“Anyone want to go back to Frankfurt?”
No one responded.
“Next question: You first,” he said, pointing to the junior ASA man, Sergeant Fortin. “How do you feel about black people?”
“Sir?” the sergeant said. The question was obviously confusing.
“Simple question, Sergeant Fortin. How do you feel about black people? More specifically, how would you like to have a black first sergeant?”
“A black first sergeant?”
“The Pullach compound will be guarded by a reinforced company of soldiers from an anti-tank battalion of Second Armored. They’re all black, including their first sergeant, who is six feet four and weighs maybe two-eighty. When provoked, he can be one mean sonofabitch. Since I have no intention of setting up a separate white guy/black guy operation, now that you’re going to be here, this big black guy will be your first sergeant. Do you have any problems with that?”
“Sir, I don’t know.”
Cronley did not hesitate: “Okay. Go wait in the truck. If you tell anyone what you saw here, or think you saw here, you’re going to find yourself on a slow boat to the Aleutian Islands, where you can count on counting snowballs for the next couple of years. Go.”
Fortin started for the stairwell.
“What about you, Sergeant Kramer?” Cronley asked the younger of the staff sergeants. “You have problems with working under a black top kick?”
Fortin, almost to the stairwell, turned.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“How does this black first sergeant feel about white guys?”
“Valid question,” Cronley replied. “I look at him as my best friend. As far as I know, the feeling is mutual.”
“He’s a pretty good soldier?”
“He made first sergeant at twenty-one when all the other non-coms in his company were killed or wounded. He comes from an Army family. His great-grandfathers were Cavalry soldiers who fought Apaches and Comanches in the West, and two of his grandfathers riding with the Ninth Cavalry beat Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders up San Juan Hill in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. That answer your question?”
“I’ll stay, sir.”
“Because of what I said?”
“Sir, Major McClung said what you’re doing here is important. That, and what you said about this black guy being your best friend. And what the hell, we’re all in the same Army, right, sir?”
“Yes, we are.” Cronley turned to Kramer and Mitchell. “Either of you have any problems about First Sergeant Dunwiddie?”
Both said, “No, sir.”
“Okay. Welcome to the General-Büros Süd-Deutsche Industrielle Entwicklungsorganisation. In English, that’s the General Offices of the South German Industrial Development Organization. Now—and really pay attention to this—what follows is classified Top Secret–Lindbergh. The use of deadly force has been authorized to preserve the secrecy of anything connected with this operation.
“This organization formerly was known as Abwehr Ost. I will now tell you what Abwehr Ost was and what it’s doing now. Shortly before the war was over . . .
“. . . Any questions?”
Staff Sergeant Kramer chuckled.
“Did I say something amusing, Sergeant?” Cronley snapped.
“No, sir. I was just thinking, now I know how you people got away with shooting up the IG’s car.”
“How’d you hear about that?”