"I neither know nor care."

"Well, Argentina has a president . . . and now that I think of it, Father Welner is his confessor, too. But it's generally agreed that Colonel Peron-he's secretary of Labor and Welfare, secretary of War, and vice president-actually runs the country. Taking care of people like Colonel Peron keeps Father Welner pretty busy, and there's no way of knowing where he might be in Argentina at any particular time. But once Major Ashton finds him, and then Colonel Frade talks to him, he'll come on the next SAA flight. That will put him in here twenty-four hours-or forty-eight-after Ashton gets here. You understand?"

Orlovsky didn't reply.

"Captain," Tiny said, "you didn't tell him why Father Welner is coming here."

"I thought I did."

"No."

"Didn't I tell you Father Welner is coming to see you, Konstantin?"

Orlovsky again shook his head in disgust, or resignation, or both.

"No, you did not. You also did not offer a reason why this holy man, this powerful Jesuit, this confessor to these very important people, would be willing to do anything an American intelligence officer would ask him to do."

"Okay. Fair question. I said Welner is a powerful, important priest. I didn't say he was a saint. He'll understand that you are in possession of a lot of information the Vatican would like to have. And because the interests of the Vatican coincide with our interests here . . . Getting the picture?"

"So you are saying, admitting, that the holy man, this priest, is really nothing more than an intelligence officer for the Vatican?"

"Oh, no. First, he's absolutely a priest. He has a genuine interest in saving lives and souls. Like yours. And those of your wife and children."

"For G.o.d's sake, why do you think I would believe anything he would say?"

"One look in his eyes, Konstantin, and you'll see that the soul-saving comes first. Closely followed by his sincere interest in the souls of your wife and your kids. And, of course, keeping your wife and kids out of a cell in that building on Lubyanka Square. Or being sent to Siberia-like the family of Czar Nicholas the Second-and shot."

Orlovsky shook his head.

"I've been trying to tell you that your willingness to die-to have us kill you-is the same thing as committing suicide. Suicide, as you know, is a mortal sin. And that you're making this worse because your suicide will affect your family. And that we can change that whole scenario by getting you to Argentina, and then have General Gehlen try to get your family out of Russia. You don't believe me. What we're hoping is you will believe Father Welner."

"What you are hoping is that you can turn me. Which is a polite way of saying turn me into a traitor."

"And you'd rather be a hero? Maybe have a little plaque with your name on it hanging on the wall of that building on Lubyanka Square in Moscow? 'In Loving Memory of Major Konstantin Orlovsky, who loved Communism more than his wife and children and committed suicide to prove it.' Maybe, if they don't shoot your wife and kids out of hand, and if they somehow manage to survive Siberia, she could someday take the kids-by then, they'd be adults-to Lubyanka and show them the plaque. 'That was your daddy, children. Whatever else he was, he was a good Communist.'"

Orlovsky didn't reply.

"Well, enough of this," Cronley said. "I'm hungry. Sergeant Dunwiddie, why don't you go find out what the h.e.l.l is delaying our dinner?"

"Yes, sir."

- Staff Sergeant Clark and First Sergeant Dunwiddie returned to the room several minutes later, carrying plates of food.

"That will be all for the moment, Sergeant Clark," Cronley said. "Except for the Tabasco. You forgot the Tabasco."

"Sorry, sir. I'll go get it."

"Please do. I really like a couple of shots of Tabasco on my pork chops."

Orlovsky looked at the plate of food before him and crossed his arms over his chest.

When Clark returned with the Tabasco, Cronley said, "Thank you. I'll call for you when I need you."

"Yes, sir," Clark said.

Cronley shook the red pepper sauce onto his pork chops.

"I don't know if you know Tabasco, Konstantin. I really do. But some people find it a little too spicy."

Orlovsky didn't reply.

Neither Cronley nor Dunwiddie said another word during the next fifteen minutes, during which they just about cleaned their plates. Orlovsky did not uncross his arms.

"Clark!" Cronley called.

Clark came into the room.

"Major Orlovsky will be returning to das Gasthaus now. Will you a.s.sist him in getting dressed?"

"Yes, sir."

- Five minutes later, Clark led Orlovsky back into the room. He was again shackled and handcuffed and had the duffel bag over his head.

"Good night, Konstantin," Cronley said. "Sleep well."

There was no reply.

Cronley gestured for Clark to lead him away, and Clark did so.

Two minutes later, as Dunwiddie poured coffee into Cronley's cup, he asked, "Well?"

