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“Which brings us to PFC Wagner,” Cronley said. “Who I never should have sent to Pfungstadt in the first place. Tom, as soon as you get Sergeant Finney back here, get in the Piper Cub and go get him. As soon as you find him, call Tiny. As soon as you get that call, Tiny, tell Janice Johansen that we’re going to let her use one of our Ford staff cars as long as she needs it, and that she should call the USFET Press Office and tell them she’s through with the jeep they gave her and that it’s at Pfungstadt.”

“Yes, sir,” Winters said.

“Do I tell her we went to get Wagner?” Tiny asked.

“Yeah. Why not? Tell her I’ll explain everything when I come back.”

“She’s going to want to know where you went.”

“I’ll explain that to her when I get back.”

“With all possible respect, sir,” Tiny said, “wouldn’t it be easier to explain all that to her before you go?”

“As surprising as you may find this, Captain Dunwiddie, I don’t think I can handle Miss Johansen right now. On the other hand, you’re expendable.”

Dunwiddie gave Cronley the finger.

Cronley stood up.

“Ready, Ludwig, for some of that Viennese Gemütlichkeit we hear so much about?”

“Frankly, no,” Mannberg replied. But he stood up.

“Mit ihrer Erlaubnis, Herr Generalmajor?”

“Go with God, Ludwig,” Gehlen said, then added, “The both of you. And remember, as outnumbered as we are, neither of you is expendable.”

VIII

[ ONE ]

Suite 304

The Hotel Bristol

Kaerntner Ring 1

Vienna, Austria

1605 29 January 1946

There came a melodious chime indicating someone at the door of the suite, and Cronley went to the door and opened it.

Two men were standing there, both wearing ODs with triangles. One was in his late thirties, and the other in his twenties.

“Please come in,” Cronley said.

“How are you, Jim?” the younger man said, offering his hand.

Cronley thought: What the hell is his first name?

“Good to see you, Spurgeon,” Cronley said.

Mannberg rose from the couch on which he was sitting.

The older man offered him his hand, but neither spoke.

Mannberg gestured around the room, pointing a finger at the chandelier and the lamps, his raised eyebrows making it a question.


Tags: W.E.B. Griffin Clandestine Operations Thriller