“When is he coming here?”
“First, he has to make his manners to General Eisenhower, or General Smith, or General Clay—or all three. When that’s done, he can get on his train and come to Sonthofen.”
“His train? He’s coming here by train? When does he get here? Can you get me in to see him?”
“Tranquillity, reflection, and great patience, I am told, are the hallmarks of the successful intelligence officer,” Wilson said. “Slow down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better.”
“Yes, he’s coming by train. When Generals Eisenhower, Smith, Clay, and other senior brass were assigned private trains, it looked like the rest of the private trains would be doled out to other deserving general officers before General White returned from Fort Riley to assume command of the Constab and he wouldn’t get one.
“That, of course, was an unacceptable situation for those of us who devotedly serve General White. So one of the as-yet-unassigned private trains was spirited away to Bad Nauheim and parked on the protected siding where Hitler used to park his private train. It was suitably decorated with Constabulary insignia, but kept out of sight until now. It is scheduled to leave Bad Nauheim at 0700 tomorrow for the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof, where it will be ready for him when the aforementioned senior officers are through with him.”
“Then he is coming here. Back to my question, when he gets here, can you get me in to see him?”
“Simple answer, no. In addition to his pals and cronies who will meet the plane at Rhine-Main, all of the senior officers of the Constabulary, and its most senior non-commissioned officers, will be lining the corridors here to make their manners to General White.”
“I’ve got to get him to tell you you can help me.”
“You are aware of the relationship between Captain Dunwiddie and the general?”
“I am.”
“My suggestion: Load Captain Dunwiddie on a Storch and fly him to Rhine-Main first thing in the morning. General White will be delighted to see him, and the odds are he will invite Captain Dunwiddie to ride the train with him from Frankfurt here. Although it will be crowded by many of General White’s legion of admirers, including me, I’m sure there would still be room for the pilot who had flown Tiny to meet his Uncle Isaac. And if you get lucky, maybe you could get the general’s undivided attention for a half hour or so to make your pitch. How much of this does Tiny know?”
“Everything.”
“Smart move.”
“Thank you,” Cronley said. “I don’t mean for that, for everything.”
“Mr. Cronley, Hotshot Billy Wilson is really not the unmitigated three-star sonofabitch most would have you believe he is.”
[TWO]
Suite 507
Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten
Maximilianstrasse 178
Munich, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1735 16 January 1946
“Twenty-third CIC, Miss Colbert speaking.”
“Miss Colbert, this is Captain Cronley.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is Mr. Hessinger or Major Wallace there?”
“No, sir. They left about five minutes ago. There’s a Tex-Mex dinner dance at the Munich Engineer Officers’ Club. They won’t be back until very late. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“It looks like you’re going to have to, Miss Colbert. Get on the horn to Captain Dunwiddie and tell him (a) this is not a suggestion, then (b) he’s to get out to Kloster Grünau right away. He is to tell Max Ostrowski to fly him and Kurt Schröder—”