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“Who’s he?”

“General Gehlen’s interrogator, sir,” Cronley furnished. “He was the Sicherheitsdienst’s mole in Abwehr Ost until the general turned him.”

“Do you think one of Gehlen’s people is the mole?”

“General Gehlen considers that a strong possibility, sir.”

“Under the circumstances, I suggest, all we can do is hope that the mole doesn’t find out what we’re doing here.”

“Yes, sir. That seems to be it,” Cronley agreed.

“Or that we find the mole,” Finney said.

“Presuming you can carry off getting Heimstadter and Müller off the Stars and Stripes truck alive, you’re going to move them to Kloster Grünau, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In your Storch airplanes?”

“Yes, sir. We can get them onto and off that road without a problem. And then it’s a short flight to the monastery,” Cronley said.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Colonel Wilson and myself, sir.”

“Pay attention, Greg,” White said.

“Yes, sir,” Second Lieutenant Gregory Douglas said.

“There is a lamentable tendency among officers senior enough and/or bright enough to plan an operation such as this to hear a bugler sound ‘Charge’ and involve themselves personally in its execution. This often has disastrous results.”

“Sir,” Cronley said. “I suggest it’s a question of the pilots best qualified to accomplish the mission.”

“I suggest that the pilot . . . what’s his name, Kurt Schröder? . . . who flew General Gehlen all over Russia in a Storch could probably—”

“Colonel McMullen,” Cronley interrupted. “Change in our manning table: Colonel Wilson out of Storch number one, replaced by DCI agent Kurt Schröder.”

“Good idea,” McMullen replied. “The Army can ill afford to lose such a distinguished leader by his crashing an illegal airplane onto a country road on the Franco-German border.”

“I further suggest that Tom Winters,” White went on, “could also probably fly an illegal airplane onto—”

“General, Tom just had a baby. A boy. He’s going to name it Thomas Halford Winters—”

“Is that a miracle? Or did Mrs. Winters just give birth to a male child?”

“The latter, sir,” Cronley said.

“Then, if you were so inclined, Captain Cronley, you could tell Colonel McMullen to make another change in your manning table, to wit: chief, DCI-Europe, out of Storch number two, replaced by Lieutenant Thomas Halford Winters the Third, correct?”

“Please do so, Colonel McMullen,” Cronley said.

“Good idea,” White said. “That will serve two purposes. When I next see Major General Thomas Halford Winters Junior I will be able to congratulate him on the arrival of his grandson, and also tell him that his son was selected by the chief, DCI-Europe, personally to fly an important mission because of his unusual skill in flying illegal airplanes.”

McMullen laughed.

“And the changes you and McMullen have just made to the manning table, Cronley, may save two officers who, in the probably failing wisdom of my dotage, I believe will make substantial contributions to the Army in coming years, providing they stop listening to the bugler blowing ‘Charge.’”

He paused, and then went on, “Greg, if you think you will have trouble remembering all this, write it down.”