A jeep and then a Ford staff car rolled up beside the ambulance.
Lieutenant Anderson got out of the jeep and an enormous, very black captain got out of the staff car.
“Good evening, sir,” Anderson said. “How may I be of assistance to the captain?”
Dowsey thought, That sounded sarcastic, almost impertinent.
“Try signing for the prisoner, Andy,” the captain said. “You’re in charge, I’m just observing.”
A French capitaine and a French sergeant got out of the ambulance. The capitaine walked up to the black captain, saluted, and handed him a clipboard.
“After we’re sure the prisoner is alive, Lieutenant Anderson will sign the receipt,” the black captain said. “I am presuming, Anderson, that you arranged for a doctor?”
“I did.”
“Your response should have been ‘I did, sir.’ Think ‘role reversal.’ Say, ‘Yes, sir.’”
“Yes, sir.”
“Close your mouth, Lieutenant,” Captain Dunwiddie said to Dowsey, “or you’ll catch flies and look like Lieutenant Anderson.”
“Yes, sir,” Dowsey said.
The capitaine gestured for his sergeant to open the rear doors of the former ambulance.
When they had been opened, Dowsey saw the ambulance held three men, two French soldiers, and a third man in shackles with a black bag over his head.
“Get him out of there,” the black captain ordered. “Leave the bag over his head.”
The prisoner was, with some difficulty, extracted from the ambulance.
“Anybody speak German?”
“I do, sir,” Sergeant Wagner said.
“Ask him if he’s all right.”
“I demand to know where I am,” Luther Stauffer said in English.
“Herr Sturmführer, you’re not allowed to ask questions,” Dunwiddie said.
“I demand to know where I am,” Stauffer repeated.
“Duly noted,” Dunwiddie said. “Anderson, you told me you had arranged for a doctor.”
“I don’t know where the hell he is,” Anderson said.
“Well, while we’re waiting, and if you’re satisfied that the prisoner is alive, why don’t you sign the receipt for him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A question, Lieutenant Anderson,” Dunwiddie said. “After you’ve signed for him, do you want everybody to stand around here waiting for the doctor, or are you going to take the Sturmführer to the examination room and get him out of his clothing?”
Another jeep rolled up and a pudgy captain with the Medical Corps caduceus on his lapels got out.
“Who’s in charge?” he demanded.
Dunwiddie and Anderson pointed to each other.
“I’m just a spectator, Doctor,” Dunwiddie said. “The Sturmführer with the bag over his head is the man you’re to examine. Lieutenant Anderson will show you where.”
“I know where the examination room is,” the doctor said.
“And while you’re doing that, I would like a word with the interpreter. What did you say your name was, Sergeant?”
“Wagner, sir.”
“I take it, Captain, sir, you’re not going to observe the body search?” Anderson asked.
“I don’t like looking at Nazis when they’re fully dressed. Seeing one naked with his rear end exposed for the doctor’s examination would be just too much for my delicate stomach.”
When the guards had Stauffer shuffling toward the prison entrance, Dunwiddie went to the French officers.
“The officers’ mess is two streets down and one over. They expect you, and they’ll feed you and get you a place to sleep. And when you get back to Strasbourg, please give my respects to Commandant Fortin and say, Merci mille fois.”
—
“So how’d you get to be the interpreter?” Dunwiddie asked when the French ambulance had driven off.
“Colonel Rasberry said it would give me a chance to move around.”
“He knew what you’re doing here?”
“I guess Colonel Cohen did. Or maybe Mr. Cronley.”
“How’s it going?”
“I just got here.”
“Did you hear what happened to Cronley and Winters?”
“Mr. Cronley had to shoot some fräulein in the eye.”
“In the forehead. And he didn’t have to. It just happened. He shot at the windshield and she was on the other side. It bothers him. Which leaves me worried about both of you.”
“I’m all right.”
“Casey, these people kill people. Including nice young Pennsylvania Dutchmen. That makes me worry. Ostrowski is also worried.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Since Cronley would pass it down to me, I’d have to write the letter to your mother saying you were no longer with us. Don’t make me have to do that, Casey.”
“I will try very hard to stay alive,” Casey replied. “What’s with you and Lieutenant Anderson? I expected you to stand him tall, the crap he gave you just now.”
“I know you know about Norwich, so I will tell you.”
“How do you know I know about Norwich?”
“Because General White told me he had explained its virtues to you. And that, when General Harmon is allowed to retire and become president of Norwich, he will arrange a scholarship for you. When that happens, you will be honorably discharged from the Army for the purpose of enrolling at Norwich. And General White has charged me with encouraging you to do so. That means I have to keep you alive or face the wrath of General White, something I don’t like to consider.”
“That doesn’t answer what’s with you and Lieutenant Anderson.”
“Freshman students at Norwich are called ‘rooks,’ as West Point freshmen are called ‘plebes.’ Rooks are introduced into such subjects as close order drill by upperclassmen, with the hazing part of that instruction left to sophomores.
