When Cronley didn’t immediately reply, Wagner pressed his case.
“After what happened to Miss Colbert and the other lady, sir, I really would like to have it with me.”
“Captain?” Ziegler asked.
After a moment Cronley said, “I think that is what is known as irrefutable logic. Okay, Wagner, but be careful with it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
[ THREE ]
Suite 522
Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten
Maximilianstrasse 178
Munich, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1201 26 January 1946
When the telephone rang on the bedside table, Major Harold Wallace grabbed it.
“Wallace.”
“ASA Fulda, Major. The line is secure. Ready to connect with Commander Schultz.”
“Thank you.”
“Vint Hill, Fulda. Major Wallace on a secure line for Commander Schultz.”
“Acknowledge. Hold one.”
“Schultz.”
“Commander, Major Wallace for you on a secure line.”
“Put him through.”
“Go ahead, Major.”
“I hope I’m not getting you out of bed, Chief.”
“The admiral got me out of bed five minutes ago. He’s been reading the newspaper. What the hell is going on? Sergeant Colbert killed four guys? Who the hell were they?”
“Three. One of them is still alive.”
“Tell me everything about everything, Harry.”
Five minutes later, Wallace had finished.
“First,” Schultz said after a moment’s thought, “tell Cronley, ‘Well done.’ That could have been a lot worse. You said you trust this dame from the AP, too?”
“Not that I have much choice. But, yeah, I do.”
“I’ll tell the admiral. Thanks for the call.”
“Unfortunately, there’s more.”
“Oh, shit!”
“Parsons found out that we’ve had the ASA intercepting his messages between him and G-2. He went to Mattingly with it, and they’re going to Seidel with it. Probably first thing this morning.”
“How long has the interception been going on?”
“I’d guess from the time Parsons got to the Compound.”
“You’d guess?”
“Cronley ordered the interception. I just heard about it.”
“So a lot of people are going to be embarrassed.”
“Obviously.”
“Cronley for getting caught. And you, me, and the admiral for not thinking about reading their mail before Cronley did.”
“Excuse me?”
“The admiral trusts G-2 about as far as he can throw it. He’s going to be embarrassed—as I am, and you should be—for not thinking about intercepting their traffic and telling Greene we wanted it done. Does Greene know that Cronley ordered it?”
“I don’t know, but I’d bet he doesn’t. Cronley usually just does what he thinks should be done without asking anybody.”
“As chief, DCI-Europe, he doesn’t have to ask anyone. It would have been nice if he told you what he was doing, but the fact is, he did not have to. Or maybe he didn’t tell you because he wanted to cover your ass in case he got caught.”
“Or because he was afraid I’d tell him not to.”
“Is that what you would have done?”
“I don’t think getting into a war with G-2 is smart.”
“Write this down, Harry. We are already in a war with G-2.”
“And all’s fair in love and war?”
“Write that down, too. Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll tell the admiral about Mattingly and Parsons going to Seidel. He will then call Seidel and tell him we knew about the Parsons intercepts. Or tell me to call. That’ll solve that problem. Temporarily.”
“Why temporarily?”
“Harry, the problem here is Mattingly. You told me he went to the Compound without telling you and taking with him this Major Davis, even though you had told him (a) to tell you where and when he was going there before he went, and (b) that he was not authorized to take anybody with him. Now, one of two things is true. Seidel asked Mattingly if he could get Davis into the Compound, and Mattingly said, ‘Yes, sir, General Seidel, sir.’ Or, worse, Mattingly went to Seidel and said he was going to the Compound to see Parsons, and he thought he could get Davis in with him, ‘If you think that would be a good idea, General Seidel, sir.’”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you’re not a Colonel Bob Mattingly fan.”
“He’s got to go, Harry. I know he’s an old buddy from the OSS, and I’m sorry. But the sonofabitch has proved what I—and, more importantly, the admiral—suspected from the start. Mattingly would flush DCI down the crapper, twice, if he thought he was buying a regular Army commission and a seat on the board of directors of the intelligence community.”
“How are you going to get rid of him?”
“I’d like to cut his balls off and watch him bleed to death, but now that I’m a very senior civilian, I can’t do that. But I’ll think of something.”
When Wallace didn’t reply, Schultz said, “I’ll be in touch. Vint Hill, break it down.”
Almost instantly there was a hiss on the line, telling Wallace that the executive assistant to the director of the Central Intelligence Directorate had said all he was going to say.
[ FOUR ]
The Stars and Stripes Facility
Pfungstadt, American Zone of Occupation,
Germany
1815 26 January 1946
Cronley, wearing pinks and greens with triangles, drove the 1942 Ford staff car—its bumper markings identified it as Vehicle 11 of the 711th MKRC—up to the unimposing white building and found an empty parking space right next to the main door. It was labeled: OFFICIAL VISITORS.
“God favors the virtuous,” he said to himself as he pulled into the parking spot.
