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“And why is that, Lieutenant?”

“A very wise man once told me that if a second lieutenant—or, for that matter, a lieutenant colonel—finds himself in a situation where he really doesn’t know what to do, he should go find a good sergeant and listen to him.”

“That’s good advice. Who was this wise man?”

“My father, sir.”

“Your father was an officer?”

“In War One, a light colonel, sir, the executive officer of Colonel Donovan—excuse me, General Donovan. Between wars, Uncle Bill was the family lawyer. I suppose that had some influence on my winding up in the DCI.”

* * *

—

Gehlen routinely ate breakfast, and sometimes lunch, with the officers of his staff, but now dined alone. After his first “chat” with Cronley, he started inviting him to dinner.

As this was out of character for him, he gave it considerable thought and finally concluded it was because the young and very junior officer stimulated him intellectually. And when Gehlen thought about that he was forced to conclude that Cronley’s mind was as sharp, perhaps even sharper, than his own.

More as after-dinner entertainment than anything else, Gehlen began to tell Cronley about what he thought of as his personal unsolved puzzles—personal because they had little or nothing to do with his work for the DCI and because most of them dated back to just before the surrender.

One so-called puzzle was Phoenix—Operation Phoenix—meaning that, after some time had passed, the Fourth Reich would rise, phoenixlike, from the ashes of the Third Reich.

Gehlen’s Nazis knew many details of Operation Phoenix, and given the choice between sharing those with the Office of Strategic Services or being returned to Germany to face the wrath of the Allies and the Jews, they chose to work with the OSS.

And then an American Jew, Colonel Mortimer Cohen, who provided CIC security for the War Crimes Tribunal in Nuremberg, came up with something.

According to Cohen, Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler had started a new, nameless religion at Castle Wewelsburg. Gehlen had heard only whispered rumors about it and decided to take a closer look. But it was now guarded by Cohen’s agents. Within an hour of their first meeting, Gehlen and Cohen had become fast friends and co-conspirators determined to do away with the Church of Saint Heinrich the Divine.

* * *

—

As soon as Cohen, Cronley, and McKenna had been passed through the outer of three checkpoints of the Compound, Gehlen had been notified. He was waiting for them when they walked into his office.

“Jim, I’m so sorry about Mrs. Moriarty.”

Cronley nodded.

“Thank you, General.”

“Who he, Morty?” Gehlen asked, pointing to the priest.

“This is Father McKenna,” Cohen replied. “He’s here to hear your confession and save your soul.”

The priest’s face showed he was not amused, but he said nothing.

“If it gets back to the Vatican, Father, that you’re running around with these two . . .” Gehlen said.

“The Vatican knows,” Cohen said. “At least, Cardinal von Hassburger does, and he and Pius XII are pals. We are in the process of establishing one of those ‘the enemy of my enemy’ relationships with the Holy Mother Church.”

“That’ll have to wait until after I deal with von Dietelburg and Burgdorf. Got any idea where they are?”

Gehlen shook his head.

“In the good old days, I could have called upon the Sicherheitsdienst and the Gestapo to find people for me. Now I have to rely on the CIC . . .”

Cohen chuckled. “I feel your pain, General.”