“I think we should hear what Super Spook has to say,” Truman said.
“Jim,” Justice Jackson said, “if you think what we’ve come up with is a lousy idea, why didn’t you say something before?”
Cronley didn’t reply.
“Because, Bob,” the President said after a brief pause, “you’re a justice of the Supreme Court, and I.D. here is a two-star—about to be three-star—general. He would have been wasting his time.”
“And he’s not now wasting his time, Harry? And ours, too?”
“We won’t know that, will we, Bob, until I hear what he doesn’t like about your idea? Okay, Super Spook, you have the floor.”
“Sir, if we make a big show about recapturing von Dietelburg and Burgdorf, instead of impressing the Krauts—”
“Presumably, you’re referring to the German citizenry, Super Spook?”
“Yes, sir.
“Then don’t call them Krauts. We’re trying to convert them to our way of thinking, not rub defeat in their faces.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. My point is, what the German citizenry is going to think a little proudly is, well, it took them a long time, didn’t it, even with the entire U.S. Constabulary looking for them.”
“Point taken,” Truman said. “I.D., Super Spook has enormous balls, but I can’t imagine him suggesting to you that the reason we didn’t catch these bastards earlier was because your beloved Constabulary wasn’t up to the challenge?”
White’s face lost all color. Despite his anger, he didn’t reply.
“Anything else, Super Spook?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir. We know Odessa is still out there. If the German citizenry is pissed that their guys are back in the bag, and there’s any way Odessa can do it, it might occur to them to blow up Castle Wewelsburg. We know it’s wired for demolition, and that’d let them give us the finger.”
“And how would you handle the press?” the President challenged.
Cronley told him.
Truman fell silent.
“Bob, General,” Truman then said. “We do this Super Spook’s way. If I have to say this—and I guess I do—that’s an order, not a suggestion.”
XVI
[ONE]
Kreis Paderborn, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
0810 30 April 1946
The perimeter of the farmhouse had been secured overnight using a half
dozen M8 light armored cars, on the turret of each a Constabulary trooper manning the .50 caliber Browning heavy machine gun. Another ten troopers, each with a Thompson submachine gun in their arms and a holstered Colt .45 ACP pistol on their hip, stood guard.
Inside the perimeter, near a crumbled exterior wall of the bombed house, was one of the jeep wreckers that had been at the castle. Behind it, on the ground but still tethered to the hook of the winch cable, was a gasoline-powered electrical generator. Electrical extension cords snaked into the house.
In the kitchen, Cronley and Serov stood on opposite sides of the hole in the floor. The extension cords ran down, providing power for the lights that now illuminated the complex of rooms below. The generator, requested at midnight, had been on-site only a little more than an hour.
Major Donald Lomax, of the 14th Engineers, appeared in the opening and looked up at Cronley and Serov.
“Anything in . . . What did you call it, Major?” Cronley said.
“Oh, yeah. Finally. In what looks like a map room or command post that’s another level below the bunk rooms. They’re dragging them this way now.”