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Sergeant Kramer, who had changed his mind about staying, looked up from the desk.

“All we need now, sir, is the access code and the name you want to call this station.”

“Let me sit down there, please,” Cronley said.

“I’m a pretty good typist, sir.”

“As the result of a month’s detention when I was in the sixth grade, so am I. I often think that typing is the most valuable skill I brought into the Army.”

The sergeant laughed and stood. Cronley took his chair.

There was a telephone dial on the front of the SIGABA. Cronley dialed in the access code. Green indicator lights illuminated. A message appeared on the screen: ENTER STATION ID.

“What shall we call our little station?” Cronley wondered aloud. “Where are we? Munich. What comes to mind when you hear Munich? Hitler’s beer garden. Beergarden? Better, Beermug.”

He began typing.

A strip of paper began to snake out of the SIGABA, as simultaneously the message was typed on a roll of paper by the teletype typewriter that was part of the SIGABA/Collins system.

When he had finished typing, and the teletype typewriter stopped clattering, Cronley tore the paper tape free and fed it back into the SIGABA. Then he tore what the teletypewriter had printed from the machine, read it, and then handed it to Sergeant Kramer.

“Pass it around when you’re finished,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

PRIORITY

TOP SECRET LINDBERGH

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

FROM BEERMUG

MSG NO 00001 1100 GREENWICH 4 NOVEMBER 1945

TO VINT HILL SPECIAL

WISH TO JOIN TANGO NET

ACKNOWLEDGE

—

?“Sergeant Mitchell, right? Cronley asked the technical sergeant.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re senior, so you get the dirty job. You are hereby appointed Classified Documents NCO. I don’t suppose you have a weapon?”

“A .45. In the truck, sir.”

“Not doing you much good there, is it? Go get it. When you have it, I will give you this, which you will keep on your person until I can get my safe moved here from Kloster Grünau. I will then give you the combination to the safe. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The SIGABA began to whir.

“Hold off on getting your pistol until we hear what Vint Hill has to say,” Cronley ordered.