Operation Slick Chick: Some Fly Others Spy 4k166o

OPERATION SLICK CHICK

SOME FLY OTHERS SPY

NORMAN PHILLIPS

COPYRIGHT © 2018 BY NORMAN PHILLIPS.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER: 2018903236 ISBN: HARDCOVER 978-1-9845-1528-5 SOFTCOVER 978-1-9845-1527-8 EBOOK 978-1-9845-1526-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/24/2018

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CONTENTS

BOOK ONE

Chapter 1 Air Force Command and Staff College

Chapter 2 US Embassy, Bonn, FRG

Chapter 3 The Luftwaffe

Chapter 4 Flight To Frankfort

Chapter 5 Air Attache Office, US Embassy

Chapter 6 NATO Ball, US Embassy

Chapter 7 Click-Click

Chapter 8 Christine

Chapter 9 The Spider and the Fly?

Chapter 10 The Chancellor’s Reception

Chapter 11 The Matadors

Chapter 12 F-100s at Sidi Slimane

Chapter 13 The 36th Tactical Fighter Wing

Chapter 14 Stardust

BOOK TWO

Chapter 1 The Italians

Chapter 2 Galli

Chapter 3 General Lucci’s Gala

Chapter 4 Christine, the Counselor

Chapter 5 Cortina d’Ampezzo

Chapter 6 Roberto and the Theatre

Chapter 7 Headquarters in Rome

Chapter 8 The Road Turns

Chapter 9 Testa Grigia

Chapter 10 Cervinia

Chapter 11 Back to Bitburg

Chapter 12 St Anton

Chapter 13 Celine

Chapter 14 Washington

Book One

Chapter 1

AIR FORCE COMMAND AND STAFF COLLEGE

He looked at his watch; it was eight o’clock sharp. Stragglers carrying coffee were still filling up the seats in his row. The hum of voices and the clatter of lowered seats began to subside. Major Mike Skora, a US Air Force decorated pilot sat in his seat in the auditorium of the Air Force Command and Staff College. He felt elated when he was selected to attend the AFCSC, but now halfway through the year-long program, an abundance of lectures by experts in foreign policy, intelligence, strategy and other topics, had caused his interest to wane. Mike looked up at the stage. Colonel Claiborne, the Commandant, stepped to the podium, tapped the microphone, and introduced the speaker, a Dr. Dillingham, the Director of Foreign Affairs in the State Department. Mike slumped in his seat, yawned and thought, here we go again…another desk jockey’s going to tell us all about the war. Dr. Dillingham began his lecture saying he would tell his audience about NATO’s future vis-a-vie the Soviet Union and the Cold War.” He adjusted his glasses, raised his eyebrows and looked up. Those glasses enlarged his eyes and made him look like a smiling, rosy-cheeked owl. Mike closed his eyes. He was bored. Dr. Dillingham droned on, “and now, our former enemies, the Germans, and Italians are on our side of the line, on our team, part of the NATO force and they are scheduled for jet training by our air force at an airbase in Furstenfeldbruck, .” Those words got Mike’s attention, and he sat up and thought, What? Are kraut

pilots going to be trained to us? I can’t believe this! “… pilots will be trained for the new German Luftwaffe both in Europe and in the US. The early pilots, those trained at Furstenfeldbruck are World War II pilots many of whom are well known German aces. Kurt Gerhardt was an ace with 127 kills. He is now a Major General and Chief of the new Luftwaffe and a reconstructed Allied leader…blah—blah—blah.” Mike ed General Gerhardt; he was called Colonel Gerhardt while in Hitler’s Luftwaffe. He was a killer fighter pilot, during the war, and now he’s on our side? What the hell would I be like if we lost? He tried to picture himself as a defeated fighter pilot asked to and fight with a former enemy. He couldn’t imagine it. He thought, No way, Jose! We both defended what we believed. He must have agreed with Hitler, or he couldn’t have done what we both had to do. The lecture ended at eleven-forty-five. There were no questions, so Colonel Claiborne dismissed the assemblage. The sound of voices in the lecture hall rose over the thumps of seats flipped back. Notebooks were stowed and zippers on briefcases closed. Mike spotted Carl Yetman several rows back, caught his eye and made an eating gesture with his hand. Carl nodded and pointed to the exit door. Mike shuffled up the aisle and stepped out, watching Carl as he lit a cigarette. “Wha’d’ya think of the lecture Carl?” Carl rolled his eyes and said, ‘Foggy Bottom’s’ words and music. What did you think Mike?” “I’d like to believe it, but frankly, I don’t feel comfortable with those Kraut officers becoming generals in the new Luftwaffe. I don’t know what they’ll do when the shit hits the fan¹.” “Yeah, I can’t see us saluting those guys and saying, ‘Yes sir.’” “It’s not that Carl, but do you believe they’re as ready as we are to fight the Russkies?” Carl gave a wry look of disbelief, shook his head and said, “Hard to believe they’d take it all the way if the balloon goes up².” He tapped the ash from his

cigarette and took a long drag. “And think about it Carl, a big hunk of is in the East Zone now!” Mike added vehemently. “Yeah, it’s like somebody split the US in half. Who’s the enemy now?” Mike went on, “And they’re even bringing Mussolini’s fly boys into it, well at least they’re good, at swapping sides.” He chuckled to himself. Major Skora and many of his classmates had flown and fought in WW-2 less than a decade before.¹ Carl suppressed a laugh and said, “Yeah, they’ll be ‘here today, gone tomorrow,’ but I guess it looks good on paper to some highfalutin desk jockey in Washington.” Mike said, “Like that Dr. Dillingham today,” Mike said, “I thought it was all over in ’45, but the pot over here is simmering again, I just hope Nato can keep the lid on it.” They strolled into the dining hall, picked up trays, slid them down the rack along a row of steam tables. They filled them with food, found a table and sat down. The energy in the dining room was palpable, heads were bent forward, and gestures flew back and forth. Carl looked up from his lunch and asked, “Got your thesis nailed down yet Mike?” “More or less, I’ve been trying to come up with something worthwhile. I’m not going to write about flying or running a squadron, and I’m sure as hell not going to try to tell them how to run the Air Force. How ’bout you?” Carl chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, “You know how we always bitched about consolidated maintenance? Well, I thought that I’d try to convince somebody up there that consolidated maintenance won’t work for tactical fighter squadrons.” “Sounds interesting. I like the idea, but it’ll be an upstream swim. All the SAC³ generals coming into the tactical arena are bringing their ideas with them, and consolidated maintenance is one of ’em. It isn’t going to go away.” “Yeah those SAC* bombers are squatting on huge bases. Production line

maintenance works for them, but us guys? “Carl tapped a cigarette on his fingernail, lit it and took a drag. He blew the smoke out and continued, “Moving squadrons back and forth, following the Army all over the world. We can’t take the production line with us, only the mechanics. Centralized maintenance is okay, but not for fighter outfits.” Carl had been an aircraft maintenance officer in his squadron and spoke from experience. Mike liked Carl because he always said what was on his mind and had a good sense of humor. He was a hell of a good pilot and a damned good officer too. Carl pushed his food a little and asked Mike, “What do you think you’ll write?” “I’m a little uneasy about the Kraut Air Force—the Italians too, I think I might write and tell them we shouldn’t share our nuclear weapons and our know-how with them.” “Well, it’ll be all over for us here in another twelve weeks, I can’t wait to get back to flying.” “You can say that again,” Mike said.² For the next few days, Mike spent every spare minute in the library. His research unfolded the post-WW-2 peace treaty that separated into two countries. West became a Nato partner in 1955, and East became a Soviet satellite state. After the war had ended, Allen Dulles made postwar plans for Europe based on the American principle of ‘forgive and forget.’ His view that “we must rebuild the nations of our vanquished enemies” was shared by the US foreign policy establishment and the highest levels of international governance. In the 1950s the Cold War was sending a chill across Europe, that Mike felt. Now he didn’t believe former enemy fighter pilots could erase their enmity and become loyal allies. He thought Dulles’s policy was naive. Was it easier for Washington politicians to trust former enemies? Perhaps. Mike ed that after the war, German occupants of Dachau, a village close to the concentration camp, denied that they knew what had been going on in the camp. How could that have been possible? Inmates were trucked through those towns. The military guards lived there, drank beer with their friends, sent their children to the schools, yet they denied what they knew.

Mike didn’t think their beliefs of Arian superiority could be erased. Even though he believed most humans adapt, look for new beginnings, opportunities, even new allegiances, he doubted that those dedicated German warriors could change so fast. Mike’s thesis, “The emerging German and Italian leadership in NATO,” questioned the wisdom of sharing military equipment and nuclear knowledge with current enemies. He doubted that the German and Italian officers could be relied on to fulfill their role in NATO. It was a sincere but naive analysis. However, it attracted the attention of intelligence officials. As the AFCSC wound down, the student’s assignments were announced. Mike didn’t know it, but the intelligence network had a plan for him. He was selected for intelligence training and subsequent assignment as an assistant air attaché to the US Embassy in Bonn, . He was disappointed. His hope was for another assignment to a fighter unit, but he knew that Air Force planning prepared selected officers for future responsibilities and graduates of the ACSC were often steered to staff duties. He had begun to realize that, when he and about a third of the Majors in his class were promoted to Lt. Col. As May rolled by the year’s studies ended The Air Force Command, and Staff College became like any college campus in the summer. The energy, hustle, and bustle that students exuded were gone. Student officers and faculty went on leave. Groundskeepers were visible as they went about their work, slowed by the Alabama summer sun. Mike flew home to Amherst for a short leave before he reported for the directed intelligence training. When he landed at Bradley, the airport near Hartford, Professor Stanley Skora, Mike’s dad, met him. “Those silver leaves look good on you Mike. So now you’re a Colonel.” Mike’s father was proud and pleased with Mike’s promotion. His paternal, professorial tone had taken on the respectful manner of a commoner talking to royalty. Mike answered, “Well, Lieutenant Colonel, but you’re right. Verbally it’s Colonel’”

“And tell me, sir, about your next assignment to . You’re an air attaché?” “An assistant air attaché dad. You’re teaching this summer aren’t you?” “Yes, one course. I’m taking a sabbatical next spring. I’d rather take the whole year, but unless I can tuck a little money aside, half the pay won’t work. I’d like to finish the book I’ve been working on for four years. Well, enough about me, tell me what this intelligence training is.” “Mostly language. I’ll be studying German along with a bunch of spook⁴ stuff like camera work for covert intelligence gathering, how to spot a tail if you don’t want to be followed, and uh, you know, how to get out of a tight spot and all that stuff. We even get a week of defensive driving on a speedway—that will be fun!” “That’s a big program. I’m surprised you can do all that in such a short time.” Mike laughed. Needling his father, he said, “It’s not like your school dad, we go eight hours a day and forty-four hours a week, and you’re expected to do outside work. Think about it; I’ll be getting 1,000 hours of language training in a year. That’d take at least four years at the University.” His dad nodded solemnly, “Yes, it’s different. Not like this world. Some of the stuff you’re learning could make the difference between living or dying.” Mike felt drawn closer to his father. He was beginning to understand the difference between their interests. “How’s mom?” “Fine, really fine. The band she started at school is attracting a lot of attention. For a small town like Hadley to have a high school jazz band is remarkable. The locals are fully ing her music program.” Mike was silent as the highway rolled past. When they turned onto Route 9 Mike glanced at Skinner Mountain and the Connecticut River. He thought of Rachel, and he turned to his father and said, “How’s Rachel doing—ever see her out?” Mike’s dad glanced at him, cleared his throat and said, “Yes, we were at the Fischer’s a couple of weeks ago. They had a big barbecue in the garden and

Rachel was there with Leonel Garcia. You know he divorced his wife last winter, or I should say, she divorced him.” “That son of a bitch,” Mike snarled. “Don’t let it get to you son; she turned out to be what was inside her. It’s just as well, you pushed her out of your life.” “Do the Fischers have any bad feelings about me?” “No, no Mike, Professor Fischer knows the score. You know Rachel was giving him trouble before you met her.” “Well dad, keep in mind that I don’t want to have anything to do with that family, any of them.” “I understand son. You won’t have to.” Mike settled himself and looked forward to seeing his mother. He thought about the tortured relationship with Rachel…that fucking little liar. It’s a good thing I found her out. Well, a couple more days in Amherst and I’ll be on my way to good old Deutschland.

Chapter 2

US EMBASSY, BONN, FRG

Colonel Frank Schulstad pulled into a parking space marked “Reserved for Air Attache.” He grabbed his briefcase, slid out and slammed the door. He glanced up at the fluttering Stars & Stripes on the pole in front of the embassy, straightened up and marched up the embassy stairs. Inside at a desk, a Marine sergeant dropped his newspaper, snapped to attention and barked, “Good morning sir!” Colonel Schulstad doffed his hat and said, “Good morning Sergeant., anything new in that paper?” “Same-o same-o sir.” “If Sergeant Doyle comes by ask him to come see me—no hurry on that.” “Yes, sir! Wilco!⁵” Colonel Schulstad strode down the corridor and into the Air Attache office. “Good morning Meg—coffee ready?” Margaret Clark was Colonel Schulstad’s istrative assistant. Clark had two German secretaries, Eva Scharnhorst and Ingrid Wasserman. They came in at 09:00, but she was always there an hour earlier. “Yes, sir, I made it about fifteen minutes ago. Can I pour you one?” “No thanks Meg, I’ll get it.” The Colonel hung his hat and coat and poured coffee into a carafe. He gave it a splash of milk and two spoons of sugar. Schulstad opened his office door and set the carafe on his desk. He stretched, yawned, picked up a mug, glanced at the

West Point logo on it, and sat down. His “In” basket held the day’s mail, and he didn’t look forward to plowing through it. The phone in Colonel Schulstad’s office rang twice, paused, and then a buzz sounded. He picked up the phone and asked, “Who is it, Meg?” “It’s Mr. Bauer Colonel. He’d like to see you this morning.” “Sure, Meg, tell Alex any time before noon—I’ve got lunch scheduled.” Schulstad leafed through the diplomatic mail quickly. Then he perused the intelligence reports that came from the code room. Reading the highly classified information, he paused and ed Alex Bauer’s call and thought, hmm, haven’t talked to Alex for quite a while. I wonder what’s up? Meanwhile at the other end of the embassy, behind a door with a small, sign reading, “Office of Cultural Affairs.” Alex Bauer was clearing his desk of folders. He stowed them in his safe, locked it, then picked up his phone and hit a button. “Watkins I’m going over to Colonel Schulstad’s office. I’ll be back, or I’ll call you.” Alex walked down a long corridor, ing secretaries, military officers, embassy officials and assorted civilians. He never attracted attention. He was of average height with a trim body. His straight brown hair was parted in the middle. He wore rimless glasses. You’d him on the street, but more than likely wouldn’t him. Luckily his brain was far from unremarkable. He had a Master’s degree in international relations from Harvard and was beginning a Doctoral program when he was recruited by the CIA. Schulstad heard a knock on his door and his loud, “Come on in Alex!” brought in Alex to a chair close to Colonel Schulstad’s desk. “Morning Alex. Must be something important, right?” “Colonel, I wouldn’t say it was important but, umm, I’d like to share some questions that have been surfacing lately.” He paused. “Of course this stuff and the related information is umm, highly classified.” Schulstad laughed. “Oh, so now you’re going to tell me something instead of me telling you?”

Alex smiled briefly, then became serious, “I think you’re familiar with the 36th Group at Bitburg.” Schulstad nodded, and Alex went on. “Well, there’s going to be a couple of new airplanes there, F-100s, they’re part of an operation called ‘Slick Chick.’ The birds don’t have guns, only cameras and the pilots are umm, working for, umm, my guys.” “Recce eh? What’re they going to take pictures off?” “They can go supersonic in level flight—the Migs can’t catch them.” “So they’re going east, right?” Schulstad inquired. Alex nodded, “There’ll be a lot of interest in those birds, and I’d like you to help me to keep it the way we want it.” Schulstad nodded thoughtfully. “Does Colonel Childs know all the details?” “Only what he needs to know. They’ll have a fenced in area with their security, all he has to do is give them the they require.” Alex paused then continued, “You fly out of Bitburg, don’t you? If you spot anything unusual, let me know.” Schulstad nodded. “Well, I’ll keep my ears perked up, and if I hear anything interesting, I’ll let you know pronto.”

Chapter 3

THE LUFTWAFFE

The dawning sky was like a gray blanket cast over the mighty river flowing through the valley. The steps of the terraced slope drop down to the river’s edge. On each terrace, orderly vines hung, waiting for the spring sun to stir their growth. Vineyard workers with bent backs moved slowly across the terraces snipping and pruning for the fall harvest. Major General Kurt Gerhardt looked across a stone patio to the vineyard sloping down to the Rhine. On the river’s east bank, the vineyards continued. Schloss Gerhardt was Kurt Gerhardt’s ancestral home, where several generations had harvested the grapes for a white Rhine wine famous for its quality. Kurt sipped his morning coffee, and his mind drifted. He fingered a scar that crossed his left cheek bone down to his chin. ing Heidelberg, the University, the dueling societies, his youthful need for that saber scar, a sardonic smile lifted a corner of his mouth. Greta Steinmiller nudged into his thoughts, and his heart became heavy. He’d met Greta at the University in 1932. She was a classic Aryan beauty, wideset blue eyes, flaxen hair and an alluring smile. During a weekend of skiing in Reutte, Kurt saw that Greta was a good skier. She had a shapely body, and he later learned that she had a promising career as a concert pianist. They soon fell in love and married after graduating. And then for Kurt came flight school, the squadron, his baptism in combat in Spain, the war, and now… As Gerhardt stared into the dark remains of his coffee, a cloud inside him dimmed the light of that nostalgic daydream as a depressing memory of the Allied bombing of Dresden pushed itself into his thoughts. Greta and their two precious children were incinerated in the firestorm that followed the Dresden bombing in 1945.

He heard the patio door behind him slide open. Hildegard came in carrying a cardigan sweater with silver buttons. “Guten Morgen (good morning) Herr Kurt,” she said, “you must be cold? You should put this on.” Hildegard was the family housekeeper. When Kurt was a child, she was his nanny, and now she continued serving the Gerhardt domicile as the housekeeper. Kurt and Hildegard had a long-standing affectionate relationship, and she still called him Kurt, his childhood name and had added ‘Herr’ as a show of respect. To her, he was still the young boy who needed her care. The General said, “Danke Schoen (thank you) Hildegard-,” and he slipped into the sweater and felt the warmth of his nanny. The unpleasant parts of his past dimmed as he ed Hildegard bundling him in the clothes that kept him warm when winter came. The door slid open again, Hildegard turned and her face became expressionless. When Helga stepped in Hildegard said, “Guten Morgen Frau Gerhardt.” Helga glanced at Hildegard as she walked by and muttered, “Guten Morgen.” Kurt smiled and said, “Good morning Liebling did you sleep well?” Helga set her cup on the table. It clicked, and the spoon slid off the saucer and clattered on the table’s tiles. Helga frowned at her clumsiness, but her face brightened. “Yes, I did. I was tired after that long drive yesterday.” Kurt thoughts slid back into the quiet and private backwaters where they were kept at bay by his acceptance of all that ed and all that was here. He rarely talked about the past. iI was what it was, and now… “Well it’s too bad I couldn’t have driven you there, but these days…” “Yes, I know. You are too important to NATO to risk being taken by the Russians.” “I don’t understand why your friend and Elise can’t come here,” Kurt said. Helga interrupted, “You know it’s difficult for her to travel. She has no car, and the train is dangerous for her since she skipped out of the East Zone.” “Isn’t it bad for her in Berlin?”

Helga brushed Kurt’s concerns aside, “Yes, but she is cautious, and she has many friends there who help her.” “Oh well, I suppose you have to keep up with your young friends. I’m afraid my job takes up too much time these days, and I’m not as young as you.” The last he said like a scolding parent. Helga was twenty-two years younger than Kurt. He met her at the Officer’s Club at Furstenfeldbruck where she worked as a bar waitress. Her resemblance to Greta and her Sachsen accent had charmed him. When Kurt proposed a year ago, she eagerly agreed to marry him. Helga’s expression changed. She looked like a mildly scolded child. She reached down and toyed with the diamond ring on her finger. The stone must have been at least four or five karats, and she moved it back and forth over her finger. Kurt looked down as she played with the ring and said, “That is a lovely ring Helga., Did you say it belonged to your grandmother?” “Yes. I was my grandmother’s favorite, and she left it for me. It worries me that I might lose it. It’s been in my family for fifty or more years.” “I’m sure it would be wise to have it reset because if that diamond falls out you might lose it. It looks large now on your finger, but if it fell in the grass?” “I wish I had a safe place to keep it. It bothers me that such a valuable and personal part of my past could be easily lost or even stolen.” Kurt’s face softened. “Helga, my dear, let me take it to Schubert in Dusseldorf, he is the father of my good friend Hans. He can reset it and then we will put it in the small safe I have in my study.” Helga looked surprised and said, “You have a safe in your study? I have not seen it.” Kurt smiled broadly. “It is because you do not go into my study and,” he chuckled, “the safe is hidden.” “Hidden? Why is that?” she asked, sounding like a curious child. “Because I sometimes have papers to keep that I do not wish to make available to interested people.”

“But I am not curious—will you show me it?” Kurt rose, extended his left hand and said, “Let’s go to the study, I’ll show you where it is.” “Does it have a combination Kurt? Would you give me the number so I can take my ring when I want it?” Kurt walked over to a large painting of the Zugspitze, swung it aside and showed Helga the dial on the small safe. “I will give you the number Liebling, but you must always first to pull the switch…” he turned to a lamp on a small table, “the one with the bulb that doesn’t light. It disconnects an alarm that warns me if someone is trying to open the safe,” Kurt checked the switch on the lamp. “and after the safe is again closed, you must click this switch again to activate the warning device.” Helga, looking like an innocent school girl said, “Yes, yes, I will always do as you say.” Her manner became animated, like a happy child. Kurt looked down at her at his side, and thought, How lucky can a man be to have a woman like this at my age.

Chapter 4

FLIGHT TO FRANKFORT

The steady hum of four engines and two Bloody Marys blurred Mike Skora’s sharp edged mind, and he slid into a half-somnolent state. He yawned, looked at his watch. It was 11:30, or 23:30 military time but Mike knew it was already 5:30 in . He was heading to his assignment at the American Embassy in Bonn in the Federal Republic of . Too dark to see anything through the window and an empty seat next to him, Mike decided to take a nap. He unfastened his seat belt, slid lower in his seat and nodded off. His dreams swirled in a euphoric bank of pleasant memories and anticipation of his new job. Time ticked on. Sometime later, while he dozed, Mike became aware that someone was fumbling across his groin. He cracked open his eyes and saw a stewardess fumbling with his safety belt across the front of his tros. Her knuckles rubbed across his groin—he had been dreaming of a long forgotten girl and had an erection. He squirmed upright and tightened the seatbelt himself. She smiled as she looked at him and said, “We’re getting ready to land sir—you were sleeping so I fastened your belt.” Sheepishly Mike said, “Thank you,” as he looked at her inviting smile and thought she was attractive. The 747 dropped its landing gear with a thud; Mike felt the flaps extending. He looked out at the gray morning. With another bump and a rumble, the engines reversed. They were on the ground. The aircraft turned off the runway and into a parking spot. Mike felt like a little boy coming home. He looked at Rhein-Main airport and saw how the Germans had spent the years after their crushing defeat. There were no visible signs of the destruction that he ed. In the terminal, he saw men in civilian dress coming and going. Only a discerning eye could tell who were civilians and who were military men wearing civilian clothes. Mike noticed that there weren’t many Germans his age. The destructive war marked many of the men walking through the airport. Scarred faces, a missing limb, a limping walk, an expressionless face—those were assuredly

German soldiers. There were groups of American military families with tired children who brightened when greeted by their military fathers, dog tags dangling under those civilian shirts. Mike glanced around the airport. He sensed an uncertainty that he hadn’t felt before, not even during his duty in the occupation forces. Back then, he knew what his role was, but now he wasn’t sure. These Germans were in their home country. Mike felt a faint flicker of misgiving that merged with his thoughts about his assignment. He wouldn’t be in an outfit surrounded by fighter pilots. His natural self-confidence became ever so slightly clouded. Coming through the crowd swinging a small bag he saw the stewardess from his flight. He caught her eye, and she smiled and turned toward him. “Hello Colonel, the first time in ?” Mike smiled, looked her up and down, she was quite attractive. He said, “No, I finished the war here and stayed a couple of years in the occupation.” Her brown eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted. “Sorry, dumb question. I should have known that from your medals.” Mike laughed. “No, not a dumb question. I could’ve earned these flying out of England,” she put her bag down, and Mike continued, “now I’ll ask you a dumb question. Do you come here often?” Smirking she said, “The last time I heard that question was in PJ Clarke’s, yes, actually I stay over here a couple of times a month.” There was a gleam in her eyes. “I’m Christine Haralsted,” She extended her hand, “Now, where are you headed?” Mike shook Christine’s hand and said, “Mike Skora. I’m heading to Bonn. I’m the new assistant air attaché at our Embassy.” Christine cocked her head and made an approving nod. “Well, I didn’t know we had a VIP flying with us. Are they going to pick you up here?”

“No, I’m to wait until six-thirty tonight. The embassy is sending a diplomatic courier here to meet an Air Force bird leaving for Washington at seven-fifteen. I’ll take the staff car back.” Christine pursed her lips, a slightly mischievous smile crept into her cheeks. “Well, I have a suite all to myself today,” she hurriedly added, “the airline keeps one here for the aircrew. There’re two bedrooms and a sitting room and no one there today but me. You could hit the sack and get a few winks before your car gets here.” She looked into Mike’s eyes. At that moment sleep was not on his agenda, and Christine’s offer was a tantalizing. “Gee Christine, that sounds good to me. I could use a shower and shave before I show up at the embassy.” She said, “The hotel is close to the terminal, but you’ve got two huge bags—let’s take a cab.” Mike followed her out, and she signaled a cab. The driver opened the Mercedes trunk and muscled Mike’s heavy bags, slammed the lid. They sat in the back. Christine said, “The Post Hotel bitte.” The driver looked in the rearview mirror and said, “Ya, I haf taking you dare twice before.” “Thank you for ing me driver.” The driver nodded and drove off. In a couple of minutes the taxi stopped at the door of the Post hotel. A uniformed doorman opened the door. When he saw Mike’s bags he signaled to a bellhop for a luggage carrier At the desk, Christine said, “We can each sign in separately.” Mike relaxed. He expected to have to use a ruse to together. They took the elevator to the room. The bellhop opened the door to the suite and dropped Mike’s bags inside. Christine opened the door to the sitting room, pointed to a door inside and said, “You can crash there. I’ll be in this one.” Mike left the larger bag in the sitting room, carried the other into his bedroom, unzipped it, took out his toiletries kit and put it in the bathroom. When he came out, Christine was bent over at the small refrigerator.

“I’m going to have a bit of a toddy Mike--you?” “Fine. Any scotch in there?” “Sure is—only the best.” She put two small bottles on the table, two glasses and a tray of ice cubes. “Help yourself—I don’t know how you like it.” She poured a two-ounce bottle into her glass over three ice cubes and added soda water. “Hey that’s the way I like it—just a splash of soda.” Mike said. She emptied the other bottle over three ice cubes and poured a splash of soda, handed it to Mike and said, “How nice it is not to be alone in here—here’s to good company.” She raised her glass, clinked his and looked at him. She took a deep drink. Mike did the same. There was something unspoken in her manner. Mike wasn’t sure, but he ed her on the plane, bent over him, her knuckles rubbing across his groin. Mike saw her wedding band and said, “I see you’ve married Christine.” “Yes, I am. How about you?” She looked over the edge of her glass. “I was for a while, but we divorced.” “Oh, that’s too bad. Want to tell me about it?” Mike shook his head and said, “No, it’s a long story. I have no regrets. How about you?” Christine curled her knees up on the sofa and said, “I have a good marriage. Two kids and a good guy for a husband.” “Two? How old are they?” “Anna’s eleven and Gregory is eight.” “Eleven? You don’t look old enough to have an eleven-year-old daughter Christine.” Christine was pleased by Mike’s remark and said, “I’m older than I look Mike.