“Lieutenant Anderson was a year ahead of me at Norwich. He pushed me over the edge, primarily, I believe, because he doesn’t like people with my complexion, and so one day I beat the crap out of him. He, of course, turned me in. Other upperclassmen came to my aid, and the result was that I wasn’t expelled, and he was told to leave me alone. Which he did.
“After I resigned, I have been reliably informed, he expressed pleasure that, quote, the nigger is finally out of here and will be an enlisted man the rest of his life, end quote. Or words to that effect.
“And then we both wind up in Nuremberg. Me with railroad tracks, and him with a brand-new first john’s single bar. That was very hard for him to take. What I suspect the sonofabitch was up to just now was to have me deck him again. Rooks can beat up second classmen in some circumstances. Captains cannot assault junior officers under any circumstance. Get the picture?”
“Yes, sir. I get it.”
“What I just told you goes no further. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not even to Cronley.”
“Yes, sir. And to change the subject, what happens next?”
“We give Stauffer and the Kuhns a couple of days to think things over. Then we offer them a deal, give us von Dietelburg or spend the rest of your life in jail. If that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to keep trying.”
Casey nodded his understanding.
“You better go in there and watch the doctor stick his finger up Cousin Luther’s anal orifice.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dunwiddie punched Casey affectionately on the arm.
—
Twenty minutes later, Sturmführer Stauffer was led, naked and shackled, into a cell in the upper tier of the prison.
The shackles were removed, and the guards handed him prison-issue shirt and trousers and a small carton containing soap, a toothbrush, Colgate toothpaste, two towe
ls, and a roll of toilet paper.
He asked for a razor and Casey Wagner told him, in German, that he would be permitted, under supervision, the use of a safety razor every other day.
Then Wagner and the guards left him alone in the cell.
XII
[ONE]
The Dining Room
Farber Palast
Stein, near Nuremberg
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
0815 26 February 1946
Lieutenant Tom Winters and his wife and their baby walked into the dining room, followed by a bodyguard holding a Thompson submachine gun at his side.
Winters looked around until he found what he was looking for, then nudged his wife, indicating the table at which Cronley, Ostrowski, and Dunwiddie were sitting with Janice Johansen. They walked to it.
The men at the table rose.
“Mrs. Winters,” Cronley said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Tom drove us down yesterday,” Barbara Winters said.
“If Captain Dunwiddie knew about that, he apparently didn’t think I would be interested.”
“May we join you?” Barbara asked.
“Certainly. Have you had breakfast?”
“I want to thank you for saving Tom’s life, Jim.”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“Tom told me all about it.”
“Well, we men of A&M feel a deep moral obligation to take care of West Pointers.”
“I’m Janice Johansen,” Janice said. “Since Super Spook is not good at making introductions.”
“Sorry,” Cronley said. “Miss Johansen, this is Mrs. Winters. And this, Barbara, is Max Ostrowski.”
“Charmed,” Ostrowski said.
“He only sounds like an Englishman, he’s actually a Pole.”
“Tom brought me up to speed on who’s who on the way down here,” Barbara Winters said.
A waiter appeared and took their order.
“Feed him, too,” Cronley ordered, pointing at the table at which the Winterses’ bodyguard had taken a seat beside Cronley’s bodyguard.
“Did we interrupt a private conversation?” Barbara asked.
“Actually, I just charged Max with an important task,” Cronley said. “Finding someone in the indigent population who can fix the bullet holes in my Horch and get the blood and brain tissue off the upholstery.”
“Clever fellow female that I am, Mrs. Winters, I detect some tension between Super Spook and you,” Janice said. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Captain Cronley, Miss Johansen, told me I was a selfish bitch and a lousy Army wife,” Barbara said.
“I can see where that might cause a little tension,” Janice said.
“He did what?” Dunwiddie asked incredulously.
“And when I thought it over, I realized he was right. So I want to thank you for that, too, Jim.”
“Thank him for what?” Dunwiddie asked.
“Why don’t we change the subject to something pleasant?” Cronley said.
“Like what? The blood and brains on your upholstery?” Janice asked.
“I have some good news,” Dunwiddie said.
“Out with it,” Janice said. “Quick!”
“Yesterday afternoon, when I was talking with Colonel Rasberry about Casey, I dropped into the conversation that Tom and Barbara needed quarters . . .”
“You’re staying in Nuremberg?” Cronley asked.
“That’s where my husband is stationed,” Barbara answered. “Where else would I want to be?”
Dunwiddie continued: “. . . and he said he would explain the special circumstances to the post commander.”
“What special circumstances?” Janice asked.
Dunwiddie nodded to the two bodyguards.
“Oh,” Janice said. “Those special circumstances.”
The waiter appeared with a fresh pot of coffee.
“If you’d like, Mrs. Winters, I’ll hold that while you’re drinking your coffee,” Janice said.
“It’s a him, not a that, Miss Johansen,” Barbara said. “He even has a name.”
She handed Thomas H. Winters IV to Janice.
“Good-looking kid,” Janice said. “Beautiful. You’re sure Tom is the father?”
