And then he had an epiphany, or several epiphanies, one after the other.
The last thing I can afford to do right now is make anybody feel that they are second-class members of DCI, not trusted enough to be told everything that’s going on.
I either trust them, or I don’t.
But Jack Bristol’s not in DCI, he’s the engineer in charge of building and maintaining the Compound. And related to Bonehead Moriarty.
And they both went to Norwich.
As did Tiny.
And General White.
Do I have the right to try to involve him in this?
Bottom Line: I need all the help I can get.
I don’t know if, or how, Bristol can help, but I know I don’t want to run him off.
“I thought you’d be snowed in at Kloster Grünau,” Tiny greeted him.
“When was the last time they swept this room?” Cronley said.
The question obviously puzzled Dunwiddie.
“I don’t know. Last night. Maybe this morning. Why?”
“Get somebody over here right now and sweep it. And then put a couple of your guys outside to make sure nobody can hear what’s said in here.”
It was an order, and Dunwiddie recognized it as such.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and got up from the table.
“Colonel,” Cronley said to Bristol, “we’re about to discuss some things in here that are not only none of your business but also, I suspect, things you’d rather not hear.”
“I understand,” Bristol said, and got up out of his chair.
“Having said that, I wish you would stay,” Cronley said.
Bristol didn’t reply.
“I’m not being polite,” Cronley said. “And I don’t want you to stay to be polite. Staying may be costly.”
Bristol’s eyebrows rose in question, but he said nothing.
“I’m in a jam,” Cronley went on, “and need all the help I can get. So I’m going to tell you that General White, if he doesn’t already know what’s happened, is about to learn. And he’s with us, not with those who want to either take over DCI or flush it down the crapper.”
“Do ‘those’ have a name?” Bristol asked.
“Major General Bruce T. Seidel, the USFET G-2, heads the list. And it’s a long list.”
Bristol looked intensely at Cronley for a moment, then shrugged and sat down.
What do I do now, say “Thank you”?
“Thank you,” Cronley said.
A WAC staff sergeant—a formidable, stocky woman—came in the room.