The Assassination Option Part 22

Hessinger sat-collapsed-back into his chair.

"But you will admit, I hope, that going off that way to corrupt the blue-eyed nicely teated blond without telling either Tiny or me was pretty stupid."

"Yes, sir. I can see that now."

"So what were you p.i.s.sed off about?"

Hessinger met his eyes for a moment, then averted them, then met them again.

"You really want me to tell you?"

"Yeah, Freddy, I really do."

And I really do. I didn't say that to Freddy to make nice.

"My skills are underutilized around here," Hessinger said.

"Freddy," Tiny said, "this place would collapse without you. And we all know it."

"You mean, I am very good at such things as making hotel reservations, getting vehicles and other things from supply depots, et cetera?"

"And getting us paid," Tiny said. "Don't forget that."

"Those are the things a company clerk does. So what you're saying is that I am a very good company clerk and supply sergeant."

"Actually, Freddy, I think of you as our adjutant, our administrative officer."

"Sergeants-and that's what I am, a pay grade E-4 sergeant-can't be adjutants or administrative officers."

"You're also a special agent of the CIC," Cronley argued.

"n.o.body here is a bona fide CIC agent," Hessinger said. "You just kept the badges so you can get away with doing things you shouldn't be doing."

Jesus, he's p.i.s.sed off because I promoted Tedworth to first sergeant!

Or, that's part of it.

"Sergeant Hessinger," Cronley said, "at your earliest convenience, cut a promotion order promoting you to master sergeant."

"You can't do that," Hessinger said.

"Why not? You told me I had the authority to promote Sergeant Tedworth."

"Sergeant Tedworth was a technical sergeant, pay grade E-6. You had the authority to promote him one grade, to first sergeant pay grade E-7. You can't skip grades when you promote people. People can be promoted not more than one pay grade at a time, and not more often than once a month."

"Okay. Problem solved," Tiny said. "Cut an order today, promoting you to staff sergeant. Then, a month from today, cut another one making you a technical sergeant. And a month after that . . . getting the picture?"

"That would work. Thank you."

"Happy now, Freddy?" Cronley asked.

"That I will get my overdue promotions, yes, but that does not deal with the basic problem of my being underutilized in the past, and will continue to be underutilized in the DCI."

"And how, Staff Sergeant Hessinger," Cronley asked, "would you suggest I deal with that?"

"If you would transfer Sergeant Miller to me-right now I am borrowing him from First Sergeant Tedworth-that would free me to spend more time doing more important things than making hotel reservations and stocking the bar here."

"Presumably, Captain Dunwiddie, you are aware that Sergeant Hessinger has been borrowing Sergeant Miller from Sergeant Tedworth?" Cronley asked.

Dunwiddie nodded.

"It's okay with Tedworth. He said we've been overworking Freddy. Miller's a good man."

"That raises the question in my mind whether Sergeant Miller is anxious to solve our personnel problem, or whether Abraham Lincoln Tedworth pointed his finger at him and said, 'Get your a.s.s over to Hessinger's office and do what you're told.'"

"He came to me asking if I could use him," Hessinger said.

"I would like to hear that he's a volunteer from his lips," Cronley said. "And now that I think about it, I would like to hear from Claudette Colbert's ruby-red lips that she, too, is really a volunteer. But Sergeant Miller first. Where is he, Freddy?"

"Outside, in the ambulance."

"Outside, in the ambulance"? What the h.e.l.l is that all about?

"Go get him."

When the door had closed on Hessinger, Dunwiddie said, "Don't let this go to your head, Captain, sir, but I thought you handled that pretty well."

"Me, too," El Jefe said.

The door opened and one of Gehlen's men, a tall, gaunt blond man whose name Cronley couldn't recall but he remembered had been a major, came in.

He marched up to Mannberg, came to attention, clicked his heels, and handed him a sheet of paper. Mannberg read it, handed it to General Gehlen, and then ordered, "There will probably be a reply. Wait outside."

The former major bobbed his head, clicked his heels again, turned on his heels, and marched out of the room.

"We have heard from Seven-K," Gehlen said. "Quote, 'Herr Weitz expects his friend to pay him not later than the fourteenth.' End quote."

"Today's the eighth," Cronley said. "That gives us six days to get to Vienna."

"Vienna's not the other side of the world," Dunwiddie said. "That shouldn't be a problem."

The door opened again.

Hessinger and Staff Sergeant Miller came in.

Miller was as coal black as Tiny Dunwiddie, but where Dunwiddie was ma.s.sive, Miller was thin, almost gaunt. He towered over Hessinger.

Christ, Tiny's six-four and this guy is six, seven inches taller than that. He has to be close to seven feet tall.

Sergeant Miller marched up to Cronley, came to attention, and crisply saluted.

