The Assassination Option (Clandestine Operations 2)

Cronley had never heard that before.

Why not?

“Yes, sir. That’s true.”

“Actually, when he told me he was sending you to Europe, I thought I heard an implication that there is more to your relationship than just being old shipmates.”

Schultz seemed to be framing his reply when he saw he didn’t have to. General Smith’s aide was walking quickly back across the room to them.

“All set up, sir.”

“Thanks, Homer. See you in forty-five minutes. Wait a minute. You’re going to Buenos Aires today, right? How are you going to get out to Rhine-Main?”

From the look on General Greene’s face, this was news—surprising news—to him, but he reacted quickly to it:

“I’ll send them in one of my cars, General,” he said.

“Homer, lay on a Packard for these gentlemen,” General Smith said. “If there’s no spare, use mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“General, that’s not necessary,” Schultz said.

“I understand that chiefs feel free to argue with admirals, Chief, but please don’t argue with a general. A wounded warrior and the executive assistant to the director of Central Intelligence deserve no less than one of our Packards. Do it, Homer.”

“Yes, sir.”

What did he call El Jefe? “The executive assistant to the director of Central Intelligence”?

And Greene’s face showed he had never heard that before, either.

Smith took El Jefe’s arm and led him across the dining room.

“We’ll be in Ike’s dining room,” he said. “Ike’s in Berlin.”

Ike’s dining room turned out to be an alcove off the main room, the windows of which provided a panoramic view of the bombed-out ruins of buildings as far as the eye could see.

There was a table, now set at one end for five, but capable, Cronley guessed, of seating ten, maybe a dozen people comfortably.

Smith stood behind the chair at the head of the table, and indicated where the others were to sit. El Jefe and General Greene were seated close to Smith, and Cronley found himself seated across from Ashton.

A waiter in a starched white jacket appeared. Cronley guessed he was a sergeant.

“There will be no menus today,” General Smith announced. “I’m really pressed for time. Anybody who doesn’t like a steak, medium rare, a baked potato, and green beans is out of luck. Charley, serve the food and then draw the curtain and make sure we’re not interrupted.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said.

Serving the food and putting two silver coffee services on the table took very little time.

“Okay,” General Smith said. “General Eisenhower really wanted to be here today, but our Russian friends in Berlin are being difficult. And the reason he wanted to be here—and the reason he asked Admiral Souers to send someone senior over here—is because he wanted to hear from someone who knows what’s really going on with Operation Ost. More precisely, he’s concerned about the level of threat of exposure. And since there is, I devoutly hope, no paper trail, that will have to be word of mouth. And I think we should start by hearing the opinion of the junior officer involved. Captain Cronley.”

Shit!

Cronley stood up.

“Sir—”

“Sit down, please,” General Smith said, “and tell me the first thing that comes to your mind vis-à-vis Operation Ost being compromised.”