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“This scenario suggests that Burgdorf turned von Dietelburg, who was—is—an opportunist of the first order. A variation of this scenario suggests that when Burgdorf put his nose in Wewelsburg, von Dietelburg went to him and proclaimed that his loyalty was to the Führer, not Himmler. And that he suspected, but could not prove, that Himmler planned to use Odessa to escape Germany if the situation seemed to be going wrong.”
“And you didn’t think I would be interested in any of this? That this Burgdorf guy didn’t die in the Führerbunker, or either scenario?” Cronley challenged. “I thought we were chums.”
Serov made a gesture—both hands extended, palms up—of helplessness.
“If we had told you—DCI or USFET intelligence—that Burgdorf was still alive and on the run and almost certainly involved with Odessa, he would learn of this from an Odessa mole either in the Farben Building or Gehlen’s compound.”
Cronley didn’t reply.
“And we know there are moles, don’t we?” Serov asked. “One of them killed your friend.” He paused. “Thinking it was you.”
“Point taken,” Cronley agreed.
“So, now that I have told you, can we get back to the details of what happened? General Nikitchenko really wants to know.”
“I was about to say, ‘providing it doesn’t go any further than your general,’” Cronley said, “but if I did that it would once again reveal my naiveté, wouldn’t it?”
Serov made another both-hands-palms-up gesture of You’ve got me!
“And you, Janice, if I let you sit here and listen to what I tell Ivan, will I see it on the front page of tomorrow’s Stars and Stripes?”
“If you’re asking, Super Spook, will I sit on it until you say I can write it, no, I won’t. I will sit on it for ninety-six hours or until the story breaks, which I’m sure it will. Deal?”
“Deal. Thanks. Okay, Ivan, what do you want to know?”
“The details.?
?
“Casey Wagner’s scenario—and I think he’s on the money—is that Sergeant Brownlee smuggled what he thought—what his Schatzi told him—was laxative—”
“Her name?” Serov asked.
“Trude Wahlheim,” Cronley said. “Or that’s what she told Brownlee.”
Sergei Alekseevich scribbled this into a notebook.
“Ivan, my chum, how about letting me give you Wagner’s scenario and then you ask your questions?”
“Sorry.”
“Brownlee smuggled what he thought was German Ex-Lax into the prison by hiding it under his balls in his underwear. He then passed it to the guy—a German named Wilhelm Reiss—in charge of the chow line. Reiss would then pass the Ex-Lax to Macher as he passed through the chow line.
“What we have cleverly figured out is (a) the Ex-Lax was really one or more capsules of potassium cyanide, (b) that instead of passing the cyanide capsules to Major Macher, Reiss put one of them into a slice of cobbler and put that slice on Cousin Luther’s tray as he passed through the chow line. Auf Wiedersehen, Cousin Luther.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope you have this Reiss chap?” Serov asked.
“He and the sergeant’s Schatzi are not to be found,” Cronley said.
“So what are your plans?” Serov asked.
“The general wants to know that, too, huh?” Cronley replied, and then went on without waiting for a reply. “I’m going to give the sonofabitch a Christian burial. I know how important Christian burials are to you.”
Serov ignored the reference to the Russian Orthodox burials he had asked Cronley to provide—and Cronley had provided—for the NKGB agents whom DCI agent Claudette Colbert had killed when they attempted to kidnap her and Tech Sergeant—now DCI agent—Florence Miller.
“I thought the disposal protocol for the remains of Tribunal prisoners was cremation, with the ashes then to be secretly scattered into the Neckar River,” Serov said.
“That’s my understanding,” Cronley replied. “But Cousin Luther wasn’t a Tribunal prisoner awaiting trial and the gallows. He just thought he was. I brought him here thinking that he might decide giving me von Dietelburg was a better option than the gallows.”