“Jesus Christ, Janice!” Tom exclaimed.
“I’m sure, Miss Johansen,” Barbara said.
“In that case, I think you qualify to be a member of Super Spook’s Merry Band of Outlaws. And I think you should start calling me Janice, and I will call you Barbara.”
“Thank you, Janice,” Barbara said.
“Yeah, welcome, welcome, Barbara, we’re glad to have you,” Cronley said.
“Thank you, Jim,” she said, her voice on the cusp of breaking.
“And now, if you will excuse me,” Cronley said, “my bodyguard and I have to get on the SIGABA.”
[TWO]
The Mansion
Offenbach Platz 101
Nuremberg, American Zone of Occupation, Germany
0855 26 February 1946
“Buenos Aires, Fulda. Captain Cronley for Colonel Frade. Require secure line.”
“Buenos Aires understands Captain Cronley for Colonel Frade on a secure line,” a heavily Spanish-accented voice replied.
“Affirmative, Buenos Aires.”
“Hold One, Fulda.”
Holding One took about two minutes.
“Fulda, Colonel Frade is on. The line is secure.”
“This better be important. I dislike rising with the roosters to answer the phone.”
“It is.”
“I understand people have been shooting at you.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
“El Jefe thought I should know they missed.”
“And they were trying hard. The sonofabitch had a Schmeisser. My Horch is full of bullet holes.”
“What’s on your mind, Little Brother?”
“I need to talk to Colonel Niedermeyer. Can you get him on here?”
“No.”
“Oh, shit! Why not?”
“He’s not here. He’s in Munich.”
“What’s he doing in Munich?”
“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but General Gehlen found out Gábor Péter’s AVO has Niedermeyer’s wife in Budapest—”
“Clete, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I thought everybody’s now calling you Super Spook. And you don’t know what the AVO is?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Okay, from the beginning: Otto Niedermeyer’s wife is Hungarian. She was in Budapest when the Russians took over.”
“Why wasn’t she with Niedermeyer in Argentina?”
“She was looking for her brother. The AVO, which stands for Allamvedelmi Osztaly, which is the Russian-controlled secret police, and which is run by a guy named Gábor Péter, already had him. And knew that Scheiberné Zsigmond, the Hungarian brother, had been Oberstleutnant Sigmund Schneiber when he worked for Abwehr Ost. So they used him to bag Károly Niedermeyer, who we called Carol when she was in Argentina with Otto. They want to use her to bag Otto and maybe others in Gehlen’s organization.”
“She left Argentina to look for her brother in Hungary? With the Russians there? That sounds pretty stupid.”
“Perhaps. If you weren’t such a prick, Jimmy, you might think it was an act of familial love. Like your mother is showing for your cousin Luther. Not too bright but understandable, even commendable. How is your cousin Luther, by the way?”
“Right now he’s in a cell here. I’m trying to get him to give me von Dietelburg.”
“Who is?”
“The guy I think is running Odessa.”
“Before I forget to say
this, don’t tell Wallace about Niedermeyer’s wife. He thinks he’s over there to talk to Gehlen.”
“Okay. So why is he in the Compound?”
“Gehlen’s staging an operation to get Frau Niedermeyer and her brother out. He wants to be in on it. I don’t think Wallace would approve.”
“What about El Jefe? Does he know?”
“I didn’t tell him, but I’m sure he does.”
“There are those who might think that makes you a loose cannon.”
“I bear that description proudly, Little Brother, when I think I’m doing the right thing. Niedermeyer told me about what goes on at 60 Andrassy Place in Budapest.”
“What’s that?”
“AVO headquarters. When they execute people in the basement, they stand them on a little stool, put a noose around their necks, and then kick the stool away, so that they can watch them strangle to death. According to Niedermeyer, even the Russians don’t do that. The NKGB standard execution procedure, according to Sergei Likharev, is to take people into the basement of that building on Lubyanka Square in Moscow, stand them over a drain in the floor, and then shoot them in the neck. You can understand why Niedermeyer wants to get his wife out, and why Gehlen is trying hard to help him. I don’t think Wallace would.”
“Either do I.”
“So tell me how you’re doing trying to take Odessa down. Any luck?”
“Not much. I told you I have Cousin Luther in a cell in the Tribunal Compound. I hope he thinks we’re going to hang him unless he gives me von Dietelburg, and we’re going to offer the guy I took down when he came after me with the Schmeisser the option of giving me von Dietelburg or spending the rest of his life in a German jail.”
“How’d you get Cousin Luther into the Tribunal jail?”
“Colonel Cohen, who runs the CIC at the Tribunal, arranged it.”
“He’s the guy who dubbed you ‘Super Spook’? El Jefe likes him. What’s his interest? Just being a nice guy?”
“No, Clete. The Germans, the Nazis, were—Himmler was—trying to start a new religion.”
“A new religion?”
“And Cohen thinks that when we hang Göring and the others, the Germans will think they’re martyrs, not criminals, hung by the Jews just because we won the war.”
Death at Nuremberg Page 25