"The avgas is no problem. The cans are."

"I can get them back to you in a couple of days."

"Why not? Let me have your ID, so I can write down to whom I am loaning six jerry cans and thus placing my military career in jeopardy."

Jimmy reached into his Ike jacket for his credentials, which he always carried in the left inside pocket. The folder wasn't there.

"What the h.e.l.l?" he said.

A quick, somewhat frantic search found the credentials in the right inside pocket.

Thank G.o.d!

A CIC agent losing his credentials is a mortal sin.

Right up there, for example, with getting caught f.u.c.king a CIC colonel's wife.

Mattingly would be almost as delighted with the former as he would be with the latter.

They must have fallen out when Rachel hung my uniform up.

He handed them over.

Ten minutes later, he told the Schleissheim tower that Army Seven-Oh-Seven was rolling.

[ FOUR ].

Kloster Grnau Schollbrunn, Bavaria American Zone of Occupation, Germany 1650 4 November 1945 Army Seven-Oh-Seven taxied very slowly to the tent hangar beside the chapel and stopped. The pilot got out.

"I was getting worried you weren't going to be able to make it back," First Sergeant Chauncey L. Dunwiddie greeted Captain James D. Cronley Jr. "It's getting dark."

"I noticed. I could barely see some of the cows I chased in the fields between Munich and here. And the runway was just about invisible as I landed."

"Well, to coin a phrase, all's well that ends well." He handed him a SIGABA printout. "This came for you."

"I can't read it in this light."

"Then get in the ambulance. In the back. There's a dome light. Lights."

Cronley got in the back of the ambulance and found the dome light switch. Dunwiddie got behind the wheel.

Cronley looked at the printout: PRIORITY.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN.

FROM TEX.

VIA VINT HILL TANGO NET.

0710 GREENWICH 4 NOVEMBER 1945.

TO POLO.

INFO COPY TO VATICAN ATTENTION ALTARBOY.

1-IN DC 0500 GMT.

2-DEPART FOR MIDLAND 0800 GMT.

3-ESTIMATED DEPARTURE FOR BUENOS AIRES 1600 GMT.

4-ESTIMATED ARRIVAL BUENOS AIRES 1200 GMT 5 NOVEMBER.

5-URGENT YOU BE THERE TO MEET ME WITH BAGS PACKED FOR MONTH AWAY.

6-URGENT YOU DO WHATEVER IS REQUIRED TO HAVE THE JESUIT AVAILABLE TO ME ON ARRIVAL.

TEX.

END.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

- Cronley folded the message and put it in his pocket.

"I don't get that back?"

"I'm considering showing it to Major Orlovsky."

Cronley then handed Dunwiddie a large manila envelope.

"One good turn deserves another," he said. "This is for you."

"What is it?"

"Fat Freddy Hessinger's step-by-step instructions for the accomplishment of our n.o.ble mission."

Dunwiddie removed the sheath of paper the envelope contained, then announced, "I can't read this up here."

"I was about to suggest you come back here, where, as you pointed out, there are dome lights."

"But you decided that you would rather go to the bar and have a little something to cut the dust of the trail, and I can read it there?"

"You are a splendid NCO, First Sergeant Dunwiddie, always antic.i.p.ating the desires of your commander."

Dunwiddie started the engine and drove down the road.

"Curiosity overwhelms me. How does Fat Freddy suggest we handle our n.o.ble mission?"

"He thinks we should, as Step One, determine how long it will take to dig and then fill in a grave. He says we should determine that by actually digging a grave and then filling it in."

"Jesus, I never thought about that. We have to know that, don't we?"

"Indeed we do. Fat Freddy also suggests that we use a .45, which is noisy, for the execution. Three shots. First shot to wake people up, then thirty seconds later two more shots, to provide confirmation that somebody's shooting something."

"Someone," Dunwiddie corrected him automatically as they bounced down the road. "Fat Freddy really thinks of everything, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does. He regards our problem as sort of a chess game."

"You ever play chess with him?"

"The last time, Fat Freddy whipped my a.s.s in seven moves."

"I don't even want to think about how often he's whipped mine."

"Wait till you read Fat Freddy's Operations Order. He solves problems I never even thought of."

"Do you think, maybe, that it's time we stopped making fun of Fat Freddy?"

"So ordered," Jimmy said.

[ FIVE ].

