“So that’s why it took you so long to get back here: You were waiting for permission from your superiors.”
Cronley nodded.
I didn’t say, “That’s it.”
But I nodded. And he thinks I said, “Yes.”
The reason I didn’t get back here before this is because Wallace told me to let Odessa lie.
Which makes my nod a lie.
And I didn’t think it through before I lied. My mouth went on automatic.
As it tends to do.
“Sergent Deladier’s over there with my car,” Fortin said, pointing. “I suggest we get in it, go to the DST photo lab, tell them to Leica everything in here, and while they’re doing that, go have our lunch. I am so pleased that DCI’s going to work on Odessa with me that I will even pay for the lunch.”
[ FOUR ]
Gurtlerhoft
13 Place de la Cathédrale
Strasbourg, France
1215 25 January 1946
“The cellar is about the only part of the building that wasn’t torn up in the war,” Commandant Jean-Paul Fortin said as he led them through the basement of the building. He pointed to the high arched ceiling. “Those held up is why. I requisitioned it for DST. I’m still wondering why.”
“Excuse me?” Cronley asked.
“Perhaps it was because my mother used to bring me here as a child, and later, I used to bring my wife here. Or maybe because it was the favorite p
lace for SS officers when les Boches were here. Anyway, I requisitioned it for DST, and it’s proved quite useful.”
As they entered a small alcove, Fortin pointed again to the arched ceiling and to the walls.
“It’s impossible to hide a microphone in the masonry, and when Sergent Deladier puts the heavy felt drape in place—which he is about to do . . .”
“Oui, Mon Commandant,” the sergeant, who looked to be in his fifties, said.
“. . . one could set off a bomb in here, and it wouldn’t be heard on the other side. So no one—save Sergent Deladier, who is one of the DST people I hope you will learn to trust as I do—will overhear our conversation.”
There was one table, set for six, in the alcove. A waiter immediately appeared.
Fortin turned to Winters and said, “I don’t know if Captain Cronley has told you this, Lieutenant—”
“I thought we were now pals,” Cronley interrupted, “on a first-name basis.”
“And so we are,” Fortin said. “I will call the lieutenant by his Christian name. Which is?”
“Thomas, sir,” Winters said. “Or Tom. Whichever you prefer.”
“Thomas. And the both of you may call me either ‘sir’ or ‘commandant,’ whichever you prefer.”
Winters wondered, Is he kidding, or does he mean that?
“Don’t hold your breath, Jean-Paul, waiting for me to call you ‘sir,’” Cronley said. “Our relationship is that of partners, equal partners.”