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Cronley’s mouth went on automatic: “General, that ‘thank you’ shoe unequivocally belongs on my foot, not yours.”

White stood up, looked at Cronley intently for a moment, and then smiled at him.

“Have fun at the burials and in Strasbourg,” he said.

XI

[ ONE ]

Glienicke Bridge

Wannsee, U.S. Zone of Berlin

0855 1 February 1946

The small convoy of vehicles—an MP jeep, a Chevrolet staff car, and two former ambulances—drove up to the bridge and stopped.

The rear doors of the ambulances opened and six men in Constabulary regalia—all black soldiers, all six feet tall or better, and all armed with Thompson submachine guns—got quickly out of each. A Constabulary sergeant got out of the front seat of one of the ambulances and formed the men into two six-man squads. He then marched the soldiers up to the staff car, where he opened the rear door.

Captain Chauncey L. Dunwiddie got out. The sergeant saluted crisply and Dunwiddie returned it. DCI Special Agents Max Ostrowski and Ludwig Mannberg then got out of the car. None of them appeared to be armed. All were wearing pinks and greens, trench coats, and leather-brimmed uniform caps.

When Dunwiddie, with Ostrowski and Mannberg following, walked to the head of the column of soldiers, Dunwiddie towered over all of them.

The three started to walk toward the bridge.

The sergeant quietly ordered, “Port H-arms! Forward, harch!” and the soldiers fell in behind them.

As this was happening, an enormous truck, apparently the same one the Russians had used in their first meeting on the bridge, began backing onto the bridge, again guided by a Red Army officer walking backward. Red Army soldiers marched on either side of it as they held PPSh-41 submachine guns across their chests.

The truck stopped ten meters from the white line marking the center of the bridge. The officer who had been walking backward did an about-face and came to attention on the left side of the truck.

Senior Major of State Security Ivan Serov appeared on the right side of the truck. He gestured with his right hand, and the doors of the truck opened. Colonel Robert Mattingly was sitting on a wooden chair about ten feet inside. He was wearing a trench coat and a leather-brimmed cap.

Dunwiddie, Mannberg, and Ostrowski walked onto the bridge and stopped when they were ten meters from the white line marking the center.

Dunwiddie saluted crisply. Serov returned it casually. Mattingly, in a reflex action, tried to return it, but handcuffs and a waist chain stopped the movement of his hand when it was halfway to his chest.

Serov made another gesture, and the truck started to drive off the bridge as the doors closed.

He then walked right up to the white line.

Dunwiddie, Mannberg, and Ostrowski walked up to it.

“I rather expected to see Captain Cronley,” Serov said in English.

“He’s arranging an interment in Munich,” Dunwiddie replied.

“When you’re in touch, please tell him that I’m living up to my side of our arrangement, too. You can see that Colonel Mattingly is in good health.”

“I’ll tell him, Ivan, that you had him chained to a chair,” Mannberg said.

Serov smiled.

“You find that amusing, Ivan?” Mannberg asked.

“Not what you said. What I find amusing, Ludwig, is to see you and your Polish associate in American uniforms.”

“Just a convenience, Ivan. Like your wearing a podpolkóvnik’s shoulder boards rather than those of a major general. Or have you been demoted since the last time I checked?”