Top Secret

by W. E. B Griffin

  Gehlen acted as if he had not heard the question.

  “I think we’re in agreement that we’re going to have to move all of the people who can embarrass us out of Kloster Grünau as quickly as that can be done,” Gehlen said.

  “Mattingly suggested there may be a passport problem,” Frade said. But it was a question.

  “Our friends in Rome are very cautious,” Gehlen said. “Perhaps that’s why they have been so successful for so long. In this connection, they dole out passports very sparingly, never more than a dozen at a time.”

  “Mattingly told me that. But you have a dozen blanks?”

  Gehlen nodded. “But they won’t give us any more until our Jesuit friend in Buenos Aires reports to them that the travelers have passed through Argentine immigration and disappeared. After handing him their Vatican passports, which he has destroyed. I understand their concern, of course—this way no more than a dozen passports are ever at risk of coming to light at one time—but it causes problems.”

  “There will be an SAA Constellation here on Saturday,” Frade said. “It will refuel in Frankfurt before flying to Berlin, and will refuel again in Frankfurt on the return trip. That will be on Sunday or Monday. Can you select the dozen people who pose the greatest embarrassment and have their passports ready in that timeframe, so we can load them on the Connie when it refuels in Frankfurt?”

  “Two hours after I give the names to Oberst Mannberg, the passports will be ready.”

  “Mattingly has done all this before, and his system seems to work,” Frade said. “When I see him in Munich tonight I’ll tell him there are no problems about this.”

  “Does he know about Otto’s list?”

  “I’ll tell him about it tonight—there was no opportunity at that Schlosshotel.”

  “Can I ask what you want me to do,” Cronley said, “or what you’re going to do about the people Colonel Niedermeyer thinks may have been turned?”

  When he saw the looks on both men’s faces he knew he had asked a question that he should not have asked. Confirmation came immediately.

  “Did you say something, Captain Cronley?” Frade asked.

  “It wasn’t important, sir.”

  The moment Gehlen has proof that any of his people have been turned, that’s the end of them. I should have known that.

  Cletus knows that, and has decided it’s Gehlen’s problem, and Gehlen should deal with it.

  But he seems to agree that Orlovsky is our problem, and that our solution should not be turning him over to Gehlen to be shot.

  Why? Because he’s a Russian?

  And we captured him?

  And what would have happened if Orlovsky hadn’t broken down when Clete saw him?

  Would Clete have then told me what Mattingly did—“Mind your own fucking business”?

  A minute ago, Clete said, “I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to protect Operation Ost.” That would obviously include killing Orlovsky.

  Those who suggest I’m naïve or stupid or both are right on the money.

  “As I was saying before we got into our theological discussion . . .” Frade began.

  Gehlen smiled and chuckled.

  “. . . we can’t move Orlovsky in with the other immigrants. We’re going to have to get him to a safe house, provide him with bodyguards, et cetera, plus give him a large amount of cash to convince him that once he has given us the names, we won’t betray him. That’s going to be a lot of money.”

  “And getting his family out of Russia will cost a great deal of money,” Gehlen said. “U.S. dollars open many doors in Moscow. Fifty thousand comes to mind. Is that going to pose a problem?”

  Frade nodded. “For several reasons. The accounts of the former OSS are just about empty. Even if they weren’t, I doubt I could ask for two hundred thousand dollars without offering a good reason. And while I have access to money in Argentina . . .”

  “You mean your own money, right?” Cronley said.

  “. . . and have been using my own money to fund operations there—placing a child-like faith in Admiral Souers’s promise I’ll get it back when the Central Intelligence Directorate is up and running—I couldn’t take another two hundred thousand out of the Anglo-Argentine Bank for unspecified purposes without the wrong people asking the wrong questions. Yes, General, money is going to be a problem. We’re going to have to really think about that.”

  “What about documentation for Orlovsky?” Gehlen said. “To get him into Argentina, and then for him to become as invisible as possible once he is?”

  “I’m sure our mutual friend the Jesuit can arrange a Vatican passport and a libreta de enrolamiento, the national identity document, for him,” Frade said. “But that means he would have to be told what’s going on.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me,” Frade said, chuckling. “The wily Father Welner already knows all my secrets—well, almost all. But there are two things. The fewer people who know a secret, the longer it can be kept secret. Aside from Welner, I am only going to tell Major Ashton—my deputy, Major Maxwell Ashton the Third—and Master Sergeant Siggie Stein about any of this.”

  “Niedermeyer speaks highly of both,” Gehlen said.

  “And the only reason I’m going to tell them is that I think I may have to send Ashton over to deal with some people from the Pentagon who will be in Pullach and are very much aware they all outrank Cronley. If that becomes necessary, Stein will have to hold the fort in Argentina.”

  “Niedermeyer will have to be told, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, he will. I didn’t think about it, but sure. Otto will have to be brought in on this.”

  Cronely put in, “You sound as if you think—”

  “Not now, for God’s sake, Jimmy,” Frade shut him off, and then said, “I was wondering how the Vatican would react—maybe will react—when they find out they’ve issued a passport to an NKGB officer. Is that going to cause problems for you, sir?”

