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The opinions offered were not flattering.

One major general said, “Bullshit, absolute pure bullshit. I kept wondering why you didn’t shut the arrogant little bastard up.”

He was followed by General Makamson, who said, “I think that Colonel Cohen and Captain Cronley should be escorted from here to the psychiatric ward of the One Hundred Thirty-fourth Station Hospital for a thorough mental evaluation.”

When all had finished, General Clay looked at Cohen.

“And now we’ll hear, probably for the defense, so to speak, from the Counterintelligence Corps. The floor is yours, Colonel.”

Cohen stood up.

“General Clay, sir, what you have seen in Captain Cronley’s presentation was why Mr. Justice Jackson calls him Super Spook. And, for the record, I’m happy to take orders from him, sir.”

He sat down.

Clay glanced from face to face as he said, “From the beginning of this, the thought that there must be a reason why Captain Cronley has been given the authority to deal with Odessa kept running through my mind. Then that eventually drove me to the conclusion that I’m not going to pit my evaluation of Captain Cronley against that of Admiral Souers. Not that my evaluation would in any way be negative. Quite the contrary.

“So, gentlemen, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to pretend (a) that we didn’t know Cohen and Cronley are in Berlin and (b) that this meeting never took place. If we don’t know of Cronley and Cohen’s plans, how can we interfere with them? That said, there is one exception to this. Colonel Switzer?”

“Yes, sir?” Switzer said.

“As the chief, CIC Berlin,” Clay went on, “if the chief, CIC, Nuremberg Tribunal, came to ask for your support in connection with something he said he couldn’t talk about, what would be your reaction? Would you help him or not?”

“I’d be inclined to help him, sir.”

“Good. Now, I don’t know this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Colonel Cohen came to you and asked for support. If you can’t give him what he asks for, tell me. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I now declare this conference, which never took place, to be closed. General Makamson’s driver will take you, Colonel Cohen and Captain Cronley, wherever you want to go.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cohen and Cronley said, almost in unison.

“If you come across a bit of information you think would be of interest to me, I’d be grateful for it. I will not share it with anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” they said.

“Good luck to you,” Clay said, then snuffed out his cigarette.

“Thank you, sir,” Cohen and Cronley said again in chorus.

They stood up and walked to the door.

Makamson’s senior aide-de-camp, the major, was waiting for them.

“If you’ll follow me, please, gentlemen.”

[THREE]

44-46 Beerenstrasse

Zehlendorf, Berlin, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1105 20 April 1946

General Makamson’s driver, after taking a circuitous route, dropped off Cohen and Cronley in an alley a block from the safe house and immediately drove away. Before they were halfway to the next alley, headed for the back door of the house, an unmarked Chevrolet staff car stopped near where they had been dropped off. Two men stepped out of passenger doors.

Cronley saw that one was Colonel Switzer, the Berlin CIC chief, and was not surprised. Switzer’s boss, Brigadier General Greene, had provided a cover for the safe house. Officially, it was the living quarters for South American Airlines personnel, including flight crews.