He entered the building under a sign that was a blown-up facsimile of the Stars and Stripes logotype. In the lobby a large sign with an arrow pointing right read PRESS CLUB.
He followed it and when he went through the next open door he saw Janice Johansen and PFC Karl Wagner sitting at a table with an infantry captain and a man whose pinks and greens had a war correspondent’s patch sewn to its sleeve.
Cronley walked up to the table. Both the captain and the war correspondent did not seem pleased. Neither Janice nor Wagner seemed to recognize him.
“Miss Johansen?” Cronley said.
She nodded.
“My name is Fulmar,” Cronley said.
“The man from Quartermaster?” Janice asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re late.”
“Yes, ma’am. There were two Constabulary checkpoints on the autobahn from Frankfurt.”
Janice stood up.
“Duty calls,” she said. “I am forced to leave this charming company.”
“What’s the story, Janice?” the war correspondent asked.
“You’ll have to wait to read it in Stars and Stripes,” Janice said. “Karl, I’ll be back either tomorrow or the day after. I’ll call and let you know when.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wagner said.
Janice waved her hand as an indication Cronley should precede her out of the Press Club. He did so.
—
“How’d things go at Rhine-Main?” Janice asked as they turned north on the autobahn.
“There’s an envelope in the glove compartment. Have a look.”
The envelope contained a dozen 8×10-inch photographs of the Likharev family being shown the sights in Buenos Aires.
“Very nice. And obviously legitimate.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning someone like me can spot—as you should be able to, Mr. Spymaster—a staged photo. These people, especially the kids, clearly are having a good time.”
She held up one of the photographs for him to see.
Cronley saw one of the faces he recognized more than the others. It was of the older boy, Sergei. He was eating—devouring—an empanada, an Argentine meat pie, with a huge smile on his face.
The last time Cronley had looked closely at Sergei’s face, they had been in the Storch in which Cronley had picked him up across the East German border in Thuringia. He had just been torn, almost literally, from the hands of his mother and little brother, then thrown, again almost literally, into Cronley’s airplane.
Sergei’s face had then been distorted with abject terror.
Cronley had never seen anything like that before and that memory flooded his mind now as he looked at the photograph.
“Nice-looking boy,” he said.
“Yeah. Like Wagner,” Janice said as she stuffed the photographs back in the envelope.
“I’m worried about him.”
“I gave him a long big-sister talk on what he should . . . and, more important, should not . . . do on that long ride from Munich. He’ll be all right.”
“Christ, I hope so.”
“So, what happens now?”
“We make an early evening of it at Schlosshotel Kronberg, rise with the chickens, get in my airplane, and go show Lazarus proof of the good life in Argentina that’s one of his options.”
“Going to bed early seems to be a good idea, but I’m not so sure about getting up with the chickens.”
“You said it, Janice. Duty calls.”
“So does yours, Adonis.”
Janice placed her hand so that there was no question in her mind what she meant.
[ FIVE ]
Schlosshotel Kronberg
Hainstrasse 25, Kronberg im Taunus
Hesse, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1910 26 January 1946
“Either they heard we’re coming, or the MPs are having a convention,” Cronley said as they drove up to the castle converted to a “senior officers’ recreation facility.”
There were maybe a dozen Military Police vehicles crowding the entrance to the castle’s lobby—jeeps, former ambulances, a half-dozen staff cars, even an M-8 armored car.
When he parked the Ford, an MP lieutenant came to the car and politely announced: “Sir, you should have been stopped before you got here. This is a crime scene and you’ll have to move, sir.”
“What kind of a crime scene?” Janice asked.
The MP lieutenant ignored her.
Cronley showed him his CIC credentials.
“Tell the lady what kind of a crime scene, Lieutenant,” he ordered.
The lieutenant examined the credentials.
“Sir, General Greene is in the lobby. He’s in charge. I suggest you ask him.”
“Do I still have to move the car?” Cronley asked.
“No, sir. If you’re CIC, you’re fine. We’re just saving these parking spaces for people involved in the investigation.”
—
Brigadier General Homer P. Greene, chief of USFET Counter Intelligence, saw Cronley and Janice as soon as they walked into the lobby. Greene was standing with a major general in MP regalia—the first time Cronley had ever seen a general officer so uniformed—and two full colonels.
“Good evening, sir,” Cronley said.
“Major Wallace said he thought you would be coming here, Mr. Cronley,” Greene said. “But he didn’t suggest you would have Miss Johansen with you.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to get lost, General?” Janice asked.
“No.”
“What the hell is going on?” Janice asked.
“Do you know General Schwarzkopf, Miss Johansen?” Greene asked.
“I have that privilege,” General H. Norman Schwarzkopf said. “But not this gentleman.”
“General, this is Mr. James D. Cronley, the chief, DCI-Europe. Jim, this is General Schwarzkopf, the USFET provost marshal.”
