Death at Nuremberg (Clandestine Operations 4)

“Thank you,” Cronley said, and sat down next to Niedermeyer.

A waiter almost immediately set his lunch before him.

“Cletus told me you were here,” Cronley said to Niedermeyer. “Good to see you, Colonel.”

“And you, James.”

They shook hands.

“Why do you think they tried to kill you?” Wallace asked. “And who do you think they are?”

“I think Odessa thinks I’m getting too close to Brigadeführer Franz von Dietelburg,” Cronley replied. “That’s why I’m here. I thought that Otto might be able to tell me something about him, or one of the other Argentine Germans could. When I called Colonel Frade, he told me Otto was here. So here I am.”

“If it’s the same man—Himmler’s adjutant—I knew him years ago in Vienna,” Niedermeyer said. “He’s Austrian. Viennese. Many SS officers were. But I haven’t seen him since . . . since he went to Berlin to be Himmler’s adjutant. That was in 1939 or 1940. What I primarily remember about him is that he had an eye for the ladies. He set up a Vienna Opera ballet dancer, a spectacular beauty, in a villa on the Cobenzlgasse.”

“You remember her name? What’s the Cobenzlgasse?”

“No, I remember her, but not her name. I remember the villa, on Cobenzlgasse, but not the number. It’s a street in Grinzing, a Vienna suburb, lined with villas and leading up to the Cobenzl, the top of the hill, from which, legend has it, Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg directed the Battle of Vienna in 1683. That victory kept the Muslims from taking Vienna, and is generally regarded as the start of the end for the Ottoman Empire in Europe.”

“And the beginning of the Viennese coffeehouse, Otto,” Gehlen said. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I, Herr General? James, when the Turks retreated, they left behind bags of brown beans . . . tons of them. Somebody said he had heard that the Turks first roasted and then ground up the beans and finally boiled them in water, which produced an aphrodisiac drink. And much as the Spanish brought the tomato from the New World to Europe—it was originally called ‘the Passion Fruit’—as an aphrodisiac, coffee became an instant success. There’s a coffeehouse—or the ruins of one—on every block in Vienna.”

Everyone except Colonel Wallace chuckled and smiled.

“Can we get back to the significance of Odessa trying to kill two DCI officers?” he asked.

“I think we’ve heard enough from both James and Major Henderson to answer that, Colonel,” Gehlen said. “Odessa wants him eliminated because he’s getting too close to them, to Brigadeführer Franz von Dietelburg.”

“How close are you, Cronley?” Wallace asked.

“Not close enough. General, would you ask all of your people where I can at least start looking for von Dietelburg?”

“I’ve already asked. We’re as much in the dark as you are. I was—Admiral Canaris, me, Mannberg, all of Abwehr Ost, was—under SS suspicion after the bomb attempt on Hitler’s life. And I suspect Odessa wasn’t set up until after that operation failed. The SS was able to keep everything about Odessa to themselves.”

“Well, I tried. So I will get back to Nuremberg.”

“And protect Justice Jackson, which is why I sent you there,” Wallace said.

Just in time, Cronley shut off his automatic mouth before he said, Oscar Schultz sent me to Nuremberg, not you. Instead he said, “And I have to get out of here right now. Colonel Niedermeyer, can I have a minute in private? I need you to tell Frade something when you get back to Argentina.”

“Why don’t you send him a message on the SIGABA?” Wallace asked.

Cronley ignored him, stood up, nodded at everybody, and walked out of the dining room. Niedermeyer followed him. They walked to an empty corner of the main dining room.

“Otto, Cletus told me about your wife. If there’s anything I can do . . . ?”

“Prayer might help, Jim. But thank you. I find myself again turning to General Gehlen, and reminding myself how competent he is in solving problems like mine.”

“Still, there might be something I can do for you.”

“I can’t think of a thing, but again, thank you. And now that I think about it, there is something I can do for you. I’m going to Vienna. When I’m there, I’ll ask around and see if I can come up with the name of von Dietelburg’s ballerina. And at the very least, I’ll take a ride up to the Cobenzl and get you the address of that villa.”

“Where are you going to stay in Vienna?”

“Cletus got me DCI credentials, and told me they’ll get me into the Hotel Bristol. You know it?”

“When are you going?”