I’m thirty-six, how old are you?” “I’m thirty-one but you sure as hell don’t look thirty-six! You keep yourself looking good!” “Oh thank you, Mike. It’s nice to hear that from a handsome young Air Force officer.” She drained her glass and looked at Mike. “Another?” “Sure, thanks.” Mike sensed the opportunity. He got up, turned the radio on and Christine handed him another drink. He followed her to the sofa and sat with her. Christine made a very relaxed sigh, took a long sip and began humming to the music. “Do you like to dance Mike?” “Oh yes, I’m not great at it, but I’m enthusiastic.” She got up and extended her hand. “Come on.” Mike got up. He knew it was going to lead him somewhere. He encircled her waist and pulled her close. She came to him like she’d known him forever. He felt her trim waist and soft, generous breasts against him. Then she came even closer, and his hardness began to press against her. He knew she knew it and shifted so that she was belly to belly with him. Her left hand crept up to his neck, and she had her face lifted up under his chin. Mike smelled a wisp of perfume that seemed to breathe out of her closeness. As Mike became deeply engrossed in what was happening, Christine pulled her head back. With a mischievous grin, she said, “Mike is there something coming up between us?” Mike caught the playfulness of the question, pulled himself out of a reverie and cracked, “Yes, there is something between us, but it’s not coming.” She said, “Oh that’ll come later, but right now I want…” Her left hand dropped to his groin, and she pressed his erection. She pulled her head closer and whispered,

“I’d like a little of that.” Mike, startled by the refreshing directness continued, “Christine you can have all of it. “I don’t want all of it; I just want to use it.” Mike thought This is some woman! She loves her husband, but she wants to fuck. Nothing coy about her. She doesn’t act like a whore. Christ, she’s got two kids, seems happy, yet this. I dunno.’ Mike kissed her, her mouth opened, she invited his tongue, and it began. He started unbuttoning her blouse, opened it, slipped a strap off her right shoulder, and her full ripe breast rested in his hand, he stopped dancing, bent down and kissed the pink nipple. She sighed, holding his head to it and softly said, “Let’s hit the shower and get into bed huh?” “Together in one or each in his own?” She smiled. “Your choice Colonel. sir.” “Together.” In the shower, warm, soapy and wet, Mike showed he was ready. Christine held it. “Oh my, is that all for me?” “Oh yes,” Mike said, and then he thought, This is like a fucking daydream! That woman says what’s on her mind and she sure as Hell knows what’s on mine! They toweled carelessly, and he followed her into the bedroom. She flung back the covers and slid in, and Mike saw the full cheeks of her ass as she rolled over, a soft tangle of blonde hair almost hid what he wanted. He slid in beside her, and they locked their lips and tongues together. Mike went from one breast to another; she ruffled his hair, he felt like a suckling child. It was like that. His hand felt her, and he knew she was ready. As he entered she moaned “Oh, I love what you do to me.” Her cesarean scar explained why he had to go slowly at first. Finally, it was pelvis hitting pelvis, and she gasped, “0h my gosh!” She tensed and suddenly

went soft. Mike rolled away, they kissed. “That one was for you, the next is for me all right?” Mike nodded. He understood, but it seemed she’d enjoyed it as much as he did. “I don’t usually come the first time Mike. That’s why I said that but I did with you. Can I still have my next?” Her hand stroked him, and he stepped up to the plate. He hadn’t had any for several months. It surprised him how soon he wanted more. This time it was easier, she was soaked. He started almost casually, sneaking up on her libido. At first, they kissed slowly, and he did it slowly. As her breath quickened, she began taking the initiative. Her thrusting became aggressive, she pulled him to her, her hands pressing his buttocks. She set the pace, he followed. Soon she was gasping, and her voice died in a moan. Mike studied her and shifted his mind but couldn’t be distracted. He felt a surge, and they both hastened to catch the wave. It became quiet, and they relaxed. She lit a cigarette and turned to Mike. Her head was held up by an upraised arm—her elbow on the pillow. She kissed Mike and whispered, “I hope you don’t think badly of me Mike.” Mike softly said, “That goes for me too Christine.” Mike was utterly in disbelief. He felt as though he’d been acting in a porn movie,—a living dream. It was a singular experience for Mike. There wasn’t any regret, guilt or confusing affection involved. She took what she wanted and never sold herself. Quite a woman! Mike thought. Christine blew a thin stream of smoke through her pursed lips, turned to Mike and said, “Do you want to tell me about your marriage Mike?” “Yes,” Mike paused, I can tell her everything. She’ll understand, she’s not like Rachel. “Well Christine, I grew up in Amherst, Mass. My father’s a professor at the University. One summer I came home for a thirty-day leave between assignments. Anyway, an associate of dad’s, a Professor Fischer had a daughter. She was in her first year of a Masters program in art history at Smith, and we were brought together with hopes of…I don’t know. Well, I’m a fighter pilot, this 21-year-old was good looking, had nice boobs, and I got on her like a coat of

paint. One thing led to another, and we began seeing each other every day. Now that I think about it, she egged me on. Not that I needed it. “No, I’d say I’d guess that about you, Mike.” “Well, you know how it goes. The next thing I knew we’re in Martha’s Vineyard at a summer place with one of her girlfriends. We share a room and of course the bed. It was all very romantic. I thought I was in love. I left for Vegas and my new job. We talked on the phone a lot. About seven or eight weeks later she called me and told me she’s pregnant!” “So you married her?” “You guessed it. But that’s only the beginning. We get married with a big wedding in late October. By now she’s what? Three months pregnant? Not showing yet, at least she covered it pretty well. By Thanksgiving she gets visible and bingo–end of February she has the kid. The kid has black hair and looks like a Mexican! I’m blue-eyed with light brown hair, and she’s a blue-eyed blonde. You know, I take it all for granted. Anyway, all this time, she’d stayed in Amherst with her parents. Told me she had to finish her thesis and wanted her mom’s help with the baby. So, when I say I want her to come to Nellis that summer, she tells me she can’t because she’s started a doctoral program!. I told my dad, and he suggested I go over to Smith and talk to this professor Garcia— Leonel Garcia, her mentor. Well, when I meet him, and we talked, I size him up, and he comes across somewhat arrogant and shows no inclination to my idea of taking Rachel away from the program I began suspecting something when he let it slip that early in July he was at an art history conference in New York and it was there that Rachel discussed a doctoral program with him. I counted the months. The baby, if mine, was delivered six weeks early. If his, and it looked like him, nine months from July was when the baby was born. With both of them in New York at that conference, she never told me about it; I jumped to the conclusion that the kid wasn’t mine. I wasn’t certain, but I suspected. I came home at Christmas, and my suspicions showed. We got into a hell of an argument, and I accused her of having shacked up with Garcia. She let me have it. She told me she’d never been a military wife and she wanted a divorce! Well, I went right to a lawyer and filed for divorce, and that was that!” “Wow, what a story Mike! It sounds like she slipped it to you.”

“Yeah, when I was home last week I learned that Garcia divorced his wife and was seeing Rachel. I guess they’ll get together and live ‘happily ever after.’ I’ve got no regrets, and I’m damned glad I found her out before she screwed up my life.” At six o’clock that afternoon, Mike and Christine parted pleasantly like good friends, and Mike told her that he wanted to see her again. Christine beamed when Mike told her that she was the first woman he’d known that was as honest as his mother. The staff car arrived at the airport at 6:20. A trim young man in civilian clothes got out carrying a briefcase locked onto his wrist with a handcuff arrangement. He turned to Mike and said, “It’s all yours Colonel.” Mike threw his bags onto the back seat and then sat next to the driver, a young Marine.

Chapter 5

AIR ATTACHE OFFICE, US EMBASSY

The young marine drove the staff car into the embassy parking lot at 8:45. It was Saturday night, Mike knew he couldn’t report to the ambassador until Monday morning, so he leaned over and said, “Sarge, why don’t you take me to a hotel. I won’t see the Ambassador until Monday morning.” “No sir. You don’t have to go to a hotel. I was told you were bunking at the embassy. There’s a suite of rooms there for visiting people. It’s secure and the price is right.” He turned to Mike with a big smile. “You’ll probably rent an apartment next week. Sergeant Doyle is the housing guy. He’ll check you out on where to go.” “Sergeant Doyle—a Marine?” The driver glanced at Mike and answered in a way that told Mike, you better believe it! He nodded and said, “Oh yeah, he’s a Marine all right. Hung some of the Japanese war criminals. He’s got Marine tattooed on his brain. He’s the NCO⁷ in charge of security here.” “What’s his first name?” “Eugene, but don’t ever call him that, sir. He’s Sergeant Doyle to all us troops and he even corrects officers who call him by his first name.” Mike gathered that Doyle was a tough old bird who didn’t want any familiarity. “He’s got eleven or twelve years of embassy duty. You’ll find out he knows everyone.” “Sounds like he’s quite a guy.” “That he is, sir. That he is.”

Monday morning at eight o’clock Mike went to the ambassador’s office. He was greeted by a seated armed Marine guard who glanced at a clipboard. “Your military ID, sir. You’re Colonel Michael Skora?” “Yes, Sergeant. Is the ambassador in yet?” “No, sir but his secretary Ms. Townsend is there. You can wait inside. I expect Mr. Doherty any time now.” “Thank you.” Mike put his ID in his wallet and stepped into the ambassador’s ante-room. Ms. Townsend looked up from her desk. Her face brightened in a warm smile. “Good morning sir. You’re Colonel Skora—did I say that right?” “Not Skor-ay, it’s Skor-ah, and good morning to you.” “I always try to get names right for the ambassador. You know we hear a great many names I’ve never said before.” “Well this one is a plain Pollock name. There’s Skorskis, Skoraskis and my Skora.” “I’ve got it sir. Ambassador Doherty is really good with names. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” “Yes, thank you. One sugar, no cream please.” Mike glanced at another desk where a secretary was typing. Ms. Townsend handed Mike the coffee, noticing that he was looking at the typist. “Sir, that’s Victoria Constanza, Mr. Doherty’s secretary. As you can see, I’m the receptionist.” Mike studied Ms. Townsend, her calm self assured manner, and the way her eyes seemed to notice everything. Even the way she dressed showed she was something more than a receptionist. She reminded Mike of Christine—a woman who was in full control of herself.

He thought, CIA?—Maybe. Ambassador. Doherty burst into the reception room…“Ah! Colonel Skor-ay!” Ms.Townsend interrupted before he could say anything more, “Colonel Skor-ah sir.” “Yes, yes, of course. Colonel Skora, I’ve been expecting you. You arrived Saturday evening, didn’t you? How were the accommodations? We’ll have Sergeant Doyle take you around to help you find your permanent quarters, yes.” He put his briefcase down, hung his hat and coat and poured himself some coffee. “Let’s go into my office and we’ll get you started. Colonel Schulstad is looking forward to your ing him. Do you know him?” “No, sir. I think he flew bombers and I flew fighters in the war, so our paths didn’t cross.” “Yes. Like you, he’s had quite a distinguished career during the war but now that’s all behind. We’re all here rebuilding and trying to keep cool.” He looked at Mike with a penetrating gaze. Mike wondered if his tone carried a bit of scorn. Mike thought he sounded like a left-leaning former academic. “Cool indeed sir, but it’s still a war isn’t it? A cold one but it’s still the same…” “Yes Colonel. Now a conflict of ideas, not of bombs. That’s what we’re here for. Well, the air attaché Colonel Schulstad will fill you in on our mission and I’m sure we’ll all see each other from time to time. A good part of this job is mixing. Mixing with our NATO partners, and sometimes even with questionable people. Need I say more?” “No, sir.” “Well, go on down to Schulstad’s office. He’s expecting you at nine o’clock. Welcome to Bonn.” He extended his hand, rose, smiled, shook Mike’s hand and sat down as Mike walked out. Ms. Townsend looked up. “Nice to meet you, Colonel Skora. I hope you enjoy being here.” She wasn’t flirtatious. She acted like she was an older cousin or somehow related to him. There was something else about her—a knowing self

assurance. Mike thought she was probably a C.I.A. employee. Mike walked smartly down the terrazzo hallway, past office doors behind which attaches for the Army, Navy and Commercial Affairs officers sat. He saw the big Air Force seal and a sign that said, “Air Attaché, US Embassy.” Inside were four desks the first one was obviously the receptionist Ms. Margaret Clark’s who rose quickly and said, “Good morning Colonel Skora and welcome.” She was graying at the temples, wore a stylish conservative dress and had the demeanor of a high school principal. The two other desks were topped with typewriters at which two young women pecked. They both glanced at Mike and went on typing…He noticed another desk, close to a wall that had what looked like a metal covered door with a numeric device over the door’s knob. Mike knew that was the code room and the young man who sat in front of it was the code officer. Miss Clark buzzed Colonel Schulstad. “Sir, Colonel Skora is here.” “Send him right in.” Mike walked in, stopped in front of Shulstad’s desk, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Colonel Skora reporting as ordered.” Schulstad returned the salute casually, got up, and extended his hand. “I’m glad to meet you Colonel, can I call you Mike? I think we’ll make a good team here.” He went on, “I’ve asked Sergeant Doyle to show you a place you might like to live in. He knows the ropes. It’s in a building where a half-dozen or so Embassy folks live. It’s fairly close, convenient and furnished. We’ve checked it out. Have a look there Mike and let me know what you think.” “Yes, sir, that sounds good. I don’t need much. It’s great that it’s furnished.” “That’s about it, I think those places all have at least two bedrooms. You’re bound to have visitors every now and then.” “Right, sir. When do I start work?” “Get yourself settled and take your time. Come in when you’re ready.” Mike liked Colonel Schulstad’s casual geniality. He was beginning to like this job! “Yes, sir, I’ll check with Sergeant Doyle when you’re through with me.” “Go ahead Mike, I’ll get down to brass tacks after you’re settled in.”

Ms. Clark called Doyle and told him that Colonel Skora needed a place to live. Five minutes later Doyle came in, looked at Mike. In a raspy voice he said, “Sir, I’m Sergeant Doyle and I’m the NCOIC⁸ of the Marine detachment here. I’m available to help you get settled sir.” Mike extended his hand, shook Doyle’s and said, “Lead on Sergeant.” Doyle got into a blue staff car with Embassy plates. They turned out of the parking lot onto Munsterplatz Strasse. “Sir, this apartment building is pretty new, built after the war. It’s not like what you’re used to in the states but it’s first-class. We’ve checked it out as well as we can but who knows. There were a bunch of krauts, er, uh, I mean civilians working on it and who knows what might be hidden in those walls. The phone is on the local exchange. You shouldn’t talk sensitive matters on it, and even then your conversations could be monitored. Do you get the drift?” “Yes, Doyle, I do—makes sense. I’ll take your advice.” They pulled up to a blocky gray four-story stuccoed building with identical balconies fronting the street. Doyle led Mike to one of the two entrances and rang the doorbell to an apartment on the ground floor. The door opened and Mike saw a middle-aged man with the bearing of a military officer. Herr Emigholz extended his left hand. “Sergeant Doyle nice to see you come in.” Mike then noticed that Herr Emigholz’s right sleeve was empty. After a brief conversation Herr Emigholz showed Mike a two bedroom apartment on the second floor. The furnished apartment turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Mike signed a lease and threw his bag on the bed. he looked around and was satisfied. He went down to the first floor where Doyle waited. “I’m going to need a car Sergeant Doyle. Any suggestions?” Doyle glanced at Mike’s chest, saw the rows of decorations and the silver wing, a sly smile flickered and he said, “You’re a fighter pilot, right sir?” “Yes.” “Well there’s the VW Beetle and there’s the Mercedes. Depends on what you want to spend. There’s a new Mercedes, gull-wing coupe, that goes like hell. You’d probably like it.” His sly look made it seem like he’d gotten Mike’s number.

Mike said, “Can you take me to the Mercedes dealer this afternoon?” When Mike saw the sleek Mercedes 300, It was no contest. He bought it! It was extravagant but served to insulate his image of himself—the image of the ‘go for broke’ fighter pilot that he was. This was part of a new world for Mike. Now his disciplined volatility had to be covered with a veneer of diplomatic folderol, mixed with the tantalizing promise of a hide and seek game. Being an attache required him to be patient, suspicious, deceptive, all covered with a gloss of innocence. Driving back to the embassy Doyle turned to Mike. “That’s some car sir. Nobody’s going to catch you in that.” He turned away, a knowing smile on his face. “I’m going to pick up the car tomorrow Doyle, er, Sergeant Doyle. Can you drive me there?” “Absolutely sir!” Schulstad wasn’t in when Mike got back to the embassy. Ms. Clark said, “Colonel Shulstad will be back shortly. In the meantime, let me take you to your office. It’s right here through this connecting door. The Colonel told me to tell you to walk in any time you want and make yourself at home, it’s all yours sir.” She left quietly, closing the door behind her. Mike glanced around the office. It was pleasant. A window opened to the front. The large oak desk had ‘in’ and ‘out’ boxes, a desk blotter and a ceramic jar filled with pencils and pens. There was a file cabinet with a row of neatly labeled books of regulations. Air Force, NATO, USAFE and Federal Republic of on the top shelf. Below Mike noticed procedural SOP’s¹ and inter-office regulations mixed with an assortment of phone directories. Mike sat in the swivel chair. It was too high. “Jesus, the last guy in here must’ve been a midget!” He flipped the chair on its side and adjusted the seat. He heard Schulstad’s door slam and looked up as the inter-connecting door opened. “Getting settled in Mike? Doyle tells me you took an apartment and even bought a car! That was pretty fast!” he chuckled, “and that car you bought—planning to do some racing? Doyle said it’ll go 150 mph. You’re going to have diplomatic plates so the police can’t touch you but let’s try to not piss them off too much.” He sat down beside Mike’s desk. “I’ll take you home tonight Mike, after I feed

you a couple of martinis at my place. We can talk there.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s say we bail out at 5:30, okay?” Mike said, “Fine. Yes sir, that’ll be good. Sergeant Doyle’s picking me up at 9:30 tomorrow so that I can pick up my car. I should be back in the office at eleven or so—is that okay?” “Yeah Mike, take care of all that first then we’ll get to work.” Promptly at nine-thirty Doyle buzzed Mike’s apartment. They scampered down the stairs and hopped into the staff car Mike rubbed his hands anxious to get to the Mercedes dealership. He was as eager as a kid about to have his first bicycle. He walked briskly into the dealership and a little bit later came out smiling. “Doyle, I’ve got to sign a few papers and they’ll give me the car. You can go ahead back to the embassy.” Doyle gave Mike a casual salute, chuckled to himself and drove off. When Mike got into his car it was like making love to a new woman. He pushed all the buttons and was amazed by the response. Delighted, he headed back to the embassy, drove to his parking spot and dashed up the steps into the embassy. The alert Marine guard said. “Afternoon sir. Nice car.” Mike nodded and burst into the attache office. “Is Colonel Schulstad in Ms. Clark?” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “Go on in sir.” Mike knocked once, didn’t wait for an answer, opened the door and strode in. “I’m ready for action sir!” he said. “Did you get your car?” “Yes, sir! Parked right outside.” Schulstad looked out the window. “Oh, sleek, silver. Is that the one with the gullwing doors?”

“Yes, sir, just came out this year. It’ll top 150 miles an hour and it handles like a dream.” Schulstad face took on a smile mixed with faux onishment. “What is it with you fighter pilots? Don’t you go fast enough in the air?” For a brief moment, Mike felt like he was in a fighter squadron but Schulstad drew him back to where he was now. “Well, sit down Mike, I’ve got to go over a couple of things with you.” He went on in a lowered voice, “First, you’ll be attached to the 36th Group at Bitburg for flying, they have the F-86. That’s between you and me…Your orders that come in here will say the 461st. squadron at Hahn. You’ll act as if you’re going to Hahn to fly but you’ll go to Bitburg. Nobody needs to know that. The reason is that info on ‘Slick Chick’ is leaking to East , to the STASI¹¹. Alex Bauer our head spook has someone inside their network so he knows what info is leaked to them. Hopefully you’ll be able to help us finger the source.” Mike’s brain spun. He thought, Wow! This is real stuff! “When I get to Bitburg do I tell them what’s going on?” “No, Colonel Childs will get orders attaching you there and just act like it’s an ordinary assignment.” “Can I tell those folks where I work?” “Yes, sure. Tell them you’re the new assistant air attaché, nothing more.” Mike nodded. Schulstad went on, “The top secret operation at Bitburg that you’ll see but won’t talk about is called ‘Slick Chick’. They’ve got three F-100s in their own fenced-in area. They’re Recce¹² birds—cameras instead of guns. They go into the East zone so fast the Migs can’t catch them.” Mike’s eyes widened and he felt a swirling suction pulling him down a drain into a dark place. “Mike ease yourself into this carefully. Stay close to me and tell me everything you see or hear. I’ll keep you out of trouble until you’ve got your feet on the ground.”

Mike’s head went slowly back and forth and he said, “Phfew! All this is really interesting sir. I’ll probably be asking you a bunch of dumb questions.” “Knowing you Mike, they won’t be so dumb, even around here, we’ve got to be careful. Now, on a different tack, there is a big splash being hosted by Ambassador. Doherty on Saturday. It’s for the NATO bigwigs—all the military brass. You will be introduced to the Air Force chiefs. They’re part of our area of interest.” “Will General Gerhardt be there?” Shulstad’s eyes sharpened. “What brings him up?” “At command and staff, a State Department expert told us that he’s the new Luftwaffe chief. Wasn’t he a big Kraut ace?” Schulstad nodded, “He was but he’s been thoroughly vetted and is doing a good job pulling it all together.” Mike thought, I’ll bet he is, that guy’s still a Nazi and he’s slick enough to put on the new front. He’s probably the info leaker…well, I’ll find out. “So, what’s the uniform for Saturday sir?” “Dress blues and show ’em all your medals Mike. And another thing, Alex Bauer, Doherty’s Assistant For Cultural Affairs would like to meet with you on Saturday afternoon at two o’clock. He’ll be at the Wald Cafe. Know where it is?” “No, sir.” “I’ll have Doyle brief you.”

Chapter 6

NATO BALL, US EMBASSY

Mike picked up his mess dress¹³ at the cleaners. He hadn’t worn it since the dining in at Nellis two years earlier. Back in his apartment he changed the major’s insignia for the silver leaves of a Lieutenant Colonel and for the first time, Mike looked forward to wearing it. He was eager to meet General Gerhardt to size him up—along with the Italian general. What’s his name? General Camporini? No, it’s, it’s Lucci. Yeah that’s it. Embassy duty was taking hold—formal dress—the flashy car—it was another game, but what you see in that game isn’t always what you get! Mike looked out his window at one-forty-five. It was raining. He grabbed his Barbour jacket and hat, locked the door and headed to his car. When he opened the door, the smell of the new car surrounded him and overcame the dreariness that was outside. When he turned on the ignition, started the engine and backed out he did things with a ritualistic delight. He became like the kid he was when he got that first bicycle, but back to business…Bauer… Mike walked into the Wald Cafe and saw who he thought was Alex Bauer holding a newspaper, a glass of wine in front of him. He got up when Mike looked at him and said, “Alex Bauer, Colonel Skora? A glass of wine?” “Sure, thanks.” They shook hands and Bauer said, “I thought we should get to know each other before tonight—he glanced around casually, raised the newspaper and went on, “I’ll be brief, we can get to know each other later, but tonight it would be useful if we all focus on the same thing.” “What’s that?” Mike asked casually. “Colonel Skora I…”

“Call me Mike Mr. Bauer.” Bauer smiled and said, “Fine Mike and you can call me Alex. Now where were we?” “You were saying ‘we should all be focused on the same thing’ and I said ‘what was that?’” Bauer’s face didn’t reveal much but Mike discerned a glimmer of a look a teacher got when a pupil gave a correct answer. “Yes, well Mike, you know why you’re here, and I do too,” he paused, studied Mike and continued, “your Command and Staff College thesis indicated that you have doubts about our new NATO allies—the Germans and Italians.” “You know that?” “Yes Mike—that’s why you’re here now. Your skeptical point of view will help us sniff out any leaks from our side of the Cold Wall.” “Mike smiled, “You’re right there. I find it hard to believe that some of these guys are on our side now.” Alex nodded and said, “That’s the way to look at it Mike. Even though General Gerhardt has been very thoroughly checked we can never be totally sure. The one thing we are sure about, is that someone is giving our secrets to the Stasi.” “How do you know that?” Mike asked. Alex’s expressionless face hardened a bit. “We, like they, have our sources. I won’t go into that.” Their soft conversation continued and Mike left with assurances that he and Alex would exchange information promptly. He cautioned Mike about his future s if they had classified information to discus, Alex would select the meeting place. He was careful not to appear paranoid and didn’t want Mike to think that every German national was a spy. He said that he and Mike were like flowers that attract bees, and had to be careful not to be stung! Mike rang Colonel Schulstad’s doorbell at 6:30. The door was flung open and the colonel, gently swishing a cocktail shaker, led Mike to a comfortable chair, then poured a Martini into two chilled glasses each holding a large olive. “No ice in there Mike—dilutes the gin. I keep it in the freezer with the shaker

and the glasses. It’s a 100 proof gin and a drop of vermouth, now,” he picked up his glass, “that’s a martini!” Mike sipped his and knew he had to take it in small sips because it was strong, really strong. “Really good, sir. One of these is just right.” “And two are too many…” Schulstad chuckled, took a sip and said, “but three aren’t enough!” Mike said, “Who was it that said that?” “I think it was James Thurber,” Schulstad said. After swapping a few war stories Schulstad said, “Time to leave. Let’s go in your car Mike. My old Buick won’t raise any eyebrows like that bomb you’re driving!” “You will introduce me to General Gerhardt sir?” “Yes, for sure. Wait to you see Helga—his wife.” “Why?” “She’s a knockout. Young, beautiful, a ballet dancer—wonderful gal.” On the way to the embassy, Schulstad filled in Mike on Helga and General Gerhardt and how he’d lost his first wife and children in the Dresden air raid. Mike thought, Another reason why that Kraut will want to stick it to us. How can he not hate us? At the embassy door, two smartly uniformed Marines stood and opened the door for the incoming guests. Mr. Doherty and Ms. Townsend stood at the entrance to the ballroom, he in a Savile Row tuxedo and Ms. Townsend in a gown that befitted a Bostonian socialite. She leaned toward Mr. Doherty and fed him names from her faultless memory bank. He of course knew Schulstad and winked at Mike. “Skor—ah—, right?”

“Right, sir, and good evening.” “Yes, good evening, should be fun,” he said and turned to the next guest. Mike followed Colonel Schulstad to the bar where two bartenders served. Mike took a scotch and soda. Schulstad hoisted his glass to Mike, “That’s two, is that too many? If I have another then it will not be enough!” They both walked away grinning. Mike saw Alex Bauer talking to someone wearing a tuxedo. Mike guessed he was a German and Schulstad confirmed his guess. “That’s Dr. Gustav von Bulow, he’s the director of the Bonn Symphony. Alex is the cultural affairs officer as you know.” He winked at Mike, “So he knows all those people.” Mike nodded. “I had a glass with Alex this afternoon sir, at the Wald Cafe where you told me to meet him. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think it important. Do you want me to let you know the details?” Schulstadt said, “Wouldn’t hurt Mike. You never know when and who is important. I know Bauer gets into stuff too deep for me so I don’t expect you to tell me everything. Just the stuff that’s of interest to the Air Force, right?” He fixed Mike in a steady look and Mike said, “Yes sir.” A seven piece band on the small stage began to play. Mike glanced their way and was surprised to see two negro band . “Is that a US band sir?” “No, Mike, they’re locals and those two negroes are World War II GIs that stayed here—probably married to German women.” Mike tacked that into his file. People streamed in with gold, silver and multicolored medals dangling from a variety of military full dress uniforms. Foreign ambassadors paraded in colorful sashes. Mike noticed one group set apart from others. He sauntered by the group who were chatting in German and was surprised that they didn’t blend in like other guests. He walked away and kept an eye on them. “That’s the East German Embassy gang Mike. They don’t mix with our

Germans, they’re like oil and water.” Mike nodded. Schulstad poked Mike. “Mike there’s General Gerhardt and his wife in that pale blue dress.” Mike turned and saw Gerhardt. He was tall, trim and handsome. His left breast was festooned with medals and above all the dazzle and glitter was a wry smile and sharp, busy, blue eyes. Mike looked at Helga and saw she was a real dish! Her blue gown set off her flowing blonde hair and accented her devilish blue eyes. She was rather effusive and laughed easily, gesturing with both hands when she wasn’t holding the general’s hand. Mike met numerous people whose names he knew but had never met. As he’d been trained, he tucked them into his memory where he could find them. The drinks flowed, voices became louder and the crowd moved around in a less restrained way, the music picked up as the evening went on and the band was recapturing memories of the big band era. Colonel Shulstad said, “Let’s go over to General Gerhardt—I’ll introduce you.” When Schulstad walked to him, the general turned and broke into a warm smile. His eyes flashed his interest and Mike knew that he and Schulstad had a long history and he was laying it on thick. Mike thought, that fucking phony, he’d probably blow your head off if he got the chance. Gerhardt shook Mike’s hand and asked, “What did you fly in the war?” “P-47s sir, I was in Italy, then and Mannheim when it ended.” “Well, I never destroyed a P-47, P 40s a few, but mostly Russians and a few bombers, yours or the British. It’s all in the past Colonel Skora. I hope we can work closely together now. It’s a new world. You must meet Helga, my wife.” he paused and tapped her arm as she talked with two women. “Helga come meet Colonel Skora, an assistant to Colonel. Schulstad.” She turned, looked at Mike in the eye, smiled extended her hand and said, “I’m pleased to meet you and welcome to Bonn. Now will you dance with me? They are playing your music and I have seen you tapping your feet.” She held Mike’s hand and looked at the general and Schulstad and said, “Now you two can talk about your flying.”

On the dance floor she turned and Mike put his arm around her. She came close to him so that he felt her full breasts. Mike subtly adjusted his hold and put some air between them. Helga danced like she was a shadow of Mike’s. He couldn’t feel a need to lead her. She sensed whatever he did and with exquisite balance and poise she followed. The song finished and another began and they whirled away until the music stopped. “Colonel Skora you are a fine dancer. I think the best I have danced with in a ballroom.” “Mrs. Gerhardt, thank you. You make it so easy, you’d make any man look good on the floor.” She looked into Mile’s eyes and said, “You must call me Helga, okay?” She giggled as she used that Americans formality. “Yes, Mrs. Gerhardt…Helga, thank you.” He couldn’t imagine her with that Kraut general, he just couldn’t see her as his wife! Mike led Mrs. Gerhardt back to her table where Gerhardt, Schulstad and two German officers and their wives had settled. The two German luftwaffe colonels flicked their eyes over Mike’s medals with a faint recognition that he was one of them. Helga sat next to Mike and he felt self-conscious. Was it because they were both obviously the youngest at the table, or was it his guilty feeling for being sexually attracted to her? The general said, “So Colonel Skora, Colonel Schulstad tells me you’ll be flying out of Hahn—not too far from here. There is a squadron there is it the 461st? The F-86 is a good airplane isn’t it?” “Yes, sir, it’s a damned good airplane. Knocked the hell out of those Migs in Korea.” Mike rubbed it in when he said that. “Yes, we are fortunate to have it now. The Soviets have improved their Migs too–it won’t be as easy here as it was in Korea.” His comment threw a chill on the conversation and Mike turned away thinking, Yeah, I’ll bet that son of a bitch is hoping the Russkie Migs can wax our asses—t’s easy to see who he’s pulling for! Mrs. Gerhardt turned to Mike and said, “Oh let us close the hanger doors! The

orchestra is playing and I wish to dance!” She looked expectantly at Mike. He got the message and rose, took her hand and led her to the dance floor. This time Mike didn’t make an effort to keep space between them. Dancing is easier and smoother if the dancers can feel their partner’s body as it moves, and they, as a pair, danced like one. Mike saw other dancers watching them and moving away from their elaborate and graceful performance. Helga seemed unconscious, carried away, her head tilted back, her eyes partly closed as she hummed the tune. She wasn’t aware of her body pressed close to his but Mike was. She, at some point, must have felt it, how could she not? They danced another melody and Mike forced himself to keep a safe distance as they wound down. As they returned to the table, Helga said, “It’s so nice to have you here Mike. We must do this again.” Mike thought, Yeah sure, I’ll do it again Helga— with pleasure. The party wound down. There hadn’t been enough drinking going on, guests restrained themselves making a good appearance. As a seasonal icebreaker it served its purpose and cheerful ‘guten abhends’ (good evening) echoed back and forth. “Let’s call it a night Mike, it’s been a busy day.” They strolled to the parking lot. Schulstad slammed the door to Mike’s car. “Oh boy! This car smells really good Mike. You don’t smoke do you?” “No, sir, gave it up in high school.” “Well, I won’t smoke in here either. I’d just crap it up. What a car!” Mike zoomed onto the highway smiling. “You got on Mrs. Gerhardt like a coat of paint Mike. She’s something else isn’t she?” “Yeah she sure is a great dancer…but it was her that asked me sir. I know better than to butt in on a general.” Schulstad chuckled and said, “Yeah, I bet. Since when does a fighter pilot worry about those details?” Mike sauntered into his office on Monday morning and dove into the stack of

papers in his inbox. The memory of Saturday night melted in the bureaucratic fog of an unimportant daily ritual.

