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“So what are you thinking, Jim?” Serov asked.

“I’m going to have another chat with Commandant Fortin and my cousin Luther. I also had a chat with Heimstadter today. I saw something in his eyes when I mentioned the former Sturmführer Luther Stauffer.”

“Good idea,” Serov said. “Actually, any idea right now is a good idea.”

“If you’re going to be flying, you better lay off the booze,” Winters said, more than a little self-righteously.

“Polkovnik Serov,” Cronley said, “Lieutenant Winters is reminding me that U.S. Army aviators are prohibited from flying U.S. Army airplanes if they have imbibed intoxicants within the previous twelve hours.”

“Sounds like a reasonable regulation.”

“But since I am not a U.S. Army aviator, and will be flying an illegal airplane, that regulation obviously does not apply to me. I will follow the rule for Texas aviators, which is that if you can climb into the cockpit without assistance, and can find the master buss switch in less than five minutes, you’re sober enough to fly.”

“So you’re going to continue drinking?” Sergei asked.

That’s genuine concern, not just disbelief, in his voice.

Truth being stranger than fiction, can Sergei be one of the good guys?

Or are both of them playing me for the fool they know I am?

“Sergei, my friend, that was what is known as Texas humor. What I am going to do is have a glass of Cabernet with the enormous steak I am about to eat in the dining room. And then I’m going to bed, from which I will rise with the roosters and fly to Strasbourg. Presuming, of course, that God is willing and the creek don’t rise.”

[TWO]

There was a note Scotch-taped to the mirror in the toilet of the Duchess Suite:

They caught two colonels—one a chaplain—black-marketing big-time in Heidelberg. Got to cover it. Be back tomorrow. Wash behind your ears. J.

“Fortune smiles on the pure of heart,” he said aloud.

I really didn’t want to explain where I’ve been and with whom, and I really am in no shape for bedroom gymnastics.

He stripped out of his clothes, intending to shower.

“Shit!” he said. “First things first.”

He went naked into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and picked up the telephone.

“Nuremberg 4897,” a slightly accented voice answered.

“Get Captain Dunwiddie on here, please.”

“There’s no one here by that name.”

“This is Cronley.”

“One moment, sir.”

“Captain Dunwiddie.”

“Tiny, Winters is on his way there. Pretty well bombed. Make sure he gets into a bed all right.”

“You corrupted Winters?”

“He corrupted himself. With good reason. Barbara is really unhappy that Wallace transferred him to us. She wants him to go to General White and ask to be returned to the Constab.”

“I can’t imagine him doing that.”