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Cronley told him.
“Interesting,” Fortin said.
“And I just had one of my famous inspirations, based on a number of if’s. If Cousin Luther planned to get these two bastards across the Wissembourg border . . .”
“I’m sure, with Finney’s help, DuPres and Sergent-chef Ibn Tufail can find that out,” Fortin said.
“. . . and if we can lay our hands on them . . .”
“Place your faith in the U.S. Constabulary in that regard, Jim,” McMullen said.
“. . . and if we take them to one of the cells at Kloster Grünau and let them consider their plight overnight, and the next morning Captain Pierre DuPres and Sergent-chef Ibn Tufail interview them before movie cameras about their knowledge of who was what in Operation Paperclip, they will sing like the canaries we hear about.”
“Why DuPres?”
“Particularly, if they are now being guarded by half a dozen men—Ostrowski’s Poles—who chatter in Russian, and half a dozen of the largest and most menacing of Tiny’s Troopers,” Cronley continued, and then added, “DuPres because the people in the Pentagon who get to see the movie will then wonder how much our French allies know about Paperclip and how much they might tell the press if the press start asking questions.”
“Don’t let this go to your head, Cronley,” McMullen said, “but I don’t think you’re really as much of a joke as an intelligence officer as General
Seidel thinks. You are really one devious sonofabitch.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, and then pointed. “And if that champagne bottle isn’t empty, would you slide it this way?”
XII
[ ONE ]
The Glienicke Bridge
Wannsee, U.S. Zone of Berlin
0900 6 February 1946
Right on schedule, the huge-bodied Red Army truck started backing onto the bridge.
When it was halfway to the white line marking the center of the bridge, Ostrowski, Mannberg, Dunwiddie, and Wallace started walking onto the bridge. Janice Johansen, with two Leica 35mm cameras hung around her neck, followed them.
When they stopped fifteen feet from the white line, Janice moved to within thirty feet of the line and started taking pictures.
The truck stopped and its rear doors opened, revealing Colonel Mattingly sitting handcuffed in a chair with his shackled ankles chained to the floor.
Janice moved closer, one of her cameras to her eye.
The Russian officer who had directed the truck as it backed up to the line marched off and Serov appeared. He walked almost to the dividing line. The Americans did the same.
Serov saluted. Dunwiddie returned it.
“Good morning,” Serov said.
“At least it’s not snowing,” Mannberg replied.
“Who’s that woman?” Serov demanded.
“I understand she’s from the Associated Press,” Mannberg replied.
“I don’t like her being here,” Serov said.
“I hear that all the time,” Janice said. “What’s your name, handsome?”
