“Fuck you,” Cronley said.
“Captain, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. Are you going to get on my stretcher, or am I going to have to stick a needle in you?”
Serov said, “Captain Cronley will go with you, Doctor. He doesn’t need a stretcher. And if you attempt to stick a needle in him, I will shoot you.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“General Ivan Serov. And I will accompany you and Captain Cronley to the hospital.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, General Serov.”
“Then he doesn’t go to the hospital. Look around you, Doctor. Do you see anyone in a position to order a Soviet general officer to do, or not do, anything?”
The doctor gestured toward the door. “Captain, your ambulance awaits.”
[FOUR]
Room 234-C
1512th Field Hospital
Berlin, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1505 21 April 1946
The small room was furnished with a hospital bed, a white bedside table, on which sat a telephone that didn’t work, two white, straight-backed chairs, and a wastebasket.
When Serov walked into the room, Cronley was sitting in one of the chairs and resting his feet on the bed. Lying at the foot of the bed were his bloody trousers, sloppily folded. The trousers he now wore still had the tags that come with new garments attached.
“Well?” Cronley greeted him.
“Alekseevich is outside with my car,” Serov said.
“And what about . . . Bruce?”
“You heard what General Clay’s wife said, that she would see to his care while you are, well, being cared for.”
“That’s it?” Cronley said, and shook his head. “Ivan, I’m not going to leave here without him.”
“I have no suggestions. And you cannot wander around this enormous hospital looking for him. If he’s even here. Also, if I didn’t already mention this, there are now two very large military policemen in the corridor who are probably charged with keeping you in here.”
“I’m under arrest?”
“The MP sergeant said they were your protection detail.”
“So, what do you think I should do?”
“If nothing happens in the next half hour, I will call the Kommandatura and tell them I am being held against my will. Or, better, I’ll go have a chat with General Clay and threaten him with my making the call. Presuming the MPs will let me out of here. Relax, James, something will happen.”
* * *
—
Fifteen minutes later, the MP sergeant stuck his head in the door and politely said, “Captain Cronley, sir, you have visitors.”
“See, James?” Serov said, somewhat smug.
“I’m not good at relaxing.”