“Say, ‘Thank you, Freddy,’” Cronley ordered.
“Thank you, Freddy,” Dunwiddie said.
One of the three telephones on the bar rang. The ring sound told them it was a leather-cased Signal Corps EE-8 field telephone connected to the guardhouse on the outer ring of fences.
Ostrowski picked it up, thumbed the TALK switch, answered it in Polish, listened, and then turned to Cronley.
“Captain, there are two CIC agents at the checkpoint. They have packages and letters for Lieutenant Cronley.”
“What?”
Ostrowski repeated what he had announced.
“Pass them in,” Dunwiddie ordered. “Have them report to me.”
The two CIC agents came into the sitting room. Both were in their early thirties. He recognized both of them from his days at the XXIInd CIC Detachment in Marburg.
He knew they were enlisted men because they had not been billeted with the officers. He also knew that they were “real” CIC agents, as opposed to Special Agent (2nd Lt) J. D. Cronley Jr., who had been sort of a joke CIC special agent, whose only qualification for the job was his fluent German.
What the hell is going on?
What are these two guys doing here?
With packages? And letters?
What kind of packages?
Letters from whom?
“How you been, Lieutenant?” the heavier of the two agents asked of Cronley.
Cronley now remembered—or thought he did—that the man’s name was Hammersmith. And that he was a master sergeant.
“Okay,” Cronley replied. “How’s things in Marburg?”
“About the same. What is this place?”
“If there is no objection from anyone, I’ll ask the questions,” Dunwiddie said.
The CIC agent displayed his credentials.
&
nbsp; “No offense, Captain,” Special Agent Hammersmith said, “but this is a CIC matter. I’ll handle it from here.”
Dunwiddie pulled his own CIC credentials from his jacket and displayed them.
“As I was saying, I’ll ask the questions,” Dunwiddie said.
“Sorry, sir,” Hammersmith said. “I didn’t know.”
“You’ve got packages for Cronley?” Dunwiddie asked. “And letters?”
“Yes, sir,” Hammersmith said. He took two letter-sized envelopes from his Ike jacket and extended them to Dunwiddie.
“They’re addressed to Special Agent Cronley, sir.”
“Then give them to him,” Dunwiddie ordered. “Packages?”