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“Because he asked me where he was.”

“You were on the train?”

“Tiny and I just got off it.”

“As soon as Bob Mattingly hears that you and Tiny were on that train—and he will—you’re the villains, you know that? The master politician will decide he’s been out-politicked by two captains he doesn’t much like anyway. And he’s one ruthless sonofabitch. I’ve seen him in action. Christ, I actually wondered if he wrote that Cronley’s been fucking Mrs. Rachel Schumann letter to Dick Tracy.”

“If I’m putting you on the spot now, asking for help and don’t tell Mattingly . . .”

“You are. But after our little chat the other day, I did some thinking of my own.”

“About what?”

“About why I’m here running what you so accurately describe as a ‘phony CIC Detachment.’”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? It’s true. So why am I here doing it? Two reasons, the most important probably being that ol’ Bob can throw me to the wolves you mentioned. ‘I’m really surprised that Major Wallace didn’t learn that Cronley was doing black masses, running a brothel, making bootleg whisky, and burying people in unmarked graves at Kloster Grünau. Maybe being a Jedburgh doesn’t really qualify someone to be an intelligence officer.’”

He looked at Cronley as if expecting a reply, and when none came, went on: “Reason two: If I was in the Farben Building doing what I should be doing . . .”

“Which is?”

“Intelligence. Advising Greene. Or maybe General Clay. This may come as a shock to you, but when I was not being a heroic Jedburgh, parachuting behind enemy lines à la Errol Flynn or Alan Ladd, I was a pretty good intelligence officer. A better one than Bob Mattingly. And, while I was wallowing in self-pity, I wondered why I never got a silver leaf, or an eagle. And wondered if it was because good ol’ Bob Mattingly liked me where I was, as a major. I did the work, and he got the credit.”

Cronley’s mouth went on automatic.

“If you were good in the OSS, you can bet your ass El Jefe knows it. Which is why—”

“I’m here running a phony CIC outfit, so that I can step in and replace you when you FUBAR everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought about that, too, and what I decided to do, Captain Cronley, is make goddamn sure you don’t FUBAR anything. So tell me your problems vis-à-vis getting Mrs. Likharev and her children across a border. I have a little experience in that sort of thing.”

“Thank you.”

“Which brings us to Friend Freddy,” Wallace said. “Who has been sitting there like a sponge, soaking all this in.”

“Sir?”

“Are you willing to deceive Colonel Mattingly and anyone else who gets in our way? Or are you thinking of some way you can cover your ass?”

“You have no right to think that about me!” Freddy flared.

“Correct answer,” Wallace said. “Fortunately for you. I always hate to use the assassination option, even when it’s called for.”

“So do Cronley and I,” Hessinger said.

Wallace’s eyebrows rose.

“One day we’ll have to exchange secrets,” he said. “But not now. Before Brunhilde walks in from wherever she is . . .”

It took Cronley a moment to realize he was talking about Claudette Colbert.

“She’s driving Tiny out to Kloster Grünau,” he said.

“. . . we have to decide about her. Do we bring her into this? Yes or no. If yes, how far? Only so far as needed? Or total immersion? Freddy, you first, you’re junior. If I ask Jim first, you’re liable to go along with whatever he says.”