The Assassination Option (Clandestine Operations 2)

And down it was coming a lengthy parade of vehicles. First came a dozen motorcycles, with police-type flashing lights, ridden side by side. Then a half-dozen M-8 armored cars, in line, and also equipped with flashing police-type lights.

The first thing Cronley thought was, having seen an almost identical parade up the road from Eschborn to the Schlosshotel Kronberg, that one carrying the supreme commander, Allied Powers Europe, to a golf game, What the hell is Eisenhower doing in Fritzlar?

Then he saw the car following the M-8s. Eisenhower had a 1942 Packard Clipper as a staff car. What was in line here was a 1939 Cadillac. Not any ’39 Cadillac. A famous one, the one General George S. Patton had been riding in when he had his fatal accident.

“You will recall, I’m sure, Captain Cronley,” Major Wallace said, “that Colonel Wilson said that he would speak to General White about some sort of diversion?”

Both of their heads snapped from the open window to the side of the room, where Sergeant Fortin was furiously pounding his typewriter keyboard.

“Seven-K,” Wallace said. “Right on time.”

Fortin ripped the sheet of paper in the typewriter from it and handed it to Mitchell.

“Jesus Christ!” Mitchell said when he read it.

“Do I acknowledge?” Fortin asked.

“You’re sure this is all? You didn’t miss anything?”

“That’s it.”

“What does it say?”

“One Six Zero Zero, Oboe Nan Easy How Oboe Uncle Roger. Repeat One Six Zero Zero, Oboe Nan Easy How.”

“Sixteen hundred. One hour.” Wallace made the translation.

“Right now?”

Cronley asked incredulously. “Today?”

“They sent it twice, Captain,” Fortin said.

“And added One Hour, to make sure we understood she meant today,” Wallace said.

“Holy shit!” Cronley said.

“Do I acknowledge?” Fortin asked again.

“Jim, can you do it?” Wallace asked. “Can you be at Able Seven in an hour? In fifty-eight minutes?”

Cronley thought it over.

“God willing, and if the creek don’t rise,” he said.

“Acknowledge receipt, Sergeant Fortin,” Wallace ordered.

“Nothing’s in place,” Cronley said. “No ambulances, no doctor, no nothing.”

“Nothing at Able Seven to give us the winds on the ground,” Ostrowski said.

“I know,” Wallace said.

“Yeah,” Cronley said.

“Seven-K wouldn’t order this unless she thought she had to,” Oberst Mannberg said.

“They just sent Oboe Oboe,” Sergeant Fortin said. “They’re off.”