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“My mother’s brother’s son. You may have met him. Former Sturmführer Luther Stauffer . . .”
That rang a bell! I could see it in his eyes!
“The name does not seem familiar,” Heimstadter said.
“The SS sent him home to Strasbourg just as the Thousand-Year Reich was in its final death throes,” Cronley said. “They assigned him the duty of helping people they knew we would be looking for to get out of Germany. The French caught him trying to get you and Müller across the border. As soon as the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire is fi
nished asking Cousin Luther about Odessa, he’ll be transferred here for trial and, I’m afraid, the hangman’s noose.”
“You are a disgrace to your German blood!”
“I’m sure Cousin Luther would agree with you,” Cronley replied. “He was deep into Himmler’s Nazi Knights of the Round Table nonsense. He even got married at Castle Wewelsburg. But on the other hand, I can sleep at night. The hangman’s noose is not in my future.”
I don’t know where all that came from, but this time, my automatic mouth was right on the money.
I could see it in his eyes.
He met Cousin Luther and he knows what went on at Wewelsburg.
What he’s worried about right now is how much Müller is going to tell me.
Which is nothing, because I’m not going to call on Müller.
And when he asks Müller what he told me, and Müller tells him he never saw me, he’ll think Müller is a liar, and Müller will start wondering what former SS-Brigadeführer Ulrich Heimstadter told me to try to avoid the noose.
Cronley, you have really learned how to be a devious bastard!
He turned and raised his voice, and then cried in English, “Sergeant, let me out of here!”
[FIVE]
Farber Palast
Stein, near Nuremberg
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1845 23 February 1946
When Cronley walked into the lobby, he saw Lieutenant Tom Winters sitting in an armchair reading the Stars and Stripes.
“Please don’t tell me you flew Wallace down here,” he greeted him.
Winters closed the newspaper and stood up.
“No,” he said simply. “I’m reporting for duty. Me and the other Storch. Colonel Wallace told me you would probably eventually come here.”
“Let’s go in the bar and you can tell me all about it,” Cronley said, and then asked, “Why didn’t you wait for me in there?”
“Because I knew if I went in there, I would drink more than I should.”
“Tell me about it over a double scotch, and then we’ll get something to eat.”
—
They went in the bar and took a table and, when the waiter came, ordered Johnnie Walker, doubles.
When the drinks were served, Cronley took a healthy swallow and Winters a small—very small—sip.