Chapter 7

CLICK-CLICK

Mike’s life as a new Air Attache was progressing down a dual track. One was exciting the other dull. He thoroughly enjoyed the clandestine aspects of his job and was alert, searching for clues that could lead him to those who were gathering NATO secrets and sending them over the invisible barrier of the Cold War. He became bored with the mundane aspects of the job. Sitting behind a desk doing paperwork were things he needed to leave behind. Mike liked challenges and was always ready to confront them, but the boredom took its toll, and he sought to escape in evening cocktails and the distractions of desirable women. There were several young women in the embassy that had made him look twice. Some were Americans, others locals but he knew better than to get socially entangled around the embassy. His thoughts often went to that interlude with the airline stewardess—Christine. On Tuesday Schulstad came into Mike’s office and suggested that he should drive down to Hahn to establish his bona fides. Mike welcomed the chance to drive his new car south along the Moselle River to Hahn. Views of the hillside vineyards were like postcard photos. With the sound of jet engines overhead, Mike knew the base was close He saw the entrance to the airbase, turned in, stopped at the guard post, showed his ID and told the guard he’d see him occasionally because of his attaché duties in Bonn. Mike then drove slowly along the flight line and saw the 461st Fighter Squadron sign, parked and went in and introduced himself to Major Elrod, the squadron commander and said that he’d been assigned to the 36th Fighter group for flying. Major Elrod, politely told Mike a clearance with the 36th headquarters was necessary to do any flying. Mike assured the squadron commander that he understood the requirement and would do so. Mike left and drove around the base for a while and decided to return to Bonn. Back in his office, he told Schulstad, “I should make another trip to Hahn, just to

establish a pattern, sir. Do you mind if I drive there again in a couple of days? I’ll just go and wander around a bit—can I get anything for you?” “Good idea Mike, I’ll give you a list before you go.” Friday morning Mike wheeled down the narrow roads to Hahn Air Base. The guard recognized him and waved him in. Mike went to the officer’s club, cashed a check and then went shopping at the BX¹⁴. He went back to the club for lunch and chatted with a few 461st officers. They invited him to the Friday night beer call. He killed most of the afternoon shopping and driving around the base then wandered into the dispensary. He learned those flight surgeons were only available at the base hospital in Bitburg. He knew all that but feigning an innocent ignorance he told the personnel who he was and left. Mike knew that the pilots would be at the “O” club bar after five o’clock, so he strolled in and ordered a scotch. At the bar, he met the eyes of the lieutenants and captains standing there, with bottles of beer in their hands. He knew they were thinking, Who’s that lieutenant colonel? Moments later, Major Elrod, the 461st Squadron Commander came in, recognized Mike and quickened his stride to him. “Hi, Colonel. How’s everything up in Bonn?” Mike shook Elrod’s hand. “Let me buy you a drink Major, what’ll it be?” “Thanks, I’ll have a beer.” He sipped his beer and turned to Mike. “Have you checked with the 36th yet?” Mike wanted to establish himself at Hahn, but he didn’t want to appear evasive. He noticed the bartender stood close to them even though there was more action at the other end of the bar. “Well Elrod, I sure like it here at Hahn. It’s an easy commute from Bonn. I’ll go to Bitburg and get Deke Child’s okay, and you’ll see more of me.” Elrod pursed his lips and nodded slightly. “You were at Nellis a couple of years ago weren’t you?” “Yes, with the fighter weapons school.”

“I thought you looked familiar. I was a captain when I went through the program then came to the 36th.” “I guess I was a major then, went to command and staff, got promoted and here I am.” “See you again next visit Colonel,” Elrod said, He didn’t sound too friendly. Mike drove to Bonn feeling that he’d sprinkled his presence around the base in a plausible pattern. Just enough, he thought. Not too much, not too little. During his previous assignments, Mike’s interests in an air base were only the runway, the flight-line, flight operations and the officer’s club; Now he was beginning to see there was something else other than a nest for airplanes. Now he saw opportunities and reasons why agents wanted to observe activities that Nato guys deemed secretive. Mike thought about Alex Bauer. His mission was clear. There was no routine, no predictability, and no everyday demands. He came and went. First, you see him; then you don’t. There were never any unexplained absences, never an apparent logical reason for what he did. Mike spent his idle hours filling in the unexplained spaces around Bauer. Alex Bauer was a low-level istrative bureaucrat with a routine, boring job unless you knew what else he did. The daily intelligence reports were too repetitive to hold Mike’s attention. They offered only a solid overview of what Mike already knew. They were not at war. Massive troop movements, fast-moving or slow conflicts weren’t happening, and there were no death tolls to report. There were casualties of the Cold War, but those rarely made it to news sources. The weekend following the big embassy bash, Mike phoned the 36th Fighter Group at Bitburg and arranged the check flight needed to fly the 36th’s aircraft. Mike had flown the T-33, a two-seat jet trainer, for more than a thousand hours so this flight and the peacetime red tape he had to go through didn’t concern him. On Friday, he drove over the winding roads of the Eiffel from Bonn to Bitburg. Except for the cobblestone roads that paved some of the village streets, the ride was fast and breezy. When he got to the airbase, a guard signaled him to stop, looked at the license plate and asked for identification. Mike showed his I. D. The guard snapped a crisp salute then waved him through the gate.

Mike thought, the guard was a bit more security conscious than the guards at Hahn but then ed those guards knew him. He drove along the flightline toward the control tower ed a guarded area with a guard post. Behind the fence were two F-100s. He knew they were the recce birds. He got to Base Operations a few minutes early. Lieutenant Harkness, the check pilot, came in at precisely nine o’clock. Harkness was wide-eyed and eager, carrying a clipboard as if it was a bible. He introduced himself to Mike then asked his permission to begin the briefing. Mike casually examined Harkness the way he did whenever he met a new pilot. Harkness’s posture was erect with his shoulders back. He wore a clean, pressed flight suit. His hair was cut short, and when he spoke, it was in a polished and confident manner. Mike noticed the prominent ring on his finger. It confirmed his suspicion that Harkness was a product of West Point. He looked like he was only a couple years younger than Mike but it there was more than age difference and rank that set them poles apart. Mike was baptized in the blood of war, that experience separated the two men. Lieutenant Harkness explained that he was with the Tac-Eval (Tactical Evaluation) office in Group Operations. It was a function new to Mike. He saw the peacetime Air Force evolve from hell for leather flying to the peacetime rules and programs that didn’t seem to have much to do with flying. After the briefing, they took off. Mike demonstrated that he knew how to fly and forty-five minutes later, he landed the T-33 smoothly, and Lieutenant Harkness said he had ed the flight check. Walking away, Mike smiled thinking back to the day in 1945 when he and Johnny Newman found a German Sebel 204 on an abandoned Luftwaffe field. It was unguarded and looked flyable. He and John were like two little boys who had found a pony buried in a pile of horse manure. They climbed into the cockpit, tinkered with the switches, then started the engines. They shrugged their shoulders, taxied to the runway and took off. They couldn’t figure out how to retract the landing gear, so they flew it with the gear down and landed at their base. Neither of them had ever flown a twin-engine plane—especially a German one! They found the airplane, and there was no one to stop them, so they took it. They landed at Biblis and except for the razzing that night at the “O” club; no one gave it another thought. He said to himself, Yes, peacetime flying isn’t like the good old days!

That night at the Officer’s Club, the Friday night Beer Call was in progress. At six-thirty Mike walked in. When he heard the loud voices singing in the bar, memories of nights in Italy and Corsica unfurled. Anxious to mix with the boisterous pilots, Mike cashed a check and hurried toward the noise. Flight-suit clad young aviators stood at the bar, displaying their macho plumage while a few older and more restrained, Squadron Commanders and Operations Officers, sat back like mother hens watching the antics of their broods. The sweat stained flight suits identified the pilots who were clustered in groups at the bar, either shouting or singing the bawdy verses that are much a part of a fighter pilot’s life.

“…throw a nickel on the grass, save a fighter pilot’s ass …” and then, “…his parachute hung from a nearby tree, He was not yet quite dead… oh listen to the very last words the young pursuiter said…” yet another, “…hey don’t give me an F-Eighty-Four, that mis-er-able ground loving whore…”

One song followed another, pushing away the unmentionable finale that a few of them eventually faced. Mike stepped to the bar and waited for the busy bartender. He glanced at the young Majors and Lieutenant Colonels lingering on the periphery. The ribbons on their left breasts told Mike that some had

distinguished combat records. As they drank and listened to the songs some of their eyes glazed over and became vacant as memories of past battles surfaced, The bartender scampered toward Mike and took his order. He was short and dapper with a thin mustache that reminded Mike of Adolph Menjou. He looked to be about thirty-five years old, and Mike wondered what guys like him did in the Nazi’s war. Mike watched him scoot back and forth. He had a friendly greeting for every pilot he served. “Hans! Mach schnell! zwei beers!” (make it fast, two beers) said a boisterous lieutenant who staggered into Mike, turned and said,” Sorry sir—I’m getting a beer for my buddy. He just flew in from Wheelus, and he’s got to wash out all that desert dust.” Mike said. “That’s all right Lieutenant; I’m trying to get something to ward off this chilly Eiffel weather.” The Lieutenant, rocking back and forth, looked at Mike “You’re not in the 36th are you, Colonel?” “No, but I get my flying here. I’m in the Air Attache’s office in Bonn…” The Lieutenant’s eyes focused on Mike’s left breast. His voice became respectful and friendlier. “What kind of birds did you fly in the big war, sir?” “P-47’s, the old “Jug”…was flying it on the day the war ended.” Hans slid Mike’s double scotch and soda toward him and plunked two Bitburger Pils in front of the Lieutenant who grabbed the free beers and looked at Hans. “Take good care of the Colonel, Hans. He’s guest of the 36th.” Hans smiled at the Lieutenant. “I al-vays take gut care of field grade officers Loi —tenant.” He made a little bow, clicked his heels and winked at Mike. Mike could see that the pilots liked Hans, and he did too. Mike sipped his drink, totally relaxed in the atmosphere that he loved. Hans was bantering with the feisty pilots but glanced Mike’s way. Mike raised his glass and emptied it, Hans flitted to the end of the bar, leaned forward and asked, “Another for you sir?”

“Yes, Hans but make it a single this time. “As you wish, sir. Are you new here?” “Yes, sort of—I’m at Bonn, but I’ll be doing my flying here, so you’ll see me on weekends.” “Very good, sir—I will look forward to it.” This time Hans gave the same little bow, but with a straight face. He turned and skipped toward the group that shouted, “Hans! Hans! Mehr bier!—mehr bier!” (more beer!—more beer!) Mike felt the double Dewar’s doing its job. Looking at the line-up at the bar, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The war ended eleven years ago, but he still ed some of the missions. Even though most of them weren’t unusual, he couldn’t erase the bad ones. Names, faces, and visions of splattered aircraft floated into view. Those wartime scenes had to be pushed aside by the indifference needed by fighter pilots. When a pilot “bought the farm” and no one knew how it happened, those were the worst, and there were many of those. As much as he would have liked to stay, Mike thought it better to fade from the exuberant bar scene. He glanced at his watch and decided to hit the sack. The BOQ¹⁵ was quiet as Mike walked up the stairs to his second-floor room. He closed the door behind him and reviewed the day that had ed. He was confident that Colonel Childs would know the result of the check ride. He never cared much about what others thought of him. He did the things expected of an Air Force officer and never doubted himself, nor did he ever mislead others. Attaches lived in a different world. He had a role to play and couldn’t only be himself. The need to focus on others rather than himself was a new game that interested him. On Saturday morning Mike drove north out of Bitburg to Bonn. He was still learning how to handle the Mercedes’ horsepower and pushed it to a speed that made the tires squeal on every turn. Driving the car like that took all his concentration, but the distance melted away. When Bonn suddenly showed itself, Mike slowed, and his mind went to the embassy. When Mike parked, he saw Shulstad’s car, and he hurried toward his office anxious to share his experiences at Bitburg. Mike burst into the attache office. Miss Clark was there as she usually was every

Saturday until noon. Colonel Shulstad’s door was open, and Mike knocked once and breezed in. Schulstad looked up from his paper and said, “Back early aren’t you Mike? How’s everything at Bitburg?” “Great sir, I got checked out yesterday then had a couple of drinks at the Friday night beer call, and here I am!.” “I’m glad you got back early Mike, Gerhardt called and invited us to a cocktail party tonight—feel up for it?” “Sure, sir. You’re going aren’t you?” Schulstad’s head was down, but he raised his thick eyebrows and looked up at Mike. “Oh yeah, I’ve got to go, part of this job.” “Who else will be there?” “I’m sure a few of his Luftwaffe buddies. I think the guest of honor is a professor at Heidelberg University. He’s someone Helga knew in the East zone.” “What’s the uniform, sir?” “Civies for me, I’m not sure about the German military guys, but the professor is bound to be in civies so what the hell, tweeds and a tie for me.” Mike drove to Shulstad’s apartment. He knew his boss liked riding in his gull wing speedster. They drove on a narrow winding road up a high-rise on the western bank of the Rhine to the Gerhardt family schloss*. Mike parked next to a dozen cars of different vintage; none were like his. The cobblestone courtyard stretched to a tier of flat stone leading to a heavy oak front door strapped and studded with iron. Narrow windows on each side of the door revealed a waiting housekeeper who opened the door as soon as a guest approached. Inside, the entrance hall opened into a large room. A crackling fire in a massive fireplace made It pleasingly warm. It was well lit and filled with a murmur of refined voices in conversations, tinkling glasses, and the occasional tumble of ice cubes. General Gerhardt quickly came to greet Colonel Schulstad, led him and Mike over to a cluster of uniformed Luftwaffe officers and introduced them. Mike saw

Mrs. Gerhardt talking with three women and a bearded, scholarly looking man who Mike tagged as the professor. Helga noticed Mike, caught his eye and smiled at him. In the corner of the room, a gray-haired woman smoothly played a grand piano. She varied her repertoire with concertos, German folk music, and an occasional Broadway show tune. It fit in perfectly as a background to the lively conversations. Mike picked up another drink, and when he turned, Gerhardt was there. Mike scrambled for something pleasant to say. “The pianist is excellent isn’t she?” Gerhardt’s face relaxed a bit, and he said, “Yes Colonel Skora, she was my piano teacher when I was twelve years old. She’s an old family friend as well.” “Do you still play sir?” “Oh no, not really. When the war came, it wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore.” “Flying took over right?” “Yes and other things that are difficult to explain. One couldn’t be romantic about life’s beauties—there was so much going on.” His expression changed and brightened. He quickly added, “Lately I have been plinking the keys a little when no one is listening. Life is so much nicer now.” Mike pondered his last comment, wondering why he felt life was better now. Was it because of Helga? Or was it because no one was shooting at him? He kept wondering. Schulstad was talking to General Gerhardt’s Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Albrecht, and Colonel Rhinehardt. Mike recognized their names. They were both pilots. One had flown the German Messerschmitt ME-262, one of the first jet aircraft used in combat. Mike wanted to share flying experiences with them, but this time he had to build a postwar relationship with them. He planned to get down to combat flying later. Helga seemed stuck with the professor, so Mike eased close; she beckoned him.” You must meet Professor Schwanger. He was one of my professors several years

ago.” The Schwanger shook mike’s hand and ran his eyes across his decorations and seemed to study him with a faint expression of curiosity. “Have you been to American University Colonel Skora?” “No, I got swept into flying during the war about the time I should’ve gone to college.” “And so after the war, you did not do what many of your compatriots did? Go to university, or college on what do you call it? The G.I. plan?” “The G.I. bill is what it’s usually called. No, I liked flying so I stayed in, and here I am.” Professor Schwanger smiled and said, “I am teaching now at Heidelberg— General Gerhardt’s old school. You must come visit.” “If I do Professor, I’ll be sure to you.” Helga stood to the side and was watching Mike during the exchange. He turned to her. “Lovely party Mrs. Gerhardt. The music is enjoyable.” “Oh thank you, Colonel. Kurt arranged that. She is a long time part of his family.” Mike thought her tone seemed dismissive of someone whom Gerhardt spoke of in such a caring way. She continued, “I didn’t think she appreciated our German composers. Her repertoire is rather bourgeois—old classics and German folk music.” “She played a few American show tunes too.” “Yes, I’m sure she has prepared them for the Americans that she now finds in Gerhardt’s life.” Mike nodded as though agreeing, but he saw a glint of class consciousness in her. He couldn’t quite figure her out. The evening ed smoothly, and finally, people started to leave. Cars drove out of the courtyard onto the winding driveway to the road below. Mike didn’t take Schulstad’s invitation for a nightcap and drove to his apartment. The colonel had

mentioned to him that the 461st aircraft were returning from Libya on Sunday. He thought it might be a good time for Mike to do a little work. Mike had mentioned that he wanted to get photos of people who gathered on the peripheral road of the base to photograph the landings of F-86s. Sunday morning, he rose early and sped down to Hahn. He waved to the guard at the gate and parked at the ‘O’ Club. The dining room had only a handful of officers, two of them nodded to him. He ordered a big breakfast and chatted with a captain who was limping. “What did you do to your leg Captain?” “I clobbered myself on my bike. Lonely at home when the other guys go to Wheelus.” “They’re getting back today aren’t they?” “Yes, sir, about two o’clock. Not all of them though—just two flights of four.” Mike introduced himself and made a new friend. He drove to base operations and walked to the counter to speak with the officer in charge. “What time are they getting in?” The captain looked at the board and said, “Flight of four inbound, ETA¹ 1:35 sir.” Mike walked out to his car, looked at a base map that showed the road that ed under the flight path of a landing aircraft and examined the Leicas and the telephoto lens. He put the binoculars on the enger seat and drove slowly along the flight line toward the approach end of the runway, then stopped near a revetment. Mike picked up the binoculars and searched the stretch of road just beyond the base fence. There were two black sedans parked with two people in each of them. He knew what he had to do. There was an old Volkswagen parked at the security parking lot, and he drove there, parked, picked up the ignition key left for him and drove the VW to the exterior road. He parked about 100 yards from the two sedans and waited. Soon, he saw a man get out of one of the sedans carrying binoculars. He scanned the sky to the south and east, the direction from which the aircraft would approach. He waved, pointed and another man got out carrying a camera with a long telephoto lens. Mike watched the activity and began a series of photos. As the four ship flight swept in low to the runway for a peel off, he got out of the car and pretended to photograph the aircraft but focused on the other photographers.

The photographers got back into their car; Mike picked up another Leica with a 50-centimeter lens and snapped it into a device attached to the enger side window ledge. He held the long cable release and drove slowly along the road. When he came close to the two sedans, he clicked off six photos, hoping to capture the license plate numbers. Mike’s first operational use of the techniques he learned at the attache school gave him what he wanted. He drove back to the base, exchanged cars and headed for Bonn, anxious to see the results of his first mission! Mike called Alex Bauer as soon as he got into the office on Monday. “Hi Alex, I’d like to see you this morning. Can I come over?” “Sure, Mike, I’ll be here.” He never said more than what was needed. Mike was beginning to understand Bauer and what he did. Mike took the film cassettes out of the cameras and stored the cameras in the safe. He dropped the device that held the camera on the VW window frame into an empty box and told Ms. Clark where he was going. When he stepped into Alex Bauer’s office, Alex turned on a recording of Glenn Miller’s ‘Chatanooga Choo-choo,’ nodded to Mike, took the film cassettes, the box and buzzed the receptionist. “Have Mr. Moriarty come in please.” A moment later Bill Moriarty walked in. Bauer handed him the box and the cassettes. Not a word was said. Moriarty walked out, and Mike sat close to Alex Bauer’s desk. “The car was just where you said it would be. How did you arrange that?” Alex’s lips compressed. He smiled slightly and said, “That’s what we do Mike.” Mike knew better than to pry. “How about the film?” “Moriarty knows what to do. It’s routine for him. That’s what he does for us.” Mike told Alex about General Gerhardt’s cocktail party and meeting Professor Schwanger. Alex nodded and didn’t reveal any interest or curiosity. His manner seemed to indicate that Professor Schwanger was a familiar name.

“Did he ask you any questions, Mike?” Mike grinned and said, “Only why I didn’t go to college on the G.I. bill instead of staying in the Air Force.” “Yeah, he has a thing about military types. Be careful with him.” That afternoon, Bauer came to Schulstad’s office, who called in Mike. The photographs that Mike had taken were on Schulstad’s desk. He looked up at Mike and said, “Good job Mike, you got the license plates too. We know these guys.” Bauer said, “That one with the binoculars is from the Russian embassy. He’s supposedly a staff driver,” he pointed, “He’s German but not one of our Germans; East Zone, Stasi. The other guy here,” he pointed, “is the Soviet Air Attache. We see a lot of him, so he doesn’t excite us anymore.” Bauer added, “It’s the ones we don’t see and don’t know that we have to be careful about.” Mike got the point, and he tucked the two photos that identified the license plates into his memory bank, and Bauer had nothing more to say. Mike got the impression that his mission was part of his on-the-job training and he accepted that. “There’s a lot more to this game than what lies on the surface isn’t there Colonel Schulstad?” Schulstad glanced at Bauer, then at Mike. “You’re getting it, Mike. We can’t get suckered into believing we know it all. We have to be alert whenever we feel we have the answers.”

Chapter 8

CHRISTINE

The days at the embassy ed. There was little to attract Mike’s interest. On an impulse, he called the Frankfurt offices of American airlines and asked about Christine. “Ms. Harelsted will be on flight number 947 arriving at Rhein-Main on Tuesday at 07:20 hours.” That was next Tuesday! Mike’s mind spun trying to put together a reason for leaving the office midweek. Finally he asked Colonel Schulstad if he could go to Bitburg to fly on Wednesday and of course he was given permission. Mike then planned to leave Bonn at four o’clock on Tuesday, drive to Rhein-Main, spend the night with Christine and show up at Bitburg on Wednesday morning. He called the airline’s office and left a message for Christine saying he’d be at the hotel at 5:30, then he called Bitburg and arranged for a flight at midday on Wednesday. He didn’t tell Schulstad he was going to stop at Rhine-Main. When he left for Rhein-Main on Tuesday afternoon he had Christine on his mind. He looked forward to being with her as much as he’d look forward to a relaxing warm bath after a dusty, sweaty day on the gunnery range. Mike hoped and wondered if seeing Christine again would be like last time. At five-forty Mike called the American Airline’s suite and was startled when a male voice answered. “This is Colonel Skora is Ms. Harelsted there?” “Yeah, Colonel, she’s expecting you. We flew in this morning, hold on,” Mike heard him yell, “Christine, it’s for you!” A cheerful voice said, “Mike, I’m so glad you called. Where are you?”

“Downstairs, why don’t you come down and I’ll take you to dinner?” “Marvelous! Give me about fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you in the bar.” Mike decided to in the hotel. At the bar he drank a smoky Lagavullan single malt scotch mixed with just a touch of water and no ice. He nodded to the bartender, pointed to his half empty glass and said, “Ein mal bitte.” (one more please) The whiskey was poured atop the half remaining and Mike dripped a bit more water into the smoky mixture. The scotch was just rising to his head when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hello Mike. Lonely, are you?” He turned and smiled. “Not anymore Christine. It’s good to see you again.” She looked him in the eye. “Same here Mike. I was here about two weeks ago and I was hoping to find you. This time I thought you’d forgotten about me.” He looked at her reproachfully and said, “Oh no, not a chance Christine. I’ve been looking forward to this.” When Mike escorted Christine to his car she beamed., “Oh what a set of wheels!” She opened the door and climbed in. “Just the car for a guy like you.” She bent to him and kissed his cheek. Mike’s blackboard was erased. It was like when he first met Christine. They didn’t linger over dinner. The bottle of wine went down fast. Mike paid the check and they drove back to the hotel. When he picked up his key Christine said, “Your room or mine?” “Mine. I thought it better with the rest of your crew in the suite.” “I’ll buy that Colonel, sir—good plan.” Mike chuckled and said, “This way we can talk as loud as we want.” “Or yell,” she added, “I haven’t yelled for you yet have I?”

“No Christine. I think I’d like that.” They got in the elevator and she leaned into him and said, “Better be careful dear, I can’t do that at home.” “Why not?” “Kids, and my husband isn’t exactly uninhibited. Don’t get me wrong, were fine together but he doesn’t like to let go, like me.” Mike couldn’t wait to get into the room with this woman, she matched every erotic daydream he’d ever had. It was something new for him, no clinging; no demands, no guilt. He liked her before and after, and it seemed the same for her. Beneath surface dissimilarities, male/female, military/civilian, married-single, both of them had the rare human trait of supreme confidence and full acceptance of life as it’s lived now, with awareness of their own insignificance. Both of them were creatures who loved life and both took and gave pleasure unselfishly. Christine threw the bed covers back and said, “Shall we have a drink before or after?” “Before Christine, I want to delay the pleasure.” “I see that bottle of Lagavullan, will you pour me a tot? I’ve never had that one.” Mike put one ice cube in each glass and poured two fingers of the whiskey over the cubes, added a little water and handed a glass to Christine “Here’s to you Christine. If you weren’t happily married I think I could fall in love with you.” “Oh Mike, you’re so sweet to say that. You make me feel like I’m nineteen again.” Mike pulled her close and they kissed—and kissed. They sipped and smooched until her hand felt Mike’s erection and she said softly, “Shall we?” Mike nodded and they both began undressing. Mike dimmed the lights and turned to see Christine bent over slipping her panties off. He came behind her and she felt him against her. “Just like a battery Mike, you’re ‘Ever Ready.’ “She giggled and dove onto the bed. As they came together, all thoughts of their individual lives evaporated, not with escapist anxieties but in an aura of decent human lust, affection, and joy. Sated, they slept well and started the new day with a muted replay of the night

before. Mike left at 8:30, drove fast across the Rhine, and over the country back roads to Bitburg Christine returned to the suite. No comments were made. It was as it was.

Chapter 9

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY?

Mike checked out in the F-86 on Wednesday afternoon and called Colonel Schulstad and told him he loved the maneuverable aircraft, saying he’d like to fly it again on Thursday morning. He got an okay. He looked forward to the flight and an evening at the ‘O’ Club. After flying Mike went to the club for dinner and saw Colonel Don Roper the DO¹⁷ in the dining room, seated with his wife. Roper waived Mike over. “Mike this is Gloria my frau, (wife)” Mike shook her hand, “We’re celebrating the day we met, fifteen years ago. Sit down and eat with us.” Mike sat down, ordered dinner and while eating, he saw a side of Roper he hadn’t known. Roper acted like the naïve college boy he must’ve been back in 1940 when he met Gloria. In his role as the DO, he was a serious, skeptical combat veteran who had lived through the Battle of Britain flying with the RAF, Mike found him refreshing, and he felt a deep kinship with him. After dinner, the Ropers left, and Mke headed to the bar. There wasn’t much activity there, and when he sat down, Hans saw him and scooted over. “Colonel Skora I believe? No?” Mike nodded and said, “Colonel Skora, yes.” A single or a double sir?” “Make it a Drambuie; I just finished dinner Hans.” Hans poured the liqueur carefully, “And how is everything in Bonn?”

“Fine, real fine. Do you know General Gerhardt? He’s the chief of your Luftwaffe now you know. You’ve probably heard of him during the war. He was one of Hitler’s aces.” Hans acted mildly surprised, “And now he is with the new German Air Force?” Mike studied Hans and said, “Yeah, but he’s not like you, Hans, I’m not sure about him.” “Oh, you must accept him. He is like most Germans—the war is far behind. We would rather not think about those things.” Mike wondered if Hans was like General Gerhardt, fronting for something hidden. He wasn’t sure, but his suspicions had been raised even higher since he learned about Stasi interest in the Slick Chick operation. When Mike got to Bonn on Friday afternoon, he went directly to his office. When he walked in Ms. Clark said, “Oh Colonel Skora, Mrs. Gerhardt called you while you were away.” “Did you tell her where I was?” “No sir, I never do. I only said you were away on business.” “Good, Ms. Clark. That’s perfect.” Schulstad chided Mike. “Mrs. Gerhardt called you a couple of times Mike,” he grinned and raised his eyebrows. “I think she’s got the hots for you.” “No, sir. No way. Probably stuff about the vineyards along the Moselle, I asked her a lot of questions about them.” Schulstad had an amused skeptical look and said, “Yeah sure, it was probably all about the grapes.” On Monday morning Ms. Clark buzzed Mike and said, “It’s Mrs. Gerhardt, are you in?” “Yes, Meg, put her on.” “Colonel Skora? This is Helga Gerhardt; you were away when I called on

Wednesday.” “Yes, I did a little flying. What can I do for you?” “Well Mike, you had some interesting questions about our Moselle wines, and I thought perhaps we could lunch together. I have found several interesting things for you.” “That sounds good. I’m available just about any time. I’ll leave it up to you.” “Fine. I was thinking about next Saturday. Kurt will be away for several days next Thursday; I told my friend Anna in Bernkastel that I would meet her for lunch. Is it possible for you to go to Bitburg for your flying on Friday night? Then you could fly on Saturday, and it’s a short drive to Bernkastel. We could meet for an early dinner and talk.” Mike thought fast. It’s a good time to get Helga talking, but how did she know I flew out of Bitburg? “That sounds fine Helga. How did you know I fly out of Bitburg?” “Oh, Kurt told me that’s where you go. I will call you next week, then. Say, on Thursday? To be sure of everything.” Mike hung up and stepped into Schulstad’s office. “Sir, did you tell General Gerhardt that I would be flying out of Bitburg?” Schulstad looked up and said, “Hell no Mike, I didn’t tell anybody, why?” “Mrs. Gerhardt told me she knew I flew out of Bitburg and when I asked her how she knew, she said the general told her.” Schulstad frowned thoughtfully and said, “That’s interesting. You might tell Alex Bauer that.” “Yes, sir I will. It makes me wonder about her.” “You never know Mike. That’s the way this game goes—you never know.” Mrs. Gerhardt called Mike on Thursday afternoon.

