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“According to General Greene, they haven’t been at all successful,” Cronley said. “We know some names—that’s another list you should compare with yours—but we can’t find them. Which Greene attributes to their having lots of dollars.”

“Dollars are still even more valuable in the current economy than Nescafé, cigarettes, and canned hams,” Fortin said. “Which brings us back to that. The last time Jim was here, Thomas, we were agreed that since infiltrating Odessa at the top was just about impossible—they don’t trust anyone they don’t know—the only way to do that is from the bottom.”

“I don’t understand,” Winters said.

“Luther Stauffer, we believe, thinks his cousin Jim is a pleasant, none-too-bright second lieutenant of the Quartermaster Corps, one who unknowingly controls a means to transport things—and things would include people—all over Occupied Germany, Austria, and this part of France without raising suspicion as he and his team renovate mess hall equipment.”

“Clever,” Winters said.

“I’m tempted to say ‘thank you,’” Cronley said, “but the truth is that it wasn’t planned. It just happened. Dumb luck. We were wearing that Quartermaster disguise to get us into Vienna without attracting the attention of the NKGB, not to fool my cousin Luther.”

“Nevertheless, the situation exists,” Fortin said, “offering us a chance to, at the very least, track somebody being moved through Odessa, to see where he goes, and maybe even where he came from.”

“What we talked about doing, Tom,” Cronley said, “is sending Sergeant Finney and some of Tiny’s Troopers back here to drop off more PX goodies from my mother, while he’s en route to Salzburg and then Vienna . . .”

He paused, smiled, chuckled, and added: “We could put a couple of those refrigerators that won’t run on 220 volts in the ambulance. Who but the Quartermaster Corps would have new refrigerators that don’t work?”

Winters chuckled.

Fortin said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jean-Paul, I just happen to have a trailer-load of brand-new 110-volt refrigerators,” Cronley said, and told him why. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, yes! Actually, I could use two. One to replace the one in my house, which is ancient, and another for Sergent Deladier.”

Winters thought: He has to be kidding!

“Then two you shall have,” Cronley said. “Any preference in color? How about pastel yellow?”

“But,” Fortin said, “I would have to send for them . . .”

I’ll be a sonofabitch, he’s not kidding! He wants the refrigerators!

“. . . and questions would be asked if you unloaded them from your ambulance at the home of the chief of DST. I know Odessa is watching me, and I suspect so is the NKGB. Would two of them fit in a jeep trailer?”

“I think so,” Cronley said.

“We could have Jack take a couple of them to the Engineer Depot,” Winters said. “And the commandant’s people could pick them up there instead of from the Compound.”

“Perhaps we could get the photographic supplies the same way,” Fortin said. “That way there would be only one supply mission.”

“Lieutenant Winters will set it up, Mon Commandant,” Cronley said.

“And Jack probably has 220-to-110 transformers,” Winters said.

“Who is this Jack?” Fortin said. “Is he going to ask questions?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Jack Bristol, who happens to be Lieutenant Winters’s wife’s cousin, is the Corps of Engineers officer charged with setting up and maintaining the Pullach Compound,” Cronley said. “He’s both in the loop and knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Sergent Deladier,” Fortin said. “Two things.”

“Oui, Mon Commandant?”

“First, arrange a jeep with a trailer attached for Capitaine DuPres to drive first thing in the morning to Munich—where in Munich, Jim?”

“The Engineer Depot.”

“The Engineer Depot, to pick up our refrigerators and photographic supplies.”