Part 11 (1/2)
Parsons considered that for a moment, and then said, ”You're probably right. And now that I think about it, why should he have had problems with what the admiral asked him to do? Your suggestions make a lot of sense.”
Yeah, I immodestly believe they do. But since your basic interest here is to get Operation Ost put under the deputy chief of staff for intelligence, and the only way you're going to be able to do that is to get me to f.u.c.k up royally, I don't think you're as pleased with my good suggestions as you're letting on.
”I find all of this fascinating,” Parsons said. ”And I suspect Warren does, too.”
”Sir?”
”Warren and I have spent most of our careers in intelligence, Mr. Cronley, but just about all of it on the a.n.a.lytical side. Isn't that so, Warren?”
”Yes, sir.”
”As opposed to the operational side is what I mean. What I suppose could be called the nitty-gritty side. So I find all these little operational details fascinating. I never would have thought of hiding a secret operation the way you're going to do it. A secret operation having absolutely nothing to do with the secret organization in which you're hiding it. Absolutely fascinating. Brilliant, even!”
Where the h.e.l.l is he going with this?
”So I'd like to ask a favor of you, Mr. Cronley.”
”Anything I can do for you, Colonel, of course.”
”Cut me a little slack when we start working together.”
”I don't think I follow you, Colonel.”
”When I said, before, that my wife regards my curiosity as my worst character flaw, she was right on the money. And I know myself well enough to know that when we are working together I'll come across things that I know are none of my business, but which will cause my curiosity to s.h.i.+ft into high gear.
”When that happens, and I ask you-or any of your people-questions that are out of bounds, I want you to feel perfectly free-and tell your people to feel absolutely free-to cut me off at the knees. Just say, 'That's none of your business,' and that will be the end of it. I won't take offense, and I'll stop asking questions. How does that sound, Mr. Cronley?”
Actually, you smooth sonofab.i.t.c.h, that's what I already decided to do if you and ol' Warren here got too curious. Cut you off at the knees.
”That's very gracious of you, Colonel,” Cronley said. ”Thank you. And I appreciate your understanding that there will be things going on around the Pullach compound that the fewer people know about, the better.”
And I will now wait for the other shoe to drop.
Where's he going to go from here?
”Well, enough of this,” Parsons said. ”Why don't we change the subject?”
Cronley was so surprised at the other shoe that he blurted, ”To what?”
”Women and politics are supposed to be forbidden subjects,” Parsons said. ”Either topic is fine with me.”
He got the dutiful laughter he expected.
Then he grew serious.
”General Greene told me that he went to see General Patton shortly before he died. He said the scene was pretty grim.”
Well, that's changing the subject, all right.
Where's he going with this?
”It just goes to show, doesn't it, that you never know what tomorrow will bring?” Parsons asked.
”Sir?”
”Losing your life, painfully, as a result of what General Greene said was really nothing but a fender-bender. And then your IG . . . or the CIC's . . . IG?”
Cronley felt his stomach tighten.
Jesus Christ, what does he know, what has he heard, about that?
”Sir?”
”The poor chap goes home for lunch, and his hot water heater blows up. Blows him and his wife up.”
”I see what you mean,” Cronley said.
And now where are you going to go?
”Let's get off those depressing subjects,” Parsons said. ”To what? Back to my curiosity, I suppose. I got the feeling, Mr. Cronley, from the way you rattled off 'General-Bros Sd-Deutsche,' et cetera, so smoothly that you're comfortable speaking German?”
”I speak German, Colonel.”
”Fluently?”
”Yes, sir. My mother is a Strasbourgerin. A war bride from the First World War. I got my German from her. Colonel Mannberg tells me I could pa.s.s myself off as a Strasbourger.”
”I'm jealous,” Parsons said. ”I got what little German I have from West Point, and I was not what you could call a brilliant student of languages. What about you, Captain Dunwiddie? How's your German?”
”I can get by, sir.”
”You said before you're from an Army family. Do you also march in the Long Gray Line?”
”No, sir. I'm Norwich.”
”Fine school. Did you know that General White, I.D. White, who commanded the 'h.e.l.l on Wheels'-the Second Armored Division-went to Norwich?”
”Yes, sir,” Dunwiddie said. ”I did.”
”Warren, like General George Catlett Marshall, went to VMI,” Parsons said. ”That leaves only you, Mr. Hessinger. I'm not sure if I can ask General Gehlen or Colonel Mannberg, or whether that would be none of my business.”
”I never had the privilege of a university education, Colonel,” Gehlen said.
Cronley was surprised, both at that, and also that Gehlen had chosen to reply, to furnish information, however harmless it was, about himself.
”I wasn't bright enough to earn a scholars.h.i.+p,” Gehlen went on. ”My father, who owned a bookstore, couldn't afford to send me to school. Germany was impoverished after the First World War. So I got what education I could from the books in my father's store. And then, the day after I turned eighteen, I joined the Reichswehr as a recruit. My father hated the military, but he was glad to see me go. One less mouth to feed.”