Well, that does it, Cronley thought as Dunwiddie started off on what was obviously going to be a familiarization tour of the Pullach compound.
Tiny’s Troops are here. The SIGABA is up and running. Those two bastards from the Pentagon will shortly arrive. The compound is now open for business.
And Major Ashton will soon be here to take the heavy burden of command from my shoulders.
“Very impressive,” Stratford said. “Where did you get them?”
“From General I. D. White,” Cronley said. “They were part of the Second Armored Division. And, yes, Lieutenant Stratford, I do know where General White got his commission.”
A fresh idea came to his mind.
I’ll take Colonel Bristol, General Gehlen, and Lieutenant Stratford to lunch at the Vier Jahreszeiten hotel.
I owe Bristol and Stratford a hell of a lot more than a meal, but it will if nothing else show them how grateful I am.
I also can introduce all of them to Major Wallace and Fat Freddy. Excuse me, Special Agent Hessinger. There are self-evident advantages to that for the future.
I will call Hessinger and tell him to come out here with the Opel Kapitän.
Hell, I’ll call Hessinger and tell him to come out here in Major Wallace’s Opel Admiral. After all, Bristol is a light bird and Gehlen a former general. Rank hath its privileges, like getting a ride in the biggest car.
The more he thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea, and that it was one more proof he was on a roll.
“I thought we were through in there,” Stratford said when he saw Cronley start back into the Military Government Liaison Office building.
“I’ve got to make a telephone call. Wait here, or come with me.”
—
“How do these phones work?” Cronley asked Sergeant Mitchell. “Phrased another way, is Munich a long-distance call or can I dial a Munich number?”
“You can dial a Munich number,” Mitchell said, and handed him a mimeographed telephone book.
Cronley found what he was looking for and dialed it.
—
“Twenty-Third CIC, Agent Hessinger speaking, sir.”
“First let me say how happy I am to find you at your post, and not cavorting shamelessly with some naked blond Fräulein . . .”
“Don’t tell me where you are,” Hessinger said.
“What? Why not?”
“Because the FBI is here, and if they’re listening to the telephone, and I think they are, they’ll learn where you are and go there.”
“The FBI is in your office?”
“No. Not anymore. They were here. They were here at eight o’clock this morning.”
“Were there?”
“They left. But there’s two of them in the lobby, another in the garage, and I would be surprised if they’re not at Schleissheim Army Airfield. So I wouldn’t go there, either, if I was you.”
“What did they want?”
“You.”