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“The reason Jim is so suspicious of me, Thomas, is that he’s half Alsatian, and is aware that we Alsatians are infamous for our ability to charm people out of their shoes. Or into the pants of the gentle sex.”

It looks like you Alsatians share a sense of sarcastic humor, too, Mon Commandant.

You sound just like Cronley.

“Jim even knows what Choucroute Garnie à l’Alsacienne, which is what—before I knew you were coming—I told the kitchen to prepare for our lunch. It’s sauerkraut garnished with smoked pork. If that doesn’t please you, I’m sure the kitchen can fix a hamburger or something else from your barbaric American cuisine.”

“What you said sounds fine, sir,” Winters said, smiling.

“Why are you not in your usual sour mood?” Cronley asked.

Fortin didn’t reply for a moment, and when he did, the tone of his voice made it clear he was now being absolutely serious.

“Because we are, as you put it, going to be partners. When you didn’t come back, I began to think that you, too, had gotten a message from on high to leave Odessa alone.”

“Quite the opposite,” Cronley said. “But have people on high told you to leave Odessa alone?”

“Not in so many words. But subtly. So subtly that I suspect the Vatican is involved. I was actually about to go to Le General de Gaulle. I didn’t want to do that, and now I don’t think I will have to. I think I can get from you the logistical and other support that has been denied me.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Thank you. Starting with photographic paper and chemicals, I hope. Leica-ing the contents of that briefcase is going to just about exhaust what’s in my lab.”

“Get me a list of what you need and get me on a secure line, and I’ll have it on its way here this afternoon.”

“Deladier, make up a list of what the lab needs. Captain Cronley can take it back with him to Munich.”

“Oui, Mon Commandant,” the sergeant said, and went to a sideboard and took out a telephone.

A white-jacketed waiter appeared.

“Getting back to the more pleasant subject of our lunch,” Fortin said, “I suggest we begin with a bottle of Crémant d’Alsace. It’s a sparkling wine, champagne in everything but name.”

“We’ll have to pass, thanks,” Cronley said.

“Because you think I am going to ply you with champagne to loosen your tongues?”

“That, too, but Tom and I are flying, and I like to do that sober.”

“I’d forgotten,” Fortin replied. “I often think it was probably much more pleasant a century ago when officers could take a little wine and then get on a horse which knew the way home.”

“I would hate to have to ride a horse back to Munich,” Cronley said.

Fortin ordered their meal, and the waiter left.

“Are you going to tell us what you know about Odessa now?” Cronley asked. “Or hold us in suspense until after we have our lunch?”

Fortin shrugged.

“It actually started here,” he said, “or Die Spinne—the Spider—did. In August 1944. In the Maison Rouge Hotel, right around the corner from here, on Rue Des Francs-Bourgeois—”

“Excuse me, Mon Commandant,” Winters interrupted. “I never heard any of this before. I’d like to take notes.”

“I have full confidence that any notes you make will not become general knowledge,” Fortin said. His tone suggested that his confidence was anything but full.

“No, sir, they won’t get out. They’re just for me.”

“Good idea, Tom,” Cronley said. “This is all new to me, too. But on the subject of notes, make one to tell Barbara that anything that goes on in the Compound is not to be shared with the OLIN. And if you see him before I do, make sure Bonehead gets the same message to Ginger. No offense, Tom, but I have very painfully learned the hazards of pillow talk.”