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“Oh, I see where this is going,” Ostrowski said. “And the messenger is a Vatican priest?”

“Actually, a cardinal.”

“And you have plans for the cardinal, right? And you’re wondering if as a Catholic I’m willing to go along?”

“You and the other guys,” Cronley said.

“I’m sorry you had to ask. But the subject never came up before between us, did it?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Okay, Jim, let me lay it out for you. I was born and raised a Roman Catholic, and I’m sure you know what the Jesuits say about that. During the war, before I got in my Spitfire and set off to kill as many Germans as I could, I always—whenever I could—found some priest to hear my confession and give me communion.

“And now I confess my sins and go to mass every Sunday. But it’s different now. I do it because it helps me remember going to mass in Poland. In our parish church, Saint Luke’s. With my mother and father and my sisters and brothers. They’re gone, as you know. All I can do is remember them. And try to run down the Nazi bastards responsible.” He turned to Serov and added, “And the communist bastards, Colonel, who were just about as responsible.”

Serov remained silent.

Ostrowski looked back at Cronley and finished. “The best way I can do this is as a DCI agent. So, Jim, what are our, repeat, our plans vis-à-vis the cardinal?”

“The other guys feel this way, Max?”

“They do, take my word for it. Or hand me a Bible and I’ll swear on it.”

“Your word is good enough for me.”

“Let me add this. The more devout of us, which includes me, have a hard-on . . . My apology, my lady . . .”

Ginger made a Don’t fret gesture.

“. . . for this heathen religion Himmler was trying to start. We figure if we can shut down Odessa, no more money will flow to these disciples of the devil. So, let me ask again, what are our plans for the cardinal?”

“His name is von Hassburger,” Cohen said. “He’ll depart Rome for Berlin by rail, aboard a special Vatican train, on April 25th, a week from today. The ostensible purpose—or his second purpose—is to offer to pay for the reconstruction of the Kaiser Wilhelm Church on the K’damm, providing that the rebuilt church is Catholic.”

“I thought Arthur Werner wanted to leave it as is, as a memorial to Berliners who died in the war?”

“He does,” Cronley said. “And while His Eminence is trying to talk Werner into changing his mind and accepting his generous offer, the cardinal’s flunkies will be trying to hand the briefcase with the ‘withdrawal’ slip in it to Odessa.”

“And you intend to follow the guy with the briefcase to wherever Odessa is?”

“No,” Cohen said. “We’re going to snatch the briefcase—make that briefcases, plural—until we have the one with the money. That will keep the money from Odessa and cause general consternation f

or both Odessa and the cardinal. And then we try to identify ‘suspicious persons’ and get them to lead us to Odessa.”

“So, when do we go to Berlin?” Ostrowski asked.

Cronley said, “You just said that your guys have a . . . That your guys don’t like the religion of Saint Heinrich the Divine. Which makes me suggest a change to Colonel Cohen and Colonel Serov’s scenario.”

“Why am I sure I’m not going to like this?” Cohen said.

“The original plan,” Cronley went on, “was for Cohen’s guys and mine to head for Berlin on the next train out of Nuremberg. And rendezvous at our safe house in Zehlendorf. In the meantime, we were going to tour Wewelsburg Castle, then drive into Frankfurt and catch the aptly named Army train the Berliner to Berlin. But now I think we should give a tour of Wewelsburg. I think it would be inspiring.”

“So do I,” Serov said right away and turned to Cohen. “Colonel, I think we should give everybody a tour.”

“Okay, then, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Max,” Cronley said, “after setting up protection for Justice Jackson—”

“Does he know what you’re—we’re—up to?”