"Sir, Staff Sergeant Miller, Taddeus L., reporting to the captain as ordered, sir!"

Cronley returned the salute.

"At ease, Sergeant," Cronley ordered.

"Captain Cronley," Gehlen said. "Excuse me?"

"Sir?"

"Before we get into this, I think we should reply to Seven-K."

"Sure."

"And what should I say?"

"Say 'Ludwig always pays his debts on time,'" Hessinger said.

Gehlen looked at him in mingled disbelief and annoyance.

"Freddy," Cronley said, annoyance-even anger-in his tone, "shut up. No one asked you."

"I know. That's what I meant before when I said I was underutilized around here."

"Let's hear what he has to say," El Jefe said. "Starting with who's Ludwig?"

"Colonel Mannberg's Christian name is Ludwig. We can safely presume they know that. So they will not be surprised when he, and not the general, shows up at the Cafe Weitz."

"What makes you think I will not be going to the Cafe Weitz?" Gehlen asked.

He tried, but failed, to keep an icy tone out of his voice.

"I would be very surprised, General," Hessinger replied, "if Captain Cronley would expose you to that risk. I am extremely reluctant to expose Colonel Mannberg to that risk, but I can see no alternative."

"You are 'extremely reluctant,' are you, Freddy?" Cronley asked sarcastically. "You've given our little problem a great deal of thought, I gather? And come up with the solutions?"

"Our problems, plural. Yes, I have."

"'Problems, plural'?" Cronley parroted. "And the others are?"

"The other is you dealing with your family in Strasbourg."

"That's a personal problem that I will deal with myself, thank you just the same," Cronley said.

"No. The chief, DCI-Europe, doesn't have personal problems."

"What are you suggesting, Freddy?"

"That it is entirely possible that when you knock on your cousin Luther's door, bearing the black market Hershey bars and canned ham, he will smile gratefully at you and ask you in. Maybe he will even embrace you and kiss your cheek. And the next we will hear of you is when the new Rachel sends us a message saying we can have you back just as soon as we send Colonel Likharev into the Russian Zone of Berlin. Or maybe Vienna."

"My G.o.d!" Gehlen breathed. "That possibility never entered my mind."

After a very long moment, Cronley said, "Sergeant Miller, you never should have heard any of this."

"Mr. Hessinger has made me aware of the situation, sir."

"Okay. I'm not surprised. But I have to ask this. Are you a volunteer? Or did Tedworth, or for that matter Captain Dunwiddie, volunteer your services for you?"

"Sir, I went to Mr. Hessinger and told him I thought I could be more useful working for him, for DCI, than I could as just one more sergeant of the guard."

"Okay. With the caveat that I think you may-h.e.l.l, certainly will-come to regret doing that, you're in."

"Thank you, sir."

"Okay, Freddy," Cronley ordered. "Let's hear your solutions to our problems, plural."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Taddeus, please get my briefcase from the ambulance," Hessinger said. "And while you're doing that, I will get started by talking about the death and resurrection of the 711th MKRC."

"Why don't you get started talking about something important?" Cronley challenged.

"A unit called the 711th Quartermaster Mess Kit Repair Company is a soph.o.m.oric joke . . ."

"So you have been saying," Cronley said.

"Shut up, Jim," El Jefe said. "Let's hear what he has to say."

Cronley recognized the tone of command in Schultz's voice and shut up.

". . . but within Captain Cronley's original idea, which was to provide a cover for our vehicles, there is a good deal that can be saved.

"For example," Hessinger began his lecture, "while there is obviously no such organization as a Quartermaster Mess Kit Repair Company, I don't think anyone would smile at, or question, a Quartermaster Mobile Kitchen Renovation Company.

"What does the 711th QM Mobile Kitchen Renovation Company do? It renovates the mobile kitchens of the European Command, each company-sized unit of which has a mobile kitchen. That means that no one would question our vehicles-our former ambulances-being anywhere in Occupied Germany or Liberated Austria where there might be an Army mobile kitchen in need of renovation.

". . . Personnel a.s.signed to the 711th might be authorized a three-day pa.s.s from their labors, so that they might visit such cultural centers as Strasbourg . . ."

What later became known as "Hessinger's First Lecture" lasted an hour and fifteen minutes, and covered every detail of both problems facing the DCI. It recommended the rea.s.signment of more of Tiny's Troopers to DCI duties, and replacing them with Ostrowski's Poles. And the designation of Kloster Grnau as home station for the 711th, with signs announcing that status being placed on the fence surrounding the monastery.

But finally it was over.

"All of this needs polis.h.i.+ng," Hessinger concluded.

"Everything always needs polis.h.i.+ng, as we say in the Navy," El Jefe said.