“The military government liaison officer.”
Cronley motioned for El Jefe to come close, and then whispered in his ear, “We really can’t afford this getting out, Popeye, it’s something we really don’t want Joe Stalin to find out. It’s me
. One more brilliant move to deceive and confuse our enemy.”
“Wiseass.”
Hessinger plodded through the snow and opened the door for Ashton. Then he held it for Cronley, Schultz, and Dunwiddie.
Former Major General Gehlen and former Colonel Mannberg were in the living room of the building, sitting in armchairs reading the Stars and Stripes. Both rose when they saw Ashton come in.
Ashton made his way to Mannberg and awkwardly held out his hand to him.
“General Gehlen, I am Lieutenant Colonel Ashton.”
“I’m Reinhard Gehlen,” Gehlen said. “This is Ludwig Mannberg, my deputy.”
Cronley thought: I would have made the same mistake. Good ol’ Ludwig looks like what Hollywood movies have taught us senior German officers look like. And the general looks like a not-very-successful black marketeer.
But that does it. Gehlen gets some decent clothes.
“Well, I hope that’s not a harbinger of future confusion,” Ashton said.
“Sometimes, Colonel, confusion in our profession is useful, wouldn’t you agree?” Gehlen asked.
“Max,” Cronley ordered, “sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed, General, that every once in a great while Captain Cronley does have a good idea.”
He hobbled to an empty armchair and collapsed into it.
“This is Lieutenant Schultz,” Cronley said.
“El Jefe?” Mannberg asked.
Schultz nodded.
“How did you know they call me that?” he asked, on the edge of unpleasantly.
“Otto Niedermeyer is one of your admirers,” Mannberg said in Spanish. “He warned me not to arm-wrestle with you.”
“Did he tell you I also cheat at chess?” El Jefe asked in Spanish.
“Not in so many words,” Mannberg said in German.
“In English, Colonel,” El Jefe said, in English, “we have a saying—‘It takes one to know one.’”
Mannberg laughed.
Very clever, Cronley thought. They haven’t been together sixty seconds, and already they know how well the other speaks German, Spanish, and English. All of these guys are far more clever than I am.
“Ludwig,” Cronley said, “see if you can guess where Colonel Ashton got his Spanish. Say something in Spanish, Max.”
“I have need of the bathroom. Where is it?” Ashton said in Spanish.
“Interesting accent,” Mannberg said. “Not pure castellano, but close. Is that the Argentine version?”
El Jefe went to Ashton and pulled him out of the armchair.