  “Not if by the time they find out Orlovsky has seen the light and has put godless Communism behind him. But if he goes to Argentina, escapes his bodyguards, and heads for the nearest Russian embassy . . .”

  “General, there’s no Russian embassy in Argentina. Just an NKGB outpost pretending to be a trade mission. General Martín . . . ?”

  “The chief of the Argentine Bureau of Internal Security?” Gehlen asked.

  Frade nodded.

  “Martín keeps a close eye on the tradesmen. But I don’t want him to know about Orlovsky. He’d want to take him over. But that’s not a big problem. I can make sure that Orlovsky doesn’t get within a hundred miles of either him or the trade mission. The problem is the money.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jimmy said. “You sound—the both of you sound—as if you think I had a great idea and the only thing that’s standing in the way of doing it is a couple hundred thousand dollars.”

  “So?” Frade asked. “You figured that out, did you, you clever fellow?”

  “Yes, you can have it,” Cronley said.

  “I can have what?” Frade said, and then, understanding, added, “Oh.”

  “What you just figured out, you clever fellow.”

  Frade was silent for a long moment, then snapped, “Your automatic mouth is about to get you in more goddamned trouble than you can handle. Do you even realize that?”

  “Sorry,” Jimmy said. A moment later, he went on: “I’m really sorry. I just can’t handle being treated like I’m part of this one second, then I’m an idiot second lieutenant the next.”

  “Well, you goddamned well better learn,” Frade said icily. And then he chuckled. “You better remember, too, that you’re an ‘idiot captain,’ Captain Cronley.”

  Their eyes met for a long moment. “You sure you want to do this, Jimmy?”

  Cronle
y nodded.

  “Boltitz will have my power of attorney. You can tell him to give you the money, so that you can take it to Argentina to invest it for me. Nobody would question that. And he wouldn’t have to be told what we’re going to do with it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gehlen said.

  Frade ignored him. He said, “I really don’t like taking your money, Jimmy . . .”

  “Would you take it—I prefer ‘borrow’ to ‘take,’ let’s say ‘borrow’ from now on—would you borrow it from the Squirt if she was still around?”

  Frade ignored that question, too.

  “. . . but borrowing it would solve more than one problem,” Frade went on. “I have to go to Midland anyway to pick up my wife and kids. If Karl took the money out of your bank in cash, that would solve the problem of getting it to Argentina. And then here to General Gehlen. No cashier’s checks, no transfer wires, just all the cash we need, within a matter of days, and nobody asking questions.”

  “Do I understand that Jim is going to provide the funds we’re talking about?” Gehlen asked.

  Cronley nodded. “Yes, sir. And all I’m going to ask Colonel Frade to do is unscrew his left arm at the elbow and leave it with me in lieu of collateral.”

  Gehlen laughed out loud.

  “The only thing missing is Orlovsky actually agreeing to turn,” Frade said.

  “If I may make a suggestion?” Gehlen asked.

  “You don’t have to ask, General,” Frade said.

  “I would suggest it might be a good idea not to seem too eager, to—now that you believe he’s willing—have him worry that we don’t trust him to carry out his end of the bargain. I know Jim doesn’t think that Major Bischoff’s disorientation theories are effective—”

  “They weren’t working, General,” Cronley interrupted.

  “Let me rephrase that: We know Bischoff’s disorientation tactics did not work. But keeping Orlovsky disoriented until the moment we load him on an airplane might be a good idea.”

  “You want to bring Bischoff back into this?” Cronley asked suspiciously.

  “I was thinking of doing this myself,” Gehlen said. “If you’re going to Munich, while you’re gone I could chat with Major Orlovsky. We could talk, for example, about mutual acquaintances we have on the faculty of the Felix Dzerzhinsky Federal Security Service Academy and among the members of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs. That should get him wondering how many of them I’ve managed to turn.”

  “I didn’t want to go to Munich in the first place,” Frade said. “Now I really don’t want to go. I’d love to watch a master of our trade at work.”

  “I’m flattered,” Gehlen said.

  “But I have to go, and I don’t think I’ll be coming back here. The sooner I can get to the States, the better.”

  “I understand,” Gehlen said. “But speaking of my chat with Major Orlovsky: I have found it useful to have someone with me when I’m having chats of that nature.”

  “Major Bischoff?” Frade asked.

  “Actually, I was thinking of First Sergeant Dunwiddie,” Gehlen said. “Of course, he would have to be made privy to what we’re doing.”

  “Jimmy, your call,” Frade said.

  “I don’t have any problems with that at all.”

  “You can have the sergeant,” Frade said. “But may I ask why?”

  “Well, he’s obviously extraordinarily bright. Though another reason I’d like him in the room with me is that Major Orlovsky has had very little contact in Holy Mother Russia with men that size or with skin the color of coal. He finds them disconcerting.”

  Frade and Cronley chuckled.

  “If that’s the case, General,” Cronley said, “you can have Sergeant Tedworth, too.”

  “That might even be better,” Gehlen said. “One final thing. May I bring Colonel Mannberg into this?”

