There were murmurs of agreement from all at the table.
“And now duty calls,” Serov said, “unless there’s something someone wishes to say.”
“The only complaint I have,” Father McGrath said, “is that we have to call this luncheon off for the call of duty, which means I can’t get General Serov—”
“Please, Father, Ivan,” Serov interrupted.
McGrath nodded, and said, “On the condition you start calling me Jack.”
“Very well,” Serov said. “What is it you were saying, Jack?”
“I realized, when you were discussing Heinrich Himmler, how little I know about the man. I was about to say that high among the reasons I’m sorry lunch is over is because I can’t ask the general—Ivan—more about him.”
“We’ll find time sooner or later, Jack, to have a long talk about Saint Heinrich the Divine. In the meantime, perhaps I could suggest a book on the subject you could read?”
“How can there be a book?”
Serov smiled, then said, “A book about Saint Heinrich written with impeccable historical accuracy and great literary flair. The author has been compared to Shakespeare.”
He snapped his fingers.
Colonel Alekseevich dug into his briefcase and came out with what looked like three small leather-bound notebooks held together with a thick rubber band. He handed them to Serov, who then took off the rubber band and handed one to Ginger.
“With the compliments of the author,” he said, and then handed one to Father McGrath and then one to Cronley.
The cover of what he had thought was a notebook held a legend in gold:
A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF
REICHSFÜHRER-SS HEINRICH HIMMLER
By General Ivan Serov
Cronley opened the book and saw the text was in English.
“What the hell is this?” Cronley said.
“As I said, James, ‘A book about Saint Heinrich written with impeccable historical accuracy and great literary flair.’”
“And aside from that?”
Looking very pleased with himself, Serov explained. “It’s sort of a textbook in our ag
ent training system. The students are given one of these to read overnight. The next morning, they are required to write—in English—their own biography of Saint Heinrich.”
“Clever . . .” Cronley said. “But in English?”
“Before they reach that part of their instruction, the students are required to speak English. Merkulov—Commissar of State Security Nikolaevich Merkulov—believes that the greatest threat to the Soviet Union is posed by people whose native language is English.”
“You mean the United States.”
“And England.”
Cronley considered that, then said, “Very clever. As you probably know, since the NKGB knows all, we train our agents first and then send them to the Army Language School at the Presidio, the Army base in San Francisco, to teach them the language they will need. I think the way you do it makes more sense.”
“How kind of you to say so,” Serov said, beginning to stand. “But now Sergei and I must go. Until what? Eight thirty, in the Kaiser Wilhelm Church.”
“I’ll be there.”