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“I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll see you soon, Konstantin, after you’ve had a little time to think things over,” Cronley said, and then walked out of the sitting room.

[ FOUR ]

XXIIIrd CIC Detachment Officers’ Open Mess

Kloster Grünau

Schollbrunn, Bavaria

American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1505 31 October 1945

Cronley was sitting alone at the bar with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s when Dunwiddie walked in ten minutes later.

“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it, Captain, sir?” Dunwiddie greeted him.

“I’ve already had my breakfast, so why not?”

“Are you celebrating, drowning your sorrows, or just boozing it up?”

“I’ve been trying to make up my mind about that.”

“Drinking just because it makes you feel good is decadent and depraved.”

“I’ll bet they taught you that at Maple Syrup U.”

“Actually, my mother repeated that line to me no more than five million times.”

Dunwiddie went behind the bar, took a bottle of Haig & Haig Pinch Scots whisky from the display, then sat on a stool next to Cronley.

“However,” he went on, as he poured a glass nearly full, “under the circumstances, I feel a little taste is in order.”

He took a very healthy swallow of the whisky, and smacked his lips appreciatively.

If it’s true, Cronley thought, that the larger the corpus into which alcohol is introduced the less effect it has on said corpus, Tiny can do that all day without getting noticeably plastered.

As far as normal-sized people like me are concerned, I better not have any more of this. Right now, getting even slightly plastered is something I can’t afford to do.

“Speaking of your sainted mother, Tiny, I thought that story about her sending you maple syrup worked well with Konstantin. We’ve got to get him thinking about his mother, his wife, his family.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish I knew if his father is alive, if he has any kids.”

“You’re thinking that if we can get him thinking about his mommy and daddy, his loving wife, and their little ones, if any . . . ?”

“He might start to think that while a bullet in the back of his head might solve his problems, the NKGB might turn its kind attention to them. I’m pretty sure he’s been trying very hard not to think of them, so we have to make sure he does.”

“He looked very unhappy when Tedworth was leading him back to his cell.”

“He looked very unhappy when Tedworth led him in from his cell. What we have to do is give him some hope for the future.”

“And reminding him that he’s got a family about to get sent to Siberia, or shot, because he got caught is going to give him hope for the future?”