“That’ll get them here about eleven-thirty. Dette, you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”
“Duty calls,” she said. “Besides, when I lie down, I start to feel that sonofabitch’s knife at my throat. And I hear Florence losing it.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry. I should . . .”
“Jim, if you’re thinking you should have tried to comfort me last night . . .”
“I should have.”
“Jim, you coming to my room last night would have been ill-advised. I thought that through . . .”
“I didn’t know what to do. I guess I decided to take the coward’s way out.”
“Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You were right.”
“Thank you. Which brings us back to why don’t you go back to bed?”
Lieutenant Thomas Winters walked into the office.
“That’s why,” Claudette said softly. “Duty calls.”
She raised her voice: “Good morning, Lieutenant. How can I help you?”
Winters saluted Cronley.
“Lieutenant Winters reporting for duty, sir.”
“We don’t do much saluting around here,” Cronley said, as he returned it. “And never when somebody’s wearing triangles.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Winters handed Cronley a thin stack of mimeographed orders.
Cronley read them, and handed them to Claudette.
“Take over, Administrative Officer,” he ordered. “Get our bureaucracy rolling.”
Claudette read the orders:
SECRET
HEADQUARTERS
U.S. Constabulary
APO 701, N.Y.
23 January 1946
E*X*T*R*A*C*T
SPECIAL ORDERS 21:
PARA 4:
Following Off Hq & Hq Company 11th Constabulary Regt APO 723 NY trans PCS this date WP Mil Detachment, Central Intelligence Directorate-Europe, APO 907. Mvmt Dep auth.
Winters, Thomas H. lLT Arty 0638383