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“Not a problem,” Frade said.

Gehlen indicated that Frade should get in the seat he had just left.

“No, sir,” Cronley said. “The colonel will ride in the back, where he can apologize to me for making yet another hasty judgment.”

Frade looked at him expectantly.

“If the colonel looks closely he will notice that while this vehicle began life as a Truck, a three-quarter-ton four-by-four Ambulance, it is no longer used in that capacity. The colonel will notice there are no red crosses on the sides or the roof. Additionally, if the colonel looks at the door, he will see the legend INDIGENOUS PERSONNEL TRANSPORT VEHICLE #5, and if he looks at the bumpers he will see that the markings indicate it is in the service of the 711TH QM MKRC. That stands for ‘Quartermaster Mess Kit Repair Company.’”

“Okay, okay,” Frade said. “Can I get in it now? It’s as cold as a witch’s teat out here.”

“Not until I’m finished,” Cronley said.

Frade was about to snap, “Finish later,” but he saw the amused smile on Gehlen’s face and held his tongue.

“The other four indigenous personnel transport vehicles of the 711th QM MKRC are, in fact, used to transport indigenous personnel. But those indigenous personnel are not mess kit repairers, but, in fact, associates of General Gehlen. The 711th Quartermaster is a figment of Dunwiddie’s imagination. That keeps curious people from asking the wrong questions.”

“Got it,” Frade said. “How much longer is this lecture going to go on?”

“Not much longer, bear with me. Now, Indigenous Transport Vehicle #5, this one, is a deception within a deception, thanks again to the genius of First Sergeant Dunwiddie. This vehicle, as you will soon see, has two armchairs mounted inside where they used to put stretchers. When the senior staff of Kloster Grünau has something to talk about we don’t wish to share with anyone else, we get in what is now our Truck, a three-quarter-ton four-by-four Mobile Secure Room and drive out on the runway.”

“Clever,” Frade said.

“Which is what I suspect the general had in mind today. Do you have any questions, Colonel, sir, or is everything clear in your mind?”

“How do I open the back door?”

“I will accept that as an apology for your cruel remarks about my reputation as a pilot.”

“Shut up, Jimmy,” Frade said, smiling, “and get in the goddamned truck. Or whatever the hell it is.”

—

Frade settled himself in one of the armchairs, looked around, saw a table with a coffee thermos and mugs on it, and said, “Nice. And clever.”

Gehlen turned from the front seat. “Yes, it is. And Dunwiddie does get the credit. Shortly after Sergeant Tedworth arrested Major Orlovsky and we had to deal with the unpleasant fact that the NKGB is among us, I mentioned idly that I was a bit concerned that our conversations in Jim’s office might be overheard. He told me he’d been working on a solution, then took me for a ride in this.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Frade said. “Are the people the NKGB turned—I suppose I mean Orlovsky turned—becoming a greater problem?”

“They are, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, what I thought you should hear.”

“Okay. Shoot. Anything you have to say I’ll listen to.”

“How about anything First Sergeant Dunwiddie has to say?”

The question took Frade by surprise.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Your hesitation—indeed, your not answering that question at all—proves that Sergeant Dunwiddie was right again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.”

“As I told you I was going to, I took Dunwiddie with me when I talked to Major Orlovsky. After our first chat—we’ve had three with him, the last at midnight, just before I called you—Dunwiddie said that he thought he had detected in Orlovsky something I hadn’t.”

“Which was?” Frade asked.

Gehlen didn’t reply directly. Instead, he said, “I thought he was wrong, or perhaps reaching, as you Americans say, for a straw. But in the second meeting, I approached the subject at its fringes, and began to see what Dunwiddie suspected.”