.

No one said anything for a long moment.

"What about having Claudette Colbert go to Frankfurt, or Eschborn?" Dunwiddie asked. "Have her in either place when our plane gets there?"

"Permit me a suggestion," Ludwig Mannberg said. "Have both a doctor and a nurse in the hangar when the Storchs return, to take care of every contingency. If any of them are seriously injured, he could determine whether it would be safe to take them to the hospital in Giessen, or even to the Army hospital in Frankfurt . . . what is it?"

"The Ninety-seventh General Hospital," Dunwiddie furnished.

"Ideally, the latter," Mannberg went on. "Instead of the Schlosshotel Kronberg. I suggest that if any of the Likharevs require medical attention, the place to do that would be in Frankfurt, where the good offices of Generals Smith and Greene could be enlisted to discourage the curious.

"If necessary, the doctor or the nurse or both could go on the airplane with the Likharevs. If their services were not required, they wouldn't go. I agree with Cronley that the presence of a woman would be a calming influence on Mrs. Likharev, and suggest that Fraulein Colbert could fill that role."

"I agree with everything he just said," Cronley said.

"How could you not?" Wallace asked sarcastically. "Okay, we're in agreement that Brunhilde can make a contribution, right?"

Wallace looked around the table. Everybody nodded.

"My take on that is, if so, why not get her up here right now? How would we do that?"

"Going down that road," Cronley began, "we get Hotshot Billy to fly her up here."

[FOUR].

Hangar Two U.S. Air Force Base, Fritzlar, Hesse American Zone of Occupation, Germany 1450 19 January 1946 They went down that road, and many others, without interruption-not even to send someone to the PX snack bar for the hot dogs, hamburgers, c.o.kes, and potato chips Major Wallace had promised-until Sergeant Pete Fortin came into the room.

This stopped their discussion, which was then on how to get photographs of Mrs. Likharev and her sons to former Major Konrad Bischoff in Munich so they could be affixed to the Vatican pa.s.sports they would need to leave the American Zone of Occupied Germany.

"What is it, Sergeant?" Major Wallace demanded, not very pleasantly.

"Two things, sir. Our next contact is at fifteen hundred . . ."

Wallace looked at his watch and shook his head in what was almost certainly disbelief that it was already that late.

". . . and Sergeant Mitch.e.l.l says there's something funny going on at the Constab that maybe you want to have a look at it."

"Something funny?" Wallace asked. "Okay. We'll pick this up again just as soon as I finish taking a leak, seeing what's amusing Sergeant Mitch.e.l.l, and having our chat with Seven-K."

He stood up and went directly to the restroom. There he stood in front of one of the two urinals. Captain Dunwiddie shouldered Captain Cronley out of the way and a.s.sumed a position in front of the adjacent urinal. Former Colonel Mannberg got in line behind Major Wallace, and Kurt Schrder got in line behind him as Max Ostrowski got behind Captain Cronley.

Minutes later, after climbing the stairs, they filed into the radio room in just about that order.

Cronley looked at where Dunwiddie was pointing, out one of the huge plate-gla.s.s windows. He saw what looked like three troops of Constabulary troopers lining up on a gra.s.sy area half covered with snow in front of the 11th Constabulary Regiment headquarters.

"Okay, I give up," Cronley said. "What's going on?"

"Beats me," Dunwiddie admitted. "It's too early for that to be a retreat formation."

"Jesus, there's even a band," Cronley said.

"Regiments don't have bands," Dunwiddie said.

"This one does," Cronley argued.

"Gentlemen, if you're going to be in the intelligence business, you're really going to have to remember to always look over your shoulder," Major Wallace said, and pointed out the plate-gla.s.s window to their immediate rear.

The window gave a panoramic view for miles over the countryside, and in particular of the road down a valley and ending at the air base.

And down it was coming a lengthy parade of vehicles. First came a dozen motorcycles, with police-type flashing lights, ridden side by side. Then a half-dozen M-8 armored cars, in line, and also equipped with flashing police-type lights.

The first thing Cronley thought was, having seen an almost identical parade up the road from Eschborn to the Schlosshotel Kronberg, that one carrying the supreme commander, Allied Powers Europe, to a golf game, What the h.e.l.l is Eisenhower doing in Fritzlar?

Then he saw the car following the M-8s. Eisenhower had a 1942 Packard Clipper as a staff car. What was in line here was a 1939 Cadillac. Not any '39 Cadillac. A famous one, the one General George S. Patton had been riding in when he had his fatal accident.

"You will recall, I'm sure, Captain Cronley," Major Wallace said, "that Colonel Wilson said that he would speak to General White about some sort of diversion?"

Both of their heads snapped from the open window to the side of the room, where Sergeant Fortin was furiously pounding his typewriter keyboard.

"Seven-K," Wallace said. "Right on time."

Fortin ripped the sheet of paper in the typewriter from it and handed it to Mitch.e.l.l.

"Jesus Christ!" Mitch.e.l.l said when he read it.

"Do I acknowledge?" Fortin asked.

"You're sure this is all? You didn't miss anything?"

"That's it."

"What does it say?"

"One Six Zero Zero, Oboe Nan Easy How Oboe Uncle Roger. Repeat One Six Zero Zero, Oboe Nan Easy How."

"Sixteen hundred. One hour." Wallace made the translation.

"Right now?" Cronley asked incredulously. "Today?"

"They sent it twice, Captain," Fortin said.

"And added One Hour, to make sure we understood she meant today," Wallace said.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" Cronley said.

"Do I acknowledge?" Fortin asked again.

"Jim, can you do it?" Wallace asked. "Can you be at Able Seven in an hour? In fifty-eight minutes?"

Cronley thought it over.

"G.o.d willing, and if the creek don't rise," he said.

"Acknowledge receipt, Sergeant Fortin," Wallace ordered.

"Nothing's in place," Cronley said. "No ambulances, no doctor, no nothing."

"Nothing at Able Seven to give us the winds on the ground," Ostrowski said.

"I know," Wallace said.

"Yeah," Cronley said.

"Seven-K wouldn't order this unless she thought she had to," Oberst Mannberg said.

"They just sent Oboe Oboe," Sergeant Fortin said. "They're off."

"Which means we can't ask her to reschedule," Wallace said.