"I was tempted just now to call him back and ask him if he didn't think not eating was cutting off his nose to spite his face, but I decided I'd already pushed him as far as I should."

"Maybe too far?"

"I don't know. I spent most of the time as we dined in stony silence wondering whether I was a very clever intelligence officer who knew how to break an NKGB officer or a very young, very stupid officer absolutely unqualified to mentally duel with a good NKGB officer. And, in either case, a candidate for the Despicable p.r.i.c.k of All Time Award." He paused, and then added: "I really wish I didn't like the sonofab.i.t.c.h."

"So, what happens now?"

"Only time will tell. It's now in the hands of the Lord. You may wish to write that down."

"Actually, I think we did pretty good," Dunwiddie said.

"Really?"

"You may wish to write this down. 'Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just. And this be our motto: In G.o.d is our trust.' It gets us off the hook, Despicable p.r.i.c.kwise."

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

"It's from the last verse of 'The Star-Spangled Banner,'" Dunwiddie said. "They didn't sing that at Texas Cow College?"

XII.

[ ONE ].

Commanding Officer's Quarters Kloster Grnau Schollbrunn, Bavaria American Zone of Occupation, Germany 0705 5 November 1945 Captain Cronley was shaving when First Sergeant Dunwiddie came into his quarters.

"Gehlen and Mannberg walked into the mess as I walked out," Dunwiddie announced.

"Thank you for sharing that with me."

"I thought you should have it in mind when you read this," Dunwiddie said, holding up a SIGABA printout.

Cronley turned from the mirror and put his hand out for the sheet of paper. His eyes fell to it: PRIORITY.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN.

FROM VINT HILL TANGO NET.

0850 GREENWICH 5 NOVEMBER 1945.

TO VATICAN ATTENTION ALTARBOY.

FOLLOWING BY TELEPHONE FROM TEX 0825 GMT 5 NOV 1945.

BEGIN MESSAGE.

NOW SOLVED BANKING PROBLEMS WILL DELAY ESTIMATED DEPARTURE TIME UNTIL 1000 MIDLAND TIME 6 NOVEMBER STOP TEX END.

END MESSAGE.

END.

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH.

- When he had finished reading it, he returned to shaving.

"'Now solved banking problems'?" Dunwiddie asked.

"I guess Clete had a little trouble getting the money out of the bank."

"What money out of what bank?"

"I just remembered that the opportunity never presented itself for me to share this with you," Cronley said, as he examined his chin in the mirror, then took another swipe at it with his razor.

"That would seem to be the case. What's it all about?"

Cronley picked up a towel and wiped what was left of the shaving cream from his face.

"Gehlen told Clete and me he needs fifty thousand dollars, and now, to send to Russia to grease palms to get Orlovsky's family out. And Clete needs money to hide Orlovsky in Argentina. The OSS account is empty. Clete can't use any of his money without the wrong people asking questions. So I'm loaning it to him. To us. To Operation Ost. I'm supposed to get it back when this new Central Intelligence Directorate, or whatever the h.e.l.l they're going to call it, is up and running."

"I was about to say . . . I will say: I suppose that's a good example of putting your money where your mouth is. Next question: Where the h.e.l.l did you get fifty grand? Are you that rich?"

"Actually, I'm loaning Operation Ost two hundred thousand."

"Jesus Christ! You had that much money in the bank?"

"The former Marjorie Ann Howell, who had been Mrs. James D. Cronley Junior for just over a day at the time of her untimely demise, had that much-and more-in her account. And under the laws of the Sovereign State of Texas, upon her demise all of her property pa.s.sed to her lawful husband."

"Oh, s.h.i.t."

"Gehlen doesn't know where the money is coming from, and I don't want him to know."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"I just don't, okay?"

Dunwiddie held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"What I've been trying to talk myself into," Cronley said, "is that the Squirt wouldn't mind-might even sort of like-that her money is being used to get somebody's wife and kids out of Russia and started on a new life in Argentina. Especially if she knew what the alternative scenario is."

"Jesus Christ, Jim!"

"I've also been thinking I'm glad the Squirt didn't see me in my despicable p.r.i.c.k role. That I don't think she would understand."

"From what you've told me about her, I don't know if she would or not," Tiny said, paused, and then went on: "Yeah, I do. She would know you were doing that because it had to be done."

"'Then conquer we must,' right?"

"That stuck in your mind, did it?"

"Do you think it's time to show Fat Fre- Sergeant Hessinger's OPPLAN to Gehlen?"

"Are you going to show him that message?"