“. . . but I’m going to have to wait until I get back from Berlin. Right now, I need to know why you’re here, Finney, instead of in Salzburg worming your way into my cousin Luther’s black market operation.”
“He’s onto us,” Finney said. “Onto you.”
“Shit!” Cronley said, and gestured for Finney to explain.
“‘Herr Stauffer,’ I said in my best GI German, ‘I have ten cartons of Lucky Strike cigarettes and a case of Maxwell House coffee I’d be willing to sell if the price was right.’”
“And?”
“Cousin Luther said that he was really sorry but he couldn’t help, and then suggested I might have better luck in Salzburg. I’m sorry, Captain, but Cousin Luther is onto us.”
“Shit,” Cronley said again.
“When I thought about it,” Finney said, “I realized I shouldn’t have been surprised. We tried to pass ourselves off to Commandant Fortin as the Mobile Kitchen Renovation Company, but he had already checked with European Command and learned that there ain’t no 711th MKRC. I think Cousin Luther probably did the same thing. He’s not stupid.”
“Did you have a chance to talk to Fortin?”
Finney nodded.
“When I got to Salzburg, I got on a secure line and called him.”
“And?”
“Then I came back here. I didn’t see any point in going to Vienna. Either did Major Wallace. He sent Kurt Schröder down in an L-4 to bring me back.”
“That’s not what I was asking. What did Fortin have to say?”
“He said (a) he wasn’t surprised, and (b) Cousin Luther is up to something else he doesn’t know what, and (c) when I saw you, I was to ask you to reconsider your thoughts about his not having Cousin Luther in for a little chat.”
“What were those thoughts, Jim?” General Gehlen asked.
“Let’s say I don’t approve of his interrogation techniques,” Cronley said. “Okay. Don’t get far away, Al. There’ll be something I’ll need you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if the rest of you will kindly excuse me, I will now start to write my report of what’s happened to Colonel Mattingly, which I want to get on its way before we go to Berlin.”
“Your report to whom?” Major Wallace asked.
“Admiral Souers.”
“With a copy to General Seidel?”
“No.”
“I think you should.”
“Duly noted. But I don’t work for the USFET G-2.”
“So you’re not going to bring anyone in USFET intelligence into this?”
“Right. Not yet.”
“Not even General Greene?” Wallace challenged sarcastically. “Bob Mattingly is his deputy, and Greene does command USFET CIC.”
“I strongly suspect that Lieutenant Charley Spurgeon has already brought General Greene up to speed on what I’ve been doing, and even if he hasn’t, I suspect that my report to Admiral Souers—which has to pass through Iron Lung McClung’s ASA—will be in General Greene’s hands before it’s decrypted in Washington. Any other questions?”
“Just one,” Wallace said. “Do you have any idea how close you are to being relieved?”