“As I was saying before Super Spook’s interruption,” Serov said, “His Eminence Cardinal von Hassburger, and his entourage, will depart Rome for Berlin on 25 April. That gives us a week to set things up.”
Cronley thought, You are one cool sonofabitch, Ivan, I’ll give you that.
“What I suggest,” Serov said, “is that after we have our breakfast, we drive to the castle. Now, that poses a question for you, James. What about your Polish agents?”
“What about them?”
“We’re going to need all the manpower we can put our hands on if we’re going to snatch the cardinal’s briefcases.”
Cronley thought, What is he talking about now?
He said, “What do you mean, ‘snatch the cardinal’s briefcases’?”
“When I was plotting this scenario of trailing whoever has a briefcase, I considered the possibility that we would fail. That would mean Odessa would get the money. Then I saw a solution to that dilemma. And that was to snatch the briefcases of whomever we suspected of delivering them to Odessa.
“Doing so, I concluded, would have several advantages. It obviously would keep Odessa from getting the money, for one thing. And it would cause consternation both to Odessa and His Eminence Cardinal von Hassburger. He would wonder if the real purpose of his coming to Berlin was about to be exposed.”
“And they couldn’t call the cops, German or American, could they?” Cronley said. “‘Bishop Frankenstein was walking down the K’damm when some arch criminal snatched his briefcase, which held a million dollars in it.’ And the cardinal would have to tell Odessa, ‘Oops! Sorry, you ain’t getting no money.’ And even if we got caught by the cops—German or MPs—while snatching the briefcase, they’d have to explain the million bucks.”
“Only if that briefcase contained the million,” Cohen said. “But that is a bridge we can wait to cross when we get to it.”
“Returning to your Polish DCI agents, James,” Serov said, “what about them? God knows we need the manpower. But Poland is a devout Roman Catholic country, and we all heard what Father McGrath said about what the Jesuits say—”
“I get the point,” Cronley interrupted. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”
Cronley walked to the door and called out, “Max, come in here. We need to talk.”
A moment later, Ostrowski entered the room, and said, “What about?”
He was followed by Ginger Moriarty. As she passed Cronley, she thrust Baby Bruce into his arms. The infant began to howl.
Serov began clapping, and others joined in, some of them laughing.
“I don’t think he likes you, Super Spook,” Father McGrath observed.
Having no other option, Cronley sat down in an armchair and began to bounce the infant up and down, as he had seen Ginger do.
“He’s not a martini, Super Spook,” Cohen offered. “Try rocking him gently.”
Cronley did. Almost immediately, the baby stopped howling, and he seemed to be smiling at Cronley. Without realizing what he was doing, Cronley kissed the infant, which earned him more applause.
“Did I miss anything important?” Ginger asked, innocently.
“Almost,” Serov said, then gestured at Cronley. “The floor is yours, James.”
Still rocking the baby in his arms, Cronley said, “Max, I may be about to royally piss you off, but I have to get into this. What would your reaction be if I told you Odessa was hiding its money in the Vatican Bank?”
“My reaction? Surprise. I never thought about that possibility . . .”
Because you’re a devout Catholic, right? Shit.
“. . . I thought the Swedes probably had it. I mean, we’re talking about a hell of a lot of money. I didn’t think they would be hiding it in the basement of a burned-out building in Leipzig or Frankfurt am Main.”
“You never mentioned this to me.”
“You never asked,” Ostrowski said, simply.
“What would you say if I told you Odessa is making a withdrawal from the Vatican Bank—probably a million dollars—and is sending it by messenger to Berlin?”