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“Come on, Father,” Cronley said. “Let’s go get Ulrich some MPs to protect him. Don’t go anywhere, Ulrich. I’ll be back.”

“I rather thought you would.”

[SIX]

Farber Palast

Stein, near Nuremberg, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

2225 27 April 1946

Jim Cronley entered the dining room and saw that General White was at a table pouring champagne into a crystal stem.

“I was about to give up on you and have my dinner,” White said as Cronley approached, “but then Billy Wilson called from the airfield to announce his and Miss Johansen’s arrival. They should be here any minute. What happened with Heimstadter?”

“We got lucky, General,” Cronley said. “Possibly very lucky, depending on how much we can trust the bastard.”

White made one of his Let’s have it gestures with both hands, and Cronley started to tell him what had gone on in the prison dispensary.

He had just about finished when Lieutenant Colonel William W. Wilson and Miss Janice Johansen of the Associated Press walked up to the table.

“Ah, there you are,” White said, getting to his feet. “We were just about to order dinner. How was your flight?”

Janice stopped at the table, hands on her hips. “You have to the count of ten to tell me about this big story you’ve got for me, General, before I start throwing things. One . . . two . . .”

“You should know, Miss Johansen, that no one intimidates me. That said, Captain Cronley will explain it all to you. May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

“Only if it comes in a bottle that I can throw at Super Spook if he tries any of his bovine excreta on me.”

Cronley grunted. “Calm down, Janice. Sometime after first light tomorrow, Colonel Wilson will take you flying again . . .”

“Over my dead body,” she replied. “Better yet, over ol’ I.D.’s dead body.”

Cronley pretended not to hear her.

“. . . This time in a L-19, not in the general’s Gooney Bird, so it will be easier for you to take photographs,” he went on. “You will fly over a farm complex about six kilometers from Wewelsburg. The farmlands constitute seven hundred hectares. It is currently under the control of the military government. You will first locate the main complex of buildings—”

“What’s the sudden interest in a damn farm?” she interrupted.

He ignored her again.

“—And then a second building somewhere on the farm. This will look to the casual observer to be deserted and abandoned because of damage suffered in the recent conflict. To a sharp-eyed observer such as yourself, Janice, there should be obvious evidence of activity. I’m sure Colonel Wilson here will be happy to help, pointing out, say, tire tracks from trucks or tractors, perhaps smoke from a cooking fire—”

“Somewhat repeating myself: What’s your interest in this building in the middle of nowhere, Jimmy?”

“Well, Janice, I’m pretty sure it houses fiv

e or six Odessa officers, a quantity of Odessa money, and, I dare to hope, von Dietelburg and Burgdorf as well.” He paused, then added, “When you return from your flight—and only after we secure the buildings—there may be room in an M8 for you to go with us to find out.”

Janice stared at him, then glanced at White, before turning back to Cronley. “And this is my story, Jimmy? No one else knows anything about it?”

“It’s yours and yours alone.”

Janice’s eyebrows went up, and, after some thought, said, “Okay, what’s the catch, Super Spook?”

“But only if we still have our understanding.”

“Of course we do. Why the hell would we not?”