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“There’s one way to find out,” El Jefe said, and went to the door and opened it. Ostrowski hurriedly shoved his pistol under one of the cushions of the couch he was sitting on.
There were three men at the door, all wearing ODs with U.S. triangles.
The elder of them politely asked, “Mr. Schultz?”
El Jefe nodded.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” the man said, and produced a set of CIC credentials. “May we come in?”
El Jefe backed away from the door and waved them in.
The three of them looked suspiciously around the room.
“What’s the nature of your business in Vienna, Mr. Schultz, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“What’s this all about?” Schultz asked.
“Please, just answer the question.”
“Why don’t you have a look at this?” Schultz said, extending his DCI identification. “It will explain why I don’t answer a lot of questions.”
“Don’t I know you?” one of them, the youngest one, asked of Cronley.
“You look familiar,” Cronley said, and found, or thought he did, the name. “Surgeon, right?”
“Spurgeon,” the man corrected him.
“I never saw one of these before,” the CIC agent said, after examining El Jefe’s DCI credentials.
“I’m not surprised,” El Jefe said.
“Major, I knew this fellow at Holabird,” the younger agent said.
“What?”
“We took Surveillance together,” the younger agent said. “Right?”
“Under Major Derwin,” Cronley confirmed.
“Terrible Tommy Derwin,” Agent Spurgeon said. He put out his hand. “Cronley, right?”
“James D., Junior.”
“Are you working?”
Cronley nodded.
“Doing what?”
“I’m sort of an aide-de-camp to Mr. Schultz.”
“You’re CIC?” the older agent asked.
Cronley produced his CIC credentials.
“I should have known it would be something like this,” the older agent said.
“What would be something like this?” Schultz asked.
