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He was leaning on the fender of the enormous Horch Sport Cabriolet touring car that Cronley had inherited from Colonel Robert Mattingly when Cronley had gotten the kidnapped officer back from the NKGB. It was parked behind a Chevrolet staff car, and two other Chevrolets were parked behind it.

The drivers of the cars hurried to relieve the incomers of their luggage and usher them into the cars. Ginger and her baby and Father McGrath were put into the one immediately behind the Horch.

Dunwiddie got behind the steering wheel of the Horch, and Cronley got in beside him. Max Ostrowski and Tom Winters got in the backseat. Dunwiddie blew the horn, and the convoy got under way.

“What’s with Bonehead’s widow and the Catholic priest?” Dunwiddie asked.

“He’s an Episcopal priest,” Cronley said. “And he’s an expert on heretical religions, like the Church of Saint Heinrich the Divine. Schultz—or maybe the admiral—found him at the University of the South.”

“And what’s with Ginger Moriarty?”

“She got Clete to bring her with us so that she can get her household goods out of the quartermaster’s warehouse in Munich. She didn’t have time to do that when they sent her to the States with Bonehead’s corpse right after he got whacked.”

“Oh. And how’s she going to get to Munich?”

“As soon as I can find the time, I’ll take her. So, leave the Horch at the palast.”

“You’re going to have a hard time finding time.”

“So far as Father McGrath is concerned . . .”

“Oh, yeah. Tell me about him.”

Cronley thought, He swallowed that household goods bullshit whole.

While it is true that to be a good intelligence officer you have to be able to lie convincingly through your teeth, it hurts when you have to lie to your friends.

And Tiny certainly is in that small and ever-diminishing category.

Cronley began: “After El Jefe found this heretical religions expert at the University of the South, the admiral sent El Jefe and Clete to talk to him. They found out that he knew Clete from his days as the chaplain of Clete’s fighter squadron on Guadalcanal. He still has his commission as a commander in the Navy Chaplain Corps. The admiral called the Pentagon and they called him up for active duty, assigned to DCI. He’s a nice—and very interesting—guy. And I think he’s going be quite useful.”

“Well, the DCI can certainly use some moral guidance,” Dunwiddie said, chuckling.

[FOUR]

Farber Palast

Stein, near Nuremberg, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1330 14 April 1946

“Madame, my entire staff stands ready at your service,” the elegantly dressed palace manager said, greeting Ginger. “Mr. Brewster of Mr. Justice Jackson’s office was kind enough to call and announce your pending arrival.”

“Excellent,” Cronley said. “Well then, where can you put Mrs. Moriarty and her child?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ginger said, shifting the sleeping infant to her other shoulder, “but doesn’t Captain Cronley have a room here?”

“Yes, madame,” the manager said, smiling. “The Duchess Suite. It’s splendid.”

“I’m sure it is. Can you have someone take me—and my luggage—there, please?”

The manager looked to Cronley, who, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded.

“My pleasure, madame,” the manager said, grandly gesturing for the bellman to come to them.

Ginger turned to Cronley, said, “Don’t be too long,” and walked to the elevator bank.

The awkward silence between everyone wasn’t broken until the elevator door closed on Ginger, the baby, and the bellman with her luggage.