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“I was pissed at the stupidity of the U.S.

Army.”

“Well, I need you to get pissed again and do the same thing for Ginger and me. Quickly and quietly.”

Dunwiddie shook his head. “Would that I could, Jimmy, but the way that works is, the American male who wants to get married has to go through a lot of bullshit—counseling by his immediate commander and then a chaplain, for example—and only after he gets through that can he apply for permission to get married. Then the bullshit starts for the bride-to-be. I can’t imagine that the widow of a recently deceased officer is going to need a letter from the German government stating she’s not a prostitute, but the man has to go through the bullshit first.”

Cronley looked at his feet while shaking his head angrily, then looked up, and said, “That poses a number of problems, starting with my immediate commanding officer. I damn sure don’t want to start this process by having to ask Wallace, ‘Please, Colonel, sir, I’m in love and want to get married.’”

Dunwiddie grunted. “That wouldn’t do you any good anyway. He’s not your commanding officer anymore. There was a DP—”

“A what?” Ostrowski interrupted.

Dunwiddie did not answer directly and instead handed Cronley a SIGABA printout.

“I wasn’t going to give you this, knowing what it will do to your already out-of-control ego, but I seem to have no choice. That’s a DP message”—he looked at Ostrowski—“a message from the President. DP means ‘By Direction of the President.’”

Cronley read the brief message, which was addressed to General Lucius Clay—the military governor of Germany and the commander in chief of U.S. forces in Germany—with a copy to Justice Jackson, and classified Top Secret–Presidential: “To facilitate Captain James D. Cronley Jr.’s search for Burgdorf and von Dietelburg, he and such other personnel as he may select are placed under the command, responsibility, and authority of Mr. Justice Jackson with immediate effect. —Harry S Truman, Commander in Chief.”

Cronley looked up from the sheet as Dunwiddie said, “That was to cover your asses for your escapades in Vienna. But don’t get the idea it will have any effect on your plans to get married.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, you certainly can’t go to Justice Jackson with your romantic intentions. He’s now your commanding officer.”

“Why not?” Cronley repeated. “I can see a lot of my problems going away once he meets the love of my life.”

“That’s just not going to happen. Or, to rephrase it: Over my dead body.”

“Have it your way, Tiny. I’ll deliver your eulogy.”

“Goddamn it, Jimmy, I’m serious!”

Cronley just stared at him, then glanced at the others, and said, “As much as I hate to leave such charming company, my intended awaits. Breakfast at oh-six-hundred, gentlemen. We have an appointment with Mr. Justice Jackson at oh-eight-hundred, and I certainly don’t want to be late.”

He turned and walked quickly to the elevator bank.

[FIVE]

The Dining Room

Farber Palast

Stein, near Nuremberg, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

0635 15 April 1946

“You sonofabitch,” Ginger said as she and Cronley walked into the enormous, busy room. “You knew he was going to be here!”

She had made it clear—before and after they made love, and then upon wakening—that she had absolutely no intention of meeting with Mr. Justice Jackson, there would be no fallen woman pleading for forgiveness and compassion.

Cronley, who was occupied with not dropping Baby Bruce squirming in his arms, at first had no idea what she was talking about. But then, glancing around the room, he saw Father McGrath sitting at a table with Kenneth Brewster, Justice Jackson’s law clerk at the Supreme Court and now his deputy at the Tribunal, and, finally, Jackson himself.

When McGrath saw Cronley and Ginger, he rose to his feet and waved them over.

“Give me Bruce!” Ginger snapped. “We’re out of here!”

“No,” Cronley replied. “Master Bruce and I are going to make our manners known to Mr. Justice Jackson.”