“Yes, Mike, I leave tomorrow for Bernkastel to meet my friend Anna Schreiber. We plan a lunch on Saturday but if you can manage it, can I meet you at the Post hotel at six o’clock?” Sure, Helga, that’s the Post Hotel in Bernkastel right?” “Exactly, but if you are not there by six o’clock, I will be patient and will wait for you.” Mike scheduled a flight for himself for Saturday morning and left Bonn on Friday at four o’clock to the five o’clock beer call at the ‘O’ Club. He checked in at the BOQ then dashed to the club. Mike could hear the bar noise from the parking lot. When he opened the door, it amplified, and a raucous chorus of raw voices was singing one of the classic fighter pilot songs, “Beside a Guinea waterfall” It was Mike’s favorite and he ed in low even before he stepped into the bar.

“Beside a Guinea waterfall, one bright and sunny day, beside the shattered Sabre jet the young pursuiter lay. His parachute hung from a nearby tree, he was not yet quite dead, So listen to the very last words, the young pursuiter said, I’mmmm going to a better land where everything is bright— where whiskey flows from telephone poles and parties every night. There’s not a single thing to do, but sit around and sing,

And all the crews are womennnnn, Oh – h – h – h, –death where is thy sting?”

It was like a night he’d spent many times before. Saturday morning Mike flew an F-86 on Drake Connor’s wing. They climbed to 30,000 feet and separated to practice air to air combat. The briefed ritual was familiar to Mike. When Connors nodded, they both turned 45° away from each other maintaining altitude and heading. After one minute, they turned 135° toward each other and went head-on, closing at 1,000 miles an hour. Both had their eyes riveted straight ahead. Connors who had 20/15 vision saw Mike first and immediately fire walled¹⁸ the throttle and pulled up into the sun. Mike saw a glint of reflected light when Connors turned. He pulled up sharply, his eyes glued on Connors. Mike saw Connors and knew what he was doing. They whipped past each other and Connors reversed his turn. They were both nose high, close to stalling and the game began. They scissored back-and-forth, shuddering in and out of stalls. Mike dropped his nose, and now they were descending fast, still seesawing back and forth. Mike popped his speed brakes, pulled up, reversed his turn and slipped behind Connors. Mike glued himself to Connors and at brief intervals was able to squeeze off short gun-camera bursts as Connors made wild maneuvers. The altitude fell away until Connors said, “You got me, Colonel. Let’s call it a day.” Mike was elated and pulled in close. During the de-briefing, Connors complimented Mike on his skill. Mike left Bitburg drunk with the excitement of the morning flight. Now, driving to Bernkastel his thoughts went to Helga. He couldn’t raise anything that he could grab. She was beautiful and was married to an older, former enemy. Still, there seemed to be something inexplicable about her. She’s wasn’t like Christine. With her, what you saw is what you got. Thinking of Christine brought forth a comforting reminiscence. Bernkastel softened Mike’s view of the new . There was a fairy castle quality to parts of that blurred the reality of its history. Bernkastel, Garmisch, and Neuschwanstein were like that, but then there was Dachau, Belsen, Auschwitz, and Marianebad.

Mike wondered what Helga’s part in was. He knew Gerhardt’s but was not sure about her. He parked at the Post Hotel and walked into the bar at 6:10. Helga was sitting at a small table. When she saw him, a bright-eyed smile blossomed on her face. She extended her hand. “ me for a drink Mike—before we have dinner?” “Wonderful. I could use one after my day at Bitburg.” She beckoned the waiter who quickly appeared at Mike’s side. “Haben zie (have you) Scotch whiskey?” “Ya mein her, (yes sir) ve haf a Johnny Vokker. Is right for you?” Mike nodded, “Ya, mit kliene vasser. (Yes, with a little water)” Helga said, “Your pronunciation is very German Mike.” “Thanks, I’m not fluent by a long shot. Not like you in English.” “Yes, but you must I worked for the Americans at Furstenfeldbruck for a year.” “That’s where you met General Gerhardt right?” “Yes, but,” then she changed the subject, “have you seen the house with the pointed roof? The Spitzhouschen? It is from the early 15th century.” Mike was surprised. He thought the exposed timber architecture was Tudor style. This apparently came centuries before. “Really? I can’t believe it’s still standing.” “And the town hall—early 17th century.” Helga had deftly turned the conversation away from herself and the general. She began to sound like a tour guide. They finished their aperitifs and went to the dining room, ordered dinner and Helga told Mike, “We must have a Spatlese Moselle wine. It is one of our best.”

When Mike tasted the wine, he said, “Oh yes, this is nectar! It’s a superb wine.” Helga said, “You have asked what Spatlese is Mike. It is a Reisling grape that has been harvested seven days later than normal. Sixty percent of the wines in the Moselle region is Rieslings. The finest wines are Spatlese, medium sweet like we are having.” Before the soup was on the table, they had almost finished the Reisling and Helga signaled the waiter to bring another. Over a Kalbhaxe, dumplings and red cabbage, they emptied the second bottle. Helga’s eyes shined brightly, and she kept her eyes on Mike. He could feel the pull of her magnetic attraction. After some talk of the Moselle wine district, the conversation turned slowly toward Mike and what his plan was for the evening. “Are you driving back to Bonn?” “I was thinking about it, but it’s getting a little late. Maybe I’ll stay here tonight.” “My friend Anna Schreiber who I have met for lunch has surprised me that she must go to Bayreuth this afternoon. Now I am alone in her apartment. There are two bedrooms in the apartment. If you like, you can stay there with me?” Mike saw it coming. The way the evening went, the drinking, the time, her flirting and her attractiveness. He said, “Yes that would be wonderful, but it’s probably something we should be silent about, don’t you think?” “Yes, I think that is good. People will talk, we don’t need that.” They left for Anna Schreiber’s apartment, only a short drive away. Mike noticed that Helga seemed very much at home there. She opened a cabinet and put a bottle of Yaeger Meister on the table, found two small glasses and looked questioningly at Mike as she held up the bottle. “Yes, thank you, Helga.” They sat down, and Helga turned on some music and looked at Mike over her glass.

“We must dance Mike. You are masterful at it.” They danced together; she pressed herself to him. Who and where they were faded, only a feeling remained, not any thoughts. Mike forced himself to think, to think about what was going on and what might be behind it. Helga moved her hand to the back of Mike’s neck, gently pressing it. Feeling her feline grace and her body reminded Mike of Rachel. She was a dancer too. The mood was romantic, and they kissed. There’s never only one, and one leads to another and another, and then to bed. Mike couldn’t retain any details of the first round, only the bell when it ended. Two nights before they had sparred in a four round bout. He wasn’t ready for another lengthy session, but Helga had other ideas. Mike laid on his back, and she kissed him hungrily. Lowering herself, she kissed his neck and chest, then slowly lower, to his stomach. Patience and persistence prevailed, and he rose to the occasion. Her mouth took in his hardening cock, and soon she was rhythmically working up and down on it. That was something new for Mike. He knew that it happened, but the steady progress began to form itself into a pattern. Was the pattern only a predetermined path? Or was it possible that it was contrived? The latter possibility surfaced when during the post-fellatio pillow talk Helga seemed too interested in what went on at Bitburg. She mentioned that Anna had seen an unusual aircraft flying low, close to Bitburg and that it had glass s on its bottom. He felt ill at ease for the rest of the night and decided to leave early in the morning. Helga sounded disappointed, so he kissed her warmly and promised he’d see her again soon. The next morning, during the drive along the Moselle River, Mike’s brain spun. There was something he liked about what went on with Helga, but a shadow hung over the sexual experience he ed. He didn’t like it. Yes, Helga surely was a delectable morsel but he felt both of them were duplicitous. She, because she manipulated him with her feigned eagerness to please him, and he, for pretending to be completely acquiescent. He shook off the shadow of guilt when he thought about Christine. There, it was what it was and nothing more. When Mike got to Bonn and the Embassy he picked up where he had left. The days went by, without much happening to distract Mike’s boredom. He read

daily intelligence reports every morning, then the Air Force Times and the Stars & Stripes. He Stars & Stripes caught his attention, and he re-examined the intelligence report file. Yes, there it is. A big NATO meeting in Wiesbaden. That’s why General Gerhardt was out of town. And another photo in the Stars & Stripes showed Gerhardt meeting with the USAFE Chief of Staff in Wiesbaden—wonder what that was? A lot was going on in the high circles of the NATO military arm, particularly the parts about our air force activities. Now he knew it was the NATO meeting that called Gerhardt away on those days when Helga met him in Bernkastel. He was becoming more suspicious about her and was unsure of her role in the affair. Mike took it as it was. He still believed that Gerhardt’s wartime exploits showed that he couldn’t be trusted. When he talked with Alex, he asked, “Do you think they’re both in it?” “Helga’s up to something but not him. We’ve checked him out thoroughly. His brother is a professor at Washington University. He came to the US back in ’36 because he didn’t like what Hitler was doing. He and Kurt have a close relationship, but Kurt stayed in Deutschland. He flew and fought, but he’s straight with us. I’m sure he’s clean.” Mike became a little less skeptical of the general. Mike re-read the intelligence reports that touched on the substance of the t NATO conference. There was massive unrest in Hungary, and Soviet troop movements were reported. In response to the growing threat in Eastern Europe, the US strategy planned to strengthen and modernize NATO forces aligned against the Soviets. Mike began to understand. He imagined all the embedded moles sensing those changes. Them scurrying around the vast military complex, gathering bits of information and funneling it to the Soviet intelligence apparatus. In an ordinary kind of life, some things invariably happen on Sunday. Today was such a Sunday. Mike was asleep when his phone rang at 10:30. “Mike this is Colonel Schulstad. You better come on in, something’s come up.”

“Yes sir, be there in fifteen minutes.” He scrambled out of bed, grabbed his clothes, did a swift face wash, brushed his hair and was out the door five minutes later. His tires squealed driving to the embassy. He slid into his parking slot, slammed his car door and ran into the embassy lobby. The startled guard mumbled, “Morning sir!” Mike yelled over his shoulder, “Morning sergeant—in a hurry!” “I can see that sir!” the Marine said. Mike burst into the reception office then barged into Schulstad’s office breathless. Schulsted said, “Bad news Mike. Bauer’s guys are here from the States, and Adenauer’s Intel guys have detained Gerhardt for questioning about a leak of our war plans.” “I knew it! Way back in command and staff school I thought that Gerhardt wasn’t dependable. That’s why I got assigned here.” “Now wait a minute Mike! They don’t have anything on him yet. They only know that parts of the plan are in the Soviet’s hands. He just happens to be one of several over here that’s had access to the details. “I’ll bet you ten bucks it’s him!” Shulstad said, “I won’t take that bet, Mike. Not in this game.” They sat down, and Schulstad filled Mike in on what had happened. Evidently, two high-echelon CIA officials met with Konrad Adenauer, who decided to make the two general officers who had access to the plans, available for interrogation. In the meantime, he put General Gerhardt under house arrest and forbade him to have with anyone other than his wife until the investigation was over. “Wow! I wondered if it was him that put Helga up to some of the stuff that I suspect was going on.” Mike exclaimed. The CIA interrogations continued through the week. They were tiptoeing around the highest echelons of West ’s Luftwaffe. The two generals were both

placed on an honor system home arrest. On the surface, it was business as usual. The people who knew didn’t talk about it, and since it wasn’t widely known, it hadn’t gotten the attention of the press. Mike noticed that Alex Bauer seemed more interested in Helga lately and brought her into the conversation whenever they talked. “Is Mrs. Gerhardt staying closer to home these days Mike? I believe that the general doesn’t go out of town. You know what I mean.” Mike felt Alex was fishing for information about his relationship with Helga. He didn’t know anything new and hadn’t spoken with Alex since the investigation about the leaked plans surfaced. “I don’t know Alex; I haven’t talked to her for a while. She’s bound to stick close to the general if he’s under some pressure. I’m sure he’s told her about his problems.” “If you see her or talk to her, see if you can pick up something. She should know what’s going on.” “Sure will Alex. I’m going to Bitburg Thursday night. I’ve got three flights scheduled for Friday and Saturday. Should be back here Saturday night.” “Have a good flight, Mike. Don’t bust your ass!” With a twinkle in his eye, he smiled at Mike. On Thursday, when Mike hit the open road leading to Bitburg he felt like he was heading for a skiing weekend. The day to day details of his attache job slipped onto the back burner. He felt released when he entered the flying world he loved. He looked forward to standing at the bar in a sweat stained flight suit at the Friday beer call, drinking and singing with the fighter jocks. The Mercedes echoed his enthusiasm as the miles sped by smoothly. On Thursday night Mike got to the Bitburg ‘O’ Club dining room just before it closed, cashed a check, ate a steak and checked in at the BOQ. While he was g in, the airman clerk said, “Oh, Colonel Skora, there was a call for you. A Helga I believe. She said she’d call early tomorrow morning.” “Thank you. Will you be on duty in the morning?”

“I’m afraid so sir, until noon.” “Can you call me at seven? I forgot my alarm clock.” Yes, sir. Will do.” Mike went to bed wondering what Helga had on her mind, and how she knew he was at Bitburg. He erased those thoughts and fell asleep. At six-forty-five Mike’s phone jarred him awake. “Morning sir, it’s that woman who called yesterday. I won’t ring you at seven, right?” “Fine, put her on.” “Mike, I’m so glad I caught you before you run off to fly. I was wondering if you could have lunch or an early dinner with me in Bernkastel on Saturday, can you?” Mike’s brain whirled, and he said, “Oh, are you going to be in Bernkastel on Saturday?” “Yes, I’m staying overnight with my friend Anna but like before, she won’t be there.” That was an invitation, and Mike took it. “I’m flying on Saturday morning, but yes, I could come in after one o’clock.” “You where it is? I will be here in the afternoon. It will be good to see you.” The last she said with a seductive lilt, and Mike thought about the last time he was with her. Friday’s flights were exciting. The first was all aerobatics; loops, Immelmans, and rolls, one after another, caressing the edges of puffy altocumulus clouds and pulling hard turns and climbs behind his flight leader. He edged in closer, first on his tail, under the belly of his aircraft and then sliding onto the right wing. The flight leader saw Mike when he took a position on his wing and began a series of smooth turns, rolls, and loops that made Mike smile in pleasure as he sweated through the flight.

On Friday afternoon he led another pilot who practiced instrument flying while Mike flew on his wing as a safety observer. The pilot was a Stan/Eval¹ pilot who told Mike, “Weather in the Eifel is statistically worse than any airbase in the US. You’ve got to be sharp when it socks in.” Mike had spent time training pilots in instrument flying and knew that blind flying in bad weather was hard but necessary. To an outsider, ‘Beer Call’ at the ‘O’ Club was a scene that would look rowdy and out of control, but it was like home for Mike. By now, the squadron pilots knew Mike and were openly friendly but still showed him military courtesy. It made Mike feel comfortable being among the young hotshots. While he was talking to Major Salter, the 22nd squadron commander, he interrupted him, “Just a second sir. One of my guys just got in from Fursty² Hey, Bulmer!” He waved his hand, and Captain Bulmer walked over, sipping a bottle of Bitburger Pils. “Hi Maj’, I just landed.” “Yeah, I know. Meet Colonel Skora; he flies with us. He’s an attaché up in Bonn.” “Brady the ‘Slick Chick’ guy that made an emergency landing at Fursty today.He said he was low on fuel, “he chuckled to himself and then went on “then I saw him at base ops when we were getting clearance to fly to Bitburg. The Operations Officer asked him why he declared an emergency landing and why he was coming in from the east. Brady told him he got lost and strayed into the East Zone. The Ops officer told him he’d have to file an Incident Report.” Major Salter nodded, “What did Brady say?” “Do what you have to do, and he just walked away.” Salter said. “Well, those Slick Chick” guys got their way of doing things. The 36th can’t touch ’em,” Mike asked Bulmer, “What were you doing at Fursty?” “I was on Alert that week.” Mike turned to Salter and said, “So you have a flight on Alert down at Fursty?”

“Yes, sir, we rotate the duty. Each month one of the squadrons keeps four aircraft on five-minute alert from thirty minutes before daylight to thirty minutes after sundown.” “You do that up here too don’t you?” “Yes, sir, but it’s four aircraft total for the group. Each of our squadrons is assigned there a week at a time.” Saturday’s flight was routine, but during the debriefing, Mike caught sight of the German boot maker he’d heard about who made custom made flight boots. Herr Gundt drew outlines of the pilot’s feet, then measured each foot carefully. The boots he made cost only seventy-two Deutsche marks and were favored by most of the pilots at Bitburg and other fighter bases in . He looked like the man Mike had seen fumbling around Anna Schreiber’s mailbox! And here he was, in the operations briefing room, drawing the foot of a pilot! He knew all the pilots and was welcomed in all the squadrons. Bauer would be very interested in that! Mike couldn’t wait to talk to Bauer. But now Helga occupied his mind. He hopped into his car and sped off toward Bernkastel. He parked across the street and looked up at Anna’s window. Helga stood at the window and waved. He ran up the stairs. She opened the door and came to him immediately, like an old girlfriend. He kissed her and pulled her close thinking of the next phase. “Where’s Anna?” Mike asked. “She’s off to Bayreuth again, but she returns tomorrow. Can you stay?” “No, not this time. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning.” “A meeting? On Sunday? It must be important?” Mike stalled and then said, “Some congressional people are coming over, and we’ve got to make the arrangements, that’s all.” He didn’t want to tell Helga he was meeting Alex. Helga looked pensive. “I was hoping we could have the night just to ourselves.” Mike grabbed her and said, “We can have a good part of today to do what we want to do Helga. Won’t that be enough?”

“Yes, I think so, but I miss your youthful, umm, exuberance?” She looked at him as a fellow conspirator. “Exuberance first, then dinner yes?” “Jawol mein Herr!” (yes sir) she said. The Jaeger Meister was on the table. Helga poured generously and handed Mike his glass. “Prosit,” (toast) she said, raising her glass. “Na zdrovie,” (To health) Mike answered. Helga’s head was on Mike’s chest, and she said, “And how was Bitburg? Did you fly?” “Yes, three times.” “Oh, I meant to tell you…” she raised her head, “my friend from Furstenfeldbruck said that one of those strange airplanes at Bitburg landed at the air base there yesterday!” Another dot connected. The information flew so fast, and to whom? And why? “I didn’t hear anything about that. So you have friends at Fursty?” Yes, Mike, you must I worked there for a year before I met my husband.” Mike nodded, “Yes I’m sure they you well.” “Why do you say that Mike?” Mike drew her close and said, “Because you are a lovely and sexy lady.” She snuggled close and said, “Oh thank you, Mike, I will have to do something nice for you,” and she began. The beginning was the same, Mike waited anxiously for the progress, but he was thinking of the routine as well. That was a new for him. He’d only thought of the result not how it got there, but his doubt about Helga and what he’d learned he would later share with Bauer.

Helga sighed, “Oh Mike it is so right to be here with you, but I cannot help feeling a little bit guilty for Kurt.” “Why is that Helga? He’s had a very successful life before, during and even now, after the war.” “No, it’s not that. There seems to be something going on with Kurt. Do you know anything about it?” “Something going on? Like what? Is it a health problem? No, I haven’t heard anything. I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks though.” “Mike, if you knew something, you’d tell me wouldn’t you?” “Yes, my dear. How could I not share what I know with my secret love?” He’d reassured her and planted a seed to make her believe that he might be compromised. Helga wore a slight glow of self-confidence after she had heard those words and Mike felt the ball was now in his hands. He left her that night, drove to Bonn and hit the sack at midnight. On Sunday morning Mike called Alex Bauer. “Just got back from Bitburg and Bernkastel. I’ve got a couple of things to tell you.” Want to meet for breakfast where we ate last time?” “Fine, in about forty-five minutes?” “Yeah, see you there, Alex.” When Alex walked into the Wald Cafe Mike could barely restrain himself. He forced himself to stay calm and act like it was a routine matter. It might have been for Bauer, but for Mike, it was an exciting and intriguing set of events. “So what have you got for me, Mike?” Mike grinned and leaned forward. “This is something new Alex. It looks to me that Mrs. Gerhardt, Helga, is up to something too, along with the general.” “Mike, leave the general out of this. Tell me about Mrs. Gerhardt.”

“Aren’t you guys interrogating Gerhardt?” “Yes, but so far we don’t have anything. We couldn’t find any connection between him and the Stasi network. They dusted his safe and briefcase and found two sets of prints,—his and his Helga’s.” Mike interrupted him. “That’s it! Let me tell you about her.” Bauer’s eyes flickered as if he’d seen something interesting. “Go ahead Mike— every detail.” Mike slid his chair closer and folded his hands on the small table. “Helga called me at the Bitburg BOQ and asked me to come see her in Bernkastel on Saturday. I drove there to meet her and got…” Mike stopped, “… wait a minute, let’s go back to Bitburg. me telling you about that guy I saw fumbling around Anna Schreiber’s mailbox?” Bauer nodded, and Mike continued, “Well, I was in the squadron operations room, and I saw this kraut boot maker, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the guy I saw at Anna Schreiber’s mailbox. This kraut goes into every squadron ops, everybody knows him. What in hell was he doing in Bernkastel?” Bauer jotted in a small notebook. “Yeah, that’s good stuff, Mike. Go ahead with Helga.” “As usual, we get down to business,” he paused, smiled and continued, “… and I had a positive feeling that it was a replay of last time. Helga asked me to tell her if I heard something about her husband and of course I played dumb. Then she said that a friend of hers from Fursty told her that a ‘Slick Chick’ bird landed there on Friday. I knew that because at the Friday night beer call in Bitburg one of the 22nd pilots said the ‘Slick Chick’ bird landed there with minimum fuel. I didn’t tell her anything, but she sure was fishing for information.” “Mike, you’re making some good observations. I’ll try to connect a few dots here. Let’s talk soon—I’ll call you.” Bauer pocketed his notebook and left. The following Thursday, Alex Bauer came to Mike’s office. “Let’s take a walk, Mike. It’s a pleasant day out there.” When they strolled down the street, Alex started talking in a soft voice. “Mike

we’re quite sure Gerhardt’s not involved with this war plan leak, so we’re going to plant a snippet of information to those that had access to the NATO plans. We’re hoping we can sniff out the leaker. We’re telling Gerhardt what we’re doing so we know damned well that he won’t be the one. It’ll be in his briefcase and safe, so we’ll see.” Mike began to see things he hadn’t noticed before. He had his mind made up about Gerhardt, but now he could see other players in this puzzle. For several days, Mike did the routine attache business that bored him. There didn’t seem to be much going on to hold his interest until one afternoon when Schulstad came into his office. He closed the door, turned on the radio, and sat down. Mike knew what was coming. There’d be some highly classified information discussed. Like an eager apprentice, Mike slid his chair closer to the colonel and waited. “Mike I wanted to tell you something about Bitburg that’s top secret. Next month a surface to surface missile called the Matador will be delivered to Bitburg. It’s going to be tested for the first time when the 36th goes to Wheelus. Ultimately it will be part of our nuclear offensive capability—particularly in bad weather and at night. That information will attract the Stasi spooks so be aware of that.” “Mike said, “So I don’t know anything about it right?” Schulstad’s eyes sharpened, and he said, “That’s right Mike. You don’t know anything and neither should anyone else. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir!” Mike thought, Wow! Two TS operations at Bitburg. No wonder the commie spooks are sniffing around! “And Mike, Colonel Joe Agnielli our Rome attache will be here on Wednesday. Come over after work and have a drink with us.” “Yes, sir sounds good. What brings him up here?” “That congressional delegation gets here on Thursday morning you know. Joe Agnielli and congressman Fiorito are old paisanos. They both graduated from

West Point. Besides that, Fiorito happens to be the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee. Not a bad guy to have on your side.” “I’ll bet that’s how he got that assignment to Rome.” “Sort of but not exactly. Fiorito can pull strings with the Air Force chief, so it looks like Leo’s just a political choice, but that’s just his cover.” Mike didn’t say anything. He frowned a little and nodded his head slowly while he thought about it all.

Chapter 10

THE CHANCELLOR’S RECEPTION

Mike got to Colonel Schulstad’s apartment at six-twenty five on Wednesday and pushed the doorbell. Schulstad’s maid opened the door Mike smiled at her and said, “Guten ahbend Margarete.” (Good evening Margaret) Margarete’s cheeks flushed. She was a wholesome, self-restrained farmer’s daughter whose strong arms and chapped red hands showed that she knew hard work. She liked Mike because he always had a smile for her and she thought he treated her as an equal. One time when he told her she had beautiful blue eyes it flustered her. “Ach! Goo-duh eefnink, Colonel Skora. Please to come in!” Mike followed her into the study; Colonel Schulstad and another Air Force officer were sitting at a glass covered brass table, a familiar fixture in military households. Mike knew it came from Tripoli, Libya where boys who should have been in school hammered and polished it in tiny, dark shops. Schulstad gestured to a low, soft, brown leather camel saddle. Mike pulled it closer to the table and watched Schulstad pour a Martini for him. He clicked Mike’s glass and said “Salute Mike, meet Colonel Leo Agnielli, our attache in Rome. Leo is here to meet Congressman Fiorito who’s coming in with that congressional delegation. Agnielli was on the short side, balding and carrying about forty or fifty pounds more than was good for him. He looked a bit rumpled a congenial smile grooving his face. Mike said, “It’s an honor to meet you sir.”

“Likewise Mike. It’s a pleasure to have a drink with you.” Mike raised his glass to eye level and said, “Na zdrowie!” (To health) Agnielli sipped his drink and then placed the glass carefully on the table. “Colonel Shulstad says good things about you Mike. Do you like this work?” “Yes, sir, it’s a lot different from what I’m used to but it sure as hell is interesting.” Agnielli winked at Schulstad and said, “That it is, that it is.” Mike got the impression that Agnielli was studying him and he thought he’d better leave them early. As he got up to leave, Schulstad said, “Mike, why don’t you pick me up tomorrow? We’ll impress those congressmen with that car of yours.” He looked at Agnielli. “Leo, Mike’s got this new gull-wing Mercedes. It’s really a hot car.” “Mike said, “What time sir?” “Make it eleven o’clock. See you tomorrow.” Mike said ‘good night’ to them both and left. Mike, Schulstad, and the honor guard got to the landing pad thirty minutes early. He and Schulstad scanned the sky. The honor guard stood at ease on one side. “The whirly-birds²¹ shouldn’t have any trouble getting in this morning sir. The ceiling’s about eight hundred feet and the visibility’s good.” Schulstad absentmindedly wiped his shoes on the back of his tro legs, glanced down, gave a sharp nod of approval, then looked over Mike’s head. “Yeah, those Army jocks should be able to get in here today.” He chuckled and said, “I don’t know why in hell the Army has to get involved in all this.” Mike said, “I guess they’re interested in what we tell the big wheels²²…the Army’s got the Fulda Gap to worry about. If the balloon goes up those “Russkie tank divisions will be spearheading through there and the Army’s got to be ready to take them on.”

