“I dunno. But take Ginger and the baby to the safe house.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” the aide-de-camp said.
“Fuck you,” Cronley said, then looked at Ostrowski. “Max, if this clown gives you any trouble, shoot him.” He met the aide-de-camp’s eyes, then said, “Lead on, candy-ass.”
The aide-de-camp stared back in disbelief. Then he walked—marched—toward the Chevrolet. Cronley followed. At the car, the captain opened the front passenger door and motioned for Cronley to get in.
The aide-de-camp got in the driver’s seat, and followed the Buick as it sped off.
[TWO]
U.S. Military Government Compound
Saargemünder Strasse
Zehlendorf, Berlin, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
0925 20 April 1946
The OMGUS Compound had been the last headquarters of the Luftwaffe. There was a story going around that it had been spared—as had the I.G. Farben Building in Frankfurt am Main—from the thousand-plane raids that had leveled both cities because the Americans wanted undamaged office space for their use after they won the war.
It was a pleasant collection of one- and two-story buildings that were painted white. The Russians had liberated the Compound and had just about removed the camouflage netting that covered it when tanks of General I. D. White’s 2nd Armored Division—Hell on Wheels—ushered the Reds out of the American Zone and into the Russian Zone.
The Buick, after being crisply saluted by a half dozen MPs at the entrance, drove down the central road to the headquarters building, followed by the Chevrolet carrying Cronley.
There was a row of flags—American, and then several silver-star-studded red flags, designating the Army general officer headquarters—flying in front of the building.
Cronley decided the four-star flag had to be that of General Lucius D. Clay. He had been the U.S. military governor of the American Sector of Berlin, and of the American Zone in the rest of Germany, since January.
He also decided the three-star flag had to belong to Makamson, who had replaced General Seidel as G-2 of USFET—U.S. Forces European Theater, now renamed EUCOM, the acronym for the European Command. There were half a dozen red flags with one or two stars. Senior headquarters like OMGUS and EUCOM had many general officers.
The Buick and Chevrolet stopped. The aide-de-camp major got out of the front passenger seat of the Buick as the aide-de-camp captain jumped out of the Chevrolet. They opened both rear doors of their respective vehicles.
“Please follow me, Colonel,” the major said to Cohen.
Cohen did, and waited for Cronley to approach.
“Into the Valley of Death . . .” Cohen said, quietly, when he was within earshot. “I have the feeling, Super Spook, that we’re in the deep shit.”
The major led them to a side entrance of the main building, with the captain following them all.
They entered and went down a long corridor until they reached a steel door guarded by two military policemen. While one of the MPs snapped to rigid attention, the other opened the steel door. The aide-de-camp major without a word motioned for Cohen and Cronley to enter.
They did, and found themselves in a large room, the walls of which were lined with map boards and electronic equipment. There was a large conference table in the center of the room at which men were seated.
Cronley immediately recognized Brigadier General Homer P. Greene, chief of ASA Europe CIC-USFET, and Colonel Harold Wallace, chief of DCI-Europe. There was a lieutenant general—That has to be Makamson, he thought—and another brigadier general, several colonels, and a master sergeant sitting at a court reporter’s stenotype keyboard.
“Take a seat,” the three-star ordered, indicating two folding chairs behind a small table facing the conference table. “I am General Makamson.”
Cohen and Cronley did so.
“Why don’t you start by telling us, Colonel Cohen,” Makamson said, “what, exactly, you and Captain Cronley are doing in Berlin when you are supposed to be in Nuremberg protecting Mr. Justice Jackson?”
“Sir, we are chasing Odessa,” Cohen said.
“Under what authority?”
“Captain Cronley’s. He has been directed by Admiral Souers, the director of the Central In