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Sonthofen, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1055 23 February 1946
“General, Colonel Wilson is here, with some people. Not on the schedule,” White’s sergeant major, a great bull of a thirty-odd-year-old with a closely cropped crew cut, announced.
“I knew something was going to ruin my day,” White replied. “Let him pass, Charley, but keep an eye on him.”
Lieutenant Colonel William W. “Hotshot Billy” Wilson, who had been at the airfield when Cronley, Dunwiddie, and Wagner arrived and who had offered to drive them to the headquarters building, marched into the office, trailed by the others.
He came to attention and saluted.
“General, I found these nefarious characters trying to infiltrate my airfield.”
“I am always delighted to see Sergeant Wagner, Billy,” White said. “It is Sergeant Wagner, right, Chauncey?”
“Yes, sir,” Dunwiddie said. “He was promoted immediately after a senior officer thought that would be appropriate.”
“Wagner, if you tire of these intelligence types, there’s always a place for you in the Constabulary.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m not sure whether I’m delighted to see you, Mr. Cronley. The story I get is that an officer I reluctantly transferred to you shot himself while cleaning his pistol. Accidents happen, but commanding officers can’t dodge responsibility for not preventing them. Comment?”
Oh, shit!
His mouth went on automatic: “General, I hold myself responsible for Lieutenant Moriarty’s death. Bonehead would not have been in DCI if I hadn’t recruited him. But—”
“It wasn’t an accident, sir.” Dunwiddie finished the sentence, then asked, “May I tell the general, Mr. Cronley?”
“What the hell do you mean, Chauncey?” White flared. “May he tell me? He goddamned well better tell me!”
“General, Tiny is—as usual—being a good officer,” Cronley said. “The circumstances surrounding Lieutenant Moriarty’s death are classified Top Secret–Presidential.”
“And I don’t have the goddamn Need to Know? Is that what you’re telling me, Cronley?”
“No, sir. You have every right to know. And I fuck— Excuse me. I failed to bring you into this. I’m very sorry.”
“As you goddamn well should be. You also failed to tell me you’ve been assigned to protect Justice Jackson at Nuremberg.”
“Sir, no excuse, sir.”
I haven’t said that since I was a Fish at A&M.
General White makes A&M upperclassmen tormenting Fish seem like Angels of Mercy.
And how the hell does he know about Nuremberg?
“I read minds, Cronley. You might want to keep that in mind. I knew that you and Chauncey had been sent to Nuremberg because Colonel Wallace told me when he called to tell me he was now chief, DCI-Europe.”
My God! He does read minds!
“But he didn’t tell you about Moriarty?”
“I can only surmise that he didn’t think I had the right to know. So, are you going to tell me? Or are you going to wait until I tell Colonel Wilson to excuse us?”
“No, sir. Lieutenant Moriarty was assassinated. Everything points to me being the intended target. He was sleeping in what had been my bed at the Compound. He was shot—through the window—seven times with a silenced Colt Woodsman .22.”
