"How soon can you be at Eschborn?"

"Eschborn?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Cronley, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer. How soon can you be at Eschborn?"

"Well, it's about a three-hour flight, give or take. And I don't know when daybreak is . . ."

"You can be there sometime around ten hundred hours," Dunwiddie furnished softly. "Daybreak here is about oh-six-thirty. Plus three hours. Around ten hundred, maybe a little before."

That means Tiny heard what Mattingly was saying. Which means Orlovsky heard what Mattingly was saying. s.h.i.t!

"Not until ten hundred hours?" Mattingly asked.

Which means he heard Tiny.

"Somewhere around ten hundred, yes, sir."

"Why can't you leave right now?"

"Colonel, I have to be able to see the runway to take off."

"Why can't you shine jeep or truck headlights on the runway?"

"Because I don't want to kill myself, sir. Subst.i.tuting headlights for landing lights is an emergency procedure. Is this some kind of an emergency?"

"Spare me your smart-a.s.s lip, Cronley."

"Yes, sir."

"On that subject, when you get here, you will speak only when spoken to. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want the subject of your interrogation to come up. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. Colonel, what's going on at Eschborn?"

"I just told you, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, that you are to speak only when spoken to. That means you don't ask questions. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get to Eschborn ASAP."

"Yes, sir."

A change in the buzz on the line told Cronley that Mattingly had broken the connection.

Cronley handed the phone to Dunwiddie, then looked at Orlovsky.

"That was my colonel, Konstantin. He calls every so often to tell me how good a job I'm doing."

"I've had colonels like that," Orlovsky said. "I suppose this Argentina fantasy was his idea?"

"No. It's my idea. He doesn't know about it, and I'm not going to tell him."

"In other words, it wasn't a valid offer?"

"The offer is valid."

"Without your colonel's knowledge or permission?"

"Yeah. Without his knowledge or permission."

"Why should I believe that?"

"Because it's the only hope you have to do something for your family."

Cronley turned to Sergeant Lewis and ordered, "Lewis, uncuff the major. Get him something to eat, and when he's finished take him back to his cell."

[ SIX ].

U.S. Army Airfield H-7 Eschborn, Hesse American Zone of Occupation, Germany 0955 1 November 1945 Cronley parked the Storch on the gra.s.s across the tarmac from Base Operations and got out. He chocked the wheels and walked across the tarmac to see about getting the Storch fueled.

Aside from getting fuel, he didn't know what to do. Mattingly's Horch was nowhere in sight, and he didn't know if he was expected to go to the Schlosshotel on his own, or just wait for whatever was to happen in Base Ops.

The question was answered the moment he walked through the Base Ops door. There were half a dozen officers and non-coms in the foyer.

And a woman. She advanced on him.

"Captain Cronley, I'm Rachel Schumann, Colonel Schumann's wife. Do you remember me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave him her hand and he shook it.

"General Greene asked me to pick you up and take you out to the Schlosshotel for the meeting."

"That's very kind."

"My car is right outside," Rachel said, quickly reclaiming her hand.

"Mrs. Schumann, I have to see about getting my tanks topped off." He pointed to the Flight Planning/Weather room. "It'll take me just a minute."

"I'll wait in the car. It's a Chrysler Town and Country."

"It'll take me just a minute," Cronley repeated, and then watched her as she walked out of the building.

What the h.e.l.l is going on?

- Cronley slid onto the front seat of the wooden-sided station wagon, closed the door, and turned to Rachel. She had the engine running, and started off.

Well, I guess I don't get a welcoming kiss. Or a fond little grope.

What did you expect?

"We're going to have to stop meeting this way," Cronley said. "People will start to talk."

She chuckled.

"Rachel, what the h.e.l.l is going on?"

"I don't know. Or I don't know much."

"Tell me what you do know."

She nodded. "Tony got in very late last night from Ka.s.sel. This morning-he was going into work late, after lunch-we were having breakfast when General Greene called. He told Tony to come out to the Schlosshotel right then. Tony's driver had been told to pick him up for work at thirteen hundred, so with no staff car Tony asked me to run him to the hotel. When I was dropping him off, General Greene said he needed a favor. You were flying into Eschborn and needed a ride. So here I am."

"What's going on at the hotel?"

"All I know is that General Greene called the meeting. Putting you and Tony at the meeting . . ."

"And Mattingly?"

"I saw that enormous car of his in the parking lot . . ."

"His Horch?"

"Is that what it is? It suggests he's part of the meeting. Putting you and my husband and Colonel Mattingly at the meeting makes me think it has to do with what you're doing at wherever you are in Bavaria."

"Kloster Grnau."

"But that's just a guess."

"Good guess. Did anyone ever tell you you have very s.e.xy knees?"

"Eyes off my knees and hands in your lap," Rachel said, pulling down the hem of her skirt.

They were now on the rather narrow, curving two-lane road leading to the Schlosshotel from the airstrip.

"You haven't told me what you know about this meeting," Rachel said.

"Mattingly called me at five this morning. He was more than a little p.i.s.sed when he learned how long it was going to take me to get up here. That's all I know. Except that when I get here, I'm not to speak unless spoken to, and I am forbidden to ask questions."

There suddenly came from behind the sound of a siren.

Sirens, plural, Cronley thought as he turned to look behind the Chrysler.

He saw two M-8 armored cars-sort of light tanks, with wheels rather than tracks-coming up the road.

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

Rachel steered the car to the side of the road and stopped.

"I think it's golf time," she said.

"What?"

The M-8s were almost to them. Cronley saw they had chrome sirens and flashing red lights mounted on them. The men wore white Military Police accoutrements and chrome-plated steel helmets. He also saw they weren't going as fast as he had thought.

And there's n.o.body on the road ahead of them, so what's with the sirens?

The first M-8 rumbled past them. The MPs in it looked down at them.

Arrogantly, Cronley thought. More than suspiciously, but that, too.

Then the second M-8 rumbled past.

Cronley saw that its bulk had concealed what was behind it: an olive drab Packard Clipper. A small American flag was mounted on the right fender, and on the left was mounted a red flag with five stars in a circle.

It was impossible to look into the Packard as it pa.s.sed. The windows were darkened.

"That has to be Eisenhower," Cronley said.

"G.o.d, you're clever," Rachel said, gently mocking him. Then she added, as a third M-8 pa.s.sed them, bringing up the tail of the little convoy, "My love, even generals have to play golf."

"He's headed to the Schlosshotel to play golf?"

"Either that, or he's going to your meeting. I'd bet on the golf."

"And he needs that armored column to get to the golf course?"

"Ike didn't think he needed it either. He hates it. Actually, he said it was preposterous. But he finally deferred to the professional judgment of General Greene."

"I don't understand."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sometimes."

"Those MPs are really CIC agents."