“Oh sure, the Army will take it on the chin but us fly boys are gonna meet ’em head on too. That’s not going to be a piece of cake. The Russkie’s migs are damned good and they’ve got lots of them…and they’ve got anti-aircraft missile defenses too.” Mike felt challenged. “Yeah those migs are good. Sure, they outnumber us, but look what happened in Korea—fifteen to one! Our F-86s hammered the hell out of them!” Schulstad scraped the tarmac with his boot. He glanced sideways at Mike, an amused smile lightened his expression. “Well, I’ll give you fighter jocks that. You all think that nobody’s ever going to get the best of you—that’s a hell of a good attitude in a fight.” Mike had nothing to say. Schulstad’s face darkened, became sober and he looked away at the horizon. “Us bomber guys—jeez, all you could do is grind your teeth and hold steady in formation while those FW-190’s and ME-109’s emptied their guns into our gut —and the fuckin’ flak…” He stared at the ground, his jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t believe how many eighty-eights²³ they could throw up.” He looked up and noticed that Mike’s expression saddened. He twitched his head erect and his face brightened. “But you know all about that Mike—you’ve had your share, too.” “Yeah but it was a lot easier in a fighter. We could take evasive action and then we’d dive down at their gun barrels and give them a taste of their own medicine.’ “But you guys took plenty of losses too; I know the numbers Mike.” Mike became silent. Names flashed across his memory: Hunger, Ruble, Shapiro, Kelly, Agostino, Cortada, Davis, Capparelli…The distant sound of flapping rotor blades brought him back to the present. He looked southeast and saw two choppers. They descended and gently touched down on the pad. As the whirling rotor blades slowed, drooped and then stopped, the honor guard snapped to attention. A door clicked open and stairs were pushed into place. One of the pilots scurried out and beckoned to the engers at the open door. A greyhaired, well coiffed congressman appeared and immediately looked up at his greeters. He waved a hand and gave a Hollywood smile. He had a tanned,

unlined face that photographed well. He was followed by a woman. Mike thought, His secretary? No, she looks too officious…must be a congresswoman… they’ve got a few of those lately. She was wearing a dark pants suit and a white turtle neck sweater. A camera was slung over one shoulder and she carried a thick briefcase…The third dignitary had a hard time squeezing through the narrow door. He was more than a little bit overweigh. He stumbled on the top step, dropping his trench coat and hat. The pilot caught his arm and steadied him while one of the honor guards ran after the hat which went tumbling across the tarmac in the Eiffel breeze. The congressman picked up his trench coat and grinned as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mike thought, Christ! These are the guys that make all the rules that we have to live with–oh well… At the embassy Schulstad gave the standard VIP briefing. Mike studied the faces of the delegation while Schulstad talked. From their questions he thought they were more interested in visiting the Cologne Cathedral and the wineries in Bernkastel than they were in the disposition of US forces in Western . He shook his head and sighed. The delegation was taken to the officers club where Colonel Agnielli met them. When Congressmen Fiorito saw Agnielli he burst out, “Ecco me amico, comme stai?” (Here’s my friend! How are you?) “Abstanza bene, abstanza bene (Pretty good, pretty good.) Bill. How was your trip?” He put his arm around Fiorito and they went into lunch. The long table set for the group was elegant. Flowers, crystal, wine in coolers and place cards impressed the visitors. Ties were straightened and postures became more erect. They all found their seats and quietly sat down. Waitresses began serving as soon as the chairs were pulled into the table. The clicking of china and murmuring voices were occasionally broken by soft laughter. They were served a typical German meal: Weiner schnitzel, spaetzle, red cabbage and a fine Moselle wine, Bernkastler Doctur. As lunch wound down at about two-thirty, one of the guests stood and offered some soon to be forgotten remarks. “On behalf of my congressional colleagues I would like to thank Colonel Schulstad and his staff for the outstanding briefing and the warm welcome. It is

indeed reassuring that our great nation has men of your caliber here on the front line of the bastion of freedom…” Eventually they drifted out but Schulstad and Mike stayed. Schulstad raised a glass and looked Mike in the eye, “Here’s to guys like us!” Mike lifted his glass. “You got that right Colonel.” Schulstad glanced at his watch. “Drink up, Mike. Let’s call it a day. Time to go to quarters and get ready for the reception.” Mike polished his black dress shoes, then showered and shaved. He laid out his dress uniform, found the dress shirt, and finally the black, clip-on bow tie. The phone jingled and he answered on the second ring. “Colonel Skora here.” “Hey Mike, Leo Agnielli and Congressman Fiorito just pulled in. Come on over and have a drink with us before we go—say, uh—about six-thirty?” “Fine sir, and I assume we should be dressed to go? “Yeah, six-thirty. It’ll give us about an hour to chat, then we’ll go directly to the reception. “Right, sir—see you at six-thirty.” The phone clicked and Mike hung up. Glancing at his watch, he thought, not too much time to kill. Despite his earlier reservations about attending the fancy party, Mike began to look forward to it. He looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie. Satisfied, he headed for his car. Mike buzzed Colonel Schulstad’s door and was surprised that Schulstad opened it. “Evening, sir. Where is Margarete?” Schulstad rolled his eyes, looked back over his shoulder and whispered, “The congressmen’s got her cornered in the kitchen.” He smirked and led Mike in. Colonel Agnielli rose and in a cheery voice said, “Colonel Skora, it’s good to see

you again.” “And you too sir.” Congressman Fiorito came out of the kitchen, glass in hand, a mischievous smile on his youthful face and said, “Is this the Mike Skora you’ve been talking about Leo?” He walked to Mike, his hand extended. “Bill Fiorito, good to meet you.” “An honor sir. You represent New York?” “That’s what I’m told.” His eyes twinkled and he tilted his head, nodded comically and took a swig of his martini. Mike wondered what it was that Agnielli might have said about him to congressman Fiorito. Whatever it was he was sure he’d learn what it was all about. Fiorito and Agnielli went from one reminiscence to another. It was obvious to Mike that they were classmates at West Point and served with the Fifth Army in Italy during the war. Fiorito was a battalion commander and was wounded in action, and Agnielli served with intelligence. As the conversation went back and forth Mike gathered that Fiorito felt byed because he was too outspoken. Many of their classmates had become generals. Fiorito was energetic and ambitious and was attracted to politics. He resigned his commission, ran for office and was elected congressman for a district in New York. Mike could see that Agnielli was different, he didn’t push himself. He was more introspective and drawn to the slow-moving shadows of the clandestine world. The drinks consumed, the conversation wound down and it became time to go. Agnielli said, “Why don’t I go with you, Mike? I want to see that car of yours.” “I’ll take my Buick Leo.” Schulstad said,” The chancellor invited a bevy of dignitaries, the Congressional Committee and several high ranking US military officers to a formal reception to celebrate the birth of ’s and Italy’s military forces…General Gerhardt and Helga would more than likely be there. The general wasn’t under suspicion, but Mike wasn’t sure about Helga. It was a ten minute drive to the reception hall. As Mike turned into the parking

lot, several chauffeured limousines drove up to the marquee. Chauffeurs jumped out nimbly and opened the car doors. Mike parked and they followed a gaggle of guests through double doors held open by uniformed German soldiers. It was a grand spectacle. The ballroom was filled with flowers, women in colorful gowns, and men in military uniforms dripping gold and silver braid. Bemedalled men moved through the crowd. Animated conversations and subdued laughter almost drowned out the soft music played by a quintet of grave looking, tuxedo-clad musicians. Schustad, Agnielli and Mike ed the crowd of nodding, smiling guests. Schulstad seemed to know everyone. He introduced Agnielli, Congressman Fiorito and Mike to dozens of dignitaries. The Saceur Commander, iral Pete Moore and the West German General Schneiderhorn were chatting tete-a-tete. Gen. Schneiderhorn caught Schulstad’s eye and beckoned him over. “You have met I’m sure, your iral Moore?” “Good evening, sir. No, I haven’t had the pleasure iral Moore. I’m Frank Schulstad with our Embassy in Bonn, this is Colonel Agnielli from our embassy in Rome, my assistant Colonel Skora and I’m sure you know Congressman Fiorito.” The iral nodded, “Congressman Fiorito, it’s a pleasure to see you here.” “Yes, iral, I’ve been looking forward to having a look at how we’re spending the taxpayers money.” iral Moore turned to Schulstad “I’ve heard good things about you and Colonel Agnielli from General Schneiderhorn and General Camporini.” The iral’s eyes flicked over Mike’s decorations, “and you Colonel Skora, your combat record speaks for itself.” Mike assessed the iral. His smiling face contradicted his alert, steely eyes that revealed the intelligent intensity that carried men like him to the top. The quintet of musicians paused, then broke into a robust rendition of “Das Lied Der Deutschen”, the Federal Republic of ’s new national anthem. As though drawn by an invisible force, dignitaries formed a line against a glass wall looking out on the patio and down on the Rhine, Silence replaced the hum of socializing and now the guests paid their respects to Chancellor Adenauer with handshakes and nodding heads. Mike followed Schulstad down the line with the

last guests. The formalities over, a different orchestra filled the ballroom with a cheerful, “Arriva derche Roma.” As the music flowed through the room, a palpable relaxation was felt. Men’s shoulders dropped and erect postures drooped, women’s hands fluttered, their owners engaged in lively chitchat. The hum of polite diplomatic chatter rose. Mike scanned the crowd looking for General Gerhardt and Helga. He saw the general talking with a group of people, some uniformed, others in civilian attire. Helga was talking animatedly with two stout women. She didn’t show any signs of anxiety about the on-going investigation. It seemed obvious to Mike that Gerhardt had told her he was no longer under suspicion, Helga acted as though she had just won her case in court. Mike noticed her gown was the same color as the general’s uniform. Even his silver braid was echoed in her gown’s accents. He was certain that Helga was involved in undercover activity, and he still didn’t trust Gerhardt, believing they were in this together. A thought flashed in Mike’s mind when he recalled Alex’s conversation about the top-secret Matador file. The CIA guys gave Gerhardt the Matador information and told him that if it got to the Stasi, they’d know for sure who leaked it. ‘Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly,’ was the game they wanted to play. Who ever was given access to that file would reveal themselves. The Gerhardts stood out on the crowded ballroom floor. He, tall, slender and charismatic, she, young, attractive, and self-assured. Mike decided to dance with Helga to see if he could detect anything that would interest Alex Bauer. He walked toward them and said, “Good evening General Gerhardt, Mrs. Gerhardt. A lovely party, isn’t it?” The general broke into a wide smile. “Colonel Skora! I have been flying your T– 33 at Furstenfeldbruck. Not like your F–86, but it’s quite a change from the aircraft we flew during the war isn’t it?” “Yes, sir. That the bird is a great way to start sir. You’ll find later jets no challenge.” “I look forward to it. It has been good to be in the air again.”

Mike couldn’t help liking him a little. He wasn’t like what Mike thought he was. Helga interrupted, “Colonel Skora we must do our flying on the dance floor. Shall we?” The general nodded, “Go ahead my dear. This pilot can hold his own with you.” He winked at Mike. Mike took her hand and began. They danced gracefully to the walz. Her body moved like a ballerina on stage, her movements cinematic. The Strauss waltz lured the Germans to dance. Mike knew the crowd would thin out when the orchestra played an American tune. When the band began playing “Blue Skies” to a lively beat, the dance floor cleared. Helga acted carefree and happy like a school girl on a picnic. Mike twirled her around the floor in the brisk moves of the ‘Jitterbug’, a noticeable number of eyes followed their dancing. The next song played was slower; Helga drew herself close. Mike couldn’t resist the pull of her attraction. He thought about their times together, what neither of them could talk about. “You have heard I am sure, that Kurt has been questioned about some secret information that has been given to the Russians.” “Yes, Helga, but I think that is all over. He isn’t involved.” “But those special people from your CIA are still here aren’t they?” “Yes, they’ll be leaving soon.” They danced smoothly almost as if they were partners. Helga said softly, “Kurt will be at Furstenfeldbruck for four days next week, to fly.” “Are you going with him? I know you have friends there.” “No, not this time. Perhaps later. Maybe we could see each other?” Mike squeezed her close and said, “Yes, that would be nice. I’d like that.” “Kurt leaves on Tuesday morning. Can you call me in the afternoon?” Mike agreed. He knew what he had in mind but he wondered what she was thinking. After Mike left Helga with the general he headed to the bar. He could still smell the seductive aroma of her perfume and wondered what it was.

The evening came to its close and the guests drifted out. Colonel Agnielli left with Congressman Fiorito and the delegation. Mike and Schulstad drove to Schulstad’s apartment for a nightcap. Schulstad asked, “Mike, I saw you talking with General Gerhardt and then dancing with Helga. Did you learn anything?” “No, sir, not really. Neither of them seemed the least bit nervous. In fact they were both very relaxed. She told me he was going to Fursty on Tuesday and uh…I’m supposed to call her Tuesday afternoon.” Schulstadt said, “It looks like you’re getting next to that gal—she might be sending stuff to the Stasi. She’s pretty sly. You said she was curious about ‘Slick Chick’ huh? After Tuesday, you might know more.” On Monday, Alex Bauer came to Mike’s office. “Colonel Schulstad told me Helga Gerhardt asked you to call her on Tuesday.” “I was going to tell you that today Alex. She asked me to call her on Tuesday afternoon, after the general leaves for Fursty.” “Yeah, we set that up. He’s got some stuff in his briefcase that he’ll put in his safe while he’s gone. He agreed to make some vague comments about another classified operation at Bitburg to tempt Helga to dig into his briefcase if she was so inclined.” Alex paused, looking thoughtful. He continued, “Now Mike, let me know what Helga talks about as soon as you talk to her tomorrow. I’ll be in my office.” Mike agreed. Again, his doubts about. Gerhardt came forward. If the General was part of the leaking, he’d caution Helga about the setup. That way they’d both prove to be innocent. But if Alex was right about Gerhardt and that he wasn’t responsible for the leak, and wanted to believe that Helga was innocent too, he’d play Alex’s game, lay the bait, and leave town for a few days. Mike assumed that Helga wanted him as much as the classified information she might milk out of him. Perhaps Tuesday afternoon would bring him closer to understanding her. At two o’clock on Tuesday, Mike dialed Helga’s number.

“Oh I’m so glad you called Mike. I will be going to Bernkastel on Thursday morning. Would it be possible for you to meet me at your hotel in Bernkastel in the afternoon or early evening on Thursday?” Mike agreed and hung up. He ran the scenario over in his mind, Tuesday and Wednesday she’s at home—plenty of time to go through the general’s briefcase—and then Thursday morning to Bernkastel? Why? He called Alex and then walked to his office. Alex laughed when Mike said that he thought Helga wanted a ‘roll in the hay’ but was surprised she’d held him off until Thursday. “Mike, let’s say she takes the bait on Tuesday or Wednesday. She’d photograph it, make arrangements with a courier and then she’d get you in the sack to pump you up for anything you’d give her—you know what I mean.” He looked at Mike and smirked. “ what I told you Mike, they’re well trained, don’t fall in love.” Mike grinned and said, “Don’t worry about me Alex. I like to do what I do but I’m not naïve. This guy doesn’t fall in love.” He stabbed his finger at his chest when he said that. “If what you told me about that man you saw near Anna’s mailbox and then saw at Bitburg, it ties all this together. We’ll have a clean picture of the network.” Mike asked, “Is there anything I can do?” “No Mike, you’re lifting the rock and now we see all the wiggly worms underneath. I’ve got people down there keeping tabs on this. Let’s talk after you see Mrs. Gerhardt.” Mike began to understand the spread of the intelligence network. He thought back on his years in the Air Force and realized that an invisible network was there. There no organizational charts or written directives, but it was everywhere.

Chapter 11

THE MATADORS

On Wednesday morning, Mike filled in Schulstad on what was going on with Helga Gerhardt. Colonel Schulstad listened intently and then said, “When you get to Bernkastel Mike, stay on your toes. This game is getting serious and we’re not carrying guns. A couple of months ago I could’ve had Sgt. Doyle back you up but not now. The occupation’s over and it’s their country and they have to do the police work. I know Alex Bauer has one of his guys down there but I don’t think he’s armed so don’t get carried away.” “No, sir. I got it. Alex told me he’s got eyes in Bernkastel. I’ll just try to bring stuff into the open and let them handle the rest.” “Why don’t you go down to Bitburg this afternoon, spend the night, look at some stuff you can trickle to Mrs. Gerhardt and then see what happens.” “Very good sir, I’ll leave right after lunch. If Helga tries to get me talking about Bitburg, I’ll try to let slip a couple of things they already know.” “That’s it, Mike. You know what to do.” After lunch, Mike threw his things into an overnight bag, got in his car, and turned south toward Bitburg. He entered the airbase and cruised around slowly looking for things he could mention casually that might sound like clues to the top-secret operations housed on the base. ‘Slick Chick’ was obvious. Their planes were regularly monitored by the photographers on roads that crossed under the approach, or takeoff pattern of the aircraft. As Mike cruised along the flight line, he noticed one of the hangers had temporary barriers across the access road. A security jeep was parked close to the barrier. He casually turned into the access road and the security guard stepped out of the Jeep, holding up his hand.

“Afternoon, sir. Can I help you?” “Yes, I want to check with the squadron maintenance officer.” “Squadron maintenance has been moved to the 523rd’s hangar.” “And what’s in here?” “I can’t say, sir. You have to have a special to go in.” “Thank you, sergeant.” Mike pulled away and thought, That’s where the Matador operation is. I bet. Yeah those three big truck trailers parked there weren’t there last month. That evening, Mike had dinner at the club, then sat in the bar sipping Benedictine. It was quiet with no flight suit clad pilots. Mike caught the eye of a ground officer, a major, who was sipping a beer. “Where is everybody Major?” “The pilots are all down in Tripoli for gunnery.” “Kind of quiet isn’t it?” “Yes, sir. They do liven it up.” Mike saw four men in civilian clothes hovered over a cocktail table playing liars dice. They all wore name tags clipped on the breast pocket of their jackets so Mike asked who they were. “They’re engineers from Lockheed doing something special.” Mike guessed they were Matador engineers. The major continued. “They’re going down to Wheelus in a couple of days.” Alex had briefed Mike on the Matador operation. The missile was to be test fired on the ground gunnery range. Thus far the missile didn’t have a nuclear warhead but Alex told Mike that if the question was raised by those who weren’t privy to the information, that included Helga, he was to imply that it would carry a one mega-ton warhead. Alex told Mike earlier that the growing chill in the cold war prompted the

Department of Defense to demonstrate an increase in readiness and capability. In a few months the 36th Fighter Wing would acquire the F-100 C, the first jet aircraft to fly at mach 1.4 in straight and level flight. That and the implication that the Matador ground to ground missile with a one mega-ton nuclear warhead would be deployed with the NATO forces, was an added deterrent, or so it was hoped. Thursday morning after breakfast, Mike drove along the flight line, looking and thinking how he’d answer Helga’s curiosity. It couldn’t have been a better moment because three C-124 cargo aircraft flew overhead and then lazily peeled off for landing. He thought, That’s it! Those cargo planes are taking the Matador for testing. The Stasi spooks will know that for sure. All I have to do is sweeten it up a little. Mike turned off base and headed to Bernkastel; and Helga. He looked forward to playing the spook game, and he enjoyed her. Mike walked up to the reception desk at the Post Hotel, put his port on the counter and filled the registration form. The clerk ed him and asked, “Will the young lady be ing you sir?” Mike knew what he was getting at. His last time here, Helga had spent the night with him and he hadn’t ed her. “Yes, probably, but only for the afternoon.” The clerk’s snide expression didn’t sit well with Mike. His knowing smile said, “I know what you’re up to.” It was awkward for Mike, he couldn’t put Helga’s port out nor use her correct name. And he didn’t want to write Colonel and Mrs. Skora on the . In , like all countries in Western Europe, local police regularly examined hotel registration records. Mike picked up the key, his bag and took the elevator to the third floor. The room had an almost military orderliness in it. The bed was trim and tight, furniture functional, the lights never as bright as he liked and the room

temperature was just enough to be adequate. Not a pfennig wasted—as it should be, he thought. Mike kicked off his shoes, took a bottle of scotch out of his bag and poured a generous drink. He topped it with water then sat on the stiff armchair. He turned the radi on to the armed forces channel and thought about what he’d do next. Time ed. At, two-thirty, the phone rang. It was Helga. “Oh, Mike, I have called you twice already. I thought you would be here earlier.” “Sorry, Helga, you said Thursday afternoon. I wanted to give you plenty of time.” “I have been wanting to see you so much. I came to Anna’s at ten o’clock. I called you right after lunch at one and then again at one-thirty.” “Yes, I got here about two. Are you going to come here?” “Yes, Mike, I can’t wait,” she purred. “You are in room 307 is that correct?” “Yes, Helga, I’m waiting—anxiously,” he added Mike gulped his drink and poured another. He thought it would help him to stay focused on what was going on and it took the edge off his libidinous thoughts. Mike’s thoughts drifted. The hidden motives of the international actors in this drama dimmed. He felt like he’d made a New Year’s resolution that he knew he couldn’t keep. Helga was like a luscious confection he knew he shouldn’t enjoy, but what the hell, life’s too short and he knew he’d enjoy her even though she was bad for him. He had never played this game before. He had always been straight with women but now, he had to act like the kind of a guy who pocketed his wedding ring and did what it took to get what he wanted. There’s a first time for everything. He smiled at himself at that thought. A tap on his door told him the curtain was up, the play began. He jumped up and opened the door. Helga glanced over her shoulder and stepped in quickly. Her face broke into a full smile and she whispered, “It’s been too long Mike.” She pressed herself to him as he kissed her.

“Yes, it has Helga, I thought about you every day.” A true comment that was easy for Mike to say. “And I have too. We have been good for each other haven’t we?” “Oh, yes, really good,” and they started. Mike was certain that Helga wanted what he could give her, and he gave it. In the interlude, he perceived a subtle shift in her. Fewer emotionally driven thoughts seeped onto the bed. Mike always shied away from women whose intentions weren’t like his. Helga played that role skillfully. She got up and reached into her bag and held up a bottle of Yagermeister. “I feel naughty. Will you have some with me?” Mike smiled and nodded like a schoolboy about to do something mischievous. She poured the liquor into two glasses, handed one to him and with her glass held to her lips, went into the bathroom. Mike sipped his and glanced at the crack of the door and saw her hand pouring her drink into the toilet. She flushed it and came back, held up her almost empty glass and said, “This makes me tipsy Mike.” She added more to her glass, gulped it, and poured more into Mike’s glass. “Whoa there Helga, I had a couple of drinks while I was waiting for you.” “I like you to get a little tipsy too.” She giggled. “We can be naughty together.” Helga laid beside him, her head on his chest. Her hand found him and she said, “Oh, he’s waking up!” She began a slow kissing slide down Mike’s stomach and then he felt her lips enclose him. What she caused to happen couldn’t be an act. It just happened. The only part of what happened next was that Mike wanted her to think that she had him enthralled. Helga played him. Her actions responded to the feelings he expressed. He moaned and began to say endearing things as though he was in love with her. When he gasped, “Don’t stop!” she brought him to an explosive climax. Mike fondled her hair and whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like that before.” She kissed his cheek. “Can I do it again—please?” “Oh, yes Helga, but let’s talk for a while.” She perked up. “Yes, that will be good. How was your trip to Bitburg.? Did you fly?”

“No, the F-86’s were all down in Tripoli where they go for gunnery. It was quiet but there were two C-124s, large cargo airplanes, and some civilian engineers from the US.” “Oh? Do you know what they are doing?” Mike thought quickly, I’ve got to tell her just enough to confirm what she saw in General Gerhardt’s briefcase, but I can’t be too obvious or she’ll suspect I’m setting her up. “I think they’re doing something with a weather research project. You know the weather here is a problem for our aircraft.” “Yes, Mike, Kurt has told me that our bad weather causes many aircraft accidents.” “Yes, and those engineers are looking for a way for us to attack the Russians in bad weather.” That seemed of interest to her. She asked, “And how will they be able to do that if the weather is bad?” Mike could tell she was fishing for something about the Matador. He answered in a way that told her he was hiding something. “Oh, I guess it’s a new way of navigating or maybe a radar that will help our fighters to see a target in bad weather.” Mike sensed that Helga knew she’d get nothing more from Mike. She did what she wanted to do for the second time and at six o’clock said, “I must go to see Anna now. She gets home now from her work at Hahn.” Mike was surprised to hear that. “Anna works at the airbase in Hahn?” “Yes, she is secretary for the vice commander at the base.” That bit of information had not surfaced before. “I will spend the night with her so that I can tell Kurt why I am here my darling.” Mike nodded. It was a good cover story. Mike pondered whether he should stay the night, but decided he should get back to talk with Alex Bauer. He couldn’t talk about this on the phone.

He packed his things and went down to the desk. “I’ll be checking out.” He fixed a steely eye on the clerk and said, “You can charge me for a double.” The clerk with a smug, knowing smile said, “That will not be necessary this time sir,” and gave him his bill. That evening at eight-thirty he called Bauer. “Just got back Alex. Can we talk?” They met at the embassy parking lot and talked in Alex’s car. Mike told Alex in detail, all that had transpired adding that Anna Schreiber worked at Hahn. “I knew that Mike, but I didn’t tell you. We’ve had an eye on her for a while. Incidentally, we picked up Helga’s fingerprints on the General’s papers. She more than likely photographed them because we deliberately put page three after page four but when we checked, the pages were all in order.” Now Mike saw Helga for what she really was. He held no more illusions about her. She was nothing more than a spy, and he filed her along with Rachel. Another “slick chick’ who was not what she appeared to be. On Friday afternoon, Alex called Mike and said, “Come on over.” Mike rushed over and sat down at Alex’s desk. Alex Bauer seemed serious and business-like. “It’s coming to a head Mike. We saw Herr Gundt at Anna Schreiber’s mailbox at eight this morning. We later learned he picked up a Minox 16mm film cassette. I’m sure you know it. It’s the one all of us use to sneak photos. Anyway he gets in his Beetle and drives—guess where?” He leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Bayreuth, to the same hotel that Anna checks into when she goes there. And again, guess what? This guy from East is in the hotel too, picks up the film and we follow him to Hof. We’ve got some people in Hof because it’s close to the border crossing for a lot of Stasi operatives from Karl Marx Stadt in East …Right now the courier is being held in Hof. The film’s on its way here. We’ll nail him as soon as we know that film’s got photos of Gerhardt’s papers. We’re not going to grab Helga until that happens and we know for sure. Then we’ll arrest her. Mike started to laugh. Alex said, “What do you find so funny?”

“Sorry, Alex, but Bayreuth brought back some memories. During the war I led a twelve ship formation to that town and we knocked off twenty-nine Kraut airplanes. One in the air that tried to tag me and twenty-eight on the ground,” Alex relaxed and said, “You’ve had some great experiences in the war haven’t you? I was a couple of years too young to get into it.” “You’re lucky you didn’t. A lot of guys weren’t as lucky as me.” Alex studied Mike. then said, “I ain’t so sure it was all luck Mike. You’re a ball breaker.” When Mike came into the office on Monday morning, Meg said, “Good morning sir, Mr. Bauer called you and asked that you call him when you got in.” “Thanks Meg, go-ahead and dial him. I’ll take it in my office.” He picked up his phone and heard Alex say, “Alex Bauer” “I’m here, Alex. Just got in, what’s up?” “I’ll be right over.” He sounded harried. Mike knew he had more information. When Alex came in he said, “Moriarty processed that Minox film and it’s got what we need. She’s the one that photoed the papers we planted in the general’s safe, and Anna Schreiber is the drop off, then your boot-maker slips it to the Stasi courier in Bayreuth. We told Gerhardt’s boss, General Schneiderhorn, about Helga this morning, and he’s going to tell Gerhardt all of that today.” “What will they do to Helga?” “That depends on Gerhardts reaction. The FRG isn’t going to gloss this over. There’s too much at stake for them. If they don’t take punitive action they risk losing our confidence in them as partners in NATO. If the general sticks by her he’ll probably resign, if he doesn’t, she goes to jail. And who knows about him?” Mike began to regret being suspicious of General Gerhardt. What a fix to be in. He’s got the best job a defeated German could have, a sexy young wife and she turns out to be a Stasi agent. How the hell can he swallow that? “What’ll happen to Anna Schreiber, the boot maker and the Stasi courier?” “The courier will be fingerprinted, photographed, interrogated and more than

likely exchanged for one of the FRG’s operatives who got caught in the East Zone. As for the boot maker, we know him and what he does so we’ll make believe he wasn’t involved. It’s easier for us to watch a spy we know. And Anna Schreiber is a tossup. Were looking into that. If we could get away with leaving her where she is, she could be useful for a little disinformation work.” “Another known spy huh?? Who was it said, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’?” “That was Sun Tzu the sixth century BC guy that wrote the ‘Art of War’. There’s always the possibility that they know you know and then they become decoys to pull us away from the ones we don’t know about.” “You’ve got your hands full Alex.” “Not all of it in my hands Mike. Were in all this together.” Alex continued, “I don’t know how the Gerhardt story is going to end. As I told you Schneiderhorn has been informed and Gerhardt is faced with some explaining—not of his own involvement, we’ve cleared him on that. Now we’re sure it was her that was sharing classified info with the Stasi.” “She doesn’t know that we know does she?” “Uh-uh, not yet. But when the general gets home after the meeting with Schneiderhorn he’s going to have to ask her some embarrassing questions.” “There’s no way she can explain those photos. She’ll try, but it’s her fingerprints all over those papers and as far as we know, she’s the only other person who’s had access to Gerhardt’s safe.” Mike thought about that for a while and then said, “Do you have any proof that it was her that put the film in Anna Schreiber’s mailbox? I think Herr Gundt took the film out of her mailbox and gave it to the Stasi courier in Bayreuth but can’t she deny taking those photos?” “How about her prints on all those papers?” “Oh, she’s clever. She could play the innocent but curious wife who handled them while they were in the safe but had no knowledge of the photos.”

