Page 105

“I think I’m going to write that down,” El Jefe said. “And I’m not being a wiseass.” He paused and then went on. “No, I won’t write it down. I don’t have to. I won’t forget ‘when you want to rely on intuition, don’t.’ Thanks, Ludwig.”

“Yeah, me too,” Cronley said. “Thank you for that.” He paused. “Now what do we do?”

“If you really can’t think of anything else to do, why don’t you get Sergeant Colbert in here?” Hessinger asked.

[TWO]

Office of the U.S. Military Government Liaison Officer

The South German Industrial Development Organization Compound

Pullach, Bavaria

The American Zone of Occupied Germany

1735 15 January 1946

Technical Sergeant Claudette Colbert knocked at the door, heard the command “Come,” opened the door, marched into the office up to the desk of the liaison officer, came to attention, raised her hand in salute, and barked, “Technical Sergeant Colbert reporting to the commanding officer as ordered, sir.”

In doing so, she shattered a belief Captain James D. Cronley Jr. had firmly held since his first days at Texas A&M, which was, Unless you’re some kind of a pervert, into kinky things like fetishes, a female in uniform is less sexually attractive than a spittoon.

He would have thought this would be even more true if the uniform the female was wearing, as Sergeant Colbert was, was what the Army called “fatigues.” Generously tailored to afford the wearer room to move while performing the hard labor causing the fatigue, “fatigues” conceal the delicate curvature of the female form at least as well as, say, a tarpaulin does when draped over a tank.

It was not true of Technical Sergeant Colbert now.

Cronley returned the salute in a Pavlovian reflex, and similarly ordered, “Stand at ease,” and then, a moment later, added, “Have a seat, Sergeant,” and pointed to the chair Hessinger had placed six feet from his desk.

Technical Sergeant Colbert sat down.

She found herself facing Captain Cronley, and on the left side of his desk, Lieutenant Colonel Ashton, Captain Dunwiddie, and Staff Sergeant Hessinger. Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USN, Maksymilian Ostrowski, and former Colonel Ludwig Mannberg were seated to the right of Cronley’s desk.

Only Colonel Ashton and Captain Dunwiddie were wearing the insignia of their ranks. Everyone else was wearing the blue triangles of civilian employees of the Army, including Ostrowski, whom Claudette knew to be a Pole and a DP guard. Ex-colonel Mannberg was wearing a very well-tailored suit.

Cronley, who was having thoughts he knew he should not be having about how Sergeant Colbert might look in the shower, forced them from his mind and asked himself,

How the hell do I handle this, now that she’s here?

Shift into automatic mode and see what happens when I open my mouth?

In the absence of any better, or any other, idea . . .

“Sergeant, Sergeant Hessinger tells me that you would like to move to the DCI from the ASA. True?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been on the fringes of the intelligence business, sir, since I came into the ASA. And the more I’ve learned about it, the more I realized I’d like to be in it. As more than an ASA intercept sergeant. As an intelligence officer.”

“What would you like to do in what you call the intelligence business?”

“I don’t know, sir. Once I get into the DCI, something will come up.”

“What if I told you that what you would do if you came to DCI is typing and taking shorthand?”

“Sir, I would have my foot in the door. So long as you understood that I don’t want to be a secretary, starting out taking shorthand and typing would be okay with me.”

“DCI inherited from the OSS the notion that the best qualified person for the job gets the job and the authority that goes with it. You understand that? It means you would be working for Hessinger, although you outrank him. Would you be all right with that?”