Near Kloster Grnau Schollbrunn, Bavaria American Zone of Occupation, Germany 2105 4 November 1945 A number of problems that neither Captain Cronley nor First Sergeant Dunwiddie had suspected would arise vis--vis grave-digging arose when the test grave was actually dug.

The first step had been the recruitment of the gravediggers. There were three criteria for selection. First was that there be three diggers, two to dig and one to be a spare. The second was the character of the diggers. They had to be responsible senior non-commissioned officers who could be told what was going on, and who could be relied upon to keep their mouths shut about it now and in the future. Third, the diggers had to be physically up to the task. Digging a hole six feet deep by ten feet long and four feet wide in the shortest possible time was obviously going to require a good deal of physical exertion.

First Sergeant Dunwiddie marched three such men into the commanding officer's quarters. They were Technical Sergeant James L. Martin, who was six feet three inches tall and weighed 235 pounds; Staff Sergeant Moses Abraham, who was six feet two inches tall and weighed 220 pounds; and Staff Sergeant Petronius J. Clark, who was six feet four inches tall and weighed 255 pounds.

"I'm sure First Sergeant Dunwiddie has explained something of what's going on here," Cronley began. "But let me go over it again. I'm sure you've heard that we caught a man trying to get out of here. You may not know that he's a Russian, a major . . ."

He stopped.

"Why do I think I'm telling you something you already know all about?" Captain Cronley asked. "Specifically, why do I think that Staff Sergeant Harold Lewis Junior has let his mouth run away with him?"

Everyone looked uncomfortable. No one replied.

"Before this goes any further, Tiny, get that sonofab.i.t.c.h in here!" Cronley ordered furiously.

When Dunwiddie hesitated, and looked as if he was about to say something, Cronley snapped, "That was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned direct order, Sergeant Dunwiddie. Get that loose-mouthed little b.a.s.t.a.r.d in here. Now!"

Dunwiddie left the room.

Well, you really blew that, stupid!

Officers are supposed to maintain a cool and calm composure, and they absolutely should not refer to non-commissioned officers, no matter what they have done, as "sonsofb.i.t.c.hes" or "loose-mouthed little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

He became aware that all three non-coms were standing at rigid attention.

"In case you're wondering what's going to happen next," Cronley said, still furious, "I am going to hand former Staff Sergeant, now Private, Lewis a shovel, with which he will dig graves all day until I can get the sonofab.i.t.c.h on a slow boat to the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Aleutian Islands, where he will dig graves in the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ice until h.e.l.l freezes over."

There was no response for a full minute.

"Permission to speak, sir?" Technical Sergeant Martin barked.

After a moment, Cronley gestured and said, "Granted."

"Sir, with respect, the sergeant suggests that the captain is going to need four shovels."

"What in the name of Jesus H. Christ and all the saints of the Mormon Church from the Angel Moroni on down are you talking about?"

"Sir, the sergeant respectfully suggests that whatever the captain intends to do to former Staff Sergeant, now Private, Lewis, the captain should do to us, too."

After a moment, Cronley said, "You're all in this together, right? That's your mind-boggling idiot f.u.c.king suggestion, Sergeant? That you're the Three G.o.dd.a.m.ned Musketeers of G.o.dd.a.m.ned Kloster Grnau? All for one and one for all?"

"Sir, with respect, yes, sir, something like that."

After another moment, Cronley said, "Okay, Sergeant. Now tell me what in your obviously warped mind it is that tells you I should do anything like that. It better be good."

"Yes, sir. Sir, the sergeant requests the captain consider that the three of us, plus Private Lewis, and First Sergeant Dunwiddie were the only non-coms left after the Krauts kicked the s.h.i.t out of Company C, 203rd Tank Destroyer Battalion in the Ardennes Forest."

"You're talking about the Battle of the Bulge?" Cronley asked softly.

"Yes, sir. And after that, sir, we have been sort of like the Three Musketeers, as the captain suggests. Real close. No secrets between us. But, sir, that doesn't mean we share what we have with anyone else, just with each other. Harold-excuse me, sir-Private Lewis thought we should know about you running that Kraut sonofab.i.t.c.h off when he was tormenting the Russian and he told us. Sir, we wanted him to tell us. So we're in this deep s.h.i.t as deep as he is."

Cronley looked at him a moment and then said, "Stand at ease."

The three moved from attention to parade rest, which was not at ease.

"If we are going to have an amicable relationship in the future, you're going to have to start obeying my orders," Cronley said. "Or don't you know what at ease means?"