“Mike, it’s more than a coincidence that Helga drove to Bernkastel on Thursday and went to Schreiber’s apartment that evening before she returned to Bonn.” “I’m convinced she’s guilty as hell Alex, but Gerhardt’s going to see it through the emotional matrix of a loving husband with a young sexy wife.” “Come on Mike, he’s not stupid. When he confronts what she did, he may change his attitude toward her.” Mike thought, Sounds like someone I knew or thought I knew, until the lights went on. The change was sudden. One day Rachel was the beautiful woman I loved and the next she was a duplicitous slut I pushed out of my life. Yeah, maybe Gerhardt will see that in Helga. They’re a couple of pretty slick chicks. “Yeah, I guess you’re right Alex. Knowing the kind of guy he is, his job is very important. Helga didn’t come into his picture until after he was immersed in the new Luftwaffe.” After Alex left, Mike stepped into Schulstad’s office. He was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed, staring at a lengthy document. He looked up and said, “Time for a coffee break Mike. Come over and sit down. Have a coffee and let’s talk.” “Yes, sir. I could use a break, too. Can I fill you in on the Gerhardts?” “Sure, what’d Alex tell you?” Mike recounted the events linked to the Minox photo cassette and the Stasi courier. When he alluded to the possibility that Helga might convince Gerhardt that she had nothing to do with that film, Schulstad interrupted him, “I’m not too sure she’ll get away with that. Kurt’s no fool. Before they married, I him making a joke about an East German wench that was cozying up to him. Oh yes, she’s his wife now and he’s willing to be a little careless with her, like giving her the combination to his safe, but after those CIA guys briefed him and he agreed to play a part in the entrapment plan, I doubt he’ll see her side of the story.” “Yes, sir. You’re probably right, but I’m still having a little trouble believing he’ll stay on our side no matter what.” “That’s okay Mike. A little skepticism is good in this job. We can’t be too careful.” He sipped his coffee, and raised his eyebrows, “You’re going to find that what you’re dragging up is part of a hot subject these days. The Intel I’m

reading indicates definite signs of a Russkie build up. The Hungarians are acting up and we’ve encouraged them so the Russkies think we might give them active . Tank battalions and ground troops have been building up along their border for the last couple of months. We’re taking steps to send them a message by updating the 36th group’s F-86s to the F-100 Cs. That’ll get their attention. And the Matador—after testing is done, a squadron of them will be deployed to Hahn. And finally, to top it all, the F-100s are going to pick up a nuclear capability!” “Wow! That’s news! I’ve heard there’s a nuke delivery tactic for fighters called ‘over the shoulder bombing’.” “Where the hell did you hear that?” “One of my seminar partners at Command and Staff College came from Tyndall²⁴ where they developed the technique. The fighter scoots to the target on the deck, crosses the target and immediately pulls up into a 4G Immelmann while maintaining a constant heading, At a certain point in the climb, the bomb is released automatically and keeps going straight up to 80,000 feet. Then it falls back onto the target. The fighter meanwhile completes the Immelman, lights the afterburner and dives back to the deck on the reciprocal heading hitting Mach 1.4—which will take it just out of range of the explosive blast wave.” “Could you do that Mike?” “Sure, nothing hard about it. You just have to believe you’ll get away in one piece.” Schulstad shook his head back and forth. “Well, I’m sure the bad guys want to know how those One Megatons will be delivered and from where and by whom. That’s why there’s so much funny stuff going on.” The following Sunday most of the embassy staff were off but Schulstad had to meet with a committee of US Air Force officer’s wives from their airbase at Lakenheath, England. They had a lively fundraising campaign, had adopted an orphan’s home in Bonn, and were now meeting with the Burgermeister to present a substantial check for the orphanage. For those wives, the war was long forgotten. Their former enemy now a Nato partner was coated in forgiving benevolence. Their husbands had flown and fought, and now their wives were eager to be a part of the better world. The event was one of those routine duties

that required attaches to entertain. The shit hit the fan on Monday. General Gerhardt called Alex Bauer and reported that Helga was gone. Alex rushed over to the general’s office and met with the two agents from Langley. The four of them returned to the general’s house and did a thorough search of Helga’s effects. They found nothing that pointed to where she might have gone. Gerhardt described his and Helga’s activities on Saturday and Sunday. He said that when he questioned her she denied any knowledge of the Minox film and couldn’t offer any convincing reasons for her fingerprints on the papers. On Sunday Helga told him she wasn’t feeling well and spent the afternoon in her room. They had dinner together and she got one phone call from Anna, but he dismissed it as girl talk. They went to bed quite early and when he got up on Monday, she and the Volkswagen were gone. Mike learned all this from Alex who had asked him to come to his office to meet with Gerhardt and the CIA agents. Mike was brought into their discussion because of his s with Helga and what he’d seen at Anna Schreiber’s mailbox. He felt uneasy when he looked at Gerhardt’s crestfallen face. A wave of guilt washed over him. He no longer saw Gerhardt as a self serving enemy. Now he seemed more like Mike himself. The general was devastated by what he was learning about his wife. How fast things change! Once at war, suddenly at peace. Love is here and then it’s gone. When those things , all that’s left is us and the shattered fragments of the picture we thought was real. Mike explained his view of Anna Schreiber’s role. “Anna is Helga’s link to the Stasi operatives. I saw Herr Gundt at her mailbox early that morning. I recognized him later at Bitburg where he was taking measurements for flight boots.” Alex interrupted and added, “And when Anna drove to Bayreuth she stayed in the same hotel that the Stasi courier stayed in. Anna didn’t get the film until Thursday evening and they wanted to get it to the courier ASAP. Because Anna drove to Bayreuth only during the day, Gundt took the film from Anna’s mailbox on Thursday evening and delivered it to Bayreuth.

Gerhard looked back and forth as the story unfolded. He looked at Mike and asked, “And you, Colonel Skora—Helga met with you on Thursday afternoon?” Mike reluctantly nodded, “Yes sir She asked me to meet her there.” The general frowned, “Like she asked me…” Mike quickly raised a question to change the subject. “Sir, did you report your Volkswagen gone?” “No, not yet. Perhaps I should do that now.” He paused, dialed the police and gave them the details. Alex said, “If she turns up in Bayreuth, I’ll get a phone call pronto. I’ll let you know.” “Thank you, Mr. Bauer. Shall I remain here or can I go to my office?” Alex said, “We’ll hold down the fort here sir. Go ahead, I’ll call you as soon as we learn something.” Late that afternoon the FRG police found the Volkswagen parked in Homs. Two women were seen boarding a train that entered the East zone at 4:15. It seemed more than likely the women described were Helga and Anna. As soon as Alex learned this, he had Anna’s apartment in Bernkastel searched. Both she and anything incriminating were gone. A quiet settled on the players in this little act. The special agents returned to the US., Gerhardt immersed himself in building his Luftwaffe, Alex stepped out of view and Mike’s thoughts shifted to the arrival of the F-100s.

Chapter 12

F-100S AT SIDI SLIMANE

Mike was intrigued by the thought of flying a supersonic aircraft . He had flown the F-86 through the sound barrier in a steep dive, but the F-100 in afterburner reached 1.4 Mach in level flight. Curious about when the 22nd squadron was getting their Huns²⁵, he called Major Salter. Salter told him the squadron was scheduled to fly to Sidi Slimane, Morocco for the transition program. Salter said, “If you’re able, you can us on the 28th, I’ll put you on the orders and all you have to do is be here ready to go at 09:00 on the 28th sir. I’ll make sure your ’chute and helmet are loaded.” “Sounds great! Let me clear it with my boss. How many days will it be?” “Our orders are for fourteen days, Ground school is five days and the flight checks shouldn’t take more than a couple of days sir.” “I’ll call you back today—assume I’ve got the okay.” Mike burst in on Schulstad. “Colonel the 22nd squadron is going to Sidi Slimane in three weeks to check out the F-100. I can be included if you’ll clear me for a fourteen day TDY² .” “Sure Mike, things have quieted down a little lately, I know you’re hot to fly that Hun.” Mike put the past behind. Those few months were exciting and intriguing but there was a lot of broken glass in the wake. It wasn’t that Mike didn’t have the stomach for the tough stuff, he’d done his share during the war, but clandestine work wasn’t like combat. Back then, it was clear—good guys against bad guys, winner takes all. This was a different war. The bad guys acted like good guys and that’s all you could see. Was Gundt the boot maker bad? Packs of pilots

wore his inimitable boots. He had the confidence and affection of pilots in every squadron and had unconstrained access to the information wanted by Stasi agents. And how about Hans, the bartender at the Bitburg officer’s club? It was never clear. Even Anna Schreiber, secretary to the vice commander at Hahn. A trusted employee? Yes. Trustworthy? No. Anna skipped away with Helga. As for Helga, what did she leave behind? Only a replay of an intimate tragedy that separated Gerhardt forever from a woman he loved. Was Helga only a chimera filling his emptiness? After Helga left him his Luftwaffe compatriots noticed his changed mood. They too had many emotional traumas through the war years and like the General had overcome them and rebuilt their lives. Gerhardt was an example for them because he had overcome his tragedies and was now looking forward. But now his fighter pilot ebullience was dampened and his sadness showed. He was respected and loved by his staff so they planned a huge bachelor party on his birthday which was two weeks away. Schulstad got an invitation for himself and Mike. The Colonel told Mike,“It’s at the Ratskeller Mike, two weeks from today. It looks like an old-fashioned beer bust. No women allowed and, come as you are. I think they’re trying to cheer the general up.” “Sounds good sir. I’ll still be here so we can go together right?” “That’s fine, Mike.” The event was in the large room off the main floor of the Ratskeller. A four piece brass band was playing beer hall tunes. On one wall a large broiler cooked dripping chicken halves and sausages that were served to the standing or staggering officers. The aroma from the broiler and the smell of beer filled the room. The staff officers, most of them pilots held huge beer steins frequently emptied and re-filled. Fragments of beer hall songs broke out amid raucous laughter. Mike and Schulstad picked up steins and ed the cheery crowd. Schulstad looked at them and said, “Those guys are just like you fighter pilots.” Mike chuckled. He saw the officers trying to cheer up the general and his old spirit showed but a little later, Mike saw him pouring Yagermeister into a glass and drinking it, washing it down with beer.

Mike sidled up to the general and said, “You like that Yagermeister general?” “Yes, Helga used to drink it. I never had much of it but it became usual.” Mike thought about Helga and the bottle they shared, but he didn’t mention that; he couldn’t. “It’s tough when stuff like this happens general—I know, it happened to me three years ago.” Gerhardt raised his eyebrows and asked, “Did you lose a wife like I did?” “Yes, sir. Not quite the same way but similar results.” “Tell me about it, Colonel Skora.” Mike unfolded the story about Rachel. How he fell in love with her after she got him in bed then told him she was pregnant, and then their marriage. He said, “After she had the baby we argued because she refused to go to my new assignment at the gunnery school in Nellis. I began to put two and two together. I told her I didn’t think the child was mine. She itted it and because the father was married, she seduced me and convinced me that she loved me. I wanted to believe that, so I did.” “That’s terrible Colonel Skora. It must have been a shock to you. I think you know I have had the misfortune to lose my wife and two children in Dresden— and now this.” Mike thought fast. “My experience wasn’t like yours sir. You loved your family, it was a genuine relationship. In my case it was phony right from the beginning. Rachel was pregnant when we met but she didn’t tell me. Later, she told me I got her pregnant so I’d marry her.” “That’s unbelievable that a woman would do that.” “That’s the difference in women sir.” Mike began to see that the General was an idealistic, romantic man, much like himself. He concluded they both regarded women as equal partners with whom they wanted to share a trusting, productive life with shared values, a family, and unquestioning love. Anything short of that was something else. Mike wanted the

general to see Helga as she really was, as he had found Rachel. Even though he risked angering Gerhardt he wanted him to hate Helga for what she stood for, to see her not as a loving wife but a conniving, unscrupulous, counterfeit woman. You know general that the Stasi have had much interest in Bitburg’s ‘Slick Chick’ operation?” “Yes, we have all talked about that.” “And, as you learned recently, Helga probably wormed the combination numbers to your home safe by telling you she wanted to keep her diamond ring in it. Incidentally Alex Bauer told me that her story of a generous grandmother was pure fiction.” “Yes, I suspected as much but…” “And general, I too was a target for Helga. It was quite apparent to me that she had an alternative motive in our relationship. Alex Bauer even briefed me on the Stasi program that trains its agents to take advantage of our–umm, sexual weaknesses.” The general nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, sometimes we believe what we want to believe, isn’t that so?” “I think we fighter pilots are all the same. We tend to think of ourselves as irresistible—even indestructible.” Mike said. “Yes, I must it that my head is often in the clouds and I fail to see the ground beneath.” “General, after the war, like you, I had a young woman in my life that took advantage of my naïveté and my trusting belief. I think we’ve both been victims. The general nodded and said, “We are both cut from the same cloth. We fought a war and now in peace, we have kept our heads above the clouds. What is it, do you suppose, we are looking for?” “Like any honorable man sir, I think we both want to believe there are women who will share our ideals.”

“Yes, Mike, I think you are right. We must look beneath those clouds and see life the way it really is now.” Mike went home relieved that he’d itted his involvement with Helga and doubly relieved that the general understood Helga’s slick act. He thought, Gerhardt is a really nice guy. He’ll get over Helga fast just like I did with Rachel. Talk about Operation ‘Slick Chick’,they’re a couple of real slick chicks! Several days later Mike left Bonn to begin his two week TDY to Sidi Slimane. He burned rubber driving to Bitburg and early the next day he and a few 22nd squadron’s pilots buckled into a C-47 and flew to Sidi Slimane, Morocco. The two weeks at Sidi Slimane ed like a holiday. Sublime, clear sunny skies, a 12,000 foot runway, the F-100’s afterburner for takeoff, and in level flight, watching the Mach indicator as the agile F-100 slid through the sound barrier. It all thrilled Mike. Even the Hun’s high approach speed and the reassuring tug of the drag ’chute was a kick. When the training ended, he was assigned to ferry an F-100 to Bitburg which he had silently prayed for. As he flew north by Fedallah, Port Lautey, Nouasseur and then across Spain, he thought of the ‘Slick Chick’ Huns he saw at Bitburg. He felt superior because his F-100 had four twenty mm. guns, not cameras, After the squadron landed at Bitburg, Major Salter told Mike, “We’ll be deploying soon to Cazeux for gunnery qualification. Any interest?” “Where’s Cazeux Jim?” “It’s a French airbase on the English Channel near Bordeaux.” “I’ll see if I can swing it.” Fired with excitement, Mike returned to Bonn and settled into the office routine. Other than the chilling tensions of the Cold War there weren’t any thorny problems that needed Mike’s attention. Helga Gerhardt faded like an old photograph. Mike ached to become combat ready in the F-100 but he couldn’t get the nerve to ask Colonel Schulstad to release him for another two weeks, at least, not yet. His enthused comments about flying the Hun made Schulstad smile inwardly. “Mike you sound like a kid with a new toy. You can’t wait to get into that bird again can you?”

“You’re right sir. I was hoping I could get combat ready in it. You know, just looking ahead to my next assignment.” “The way things are going it might be sooner than you think.” Mike said, “I didn’t want to bring it up so soon sir, but the squadron I fly with is going to Cazeux for gunnery training in a couple of weeks. I was hoping I could sneak in there for maybe a week and fill in the squares for combat readiness.” Schulstad broke out in a laugh. “Just what I expected! You fighter jocks are all alike. Just give you a sniff of a new airplane and you all fall in love!” “I don’t have to go sir, I was just, you know, hoping?” “Well, I think having a combat ready pilot in this attache office is outstanding.” He adjusted the desk blotter. “Things are pretty slow now, I think it’s a good time for you to get some flying in. Go ahead and plan to go to Cazeux. Let’s say ten days, is that enough?” Mike glowed with pleasure. “Yes sir, ten days would be terrific. I’ll call Salter and set it up.” Mike called Salter and told him he’d been cleared to go. Salter said, “Sir, the Goonie-Bird²⁷ is filled but I’ll get Red Beall to fly you out in the T-Bird. Why don’t you plan to leave on the 24th? When you get to Cazeux, we’ll have the gunnery program rolling and you can jump in.” “Fine. I’ll call Captain Beall and coordinate with him. Thanks Jim.” Hot dog! Mike thought, Let’s see, two, maybe three flights a day, air-to-ground, skip and dive-bombing and air to air. Should be able to knock that off in ten or twelve flights! Mike counted the days until the 24th. Three days later he left Bonn with a guilty feeling that dissolved as soon as he turned into the entrance to Bitburg’s Airbase. The flight to Cazeux took a bit more than an hour and after a tight display of an overhead landing pattern, Capt Beall greased²⁸ the T-Bird onto the runway. Compared to Bitburg, Cazeux was an austere airbase. Mike’s room in the officer’s quarters was little more than adequate. It reminded him of the German

officer’s barracks he lived in when he was on occupation duty on a German base. But flying the Hun on the gunnery range and the nights at the O’ club more than made up for the austerity he felt on arrival. The F-100 landed at a higher speed than the F-86, but in the air it responded to the pilot’s touch like a spirited horse. You had to be careful, but when you let it go, it went. Afterburner climbs were exhilarating and in simulated attack maneuvers there was a feeling of ‘no holds barred’. Mike’s gunnery experience at Nellis gave him an edge over most of the squadron’s pilots. Salter was impressed, though frugal with praise for a Group Operations Weenie² as attached pilots were called. He was a good commander, demanding, flexible and forward thinking. He knew that the 36th would soon be taking on a nuclear bomb delivery mission and called a meeting of all the pilots to brief them on the ‘over-the-shoulder’ delivery system. Salter said, “You’re on the deck at 400 knots, heading to your target. When you cross your target, pull up into a 4G Immelmann and maintain your heading precisely. Hold the 4G’s and your heading. The bomb is released automatically, and will climb to about 80,000 feet before dropping down to the target.” He paused for a moment while the pilots made comments. “We’ll practice that maneuver individually starting tomorrow.” Three days later Salter called the officers together and announced, “I just got a call from Colonel Childs. He wants us to leave immediately for Furstenfeldbruck. The Hungarians are revolting and the ‘Russkies’ are closing in.” The pilots straightened up in their seats, jaws dropped and an excited murmur filled the room. Major Rood the maintenance officer asked, “What about the ground crews, parts and maintenance sir?” “The boss said we’re to get on the road ASAP with all our equipment. Doc’s going to supply Dexedrine for the drivers so that it’ll be a nonstop drive. Let’s get going!”` Mike was transfixed by the news. The operations officer, Captain Schneider began posting the flight schedule. Mike saw his name. He was to lead the second flight of four. Mike’s connections to the air attache duties disconnected. He awakened to feelings he had in 1944. This wasn’t yet a combat mission but it could become one.

A skeleton crew of crew chiefs, mechanics and the tech supplies were hastily loaded on a C-47 and a C-130. They took off shortly after the first flight of F100s departed without filing required flight plans. Peacetime rules were thrown into the waste basket. The pilots acted like a pack of hounds at the beginning of a hunt. Soon after landing at Fursty, Schneider was glued to the telephone. By early evening a plan took shape. Four F-100s were scheduled to be on a five minute alert status beginning at dawn the next day. Salter enjoyed telling Mike that Chuck Yeager’s F-86s were ordered back to their base in . He said that when Yeager met him after he landed, he told Yeager, “You can take your kiddie cars home Chuck. The big boys are here!” Schneider scheduled two aircraft for a pre-dawn take-off, followed by two more at forty minute intervals to patrol the East German border. Mike was impressed with the orderly plan, and he reviewed the details. Let’s see…two take off, then every forty minutes, two more. That’ll put eight F-100s in the air at the same time…six on the border and two coming and going. Each flight lasts about two and a half hours…maybe two flights a day, pretty good plan. The buzz of excitement engulfed the squadron pilots. They wore holstered sidearms and steel helmets. The pilot’s sparkling spirit intoxicated Mike. He envied them. Feeling guilty for being away from Bonn, he called Shulstad. “I understand Mike. Stick with them until they settle down, but unless they need you to fill a slot you should get back here in a few days. There are a few things going on that you need to get into and… oh yes, Gerhardt’s flying down to Fursty tomorrow, you probably should see him.” “Yes, sir, I agree. I can slip out of here in a couple of days unless the balloon goes up, I’ll look for the general of course.” The next day, Mike called the Luftwaffe training detachment and was told that General Gerhardt would arrive at eleven o’clock. Mike’s feelings about meeting the general were mixed. He thought of the general’s loss of his first family, his wartime defeat, and now Helga’s absconding. Mike felt guilty for misjudging Gerhardt’s postwar loyalties and he regretted his affair with Helga. Mike was glad he’d told Gerhardt at the Ratskeller party, about Rachel and Helga. He

began to feel that Gerhardt and him were like peas in a pod. When Mike met the general at the Training Group Headquarters they talked a bit. The general sensed Mike’s feelings and suggested they meet at the “O” club after he’d visited with the Luftwaffe trainees. They met at the Officer’s Club at five o’clock. The Beer Call was on at full throttle. When they walked into the bar, one of the officers yelled, “Katie bar the door! Here comes the boss!” The general ed in the raunchy goings-on, singing pilot’s songs and teaching them German Luftwaffe versions. Beer and booze flowed like the mighty waters of the Rhine. When one of the German pilots spun out of control the general went to him and kindly led him away. He smiled and waved Mike over. “I’m going to take Lieutenant Cass downstairs to the men’s room. Mike, you know this building was a Luftwaffe officer’s club don’t you? Come, I’ll show you.” They walked down the stairs, the general steadying the staggering Lieutenant. In the men’s room, Mike saw something unusual. There was a free standing round sink in the middle of the room with handles anchored to the edges and a foot pedal to turn the water on. Mike heard about it from the American pilots who had named it “The Barforium.” The general guided the Lieutenant who grabbed the handles, stepped on the pedal. The water swirled, as he bent and barfed! It was a scene Mike would never forget. Before the night ended, Mike and the general were like brothers. They were alike in their interior dreams, spirits, and beliefs, those that make people one and the same. The next morning two aspirins and two cups of coffee cleared Mike’s head. He called Schulstad. “Sir, someone’s going to fly me up to Hahn in a T-bird, I’ll be in the office right after lunch.” “Fine, Mike. I’ll see you then.” After landing at Hahn a staff car picked Mike up and drove him to Bonn. Still a bit hung over, Mike slumped in the seat and shifted his thoughts to the attache office. He wondered what Shulstad meant when he said there were a few things going on. He wondered what else was bubbling. After the Helga debacle, the ‘Slick Chick’ leaks were patched. At least the ones that Mike knew about,

When he got to his apartment, Mike doffed his flight suit and scrambled into his everyday uniform. When he flew to Cazeux he had left his car at Bitburg and had to call for transportation to get to the embassy. Schulstad looked up from the file he was reading when Mike walked in. “Well, the fly boy is back!” he exclaimed. “All checked out in that Hun?” “Yes, sir. Sorry it took so long sir, I never intended to be away that long.” “Yeah, yeah, I know, you couldn’t get your butt out of that cockpit.” “I’m finally fully qualified in that aircraft sir. Now I’ll dive into the job here.” Schulstad leaned back in his chair. The avuncular look on his face, told Mike he wasn’t in hot water. “Alex and I talked about something that appears to be surfacing since the alert we’ve been on because of the Hungarian situation. Alex has picked up indications that the Russkies are interested in our Matador program.” Mike blurted, “Geez, if it’s not one thing it’s another!” “Yeah, Mike. In this business it never stops. Anyway, while you were away the `Matador was tested at Wheelus and right now, there’s a squadron of them enroute to Hahn where they’ll be kept on a twenty-four hour alert.” “Let me guess, armed with a nuke?” “You guessed right Mike. The same type those Huns will have strapped to their bellies.” Mike nodded, “I can see why they’re getting nervous. They know what’s happening.” “Damned right they’re getting nervous. Five F-100 squadrons all carrying a one megaton nuke and those Matadors can bring in a nuke in any kind of weather. You can bet those targets tucked behind that Iron Curtain are feeling more vulnerable, and that they’re scrambling to find out what we’ve got, where it is, and how good it is.” He paused. Looking thoughtfully he said, “Alex suggested

that you spend a little more time at Bitburg so that you can try to nail the Stasi agents that are causing the trouble.” “Yes, sir, but they all know I’m up here in the attache office so they’re bound to steer clear of me.” “Well, I’ll talk to Alex about it. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.” Mike thought he did pretty well breaking up the Stasi links, but what Schulstad told him was that the Stasi was increasing their prying in the face of the increased offensive threat coming from the US Air Force buildup. He could see why. Another squadron was being added to the 36th Group. That’s another twenty-five F 100’s, and he’d heard the pilots talking that the 36th was going to be renamed a wing instead of a group and still another squadron was planned to become part of the 36th Wing, but stationed further west in Soesterburg, Holland. There was bound to be a heightened anxiety in the USSR and the Stasi intelligence network with their East German agents were a logical key to access to West . Mike had a little more time for himself now that Helga Gerhardt was gone. He felt a little less paranoid about German civilians and found himself noticing attractive young women. There seemed to be more women available. Perhaps this was because of the great losses suffered by the German military during the war. As Mike went about his daily life, on and off duty, he drifted to more frequent eye-to-eye with attractive women, but he soon reverted to caution. Did they look at him in an inviting way because he was a man? Or were they trying to pry into the secrets they must have expected him to know. When it came down to making a move, Mike thought about Christine. She was his answer. She was safe.

Chapter 13

THE 36TH TACTICAL FIGHTER WING

On a drizzly Monday morning, Alex sauntered into Mike’s office carrying a cup of coffee. “Meg makes a good brew Mike—have you had yours?” “Hi Alex, oh yeah, I down a mug as soon as I get here but I’m ready for another —standby.” Mike rose from his chair and walked briskly through the door. As he brushed past Alex he said, “What’s up Alex? Anything interesting?” Mike filled his mug from the carafe on Meg’s desk and turned back. “No, not really. Things are pretty quiet since you squelched Helga Gerhardt’s operation.” Mike closed the door, sat at his desk and wondered what he was doing next. He liked Alex and trusted his expertise in clandestine activity but he wasn’t the kind of guy that does anything without a good reason. This was bound to be something more than a social visit. “Yeah Alex, I learned a lot—thanks to you. ? I had it all wrong about Gerhardt. You kept telling me he was okay but at first I couldn’t believe it.” Alex said, “Yeah Mike, but you turned up something we didn’t know,” he smirked and continued, “and it came naturally for you. You didn’t learn that in the training you got.” “Yeah, I got to it that when Helga came on to me my fighter pilot testosterone took over—I wasn’t thinking she could be the spy, but you’ve got to agree I caught on to her when we got to, hmm, know each other?” “That you did, Mike. You did it better than I could, but that’s all behind us now. The problem has shifted somewhat.”

“Shifted? To where? And what is the problem?” “Bitburg is on Stasi map, ‘Slick Chick’, the Matador and the 36th Wing buildup to five squadrons, and up-grading the F-100s to a Nuke mission. those F-86s were day fighters, only for air-to-air combat, but now the 36th Tactical Fighter Wing has a nuclear capability.” Mike could feel the chill of the Cold War more clearly. He said, “You’re right Alex, the Matador squadron at Hahn is another threat. They’re all weather, day and night capable!” “You’ve got it Mike. The Stasi is pushing hard to find all they can about our capabilities and their targets will be anywhere the 36th Wing is involved.” “I told you about Herr Gundt the boot maker. You said it’d be better to keep an eye on him instead of throwing the book at him.” Alex nodded, “Yes, we’re watching him but the Stasi can smell trouble after Helga’s episode. Gundt isn’t doing much. We’ve got to look for other people.” Mike nodded and became thoughtful. “I’m sure there are a few good prospects Alex. I told you about Hans the Bitburg officer’s club bartender, didn’t I?” “Yeah, you mentioned him. We don’t have anything on him, but it’s time to dig a little deeper Mike. When you you’re flying there, look for any connections.” Mike nodded. “Yes I will. It won’t be as easy as it was with Helga but I’ll do my best.” “You mean it won’t be as much fun, don’t you? You never know, there might be another Helga looking for you.” The conversation gave Mike a lot to think about. Alex was right. Helga was more fun to squeeze for information. He didn’t know what the next source would be. “You know in the business we’re in, Mike, you can’t stand still too long or the bad guys begin to catch on.” Mike wondered where this turn in the conversation was going. Alex paused and casually studied Mike’s reaction. “Even me, Alex Bauer—that’s my real name by the way, I’ve been the cultural affairs attaché for almost three years but before that I was someone else doing something else. My job is always here today, gone tomorrow. You know that, don’t you?” “Mike nodded, “Yeah, I can see why—and thanks for telling me your real name

