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“I need a number in Midland, Texas, for Lieutenant Colonel Cronley.”
“Fulda, that’ll have to go through the White House switchboard.”
“Vint Hill, do it.”
“White House.”
“White House, this is Fulda. I need Lieutenant Colonel Cronley in Midland, Texas. The line is not, repeat not, secure.”
“Wait, please.”
“Operator.”
“This is the White House switchboard. I need the number for a Lieutenant Colonel Cronley in Midland.”
“The White House?”
“This is the White House switchboard.”
“Please hold.”
“The only Cronley I have is James D. Senior, at the F-Bar-Z Ranch.”
“Can you connect me, please?”
“Please hold.”
“Hello?”
“This is the White House calling for Lieutenant Colonel James Cronley.”
“You’re serious?”
“Is this Colonel Cronley?”
“A long time ago it was.”
“Fulda, I have Captain Cronley on the line. The line is not, repeat not, secure.”
“Dad?”
“Jimmy, good to hear your voice, son. I guess you finally got my message.”
“What message?”
“The one I left with Major Kramer . . . where you work.”
“Major who?” Cronley asked, and then remembered Kramer was one of the ex–OSS officers recruited for the DCI by El Jefe and now assigned to DCI-Europe.
“He said his name was Kramer, and that you were not available at the moment, but that he would try to get word to you to call.”
“He didn’t. Is everything all right? Is Mom all right?”
“Physically, she’s fine. The question is, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Chief Schultz told us what happened to Bruce Moriarty. What really happened to him, as opposed to the ‘while cleaning his pistol’ version. So we were worried about you and I decided to call.”
