“No, Colonel, you may not. You don’t have the Need to Know,” Souers said. “Are you and General Tomlinson about ready to get the cargo moving?”
“At your orders, Admiral,” Tomlinson said.
“Then may I suggest you get going?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Show them how to get into the cargo bay, Ford.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Cronley made a move suggesting he was going with them.
Souers held up his hand. “Unless the commander can’t find the cargo without your help, son, you stay here.”
/> “Yes, sir,” Cronley said.
Souers waited until enough time had passed for Tomlinson, Broadhead, and Ford to have gone down the stairway, then walked to the door to make sure they had.
He turned to Cronley.
“The next problem we have, son, is what to do with you. My first thought, when we first heard of what you had done, was regret that you were coming with the uranium oxide.”
“For Christ’s sake, Admiral,” Cletus Marcus Howell exploded. “You wouldn’t have that goddamned radioactive dirt if it wasn’t for Jimmy! It seems to me a little gratitude is in order. Starting with a leave so that he can go to Texas and see his father and mother.”
Souers ignored him.
“In the best of all possible worlds,” Souers went on, “you would already be back in Germany. But the worst-case scenario has happened. Hoover now knows your name and that you have had something to do with the uranium ore. He will now be determined to learn that precise relationship.”
“And Truman can’t tell him to mind his own business?” the old man asked. “I think he will if I ask him. And I goddamned sure will. I figure ole Harry owes me a little favor—hell, a large favor. You know what it costs by the hour to fly this airplane? And I don’t mind at all calling it in.”
“I hope I can talk you out of doing that, Mr. Howell. The problem there is that if the President tells Hoover to mind his own business, all that will do is whet Hoover’s curiosity. And we have to keep in mind that the ore isn’t the only thing Cronley knows about.”
“You mean the Germans we sneaked into Argentina?”
Souers nodded. “That whole operation.”
“And you don’t trust Jimmy to keep his mouth shut, is that it? That’s insulting!”
“The less he tells the FBI agents that Hoover certainly is going to send to ‘interview’ him, the greater their—Hoover’s—curiosity is going to be. I don’t want—can’t permit—the ax of Hoover learning about the Gehlen operation to be hanging over the President.”
“I understand this, Mr. Howell,” Cronley said, then met Souers’s eyes. “Sir, I’m perfectly willing to go back to Germany right away.”
“And then where do we get married?” Marjorie Howell demanded. “In the ruins of Berlin? Maybe we could get married in that bunker where Hitler married his mistress the day before he shot her. That would be romantic as hell, wouldn’t it?”
“Chip off the old block, isn’t she, Admiral?” the old man said, smiling with obvious pride. “She’s got my genes. I advise you not to cross her.”
“Squirt,” Cronley said. “This is important stuff.”
“So far as I’m concerned, getting married is pretty important stuff,” she said.
“Not that I think the admiral is at all interested,” Martha Howell said, “but I thought you and Beth wanted a double wedding. And I can’t set up something like that in less than three months.”
“You wanted the double wedding, Mother,” Marjorie said. “Let’s get that straight. Beth would like to get married today. And so, goddamn it, would I, now that I think about it.”
“I’m afraid your marriage plans are going to have to be put on hold until we get this straightened out, Miss Howell,” Souers said.
“On hold for how long?” Marjorie demanded. “Or is that another classified secret?”