—I’m honored.” Alex smiled, showing he appreciated Mike’s comment. “You and I hit it off pretty well Mike—I trust you and I can tell what you’re made of.” Mike felt a glow of intimacy growing between him and Alex. He felt like a trusted family member being told secrets that would never be heard outside. “Mike I’m going to have a talk with Colonel Schulstad about you. It might help you uncover some things that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. Schulstad is a bit involved in this and he’ll give you more info. I’ll see you later Mike—we can talk.” Alex got up abruptly and went to the door. He winked at Mike and left. Mike wondered where all this was going. Later that morning Meg told Mike that Colonel Schulstad would like to see him at his convenience. “If he’s not busy now I’ll go in.” Mike said. “That’s fine, sir, go ahead.” Mike knocked once and walked in. “What’s up sir? You wanted to see me?” “Yeah Mike, come in and sit down. Pour yourself a coffee.” Schulstad pulled his chair closer to the desk. He fidgeted with a pencil, leaned forward and put the pencil in a grey beer stein. He looked at Mike and cleared his throat, “I’ve been talking with Alex Bauer…we talked about you actually.” He leaned back in his chair, elbows on the arm rests and brought both hands together. His fingers were extended and he thoughtfully rubbed his chin on the tips of his two index fingers. “I hope it was all good,” mike said nervously. Colonel Schulstad’s expression softened into a smile, “Yes Mike, he’s quite fond of you…as I am. We both think you’re a fine officer.” “Thank you sir, good leaders bring out the best in me.” Mike was suffused with a glow of self-confidence. He knew he wasn’t going to be chewed out, but was still puzzled by what this was leading to. “Mike, you’re the kind of officer that doesn’t need a blueprint to get a job done. You’re a self-starter.” He paused, “Awe, you know all that. I put it in your last OER³ .” He waved his hand as though he was telling someone to go away. “Thank you, sir—I thought your OER was very flattering.” Schulstad leaned

forward and crossed his arms on the desk. He glanced at the closed door, looked at Mike and dropped his voice a decibel or two. His words became soft and confidential. “You know, Mike, Alex has a lot of horsepower and he’s been given a very important job over here.” He studied Mike’s face. Schulstad’s eyes narrowed slightly and he went on. “Alex’s Assistant Attache for Cultural Affairs title, announces to the whole world that he’s part of the US intelligence network. It’s just about impossible for him to pick up any hints of what’s going on other than what’s on the surface.” “Yes, Colonel, every body knows that attaches work with the spooks.” “That’s one of the reasons that I’m talking to you now Mike. Alex thinks that a pure fighter pilot could help get him a handle on a couple of things.” Mike nodded his head. “Yes, but I’m an assistant air attaché, I’m tainted with that spook label too.” “Yes, I know that and Alex does to.” He paused, took a pencil out of the stein and doodled on his notepad. He looked up at Mike and spoke slowly. “How would you like to be reassigned to the 36th at Bitburg? You could fly your tail off in those F-100s.” Mike frowned, straightened up in his chair and blurted, “You mean you’d transfer me to the 36th? I thought I was doing a decent job…” Mike’s voice was tinged with disbelief. He wondered if this was just a ploy to get him out of the attache business. But why? He’d been doing a good job. At least he thought he was even though his heart wasn’t in flying a desk! “Now wait a minute Mike. iI wasn’t my idea to reassign you, but Alex and the head honchos in the Pentagon are worried about what’s going on. Intel can’t confirm the smoky clues they’re getting. They need a guy like you with his ears open who can convince the guys on the other side that he’s just a hot-shit fighter pilot that loves to mix with the fly-boys and can hold his own at the bar. And most importantly, can keep his mouth shut. What do you say Mike? You know I’d hate to see you go, but duty calls.” “Well, sir, I don’t know that I’m exactly the right guy for the job but I’ll do my damnedest, I think you know that” “Then you’ll go along with it?” Schulstad’s face relaxed. “I’ll let Alex know and

we’ll get the ball rolling on your orders. In the meantime, mums the word Mike. I want you to continue here, but I’ll began to lay down a smoke screen so it’ll look logical that I’ve had to transfer you out of here. Now don’t get offended if I chew you out in front of people over the next couple of weeks, I want some of them to think that I’m not too happy with you. Don’t take any of it personally my boy. It’s all part of a scene were putting together.” “Alright, sir, I’ll try to step on my tie occasionally.” Mike suppressed a chuckle, “Just to make it easy for you.” Schulstad laughed, “I know that Mike, but golly I think you’re beginning to enjoy this game! It’s going to make your life a lot more interesting, not that it hasn’t been up to now.” Schulstad’s sly smile left a lot unsaid. Mike felt drawn into this arrangement. His job as an assistant air attaché was fairly interesting for a while and he had been intrigued at first, but he was getting bored with the social and diplomatic duties. Flying a desk wasn’t very exciting. He didn’t enjoy the glad-handing and smiling. It wasn’t quite what he thought it would be. They sipped coffee and chatted for a few minutes until Schulstad glanced at his watch. He stood up abruptly. “Christ! I almost forgot, I’ve got a meeting with General Holzapple in twenty minutes!” He hurriedly scooped up a couple of folders and put them in his desk drawer, locked it and got up to leave. He looked at Mike, frowned and thrust out his lower lip. “Were on track with this thing, right?” “Yes, sir.” “And our conversation this morning never happened, right?” “Yes, sir, mums the word.” Colonel Schulstad spun the combination lock on his desk drawer. “Mind the store Mike, I should be back by 11:30 or so… but no, Holzapple probably wants to have lunch, so I’ll see you then.” He strode out the door. Mike’s entanglement with the Stasi network and his affair with Helga Gerhardt had deflated his interest in the attache job. When Schulstad unfolded the plan for his transfer to Bitburg, the anticipation of getting into a fighter outfit brightened his outlook and pushed aside doubts about being transferred out of the air attache

job. On the next day Schulstad came into his office. “Mike, we’ve got another congressional delegation coming in next week, he said.” They’re the chairs of the house and senate intelligence committees. Chancellor Adenauer is hosting a dinner for them on Saturday and we’re invited. “Must be a big event center.” “No Mike, only the Luftwaffe chief of intelligence, General Gerhardt, Alex Bauer and us. It’s all hush—hush so don’t spread the word.” “No, sir, I won’t. They must be snooping around because of the Gerhardt’s don’t you think?” “More than likely, but it’s probably a broader interest in what’s going on over here. You’re going to have to make the usual arrangements Mike and let’s let the secretaries and the motor pool civilians know that I’m pissed off at you.” He slapped Mike on the back and grinned. “You didn’t know I was an actor in college Mike, so don’t take it to heart.” Mike nodded and said, “No sir, I won’t.” Mike’s daily routine fell into a steady, predictable pattern. The days ed uneventfully. Schulstad’s office had to make the necessary preparations for the US delegation. Mike, being the junior member on the staff was saddled with the details. RSVP forms had to be to be completed. A list of attendees, their rank, security clearance, and serial numbers were needed. When he’d filled in all the details, Mike gave the papers to Colonel Schulstad for his approval. Schulstad scanned the list, frowned and looked up at Mike. “I don’t see your name on here.” “No, sir, I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be there. You’re going and I’d just as soon not get involved with all those diplomatic yo-yos.” Schulstad tossed the list on his desk and winked at Mike. He smiled, pointed to his office door, scowled and used a voice that was louder than usual. “I want you at that reception Colonel Skora and you will do as you’re told! Do you understand?” “Yes, sir, but I still don’t understand why I have to be there.” Mike smiled as he played his part in the charade. Colonel Schulstad glanced toward the open door

to the reception room where the German secretary sat. The typewriter was clicking in sporadic bursts. He turned to Mike and spoke in a loud, stern voice, “Dammit, Colonel Skora, I’m not going to say it again. YOU’RE GOING WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!” He walked to the door and closed it. He winked at Mike and said softly, “That should do it.” On Friday morning Schulstad and Mike busied themselves arranging for the US congressmen due to arrive soon. The delegation had flown into Rhine-Main Airbase and were now on helicopter en-route to Bonn. Mike was at the motor pool arranging for two staff cars to meet the delegation at the heli-pad. Schulstad came to the motor pool, winked and Mike, cleared his throat and started to berate him in front of some German employees. “Colonel Skora, how in hell do you plan to carry the VIPs, their luggage and the embassy escorts in two cars? There are six of them and they have luggage! Two cars won’t be enough! Now get on it, I don’t want any slip ups!” Mike acted chastened and said, “Yes sir!” He then changed the request from two staff cars to four. The German employees glanced at each other and went about their work pretending that they hadn’t heard the exchange. The delegation kept a low profile after they arrived. There were no media reporters nor any high ranking people to greet them. Senator Weisman and Congressman Stubblefield stayed at the embassy where their presence could be kept secret. The ing staff went to the Splendide Hotel, Alex knew the hotel staff would alert the media. On Saturday morning the entourage drove to Cologne to see the Cathedral and then along the Moselle River to see the vineyards and Bernkastel. Mike stayed in his office making sure the VIPs didn’t have any problems Colonel Schulstad came into Mike’s office at three-thirty. “How’d it go sir?” Mike asked. “Fine, fine—they enjoyed it.” He looked at his watch…“Mike, time to get out of here we’re due at Adenhauer’s house at seven o’clock. Get yourself dressed and come by my place at six or so—but not later than six-thirty.” Mike drove to his apartment, took a quick shower and donned the formal uniform required for official functions. He left for Schulstad’s apartment. When he got there, his boss met him at the door, martini in hand. “Come on in Mike. We’ve got time for one more, then we’ll go.” Mike was

surprised to see Alex sitting there drinking a martini. “I told you Alex was invited too didn’t I? I called him over so we could talk.” “Hi, Alex, that tux looks good on you.” Mike said. “Not as good as that uniform, but what the hell, I’m just a civilian.” They sat and Schulstad poured Mike’s drink, refilled Alex’s and then his own. At six-thirty Colonel Schulstad jumped up. “Ready to go Alex? Let’s go do it.” Schulstad turned to Mike. “Leave your car here Mike we’ll go in mine.” They drove to Chancellor Adenhauer’s house. Schulstad pressed the doorbell and it opened promptly. A pair of sharp-eyed young men scrutinized the three Americans. They smiled, stepped aside and ushered them in. Colonel Schulstad whispered to Mike, “They’re part of his security detail—looks like the regular house staff is off for the night.” When they entered the library they saw the Chancellor chatting with Senator Wiesman, Congressman Stubbleton and Ambassador. Doherty. The ambassador turned and quickly stepped forward to greet them. “Come in. You’ve all met the Chancellor at his reception, now I’ll introduce you to our congressmen.” Hands were shaken and Colonel Schulstad said, “Welcome to Senator. Wiesman. I haven’t seen you since, umm, when was it? Two years ago? The brouhaha over the ending of the occupation?” “Yes, Colonel it was the spring of ’54. I was on the committee that was making waves,” said Wiesman. “And now you’re the chairman! They couldn’t have picked a better man.” Senator Wiesman look pleased. His eyes darted left and right to see who else had heard the compliment. The chancellor shifted everyone’s attention when he announced, “Now gentlemen, let us sit together at the table and share a meal of fresh German trout and American steaks from your Texas.” At the table the chancellor raised his glass, “To the beginning of a long, enduring, and faithful friendship between two nations that have come to

understand each other.” Everyone raised their glasses and drank. The men serving the group were noticeably untrained in the European service culture but they were unobtrusive and efficient. Their role was apparent. Security topped elegant service. Senator Wiesman, in a firm voice, discussed the imminent congressional decision on the funding proposal for NATO forces, particularly for and Italy. “Chancellor, we have a lot of legislators that the war—some of them even served in the military. Many had sons who fought and died and Jews like me—well, I don’t need to go into details.” The table quieted down and Chancellor Adenauer said, “Yes senator, you are right. It is not easy to put a terrible past behind but what are the alternatives? The Soviets, your former allies, are now standing against you. Your government is investing enormously in military defense and racing to outpace the Soviets. We in Europe are on the front line and our solidarity with NATO unquestionably poses a threat to the Soviets. The recent surge of activity in their clandestine services is certainly an indication of our strength. I must make a point here. The individuals who have ed information to our enemy were products of East , a part of this country that has been isolated, and indoctrinated. Up to this point not one Western German has been identified as a spy.” Senator Wiesman said, “Yes Chancellor, we will examine closely the recent events and I am optimistic that I can convince my colleagues of Western ’s reliability.” Mike listened to the political game being played and felt the importance of what he’d done with Helga, and General Gerhardt. On Monday, Colonel Schulstad dictated a top secret telefax to the USAF Directorate of Intelligence of the State Department Coordinating Branch. He said, “In the interests of maintaining cooperative interactions with the US Embassy staff for Western and their Air Force committed to NATO, I recommend that Lieutenant Colonel Michael Skora be reassigned to the USAFE 36th Fighter Wing. Lieutenant Colonel Skora has displayed a strong desire to be reassigned and, in light of recent events it will be in the best interests of the USAF and our Department of State to replace him.

Although Lieutenant Colonel Skora is a good officer his failure to follow embassy protocol and his outspoken manner have not contributed adequately to our mission.” The secretarial staff now had full knowledge of Mike’s transfer away from clandestine activities. Ingrid looked at Eva with a knowing look and a suppressed smile. If their lunch time conversation could have been heard it would have pleased Schulstad and Mike to know that their little charade was swallowed ‘hook line and sinker’ . Ingrid said, “That is the way things go with these high officers. I am sure that General Gerhardt has complained to the Americans that Colonel Skora had an affair with his wife!” “Yes, I think you are right. All the crumbs will be swept from the table ‘und das ist das’.” (and that is that) The transfer affair was sure to be part of everyday conversation in the beer and wine establishments where German employees mixed. There was little doubt that the information would find its way into the Stasi files. Four days later, endorsed USAF headquarters orders were on Mike’s desk. The reporting date was two weeks later. Mike drove up to the 36th headquarters, parked and strode into Colonel Child’s office. “Hi, Mike, yes I knew you were coming. I got a copy of your orders last week— I’ll have to find you a job.” Mike’s last day at the embassy finally came. He cancelled the lease on his apartment because it included a proviso that nullified the lease if the leasee was transferred. Herr Emigholz didn’t seem annoyed by his departure and wished him well at his new assignment. The next morning Mike was awake an hour before his alarm went off. He felt as though he was on the threshold of another world, one which he wasn’t prepared to judge. There were no reference points, no similarities and the sporadically flickering scenario overwhelmed his ability to comprehend what it was that was beginning to envelop him. When Mike reported to Colonel Benny Childs, Childs was apologetic about telling Mike what his assignment was.

“Colonel Skora, I know you’re an experienced fighter pilot—you were in the same war as me. With your record I’d probably set you up to take one of the squadrons.” He looked at Mike to see his reaction. “But you’re a special case,—I don’t have to tell you that. I can’t have all of you and that’s what I want in my squadron commanders.” He looked up again, paused and said, “Sit down Mike, I’m going to give you a job that’s damned important but it’ll give you the flexibility to do the things you gotta do. We’ve got a group training officer who’s a major. He’s a good officer but doesn’t have your experience and he doesn’t always push the stuff I want done in the squadrons—you’ll be able to do that. He knows the ropes and I’ll let him know I’m not pushing him aside. How does that sound?” Mike liked the idea that Childs wanted him to get involved with the squadrons. He wasn’t being given a desk and told to stay out of the way. He began looking forward to his new duties. At least the ones on the surface. Childs went on, “I know that you ran a flight at the instrument school at Moody. With the crappy weather we’ve got here, instrument flying is the top priority for my guys. They’re doing great on the gunnery range, two of my commanders taught at Nellis, but let’s face it, fighter jocks think weather flying is for the crowd killers³¹. Here in USAFE, when we gotta go we gotta go and get back down, so you know instrument training is what we need and you’re the best officer in the group to do that. Mike met Major Brandman, a slightly older major that looked a little worn at the edges but he was bright, eager and cooperative. Mike could see why he’d had a hard time pushing the squadrons. He had no combat experience but had more flying time than most of the 36th pilots. He’d spent the war years in the training command and those guys didn’t carry much weight with fighter pilots. Within a week Mike visited the three squadrons based at Bitburg, met the commanders and talked at length with each squadron’s operations officer. They ed when Mike flew with Red Beall and was casually doing GCAs³² with the weather down to the tree tops. The word had spread that he knew what he was doing. when he flew in bad weather. When Friday came, Mike was pleased that Major Salter, the commander of the squadron he was attached to for flying, asked him to his squadron at the beer call. It was as he expected. The pilots were in sweaty flight suits, swigging beer singing and flying their watches³³. Mike felt right at home with the young flyers. Major Salter told him that one of

his pilots busted his ass a few days ago and that their beer guzzling exuberance was a little higher than usual. This was—probably because of DeShazer’s demise. Mike saw Major Brandman sitting at a table alone. He walked over and sat down on the other chair. “Mind if I you Major?” Brandman grinned and said, “No sir, not at all.” He had a glass in his hand, which was about empty. “Let me buy you a drink—what’ll you have?” Mike asked. Brandman looked at Gertie, the waitress who came over quickly. “Another double Gertie.” She smiled cheerfully, nodded to Mike and went off. Mike looked at Brandman and studied him. Brandman was a bit bleary-eyed. He must have had several of those doubles before Mike sat down. His speech was slightly slurred and Mike could see he was trying very hard to look and sound sober. “The boys are getting a little noisy tonight Major, aren’t they?” “About the same every Friday night. But what the hell, they’re all young guys you know? I was like that about ten years ago.” He took another long sip of his drink. “Ten years ago? Where were you then?” Mike asked. Brandman said, “Oh, I finished the war—had only fourteen combat missions, went home, got married and into the Training Command.” “What did you fly in the war?” “Jugs, like you, but I was in the Ninth Air Force.” I was in the Twelfth, in Italy, then , and then . I stayed in the occupation for a couple of years—you have any kids?” Brandman shook his head, “No, thank God, she divorced me four years ago— couldn’t have kids.” A bitter expression came over his face and Mike changed

the subject. “Colonel Childs thinks a lot of you Brandman—says you’re doing a good job.” “Yeah, I try Colonel, I try.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to have to leave in a bit.” “What’s up?” Mike asked. Brandman smiled and said, “I gotta pick up my Fraulein at seven.” “A steady or just a date?” “Were pretty steady. I’ve been going with her about a year—she works in the telephone office. When you make a call, she’s ‘Stardust’ on the switchboard.” Mike Brandman got up, “Night sir, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mike thought Brandman was diligent. He always worked at least until noon on Saturday even if everyone else on the staff was off. The noise in the bar gradually subsided after the wives of some of the pilots came in. There was an unwritten rule in the club that a flight suit clad gang could raise hell until seven when the ladies were welcomed. At that time, the flight suited one’s had to leave and get into their uniforms or civvies. That was the well followed dress code.

Chapter 14

STARDUST

Mike left the bar and went into the dining room for an early dinner. He was surprised, to see Brandman there with a younger, attractive woman; probably ‘Stardust’. “Want to us sir?” Mike walked to the table and Brandman said, “This is Ingrid Scharnhorst, or ‘Stardust’ on the switchboard.” Mike and Ingrid shook hands and she said, “I am pleased to meet you Colonel Skora, Philip has told me about you.” She seemed very self assured and her English was unhesitatingly clear. Mike didn’t think any more about it. Through dinner they chatted amiably. Mike noticed that Brandman seemed very attached to Ingrid. Mike asked Brandman, “Where did you meet this lovely young lady major?” Brandman said, “Of all places, in our BX. Her sister works there, in the photo section, and I was buying a Leica. Ingrid came in and her sister introduced us— that was about a year ago.” Ingrid ed in, “And here we are!” Finally Mike refused a dessert course, excused himself and left them to themselves. On Saturday morning, Mike went to his office. When he ed the air policeman who was on duty at the entrance to the headquarters building on weekends, he asked, “Anyone else upstairs sergeant.?” “Just two and you sir, Major Brandman is always here on Saturday and Major Winslow is in his office.” Mike went to his second-floor office. When he ed

Major Brandman’s office he heard, “Morning Colonel, what brings you here on Saturday?” Mike went to Brandman’s office. There were papers, manuals, and an opened map on his desk “Want a coffee, sir? I’ve got a little pot going here.” “Sure, thanks.” Mike sat down and when Brandman handed him the coffee, Mike got a whiff of alcohol on Brandman’s breath. There was also a hint of peppermint. Brandman seemed to munch lifesavers regularly and Mike wondered. “I’m not like you Major, I’m new here. I got a lot of catching up to do. What are you into?” Brandman said, “This new nuclear mission has put a load on us here at headquarters. When it was all air-to-air the squadrons did the details, the tactics and all that, but now specific targets are designated by Intel and we’ve got to do the precise flight planning that doesn’t conflict with everything in the US that starts rolling when we launch.” Major Winslow walked in carrying a rolled up map. Brandman said, “Winslow here,” he pointed his thumb, “he’s from Intel, we end up getting all the details to give Colonel Roper, then Benny’s gotta proof all of it —that keeps us busy.” Captain Winslow said, “Good morning sir,” he looked at Mike, “I assume you have a cleared for top-secret?” Mike said, “Yes, absolutely. Colonel Roper told me all this.” Brandman said, “I’ll vouch for Colonel Skora Bill. Come on in and let’s see what you’ve got.” “Brandman I don’t want to get into your hair. I’ve got some stuff I have to review before our next all ORI³⁴.” Mike walked out as Winslow unrolled the map on Brandman’s desk. He was impressed with Brandman’s involvement with the targeting system. His duties seemed to be broader than just training. Even though Colonel Childs never mentioned it, it seemed all of it was going to be part of his duties too because he was Brandman’s supervisor.

The next day when Mike walked toward his office he ed the director of operations office and Colonel Roper’s door was open. He saw Mike. “Hey Mike, come on in, I’ve got something hot that we’ve got to get into.” “Hi, Colonel, what’s up?” “17th³⁵ sent this ops order last night. It’s for the big exercise we’ve been planning for the NATO air defense outfits.” Colonel Roper handed Mike the ops order. “We’re going to do a simulated air attack on England. We’ll be the the Russian bombers. We’ll launch three squadrons, each with three flights of four. The Belgians and the Dutch are in on the exercise but they don’t know exactly when and how we’ll attack, so we’ve got to keep that T. S³ . Take a close look at it and let’s talk.” Mike’s brain spun. He darted to his office sat at his desk and zealously began to read the ops order. When he finished he went to ColonelRoper’s office waving the ops order. “They want us to match that new Russian bomber. It’ll do .89 Mach at 42,000 feet according to our intelligence.” “You’re probably right Mike. They want to see if the air defense guys can get in range before the Russian’s bombs drop. We’ve been ordered to act like those bombers. If the air defense fighters get up there with us. there’ll be no evasive action and no dogfights. Make sure our flight leaders know that. The simulated attack is serious business. It’s a big exercise and it involves all our NATO air. I’m going to call a meeting with our guys on Wednesday morning. You’ll be ready for it won’t you?” “Yes, sir.” At the meeting on Wednesday Colonel Roper briefed the squadron commanders on the exercise. He suggested that each squadron commander lead their squadrons and have their operations officers at Bitburg for the alert force and any emergencies.

Greg Salter raised his hand, “Sir, my wife is due to have our first baby. I was thinking I should be here.” “Yes, Greg, okay. We’ll figure something out. Any more questions?” The meeting broke up and Mike said, “Greg, how’s my chance to get on your schedule?” *“Oh, fine, fine, sir. Would you like to lead the squadron?” It was more than Mike had hoped. He said, “I’d love to—do you think your guys will mind?” Greg reassured him, “No, no, not at all. You’re one of us.” So it was settled and Mike left his secret life behind–at least for a while. Several days later Mike briefed the 22nd squadron for the predawn takeoff. “We’ll cruise at Mach .82 at 42,000 feet until we Luxembourg then we’ll push it up to Mach .89. That’ll give us a no-wind ground speed of about 594 knots. We shouldn’t see any of the air defense fighters until we’re approaching the channel. By then the Brits will have launched their alert forces. I’m guessing that they’ll never get into firing range until we’ve done a 180* and start back. Stay alert and take a count on what you see and when you see it. It’ll all go into our report when we get back.” The briefing ended, the aircraft took off and Mike felt like he was back in the old days. Thirty-six F-100s made up of three squadrons, each flying twelve aircraft in a line abreast formation. They were in clear air above the condensation level leaving no vapor trails but undoubtedly being tracked on the defensive radars. Soon after increasing their speed to Mach .89 as they approached the Belgian and Netherlands borders Mike spotted Dutch and Belgian aircraft that had launched to intercept the approaching F-100s. A feeling of competitive superiority welled up in Mike when, he saw the British fighters struggling to reach his altitude. When the F-100s crossed over the simulated targets and had not been intercepted by the defending aircraft, Mike announced the 180 degree turn. It was reassuring knowing that the 180—a 180 degree turn F-100s with afterburners could go faster and go high enough to reach Soviet attackers before they could strike England.

After Mike landed, Colonel Gainor, the USAF Director of Intelligence and Major Winslow reviewed Mike’s flight plan and notes he’d made during the exercise. Geographic positions, speeds, altitudes, times, and visual sightings were needed for a report Colonel Gainor prepared for NATO. The report confirmed the weakness of the Allied air defense network; the scenario was clear to Mike. The NATO community would need to accelerate the acquisition of next generation air defense fighters. As usual, when military capabilities were changed or added, the other side needed to make changes. Leading the 36th Wing in the NATO exercise made Mike feel like he was back in the saddle, a fighter pilot! And to further that feeling, Colonel Childs alerted Mike that he’d gotten wind that the USAFE ORI team was going to hit the 36th. Mike and Brandman dove into the war plans and alerted the squadrons to what was coming. The ORI started on a Sunday morning, which was typical for an ORI team, which tried to catch a unit with their pants down. Their C-54 landed and twenty-eight officers and NCOs scattered to their preplanned positions. Operations officers went to squadron flight lines, weapons specialists, engineering officers, communications, intelligence, and other inspectors spread throughout the wing. When the aircraft were launching during the ORI Mike was in the base control tower. He casually turned the high-powered binoculars toward the approach end of the runway. As he had expected, he saw a Volkswagen parked on the narrow road close to the fenced in area. There were two men in the car and it looked like they were holding either cameras or binoculars pointed at the aircraft as they turned onto the runway. That figures, they’re checking the tail numbers and what else? I wonder if they know were exercising the war plan? Mike thought. I should Alex Bauer and tell him what was going on, but he probably knew. He seemed to know everything. Hypothetical messages put the 36th’s war plan into action. As time ticked on alert aircraft were scrambled. Other aircraft were loaded with weapons and dispersed. Hospital personnel prepared for casualties and demonstrated details of the war plan were while the ORI team evaluated them. For three days they worked tirelessly looking for weaknesses in the 36th’s

readiness for combat. At the end of the third day they finished. A report by the team’s leader, Colonel Revisky, was scheduled for ten o’clock. General Holzapple, the USAFE Director of Operations flew in from Wiesbaden. for the briefing. On Wednesday at ten o’clock sharp, the briefing began in the wing conference room. All squadron commanders and their operations officers sat along the wall and the wing staff sat at the conference table. The team had prepared a lengthy chart showing a timeline starting at zero hour, used to mark the beginning of the war, continuing until zero + forty-eight hours, the end of the simulated war. In the ORI report briefing, all comments made by Colonel Revisky were favorable. There was a palpable lessening of tension in the 36th Wing’s officers. The briefing finished with a final assessment that the Wing was fully combat ready. General Holzapple, was there to the team in case of a negative report. Often, failing an ORI resulted in a wing commander being relieved, reducing their chance to be promoted; very important for a career officer. After the team left, Colonel Childs thanked his staff and squadrons for their effort. It made him look good and he knew it! Later that afternoon, Colonel Flynn came into Mike’s office and said, “Mike, our guys did great didn’t they?” Mike nodded. Flynn went on, “And they were really impressed with those pilots that scored direct hits in the over-the-shoulder delivery. They said they had never seen that done before.” Mike said, “I won’t take credit for that. Greg Salter ran his pilots through the wringer practicing that maneuver. It was the 22nd squadron pilots that got those scores.” Colonel Flynn smiled and said, “But you’ve been hustling too. You and Brandman are a big part.” Mike was happy and relieved. His job became routine. Everything fell into place as it should in any well-trained, disciplined flying organization. Mike’s experience gave him the insight to predict what might blossom on the next day. He had no need to reinvent the wheel. This outfit rolled along on a predetermined track. The rules were clear, but his clandestine duties were the direct opposite. There were many unknowns.

That Friday night the club vibrated with the testosterone based energy that pulsed through all the pilots. The loud singing, drinking and bar games capped the day for Mike. He went to his room and turned off the light. His mind was clear, he erased the blackboard, his dual roles shifted into balance and he fell asleep. On Saturday morning Mike went to his office at ten-thirty to catch up on what he’d left undone during the ORI. Major Brandman’s door was open, and he was reviewing the ORI report. Mike dropped in for a coffee and again noticed a distinct smell of alcohol on Brandman’s breath. He wondered if Childs was aware of it and decided he probably was and that’s why he kept Brandman on the wing staff. Mike said, “What a relief to get that one behind us right Phil?” Brandman popped a lifesaver into his mouth. “Yes sir—those guys were tough,” he smirked, “but we were tougher…Oh, I almost forgot, you had a phone call from the American Airline’s office in Frankfurt. I left their number on your desk.” Mike knew it was a message from Christine. He was anxious to get the details as he hadn’t seen Christine for quite a few weeks. He picked up his coffee and said, “Thanks, I’ll see you later.” Mike saw Brandman’s note and called the number. When the airline office answered he said, “This is Colonel Skora, do you have a message for me?” Yes, sir, just a moment,” there was a brief pause, “yes sir, Ms. Haraldsted wants you to know that she’ll be at Rhine-Main on the twenty-seventh and the twentyeighth.” “Is that all?” Mike asked. “Yes, sir, I assume it’ll be the usual arrival on the morning of the twentyseventh.” “Thank you; I’ve got it.” He hung up and looked at the calendar. The twentyseventh was next Friday! Mike’s mind spun, Friday, he could skip out that afternoon and see her on Friday night and maybe Saturday night too! They’d never had two days together. The following week he dropped into Red Beall’s office in base operations.

“Are your T-birds³⁷ going to be busy next weekend?” Beall looked at his schedule board and said, “Christopoulos is taking one on Saturday morning to Madrid, do you need one?” Mike said, “If I could, I’d like to take one for a short hop to Rhein-Main and come back on Sunday.” Beall said, “Okay, then I’ll schedule one for Saturday morning.” “Could I take off on Friday after five o’clock?” “Sure,” he erased ‘Saturday’ and scribbled in ‘Friday’ 17:00, ‘Colonel Skora’. A few days later, Mike mentioned his planned weekend flight to Colonel Childs and was relieved he didn’t seem concerned. On Friday, Mike called Christine. He noticed that the operator’s voice wasn’t ‘Stardust’s, but he was connected to the airline suite. Christine answered the phone. “I’ll be here till Sunday Mike. Oh, that’s great, we can do something on Saturday. Yes, come on over after you land. I’ll wait for you downstairs in the bar…Bye-bye.” Mike landed at Rhein-Main at six-forty-five, He walked into the Air Force Operations building, called Christine and told here he’d be there in fifteen minutes. Mike walked to the airline terminal to catch a taxi to The Post Hotel. The terminal was bustling with activity with people coming and going. He was thinking about. Christine while he wove his way through the crowd. ing an arrival gate, he glanced at an attractive young woman who seemed to be waiting for someone. He looked again, because she looked familiar. Yes, it was Ingrid Scharnhorst! He was about to walk to her to say when the arrivals streamed out and she waved to someone. It was an army officer; a colonel! They embraced and headed to the baggage claim area, arm in arm. Mike wondered; what the hell is Brandman’s lady friend doing here? And who in the hell is that colonel? He tucked all that behind until he could figure it out after he talked with Brandman. Mike took a short taxi ride to the hotel, trotted to the door and whirled in. Christine saw him striding through the revolving door, took a deep sip of her

drink and thought, right on time! “You’re right on time Mike, what will you have? “Well the first thing I’ll have is a double Lagavulin and a splash, then… we’ll think of something.” “Dinner first or later?” Mike said, “Later. I’m hungry but that can wait a while. How about you?” “Same for me. I could eat but I’d rather wait.” Christine ordered Mike a drink and another bourbon and soda for herself. Mike took a big gulp of the smoky Lagavulin scotch and asked her, “How’s life been going for you Christine?” “Same old stuff Mike, going back and forth. I’m home for a while, and happily, now, I’m here. I’ve been thinking about you.” “That’s nice, I hope you’ve been thinking what I’ve been thinking.” Christine’s eyebrows raised and she said, “You’re a naughty boy Mike, you guessed what I’ve been thinking.” Mike loved that about Christine; she was so straightforward and guileless. He drank the scotch a bit faster than usual, put the glass down and said, “I’m ready whenever you are Christine.” She lifted her glass to her lips, “Mm-hmm,” swallowed, put her glass down, then said, “I’m ready too.” They left the bar and walked to the elevator. “Anyone in the suite tonight?” Mike asked. “No, we’ve got it all to ourselves. Good, huh?” “Yup.” Mike pulled her to him and kissed her lightly. She unlocked the door to the room, turned on a light, and said, “Here we are.” Mike put down his bag, Christine said, “Look what I’ve got for you, Mike!” She was holding four small bottles of Lagavulin, “I took them from the airplane’s bar, you like?” “Very thoughtful. I’ll have just one, then we’ll see.” She poured the scotch over

ice cubes and splashed in some water, did the same with bourbon and soda for herself. Christine turned on some music, handed Mike his drink and sat close to him on the sofa. There wasn’t too much time wasted. They weren’t hurrying nor were they in a frenzy. They knew exactly what to expect and confidently took all the right steps. Clothes weren’t strewn around, but taken off smoothly, each helping the other. It wasn’t long after that Christine said softly, “Oh God, that feels good.” Mike couldn’t talk but he liked her voice and every now and then she’d say things that made Mike want to please her. Gradually the introduction to the evening’s activities subsided. Christine kissed Mike and then said, “Thanks Mike, shall we go eat?” Mike swung his feet to the floor and they both dressed. Christine said, “I know a nice restaurant not too far from here—it’s Italian. You up for that?” “Sounds good, let’s go.” Mike hailed a taxi and in less than ten minutes, they stopped in front of ‘Buono Mangia.’ Mike said, “Good Eats, that’s a good name for an Italian t.” “I thought you’d like it.” It was a warm, cheerful interior. They sat down and looked at the menu. Mike signaled a waiter, ordered a bottle of Italian Barolo wine. When the wine came, Mike said, “I hope you’ll like this—it’s the king of wines.” Christine sipped hers and said, “Mm—you know your wines Mike, this is good.” They drank the bottle of wine with dinner. Mike didn’t know much about Christine. He asked her some mundane questions to keep the conversation going while he thought about what he would tell her about his clandestine activities. He sipped his wine and asked, “Christine, what was your maiden name?” “That’s what it is, Harelsted, I don’t use my married name which is Kennison. No point involving my family in what I do with the airline. “That’s interesting, so you’re Danish extraction?” “Yes, my parents moved to Canada right after World War I, got married, and here I am.” “Any siblings?”

