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“Am I? You saw how little the assassination option upset me when it was necessary. I will do whatever is necessary to get Mrs. Likharev and her two kids out of the East. If I thought I had to shoot you because you were getting in the way of my getting them out, I would.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Or dedicated. Now take off your headset. I have no further interest in hearing anything you might wish to say.”

[SIX]

Rhine-Main USAF Air Base

Frankfurt am Main American Zone of Occupation, Germany

0955 17 January 1946

As Cronley trailed a Follow me jeep down a taxiway to a remote area of the Rhine-Main airfield, he saw there was an unusual number of Piper Cubs parked on the grass beside the taxiway. And then he saw that just about all of them bore U.S. Constabulary markings.

There were a number of vehicles lined up beside a mobile stairway where the general’s plane was expected to stop. Three buses, one of them bearing Constabulary insignia, three 6x6 trucks, a dozen staff cars, and two Packard Clippers.

He hand-signaled Tiny first to look where he was pointing, and then for him to put on his headset.

“There’s a welcoming party,” he said. “Jesus, there’s even a band.”

Dunwiddie did not reply.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take for General White to get off his plane and into one of those Packards, but it won’t take long, and I can’t afford you giving me any trouble. Got it?”

Dunwiddie did not reply.

When the Follow me had led Cronley to where he wanted him to park the Storch on the grass—maybe a quarter-mile from the cars and buses—an Air Force major wearing an Airfield Officer of the Day brassard drove up.

Oh, shit!

More trouble about the Storchs.

Cronley got out of the airplane as the major got out of his jeep.

“Interesting airplane, Captain,” the major said.

Christ, I forgot I’m wearing my bars!

Belatedly, Cronley saluted.

“They’re great airplanes,” Cronley agreed. “Plural,” he added, pointing to the Storch with Ostrowski and Schröder in it.

“I also understand the Air Force has grounded them.”

Cronley took his DCI credentials from his pocket and handed them to the major.

“Not all of them. I hope I won’t break your heart when I tell you the Air Force really doesn’t own the skies or everything that flies.”

“Those are the first credentials like that I ever saw,” the major said.

“There’s not very many of them around,” Cronley said.

“How can I be of service to the Directorate of Central Intelligence?”

“Don’t say that out loud, for one thing,” Cronley said, smiling.

“Okay,” the major said, returning the smile. “And aside from that?”