Page 65

“How much of this is true?” Ginger then said, very softly, her voice breaking.

“Just about all of it.”

“Those . . . breeding farms?”

“Yeah. And the NKGB had agents in the British Second Army Headquarters. Otherwise he couldn’t know about the freed Russians who grabbed Himmler first. Or the names of the British officers. Or Himmler’s burial in some farmer’s field.”

Ginger stood up and ordered, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the room. Where I’m going to lay down, holding Bruce as tight as I can. And then you’re going to lay down and hold the both of us as tight as you can.”

Cronley stood up and followed her out of the room.

As he passed through the door, he put his arm around her shoulders.

In the corridor, she turned into his arms, and he held her as tight as he could.

[THREE]

44-46 Beerenstrasse

Zehlendorf, Berlin, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

0745 21 April 1946

Cronley was dipping pieces of steak into the yolk of one of his fried eggs. Ginger, visibly deep in thought and holding Baby Bruce to her shoulder, was moving a piece of toast around her plate with a fork. Father McGrath, his plate clean, held a cup of coffee in one hand and a freshly lit eight-inch cigar in the other.

Max Ostrowski came into the dining room and took a seat at the table.

“I hope everybody else slept well,” Ostrowski said, gesturing with Serov’s book. “This goddamn thing kept me awake all night, after I read it twice.”

He tossed it on the table. Ginger raised her eyes to look at him but didn’t say anything.

Ostrowski broke the silence: “Any reason you’re wearing your railroad tracks, Captain Cronley?”

“In the hope that when Cardinal von Hassburger, or members of his ecclesiastic staff, sees me in the Kaiser Wilhelm Church, they will think I am a sightseeing captain, and as such, not important. However, when they see your triangles, Max, they will immediately decide that someone should keep an eye on you.”

“You want me to get rid of my triangles?”

“Absolutely not. That’s the point: If they’re watching you, they likely won’t be watching me.” He paused, and as an afterthought added, “Unless you happen to have civilian clothing?”

“I wish we had this conversation last night. Before I told all my guys to wear civvies.”

“Well, your call. You can swap clothes with one of your guys, if you want, and let him be the subject of intense Vatican curiosity.”

“How much time do I have before the CIC comes?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Frank Williams is expected any minute,” Cronley said.

Ostrowski hastily went off to change clothes. He had been gone not much more than a minute when Williams and Colonel Cohen walked into the dining room.

“Good morning,” Williams said. “Everybody ready to spy on the cardinal’s minions?”

“No,” Cronley said. “One of us is changing his clothes. You’re welcome to have some breakfast.”

“We’ve eaten, thank you,” Cohen said. “But how about a cup of coffee?”