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“Freddy,” Cronley said, annoyance—even anger—in his tone, “shut up. No one asked you.”
“I know. That’s what I meant before when I said I was underutilized around here.”
“Let’s hear what he has to say,” El Jefe said. “Starting with who’s Ludwig?”
“Colonel Mannberg’s Christian name is Ludwig. We can safely presume they know that. So they will not be surprised when he, and not the general, shows up at the Café Weitz.”
“What makes you think I will not be going to the Café Weitz?” Gehlen asked.
He tried, but failed, to keep an icy tone out of his voice.
“I would be very surprised, General,” Hessinger replied, “if Captain Cronley would expose you to that risk. I am extremely reluctant to expose Colonel Mannberg to that risk, but I can see no alternative.”
“You are ‘extremely reluctant,’ are you, Freddy?” Cronley asked sarcastically. “You’ve given our little problem a great deal of thought, I gather? And come up with the solutions?”
“Our problems, plural. Yes, I have.”
“‘Problems, plural’?” Cronley parroted. “And the others are?”
“The other is you dealing with your family in Strasbourg.”
“That’s a personal problem that I will deal with myself, thank you just the same,” Cronley said.
“No. The chief, DCI-Europe, doesn’t have personal problems.”
“What are you suggesting, Freddy?”
“That it is entirely possible that when you knock on your cousin Luther’s door, bearing the black market Hershey bars and canned ham, he will smile gratefully at you and ask you in. Maybe he will even embrace you and kiss your cheek. And the next we will hear of you is when the new Rachel sends us a message saying we can have you back just as soon as we send Colonel Likharev into the Russian Zone of Berlin. Or maybe Vienna.”
“My God!” Gehlen breathed. “That possibility never entered my mind.”
After a very long moment, Cronley said, “Sergeant Miller, you never should have heard any of this.”
“Mr. Hessinger has made me aware of the situation, sir.”
“Okay. I’m not surprised. But I have to ask this. Are you a volunteer? Or did Tedworth, or for that matter Captain Dunwiddie, volunteer your services for you?”
“Sir, I went to Mr. Hessinger and told him I thought I could be more useful working for him, for DCI, than I could as just one more sergeant of the guard.”
“Okay. With the caveat that I think you may—hell, certainly will—come to regret doing that, you’re in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Okay, Freddy,” Cronley ordered. “Let’s hear your solutions to our problems, plural.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Taddeus, please get my briefcase from the ambulance,” Hessinger said. “And while you’re doing that, I will get started by talking about the death and resurrection of the 711th MKRC.”
“Why don’t you get started talking about something important?” Cronley challenged.
“A unit called the 711th Quartermaster Mess Kit Repair Company is a sophomoric joke . . .”
“So you have been saying,” Cronley said.
“Shut up, Jim,” El Jefe said. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
