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“Yes, sir.”
“You have the Wanted List? Let me see it.”
“I don’t have one, sir.”
“Damn! Well, I’ve got one here somewhere.”
Connell rooted through the papers on his desk until he found it. He read it, and learned what the number four after Frau von Wachtstein’s name required.
He picked up his telephone.
“Get me Frankfurt Military 4033,” he said.
The reply could be heard metallically but faintly.
“Four Oh Three Three.”
“Colonel Mattingly, please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Major Connell, Twenty-second CIC.”
“Hold one.”
It took a full minute to locate Colonel Mattingly.
“Mattingly.”
“Sir, this is Major Connell of the Twenty-second CIC. The MPs picked up a German woman on the Wanted List. It said to notify you.”
“Who? What’s her name?”
“Frau . . .” Connell looked at Cronley for help.
“Elsa von Wachtstein,” Cronley furnished, and Connell repeated it.
“Where is she?”
“Here in my office, sir.”
“Put her on.”
John Connell handed Frau von Wachtstein the telephone.
“Hello,” she said.
“Guten tag, Frau von Wachtstein,” Mattingly said in fluent German. “May I ask what your relationship is to Generalleutnant Graf Karl-Friedrich von Wachtstein?”
“He was my father-in-law,” Elsa said immediately.
“And Generalmajor Ludwig Holz?”
“He was my father.”
“And Major Karl von Wachtstein?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then in a quiet tone she replied, “He was my husband.”