They shook hands. The two colonels were not introduced, but their curiosity about Cronley was visible on their faces.
“Just before you walked in, Miss Johansen,” Greene said, “General Schwarzkopf and I agreed that what happened here should be released to the press. We made that recommendation to General Bull and he agreed.”
“And what happened here?” Janice said.
“Colonel Robert Mattingly, my deputy, had an 0900 appointment with General Seidel. When he did not make that appointment, General Seidel’s aide called my office to inquire. I tried to telephone Colonel Mattingly here—he is quartered here—and there was no answer. His car—that enormous Horch he drives—was not in the Farben Building parking lot, or in the parking lot here at the Schlosshotel. I called General Schwarzkopf and requested him to ask the MPs to look for it. I came out here and had the manager let me into Colonel Mattingly’s room. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and we confirmed he had spent the night here.
“A little after two o’clock, a Constabulary road patrol was directed by a German forest master to a wooded area about two miles from Eschborn Army Airfield. There they found Colonel Mattingly’s Horch. There were three bullet punctures in the interior of the driver’s door, and two fired bullets—later confirmed to be nine-millimeter Parabellum—were later recovered. As were three fired .45 ACP cases, suggesting Colonel Mattingly resisted whatever happened to him. There was blood, which has been determined to be of the same blood type as Colonel Mattingly’s, on the car upholstery.”
“Jesus Christ!” Cronley said.
“Can I write this?” Janice asked.
“General Greene told you that you could, Miss Johansen,” General Schwarzkopf said.
“I was asking Mr. Cronley,” she said.
“Why do you want the story out?” Cronley asked General Greene.
“Maybe somebody—German, American, anybody—saw something. We’re going to put out a press release asking the public to come forward. It will be in Stars and Stripes and broadcast over AFN. And of course in the German press and radio. We’re determined to find out what has happened.”
“The NKGB got him,” Cronley said matter-of-factly. “For some reason, probably to make a prisoner swap, they grabbed Mattingly. The silver lining is he’s probably still alive. If they killed him, they’d have just left the body.”
“About Mr. Cronley’s mention of the NKGB, Miss Johansen,” General Schwarzkopf began. “It might not be a good idea—”
“I already figured that out, General,” Janice interrupted him.
“Or maybe he is dead and they want us to think he’s alive,” Cronley said. “The more I think about it, what those NKGB bastards are after is a prisoner swap.”
“What prisoners are we talking about, Mr. Cronley?” one of the colonels asked.
Cronley ignored him.
“General Schwarzkopf, can we offer a reward for information?” Cronley asked.
“I don’t know where we’d get it, Mr. Cronley.”
“Give me a figure.”
“A thousand dollars. Perhaps a little more.”
“How about five?”
“The more the better, of course.”
“You’ve got it,” Cronley said, and then went on: “For her story, the MPs are offering the award, not the CIC. And certainly not DCI. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Tell her how much of a reward.”
“How about twenty-five hundred dollars?” Schwarzkopf suggested.
“You got that, Janice?”
“Got it.”
“And no mention of the NKGB. Okay?”
“None. And after I do this, will you buy me dinner?”
&nb
sp; “It will be my pleasure.”
“Ten minutes,” she said, and walked farther into the hotel.
“Jim, when I spoke with Major Wallace, I asked him to send Jack Hammersmith up here. I hope that’s all right.”
“Fine with me.”
“One of your people will fly him up at first light.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll get on the horn and tell Winters to use a Storch and bring Augie Ziegler with him. And twenty-five hundred in greenbacks, not script.”
“Augie Ziegler is?” Greene said.
“He used to be a CID agent. Now he’s DCI. One smart cop.”
“You mentioned something about a prisoner swap,” General Schwarzkopf said.
“You don’t want to know about that, General,” Cronley said.
“There’s two things I’d like to say to you, Mr. Cronley,” General Schwarzkopf said. “First, that you are everything General Greene said you would be, and more, and that I am very impressed with you.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“The last time I tried to tell Miss Johansen something to do, she told me to go fu— attempt self-impregnation. What’s your secret?”
“I don’t think you want to know about that, either, General,” Cronley said.
VII
[ ONE ]
Kloster Grünau
Schollbrunn, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
0920 27 January 1946
“How’s the shoulder this morning, Comrade?” Max Ostrowski asked in Russian.
There was no response from the man sitting up in a hospital bed in the cell under what had been the chapel of Kloster Grünau.
“And how was your breakfast?” Max went on in Russian, indicating the remnants of a breakfast sitting on a tray. “Get everything you want?”
The man didn’t respond.
“You really should build up your strength,” Max said. “After what you’ve been through.”
The man continued to look without expression at him.
“Mr. Smith and Miss Mata Hari here have brought some photographs to show you of an old comrade of yours who also fell into our hands,” Ostrowski said.
Curtain of Death Page 19
