Serov crossed himself and went to Cronley. He gingerly embraced him and then kissed his cheek. Greene’s face betrayed his surprise at the gesture of affection, but he quickly recovered.
“Colonel Cohen,” Greene ordered, “I’m going to ask you to hold the fort until the cavalry arrives. They’re on the way.”
“Where are you going, sir?” Cohen said.
“I do not wish to deliver my report to General Clay over the phone.”
“If you’re going to see General Clay,” Cronley announced, “I’m going with you.”
“Out of the question,” Greene snapped. “With an infant in your arms and in a blood-soaked uniform? You will stay here, Captain, until we find time to deal with your problems.”
“Somehow, General Greene,” Serov said, “I think General Clay, when we walk into his office, would prefer to hear from Captain Cronley himself why he had a baby in his arms and a blood-soaked uniform.”
“We?” Greene said. He stared at Serov, then softened and nodded.
Serov turned to Cohen.
“When the cardinal calls, Colonel, tell him I’ll get back to him as soon as I can. Let’s go, Alekseevich.”
IX
[ONE]
Office of the Commander in Chief
United States Forces European Theater
Berlin, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1255 21 April 1946
“General Clay, forgive us for bursting in this way,” Serov said as he entered Clay’s office carrying the Vatican briefcase, “but this is a matter of some urgency.”
Cronley, with Baby Bruce, was just steps ahead of two of Clay’s aides-de-camp and his sergeant major, who were rushing after them with the obvious intention of throwing them out.
General Lucius D. Clay rose from behind his desk and made a Stop! gesture to his men.
“It’s always a pleasure to welcome a distinguished Soviet officer to USFET headquarters, General,” Clay replied, then said, “My God, Cronley! What’s going on? You’re covered in blood! And . . . whose baby?”
“Sir,” Cronley announced. “Odessa just hit our safe house in Zehlendorf—”
“General Greene is aware of the situation, General,” Serov interrupted him. “He was at the scene when Colonel Cohen, Captain Cronley, and I arrived. He was on his way to report to you when there was a problem.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“General Greene was involved in a car crash.”
“Is he all right? What kind of a car crash?”
“Apparently quite all right—some fender damage, is all,” Serov said. “The driver of my escort car thought that the driver of General Greene’s car was trying to force me off the road and felt it was his duty to keep him from doing so.”
Clay’s raised eyebrows showed how little he believed that story. But he didn’t challenge it.
“Cronley, how much damage did the attack on your safe house cause?” Clay said.
“This infant is the sole survivor, sir. All of my DCI agents are down—all seven—and Father McGrath and Mrs. Moriarty, the child’s mother. The sonsofbitches used Schmeissers and hand grenades.”
“By down, you mean dead?”