one of them asked.
That’s a Spanish—Argentinian—accent!
What the hell?
Cronley whipped out his DCI credentials and held them in the face of the large man.
“I am James D. Cronley, chief of DCI-Europe, and unless you want to find yourself in deep shit, you better tell me where Colonel Likharev is!”
“Given the time difference between here and Mendoza,” a voice said, “I’d wager the guess that at this hour he’s snuggling up against Señora Likharev in their bed at Estancia Don Guillermo.”
Cronley snapped his head toward the speaker.
“That was your cue, Little Brother, to say, ‘What a pleasant surprise! What in the world are you doing here?’” Cletus Frade said.
“You sonofabitch!”
Frade opened his arms.
“Come to Big Brother, Chief of DCI-Europe,” Frade said.
Cronley did so. They embraced.
When they finally broke apart, Cronley asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“At the moment, waiting for Ludwig Mannberg to find his shoes. When he finally does we’re going out to the Glienicke Bridge so that I can have a look at Senior Major of State Security Ivan Serov. Would you like to tag along?”
Oh, shit!
“That’s what I’m here to do, Clete. But right now, I’m wondering if I should let you go with me.”
“You’re taking that chief, DCI-Europe, title seriously, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I am. And unless you came here to tell me I’ve been relieved, I’m calling the shots.”
“What El Jefe said to me, Jimmy, was, ‘I think it would be useful if you went to Berlin to see how you can help Cronley. Maybe between the two of you, you can pull a miracle and get Mattingly back.’”
Cronley didn’t reply.
“El Jefe meant ‘get Mattingly back even though there’s no way we can swap the Likharevs for him.’”
Again, Cronley didn’t reply.
“Yeah. Hansel told me you were thinking of going to Leavenworth. Noble of you, Jimmy, but unnecessary. There was never any thought of swapping the Likharevs for Mattingly. The admiral said it would set a very bad precedent.”
And once more, Cronley didn’t reply.
“So do you have any miracles in your back pocket, Jimmy?”
Mannberg, Dunwiddie, and Ostrowski came out of the dining room and walked up to them.
“No miracles,” Cronley replied. “I’ve got a couple of things going. If, repeat if any of them work, maybe . . . I’ll tell you what I have in the car on the way to the bridge.”
“Okay.”
“Who are these guys?” Cronley asked, nodding toward the four men.
“BIS guys. Bernardo Martín loaned them to me.”