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“I’ll wait,” Rachel said. “Paul, this is Captain Cronley.”
The captain smiled and put out his hand. “Who I will now take off your hands. If you’ll come with me, Captain?”
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Schumann,” Cronley said.
“My pleasure, Captain. Perhaps we’ll see one another again.”
—
The captain led Cronley across the lobby to a corridor, and then down the corridor to a door. There were two men standing by the door. They were wearing blue triangle insignia; Cronley guessed they were CIC agents. One of them opened the door and the other waved Cronley through it.
He found himself in what he decided was a private dining room. Three tables had been put together end-to-end at the far side of the room. There were more than a dozen officers at them. One of them, in the center, was Rear Admiral Souers. There were two brigadier generals—one of whom was General Greene. And Colonel Mattingly with three other full colonels. And a Marine Corps lieutenant colonel—
Jesus, that’s Clete! What the hell is he doing here?
—then several other lieutenant colonels, including Lieutenant Colonel Schumann, whom Cronley had not seen since the incident at Kloster Grünau, and then several majors.
Some were wearing SHAEF shoulder insignia and a few had the new EUCOM shoulder insignia, a variation of the Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force flaming sword insignia, made necessary when SHAEF had become European Command. The rest had what looked like a striped ball on their shoulders. This was the insignia of Army Ground Forces, which adorned the shoulders of many warriors assigned to the Pentagon.
“I’m glad you could finally find time for us, Cronley,” Admiral Souers said. His tone was amused, not sarcastic. Several of the officers at the tables chuckled. “Take a seat, son.”
Souers indicated a row of a dozen straight-backed chairs against the wall behind Cronley. He had just settled into one when Souers stood and barked, “Attention on deck!”
Three men entered the room.
“Keep your seats, please, gentlemen,” the tallest among them said, and then, smiling at Cronley, took the straight-backed chair next to him.
He took a pack of Chesterfields from the pocket of a linen golf jacket. By the time he got a cigarette to his lips, one of the officers with him, a full colonel wearing the aiguillette and lapel insignia of an aide-de-camp to a general of the Army, had a flaming Zippo waiting.
“Good morning, sir,” Souers said.
“Admiral. It’s good to see you,” General of the Army Dwight David Eisenhower said.
“With your permission, sir?” Souers asked.
Ike gave permission with a wave of the cigarette in his hand.
Jimmy saw the general’s fingers were deeply yellow tobacco-stained.
“I think, with a couple of exceptions,” Souers said, “we all know one another. The exceptions are my Marine aide-de-camp. While Lieutenant Colonel Frade is a Marine—a distinguished one, he has the Navy Cross—he’s not really my aide. That’s to keep people from asking questions. Colonel Frade has been running OSS operations in the Southern Cone of South America.
“The other officer who needs introduction is sitting next to General Eisenhower. Not one of the colonels, the captain. Captain Cronley is the officer charged with protecting Gehlen and Company.”
Cronley saw Cletus Frade looking at him. Frade’s face was expressionless.
What did I expect? That he’d wave at me, or wink, with General Eisenhower sitting next to me?
Frade nodded his head, just perceptibly. Cronley, deciding Eisenhower couldn’t see him, winked.
“I sort of thought that’s who you probably were,” Gene
ral Eisenhower said, turning to Cronley. “The President told me what you did in South America. Well done, son. I’m glad I’ve had this chance to meet you.”
He gave Cronley his hand.
Cronley said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“How do I get this started?” Souers asked rhetorically. “First things first is usually a good idea.
