Part 31 (2/2)

”Thank you.”

She smiled and left the room.

Hessinger started to follow her, but stopped halfway to the door and asked, ”Where do I put them?”

”To live, you mean? I hadn't thought about that,” Cronley admitted.

”I think it would be a good idea if you did,” Hessinger said.

”And I'm sure you have already given the subject some thought and are going to share those thoughts with me.”

”I think it would be a good idea to get the three women she's bringing with her out of the ASA building, where they are now. With half a dozen other women, who are probably very curious about what's going on over here.”

”So?”

”So I suggest you take the 'Guesthouse' sign off the guesthouse and put up one that says 'Female Quarters, Off Limits to Male Personnel.'”

”Do it.”

”And I suggest that as soon as I can get Sergeant Colbert into blue triangles, you put her in one of our rooms in the Vier Jahreszeiten. She'll be working there.”

”And what is Major Wallace going to think about that?”

”You'll have to think of something to tell him, and I think you should count on Major McClung telling him by this time tomorrow that you stole her from him.”

s.h.i.+t, I didn't think about that. McClung will certainly tell Wallace . . .

Or will he?

Now that I think about it, I don't think he will.

But this is probably one of those times that Mannberg talked about, when you really want to trust your gut feeling, and therefore shouldn't.

”As soon as you get Sergeant Colbert into blue triangles, put her in the Vier Jahreszeiten,” Cronley said. ”What she's doing there is none of Major Wallace's business.”

Hessinger nodded and left the room.

”Don't let it go to your head, Jim,” El Jefe said, ”but you handled the sergeant well. Finally. For a while, I thought she was going to eat you alive.”

”'Formidable' describes her well, doesn't it?”

”So does 'well-stacked.' Is that going to be a problem, now that she's made it so plain she's not a d.y.k.e?”

”Not for me. Ostrowski may have to watch himself.”

That got the expected chuckles.

”So what do we do now?” Cronley asked.

”You get on the phone and get Polo and me seats on the next SAA flight to Buenos Aires. If they're sold out, tell them they're going to have to b.u.mp two people.”

”What makes you think they'd do that?”

”Because, for the moment, at least until Juan Peron takes it away from us, South American Airways is a DCI a.s.set and you're chief, DCI-Europe.”

”But do they know that?”

”I told Cletus to make sure they know.”

There he goes again.

”I told Cletus . . .”

El Jefe is a lot more-and probably was for a long time-more than just Clete's communications expert.

And the admiral sent him here. And not to take care of Polo.

So how do I find out what he's really up to?

Ask him?

Why not?

The worst that could happen would be for him to pretend he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

So I'll ask him.

But not now. In private, when the moment is right.

Cronley reached for the telephone, dialed ”O,” and told the Pullach compound operator to get him South American Airways at the Rhine-Main Air Force Base.

Five minutes later, he put the phone in its cradle and turned to Schultz.

”You're on SAA Flight 233, departing Rhine-Main at 1700 tomorrow.”

”Which means we'll have to be there at 1600,” Schultz replied.

”Which means we can have a late breakfast and leave here at ten, ten-thirty. Or even eleven,” Cronley said. ”That'll give us plenty of time for Ostrowski and me to fly you up there.”

”No,” Schultz said. ”What that means is that so I can make my manners to Generals Smith and Greene, and the admiral would be very disappointed if I didn't, we have to get up in the dark so that we can leave at first light. And that means, of course, that you don't get anything more to drink tonight. Nor does Ostrowski.”

It makes sense that he has to see Greene, but General Walter Bedell Smith, Eisenhower's deputy? I'm supposed to believe he's only a Navy lieutenant, the same as an Army captain, and he's going in for a social chat with General Smith? Even if the admiral sent him, there's something going on n.o.body's telling me.

Like there's something n.o.body's telling me about the appointment of Captain James D. Cronley Jr. as chief, Directorate of Central Intelligence, Europe. There's something very fishy about that, too. There's at least a platoon of ex-OSS colonels and light birds, now unemployed, better qualified than I am who should be sitting here.

My gut tells me-and screw Ludwig's theory that when you really want to trust your intuition, don't-that El Jefe has the answers to all of this.

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