  “Of course,” Frade said. He paused, then went on: “That about winds it up for me here. Unless you have something else, General?”

  Gehlen shook his head.

  “In that case, sir, what I would like to do—if it makes sense to you—is go see Orlovsky, taking Cronley with me. I will tell him we have to leave—hell, I’ll tell him the truth: I’ll tell him I have to get back to the States, and then to Argentina, and that he will be dealing with you and Cronley.”

  Gehlen nodded. “I think it important that Jim remain involved.”

  “And this time, Captain Cronley, you will heed the sage advice of this expert interrogator no matter what he suggests.”

  Cronley nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Jimmy, you and I should get back in the Storch and go to Munich. The sooner I can get a look at Pullach and get to Frankfurt, the better.”

  “Taking the Storch may not be a good idea. We better drive.”

  “Why?”

  “The Air Force doesn’t like Storches.”

  Cronley explained the trouble he had had at Eschborn and the trouble he thought they would encounter at the Army airfield outside Munich.

  “I don’t want to lose the Storch, Clete. Either of them. I think I’m really going to need them. And losing them’s a real possibility.”

  “You are a lucky man, Captain Cronley,” Frade said. “When you fly back here in your Storch after dropping me off at Rhine-Main tomorrow morning, you will be privileged to witness a genuine expert outwit a Russian NKGB agent. Few people have an opportunity to see something like that. And when we land at this airfield where you think they will try to take away your airplane, you will be privileged to watch a genuine Marine expert outwit difficult Army—or Air Force, as the case may be—bureaucrats in uniform. Few people are privileged to see something like that, either.”

  Cronley shook his head.

  “Say, ‘yes, sir,’” Frade said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Gehlen laughed and smiled warmly.

  Clete offered his hand. Gehlen took it, but what began as a formality turned personal. They wound up hugging each other.

  [ THREE ]

  Schleissheim Army Airfield

  Munich, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

  1710 2 November 1945

  “Schleissheim, Army Seven-Oh-Seven understands Number One to land on Two-four,” Cronley said into his microphone, then moved the switch to INTERCOM and went on, “This is certainly going to be interesting.”

  “What?” Frade asked.

  “Well, Schleissheim means ‘Home of Strip,’ so I’m hoping we’ll be greeted by two fräuleins in their underwear. But I’m afraid what we’re going to get is some of those officers I told you about, the ones who’ll want to take my plane away from me.”

  “Just do what I told you to do. Say, ‘yes, sir.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jimmy moved the switch back to TRANSMIT and announced, “Seven-Oh-Seven on final.”

  —

  A major, two lieutenants, and a sergeant walked up to the Storch as Cronley parked it in front of a building that combined Base Operations with a control tower, a double-door fire station, and what looked like a PX coffee shop.

  The sergeant went to the tail and started writing on a clipboard.

  “He’s righteously writing down our tail numbers,” Cronley announced.

  “Go,” Frade ordered.

  Cronley climbed out of the airplane, took his CIC credentials from his pocket, and opened the folder so the major could get a quick look.

  “Good afternoon,” Cronley said cheerfully. “We’re going to have to top off my tanks and then put the airplane in a hangar where as few people as possible will see it. Any problems with that?”

  Clete was now out of the airplane.

  The major saluted.

  “Good afternoon,” Clete said, crisply returning it, then addressed Jimm
y: “We’re running late. Where’s the car?”

  “I don’t know, Colonel,” Cronley said.

  “Well, Major?” Frade demanded. “Where is it?”

  “Sir, I don’t know anything about a car,” the major said.

  “You did know we were coming, correct?”

  “No, sir.”

  “My God, Mr. MacNamara!” Clete snapped to Jimmy. “Can’t the Army do anything right? Does General Tedworth expect me to walk to the Vier Jahreszeiten? Find a phone somewhere and get General Tedworth on the line. If he’s not available, I’ll talk to General Dunwiddie.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cronley said.

  The major looked up from his clipboard and quickly said, “Colonel, we can get you a car. No problem.”

  “Please do so,” Frade said. “And quickly. You heard me say we’re running late. And when I come back here very early tomorrow morning, I expect my aircraft to be ready to go. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. No problem, Colonel.”

  The major’s face showed that he was not going to ask any questions about the Storch. Colonel Frade turned his back to the major and winked at Captain Cronley.

  “Take not counsel of your fears,” he announced. “I believe General Patton said that, so you might wish to write it down.”

  [ FOUR ]

  Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten

  Maximilianstrasse 178

  Munich, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

  1745 2 November 1945

  Sergeant Friedrich Hessinger, wearing pinks and greens, intercepted Cronley and Frade as they headed for the elevators in the lobby of the hotel.

  Elegant as usual, Cronley thought. The only thing missing is the blond—or two blonds—he usually has hanging on to his arms.

  “Colonel Mattingly and the others are waiting for you in the bar, Captain Cronley,” he announced.

  “Colonel, this is Special Agent Hessinger,” Cronley said. “Freddy, this is Colonel Frade.”

  “It is my pleasure, Colonel,” Hessinger said.

  His accent was so thick that Frade, without thinking about it, replied in German.

  “And mine. Who are the others?”