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“I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Wagner,” Cronley said. “People would wonder what a Press Office jeep driver was doing with a pistol.”
“I’m not going to wave it around, sir,” Wagner replied. “No one would know I have it.”
He pulled up the hem of his Ike jacket, jammed the pistol inside the waistband of his trousers, and then pulled the Ike jacket down over it. There was no indication that the jacket now concealed a weapon.
“See, sir? Who would know I had it?”
When Cronley didn’t immediately reply, Wagner pressed his case.
“After what happened to Miss Colbert and the other lady, sir, I really would like to have it with me.”
“Captain?” Ziegler asked.
After a moment Cronley said, “I think that is what is known as irrefutable logic. Okay, Wagner, but be careful with it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
[ THREE ]
Suite 522
Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten
Maximilianstrasse 178
Munich, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1201 26 January 1946
When the telephone rang on the bedside table, Major Harold Wallace grabbed it.
“Wallace.”
“ASA Fulda, Major. The line is secure. Ready to connect with Commander Schultz.”
“Thank you.”
“Vint Hill, Fulda. Major Wallace on a secure line for Commander Schultz.”
“Acknowledge. Hold one.”
“Schultz.”
“Commander, Major Wallace for you on a secure line.”
“Put him through.”
“Go ahead, Major.”
“I hope I’m not getting you out of bed, Chief.”
“The admiral got me out of bed five minutes ago. He’s been reading the newspaper. What the hell is going on? Sergeant Colbert killed four guys? Who the hell were they?”
“Three. One of them is still alive.”
“Tell me everything about everything, Harry.”
Five minutes later, Wallace had finished.