“Yes, one—a sister. She lives in Vancouver, and she’s younger than me—you’d like her.” “You don’t tell her about me, do you?” “Oh, no, not my family, nor my sister, and not my fellow employees. Besides, what could I tell them? I don’t know much about you Mike except what we do together” Mike’s brain whirled. He wanted to tell her something about what he did but a world war two poster came to mind, “Loose Lips Sink Ships.” Christine’s eyebrows raised and Mike went on. ““Did I ever mention Helga Gerhardt to you?” “No. Who is Helga?” “She’s a Luftwaffe generals wife—his second wife. His first wife was killed in the Dresden air raid. In recent years he married quite a young woman from East . She’s a ballet dancer and very attractive. Being an Air Attache requires that I mix with Germans.” Christine said, “Uh-oh! I can see this coming.” Mike quickly added, “So yes, we danced, and she came on to me.” Christine chuckled. “She got you horny did she Mike?” “You could say that. We men are suckers for a come on. She began asking me questions about what I did at Bitburg. That’s the base where I do my flying. I got suspicious and reported her to intelligence guys, and when they caught her ing classified information to a Stasi agent and accused her, she skipped back to East . I shouldn’t have told you all this Christine, so you’re never to tell anyone else.” “Yes, it’s an interesting story and, I’m not telling anyone about it even if I wanted to—how could I? What we do is very private. That sounds like the way you and I got together.” Christine had a mischievous look on her face. “No, Christine, it wasn’t me that started it with Helga. And it was you who made

the first in the terminal.” She nodded, “But I have to it that when I was attaching your seatbelt that time, I could feel your hard-on!” She laughed. “I thought so. That’s what attracted me to you.” “And as you said, here we are’.” “Well Christine, I’ve got my butt up to the ass with snakes.” “Do you want to tell me about it?” “This won’t be as smooth as the Helga deal as it might involve Americans. I’m finding it hard to believe that some of us might be telling the Russkies too much.” “Wow, you’ve gotten into something haven’t you?” “I’m not sure, and that’s what bothers me.” “Mike, you don’t have to give me all the details, I catch on pretty quick, and you know you can trust me.” “I wouldn’t be talking like this if I didn’t—thanks Chris. Well, I’ve got this Air Force job on the wing staff. I’ve got a good officer, a Major, who’s doing a lot of my work. This guy is a divorcee, and he’s got a steady girlfriend—a German national, who’s our switchboard operator. He seems to be an alcoholic, I’m not certain, but he smells of booze in the morning. Up to this point, I didn’t have any suspicions, but when I walked through the Rhine-Main Terminal I saw his girlfriend, Ingrid, meet an Army Colonel. He greeted her like she was his girlfriend, so I’m wondering.” “Tough one Mike, could you think that way about me and you? It sounds like you’ve got some digging to do.” Her comments made Mike relax. He cautioned himself to not jump to any conclusions about Brandman—and Ingrid, and decided not to go any further. He signaled the waiter, paid his check, and they stepped out into a taxi.

“What’ll we do tomorrow, Mike? How about a boat ride up the Main?” “Why not on the Rhine River?” “It’s all industrial scenery there. Mike. Frankfurt is really on the Main river and upstream it’s a more attractive countryside. We can take a short cruise up and back and have an early dinner and be back here early in the evening.” “Sounds good, let’s do it.” “And we can do it before and…after?” Mike laughed and said, “That’s what I love about you Christine. You read my mind!” They went to their room and had dessert—if you want to call it that. Early the next morning the phone rang, Mike heard Christine talking. “Thank you…yes, I’ll be there.” Mike rolled over and asked, “What time is it?” “It’s only eight-thirty. The airline needs me a little earlier on Sunday. I have to be there at seven so we’ll hit the sack early tonight okay?” Mike smiled slyly, his eyebrows raised and he said, “You know me, Christine, early to bed and early to rise.” Christine smiled and said, “I like it when you rise early.” After a light breakfast, they took a taxi to the riverboat dock on the Main river, boarded the two-fifteen boat and were on their way. The cruise was scenic and pleasant. Most of the engers were military families with children who scampered about from one side of the craft to the other. At Gerbermule they reversed direction and had a small dinner with a bottle of chilled Rhine wine. After they docked they drove back to the hotel. It was only seven o’clock, so Mike suggested a stop in the bar. Christine said, “One or two and then we’ll go up okay? I’ve got to get up early.” They sat at a small table near the door and ordered drinks. Mike glanced into the lobby and saw something. “Jesus! There goes that Army Colonel. Where the hell is he going? Stay here Christine, I’m going to follow him.” Mike darted out,

hailed a taxi and followed the Colonel’s cab. It didn’t go far, just to the terminal. Mike wondered if he was taking another flight but he wasn’t carrying his briefcase or his suitcase. Mike followed him into the terminal and then into a pharmacy. The colonel went to the counter and seemed to drop off a note. He waited a few minutes then the druggist handed him a small bag, probably a prescription. The colonel walked out and stepped into the cab he had waiting. Mike hadn’t kept his cab and wasn’t able to follow the colonel. Damn, he said to himself, where in the dhell is he going? Mike went back to the hotel and sat with Christine. “That guy went to a drugstore, picked up something—maybe a prescription, and he left. I couldn’t follow him because he had his cab waiting.” Christine said, “I’ve been looking at the front door waiting for you and he came in just before you and went to the elevator.” Mike was baffled. Was Ingrid in the colonel’s room? He knew he had to tell all this to Alex as soon as possible. Christine and Mike went to the suite and eventually went to sleep. The phone rang at six o’clock. It was a wake-up call for Christine. Mike yawned, “I might as well get going too. I don’t like being here without you and there’s stuff I can do at Bitburg.” Christine kissed him and went into the bathroom. Shortly after they left together. Christine said, “I’ll try to let you know my schedule, Mike, for next time.” Mike filed a flight plan in the Air Force Operations office, then took off for Bitburg. It was a short distance, so Mike made several touch and go landings to burn fuel. He landed and drove to the BOQ. Later that day he called Alex Bauer and told him he’d like to drive to Bonn that afternoon to say hello. Alex agreed to meet at the Wald café at three o’clock. It was a short, fast drive from Bitburg to Bonn and Mike got there ten minutes early. Alex wasn’t there yet so Mike ordered an apple strudel and coffee. A few minutes later Alex came in, sat, and asked “What’s up Mike?” His eyes scanned the café, and he slid his chair closer. Mike told him about Ingrid Scharnhorst, Alex said he’d get the FRG intelligence people to give him a rundown on her. When Mike mentioned the Army Colonel, Alex’s eyes squinted with interest. He asked Mike what time he saw the Colonel, what airline he arrived on, what he looked like, and other details.

Mike described the Colonel and said he carried a briefcase but then he went on, “Alex it was strange. Christine and I were in the Post Hotel bar on Saturday night at about seven-thirty and I saw that colonel ing. I followed him to the terminal, he went into a pharmacy, talked to a pharmacist, picked up something and came back to the hotel.” Alex listened intently nodding his head. “And was he carrying his briefcase?” “No. I noticed only a small package. It could have been a prescription.” Alex nodded, “Something interesting is going on here Mike. I’ll look into it and call you.” Mike went back to Bitburg, had dinner at the club and was in bed at eleven PM. On Monday when he went to his office his inner self shifted to how it was during the Nato attack exercise and the ORI. When he saw Brandman at his desk with both reports, Mike became suspicious. Was Brandman perusing them to have something to share with Ingrid, or was it what it looked like, an efficient subordinate reviewing documents before giving them to a higher authority? Mike’s mind kept searching for any connection that didn’t belong there. For the next couple of days, Mike arranged his schedule to include lunch with Brandman. He couldn’t make his prying visible, but Brandman never showed even a hint of any devious scheming. The only item of interest surfaced when Mike asked Brandman what was planned for the weekend. He said, “Ingrid and I are going to Bernkastel for dinner tomorrow night. She’s got to revisit her mother again on Saturday night so I’ll be at the club. How about you? “Colonel Childs wants to do a little skeet shooting on Saturday, so I’ll go and let him beat me.” Mike said jokingly. “Just don’t stand in front of him, sir. He’s a pretty wild shooter.” They finished lunch and drove back to their offices. On Thursday night while Mike was reading in bed, the the phone rang. “Colonel Skora.”

“Hello Mike, this is Alex. Can you meet me at the Bitburg Bahnhof tomorrow at ten o’clock?” “Yes, sure Alex, I’ll see you there.” He hung up the phone knowing that Alex would not make any idle chatter. Mike guessed Alex had some Intel to share or he wouldn’t have called him. The next morning at nine-forty-five Mike took two rolls of thirty-five mm film off his desk. As he walked by Major Brandman’s office he said, “I’m going to town, Phil. I’ve been wanting to get these films processed. I’ll see you for lunch, okay?” “Yes, sir, I’ll wait here for you.” Mike got to the Bahnhof at nine-fifty-five just as a train pulled to a stop and a few engers stepped off. Mike smiled knowing that Alex timed this meeting with the train’s arrival to make their meeting less obvious. He strode down the platform and saw Alex sitting against the building. Mike ed him. Neither of them said anything. The engers went their way, and Alex watched them through his dark glasses. Without looking at Mike he said, “Got some info from the FRG’s Intel people. They said that Ingrid Scharnhorst does not have a mother in Hanau, and she lives in Berlin. As for the American colonel, he’s a 1938 graduate of West Point. He’s quite a drinker, and works in the war planning directorate of the 7th Army headquarters staff. We have a secretary that works there. She got that job because we trained her and she had a top-secret clearance while she worked in the Pentagon. “He graduated from West Point and he’s only a bird colonel?” Mike asked. “That’s right Mike, Colonel Twible is no mover and shaker. General Hodas, the 7th Army commander was a classmate and he’s got three stars. There are several others in his class that are major generals—probably that’s why he drinks so much, and, he’s married, and has three kids, so we’re looking a little deeper into his activities and his involvement with Ingrid Scharnhorst.” Mike’s brain whirled. “Alex, she’s starting to look like she’s part of the problem. Major Brandman said she’s going to visit her mother on Saturday night. She is certainly not going to Berlin and then coming back on Sunday. She’s doing something else. That’s all I got so far. Can you guys smoke out if she’s got any connections to the Stasi?”

Alex nodded, “You bet, that’s logical. I should learn a lot more in a few days— I’ll call you.” Alex got up and walked to his car. Mike sat for a while, waiting until Alex drove away then he took the films from his pocket and headed to the photoshop. On the way back to his office Mike pondered how he’d fine tune what he knew about Brandman and Ingrid without raising their suspicions; particularly Ingrid’s as she was likely a clandestine operative. He thought that Brandman might be no more than a gullible dupe in love with a beautiful, seductive young woman. At least that’s what Mike wanted to believe. He walked by Brandman’s office and said, “I’m back, Phil, give me a call when you’re ready for lunch.” Brandman looked up, “How about fifteen or twenty minutes? I want to finish this ORI report.” “Fine Phil, give me a yell when you’re ready.” Mike sat behind his desk and decided he’d go over his draft copy of the ORI report. A short time later Brandman knocked on his open door, “I’m ready to go to lunch sir, whenever you are.” Mike looked up, and put the classified report in his file cabinet and locked it. “Let’s go for lunch.” They drove to the club in Mike’s car. “Nice wheels, sir. I’ve always wanted one of these.” “Yeah, Phil, it’s a great car—goes like hell.” “I know, I’ve seen them at the Nürburgring*” “I heard some of Salter’s pilots talking about that, Phil, where is it?” “It’s only about sixty miles from here. It’s just a little west of Cologne. The ring is thirteen miles long with lots of curves. It’s a great circuit. You can drive it you know, whenever there’s no race on it.” Mike said, “I’d like to give it a go and floorboard this car.” Friday night was a respite for Mike. Brandman and Ingrid were in Bernkastel, so

he went to the ‘O’ club. Surrounded by the beer guzzling pilots at the bar Mike pushed aside the clandestine part of his job. Now he could be just a flying office, nothing else. Major Salter, a beer in his hand, walked over to where Mike stood at the bar. “Haven’t seen you for a while, Colonel, been busy?” “Yeah, last week was a killer after that exercise we flew in, then the ORI and then all the paperwork. Are you guys flying tomorrow? I’d like to get a flight.” Salter shook his head. “No were going easy after all that,” he chuckled, “but tomorrow a couple of the guys are going up to the Nurburgring. I don’t know why the hell I’m going in my Rambler, but it’ll be fun.” “I was talking about that with Major Brandman. He said you guys go there every now and then. I’d sure like to go and open up my one-fifty. “If you want to come we’re meeting at the ops at nine tomorrow. You can follow us.” Mike had never pushed his gull-wing Mercedes over a hundred miles per hour. Now he had a chance to drive on a racetrack. That night he had a hard time falling asleep. He couldn’t wait for the alarm to sound at eight o’clock. When he got to the 22nd squadron operations building there was a Jaguar, a Triumph, two Austin Healey’s and Salter’s Rambler station wagon parked. Salter said, “Morning, sir. We’re all here, so let’s go.” Mike followed the last car on the narrow winding road to the Nurburgring. At the entrance gate, each driver paid one Deutsche mark for a round on the track. Salter pulled over and the others lined up abreast. Mike stopped behind Salter’s car. Salter yelled, “I’ve got a three minute handicap, guys, and the loser pays for lunch. Are you ready?” They revved their engines. Salter ripped off, and the three other cars roared off behind him. Mike accelerated and soon ed Salter. In the first turn he was able to hold eighty miles an hour on the banked turn. In the short straight away, he’d gunned it to a hundred-thirty MPH and ed the two Healeys and was holding his own behind the Jaguar. After three turns, Mike got confident knowing the banked track could hold more speed. On each turn he added about ten miles an hour to his speed. On the straight sections he now

accelerated to a hundred-forty MPH and ed the Jaguar. He then enjoyed the lead, for the rest of the course. When he crossed the finish line he checked the clock he’d set. Just a shade under eight minutes, jeez! I was averaging about one hundred miles per hour!: he said to himself. The Jaguar was fairly close behind him, but Mike finished first. When Salter came into view, the others laughed. He stepped out of the Rambler and looked at his watch. “Let’s see, eleven minutes and thirty seconds and I’m deducting my three minute handicap, which makes it eight minutes and thirty seconds. Anybody faster than that?” The Jaguar driver, Captain Tucker, said, “I wasn’t first, the Colonel beat me, but I got eight minutes and twenty seconds, sir.” The last car, a Triumph driven by Bill Stair was the loser, and a free lunch followed. On Monday Mike asked Brandman how his dinner was in Bernkastle, then told him about the Nurburgring. During lunch Brandman mentioned that Ingrid’s mother wasn’t doing too well and that she’d have to visit her more often. He seemed a bit put off because he’d offered to drive her there on the weekend, but she just wouldn’t let him. Mike tried to reassure Brandman by saying she was being very thoughtful of him even though he knew she was up to something and he couldn’t tell him. Brandman said, “Yeah, she’s awfully considerate of me—that’s why I like her so much.” If he only knew, Mike thought. Mike waited a few days then called Alex on Thursday night just before he went to bed. “Hi Alex, this is Mike. I wonder if you’d be interested in a car race at the Nurburgring on Saturday.” “Sounds interesting, tell me more.” “Well, my car with me will be there at ten-thirty Ever since I bought that onefifty I’ve been interested in seeing the Mercedes team race their cars, so you’ll find me somewhere close to the Mercedes pit. I was there last week, Alex, and drove the ring with a few of the pilots, and beat them all.”

“I’d like to see that car of yours,. so I’ll see you there.” They carefully avoided any reference to the real purpose of their get-together. Alex could read between the lines. He had something to tell Mike, and this was a good way to connect with him. On Friday Mike casually mentioned to Brandman that he was going to see a race at the Nurburgring and wouldn’t be in the office on Saturday morning. Brandman said, “Good idea, I’ll ask Ingrid to go, and maybe we’ll see you there.” Whoops! Mike didn’t want that. He didn’t want Ingrid to see him with Alex. His brain spun to find a way to squelch that possibility. While he was thinking, he shuffled through his inbox and picked up an operational order from USAFE headquarters. It referred to a top-secret message that had come in the previous week. It requested the 36th confirm that the 36th added the five new targets to the war plan. That’s it! Mike said to himself. He went to Benny Childs’ office with the message in his hand. “Sir, I think we’d better check out those new targets USAFE sent us. They want us to confirm that we’ve integrated them into our war plan.” Childs looked at Mike quizzically. “Didn’t you do that last week?” “Yes, sir, but before you sign off that we’ve complied, I think we should go over it again. We should do that ASAP and answer them,” he waved the ops order, “on Monday.” Childs nodded and said, “Fine, check it out and I’ll sign the confirmation.” “Yes, sir.” Mike walked out with what he needed, an excuse to keep Brandman at his desk on Saturday, and not at the Nurburgring. He walked back to Brandman’s office and said, “Shit!, Benny wants me to go over those new targets before he signs off on the confirmation message.” “Aw, Colonel, you don’t have to do that. Go to the Ring. I’ll dig in tomorrow and check it all out.” Mike said, “Gee, Phil, that’s awfully good of you. That’s one I owe you, thanks.” And that’s the way the day ended. Mike looked forward to seeing Alex on Saturday with no complications.

Mike roared off on Saturday morning, heading for the Nürburgring. It took him less than an hour to get there. He found the Mercedes team’s pit and parked nearby. The team’s crew was fine-tuning the three cars that would compete at eleven o’clock. One of the cars was the same model as Mike’s, a gull-wing onefifty but it had different tires, and when they revved the engine, Mike thought it sounded higher pitched. He finally saw Alex walking casually with a camera hung over his shoulder. Mike waved at him, and Alex strolled over. “Are they going to run that one-fifty today?” he asked. “It sure looks like it, but I’m sure it’ll go a hell of a lot faster than I did up here last week.” Alex grinned and said, “I thought you said you beat those guys—even the Jag.” “Look at those tires, Alex, they’re made for fast, screaming turns and their drivers—well, they’re pros, not like me.” Alex scanned the people within sight and in a lowered voice said, “I’ve got some more info about that colonel, and the FRG has given me a lot about Ingrid. Let’s walk around, and I’ll tell you.” As they strolled, Alex snapped a few pictures, which was probably a way for him to spot anyone tailing him. “Well Mike, your colonel was at a meeting in the Pentagon. They were going over the 7th Army’s order of battle along with the other NATO forces, so whatever he had in that briefcase was probably wanted by the Soviets. As for Ingrid, she’s quite interesting. Herr Gundt the bookmaker?” Mike nodded and Alex went on, “The FRG guys have been keeping an eye on Gundt after that Helga Gerhardt debacle. Well, on Saturday morning they spotted Gundt meeting Ingrid in a little town east of here called Bingen Am Rhein. Evidently, they saw her give him an envelope. She left him and drove to Frankfurt to the same hotel she stayed in when you saw her. Now guess what, she met one of the Russian Embassy guys there. She stayed the night and then drove back to Bitburg. “Is she connected with the Stasi and the Soviets too?” “It looks that way. All we know for sure is she ed a paper to Gundt, but we

don’t know what she gave the Russian. Gundt then relayed the paper to a Stasi guy that we follow.” “Alex, whatever is going on doesn’t look good. She is sure getting some highlevel info from the colonel. That’s what I think brought the Russkies into it. As for the Stasi connections, my guess is that it’s got more to do with the NATO air forces—mostly ours and the Luftwaffe.” Alex nodded, “You’re making a good guess Mike. Keep your eyes on her and Brandman. I’ll work with the FRG Intel guys and our network. I’ll have Colonel Shultstad get in touch with you when I learn more. As for you, if you get something big call him and arrange a social visit—I’ll get the message.” Alex turned and walked away. Mike heard the roar of the cars and turned to watch them. The one-fifty was close behind another Mercedes and looked like it was holding its own. When the race ended the gull-winged Mercedes finished in second place. It was outclassed by a new model not yet available. Mike left the Ring feeling he had the hottest car. The drive south to Bitburg gave Mike an undisturbed hour to think of the complications centered around Ingrid. The two incidents, with different players, suggested that it was possible that she gave Gundt and the Russian different pieces of information. Mike felt a bit of empathy for Brandman He didn’t think Brandman was a collaborator to her undercover acts, only an unwitting dupe. As for the Army Colonel Twible, maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but he didn’t know. The colonel was a key player in this plot but yet unknown. One thing was certain; the FRG had seen Ingrid and had her pegged as a covert agent. Mike thought: But why did the colonel leave Ingrid at the hotel and go to the pharmacy? And he wasn’t carrying his briefcase. It more than likely had classified documents from the meeting at army headquarters in the Pentagon. That’s it! She wanted access to those papers, and she sent him to the pharmacy for a prescription! But how in the hell can I prove that? I better talk to Alex. Mike checked the time. It was one-thirty. When he saw the road sign ‘Zell’, he turned toward small town. Zell is on bend of the Moselle river that turned on itself leaving a peninsula that narrowed at one end, making it almost an island. The landscaped terrain around both banks of the Moselle was covered in sloping

vineyards gathering sun for the grapes used to make the regional wines. He stopped at a wine stube and ordered the local Moselle. He knew the locals kept the best for themselves. He sipped the wine, ordered Viener Schnitzel and let his mind wander. He kept asking himself how he got mixed up with this job. He thought about Rachel but quickly pushed her out of his mind. Thinking back on the year he spent at The Command and Staff College; he ed the never ending lectures by an assortment of experts. He rarely listened to experts because he thought that the ones who talked about it had never done it. His outlook softened a little because he knew they all weren’t like that. He thought about the thesis he wrote at the CSC. He had questioned the foreign policy that led to the re-formation of the Luftwaffe manned by former adversaries. He now realized that the new Luftwaffe had changed. He felt guilty for his earlier suspicions of General Gerhardt. He too was only a dupe in love with a Stasi agent. He thought: What is it with these women? Are they all two faced? But he erased that thought when he ed Christine. She wasn’t like them. He left the picturesque village and as he zipped along, he focused on the 36th Fighter Group and what he had to do. Mike spent the weekend trying to unsnarl the threads that Ingrid revealed. He wondered if she could have done what Helga did with General Gerhardt’s papers. And what about her meeting with Herr Gundt? It all swirled in his mind. He went to the ‘O’ club, and took a seat at a small table in the corner. Gertie glided up to him, her face a bright smile, “Colonel Skora, what would you like?” “Scotch Gertie, in a tall glass—lots of ice.” Mike ruminated as he drank, and one drink led to another, then another. Finally, he said to himself, I hate to do it but I’ve got to get with Alex. I’ll drive up to Bonn tomorrow if I can make with him. Mike went to his room and called Alex. “Did you enjoy the race yesterday Alex?” “Yeah, it was exciting. Do you want to talk about it?” “Yes, Alex, I’d like your opinion of that Mercedes one-fifty.” “Fine, let’s have lunch at the Wald, say one o’clock?” “Fine, Alex. See you tomorrow.”

Mike stopped at the Wald café, parked and walked in. Alex sat in a corner. He looked up, nodded, and Mike ed him. “What’s up, Mike? You must have something to say.” “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, and I have a vague idea what might be happening, and, what we might do, but you’re more of an expert in this so I’ll feel better if you’ll back up what I’m thinking.” Alex smiled. “Mike, come on, you’re pretty good at this. You sure found out who Helga Gerhardt really was.” “Yes, but Ingrid is different.” “Because you aren’t screwing her?” Mike blushed, “No, no, it’s just that I don’t know her.” Alex said, “Ingrid is a two-headed snake. She’s got a Stasi that she meets, and she’s had with one of the Russkies from that embassy—a guy that we’ve been watching. We don’t know what she’s feeding him because were not inside the Russkie KGB. At least not as far as I see. Maybe the head shed³⁸ knows something but it’ll take awhile for me to find out.” As Mike listened, the dark complexity of the secret world was getting to be heavy stuff he thought. “Alex, let’s assume Ingrid got access to whatever the colonel had in that briefcase. Wouldn’t she have left fingerprints like Helga when she got into General Gerhardt. Alex nodded, “Mm,—yes, that’s a good way to go. Our gal at the headquarters knows how to find fingerprints. I’ll see if she can get into the colonel’s files. In the meantime Mike, see if you can get Ingrid’s prints on a glass and we’ll see if they match. Mike said, “I hope our Army guys are aware of what’s going on Alex. Does Colonel Cabel at the embassy get any of this info? He must, can you tell me about it?” “Yeah, Mike, he’s like you, but ground forces’ issues are in his ball park. I work with him too, but I’m the only one at the embassy that works for the company. I

opened Cabel’s eyes when I told him about our colonel.” “Is there anything you can tell me to do?” “Don’t worry about that Colonel anymore. Colonel Cabel’s got it. He’s got s at 7th Army, so the ball’s in his court. I know you won’t drop your ball, Mike. Whatever Ingrid is up to, you’ll probably know before I know it. Just watch Ingrid and Major Brandman, and don’t forget Ingrid’s prints, and finally, don’t touch her glass.” “I won’t touch it—I’ll wrap it in a sock.” “Yeah, that’s good.” “It’ll probably take a week to get her prints. Brandman usually has dinner with her at the club on Friday. I’ll them and get her water glass.” “Call me when you get it—just say you got the photos. I’ll have to deliver it to Heidelberg. We can meet somewhere, okay?” “Fine, I’ll deliver the ‘photos’ wherever you are, so let me know.” With that, Mike’s visit with Alex ended, and he left for Bitburg. During the following week, Mike lunched with Brandman almost every day being careful not to rouse Brandman’s curiosity about his interest in Ingrid. After flying with the 22nd squadron on Wednesday, Mike wondered if Phil would bring Ingrid to the club on Friday. He hoped to learn more about her activities. Thursday morning he strolled into Brandman’s office. “Hey, Phil, are you going to the club Friday night? Major Salter said his squadron is running a casino night and I like to shoot the dice.” “Yes, I was planning to go but Ingrid said she’d like to go to Trier. There’s a really good restaurant there, and I’m not to sure she’s comfortable at the club.” “I don’t know why—she’s attractive, intelligent and personable. Why don’t we have dinner together, on me, then we can go to the crap table.” “That sounds good to me too sir; I’ll call her and let you know this afternoon, okay?”

“Great, Phil, has she ever seen a crap game?” “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s popular here in . That might get her interested.” That afternoon Brandman said they would meet Mike for dinner at the club and Mike’s tension eased. On Friday after work, Mike went to his room, selected a thin flexible sock, and started to think how he could get Ingrid’s glass without her or anybody seeing him pull the sock over it. He wondered if it could fit in a pocket, but he got an idea. I’ll bring my camera bag! I’ll tell them I want to take a few pictures of the guys at the craps table and then I can stash the glass in the bag! At seven o’clock Mike sat at a table sipping a martini. Moments later Brandman and Ingrid walked in and ed him. When a waitress came to the table, they ordered drinks. Mike said, “Can you bring us some water, too? And I’ll have another martini.” The waitress returned, set three glasses on the table and left a small pitcher of water. Mike relaxed now, sipped his martini and made idle conversation. “Ingrid, I can barely hear any accent when you speak English. Where did you learn it?” “Oh, in school. Most German children after the war, are learning English. My sister and I had four years at Oberschule. That’s why we got work here at the airbase.” During dinner, Brandman ordered a bottle of Moselle wine. Mike saw Ingrid fill her water glass. She held it in one hand, the pitcher in the other. Mike sat there hoping the waitress wouldn’t pick up Ingrid’s glass to refill it. He reached over, grabbed the pitcher and topped off her glass. “Oh, thank you, Colonel. You are very polite.” When it came time to leave, Mike picked up the check and put money on the table. As they walked toward the game room, Mike said, “Oh, excuse me, I left my camera bag in the cloak room, I’ll get it and you inside.” Brandman and Ingrid headed toward the room where the gambling was an action. Mike quickly scooted to the cloakroom and raced back to the table to be sure he got Ingrid’s glass before the waitress cleared the table. He sat, took the clean sock and looked around to see if anybody could see him cover the glass and stash it in the camera

bag. Mike managed it quite well by putting the bag on the table in front of the glass, and swiftly drawing the sock over it and put the glass in the bag. He removed his camera and zipped the bag closed and breathed a sigh of relief. Mike found Brandman and Ingrid standing by the craps table. The gamblers were uproarious. Mike took a few photos, careful that Ingrid and Brandman could see him. “Phil, show Ingrid how to play. I’ll give you ten bucks but if you win, I’ll take half!” Brandman took the ten dollars, added a couple of fives to it and threw down a five on the table. The lieutenant throwing the dice was doing quite well. He had a handful of greenbacks in his hand, and he yelled, “Come on—let me see a six!” He threw the dice several times, and Brandman explained to Ingrid the odds, and how one takes or loses the money. The lieutenant made his six and Brandman picked up ten dollars. On the first roll, seven came up. Brandman had put a five down betting the roller would win. He did, and Brandman picked up the ten. He turned to Mike, “Here you are sir, fifteen bucks. We made five each.” Mike had what he wanted in his camera bag. “Phil and Ingrid, go ahead, you’re on a lucky streak. I’m going to get a drink and hit the sack.” Mike was a bit concerned about the camera bag he’d left in the cloak room. Ingrid’s glass was what worried him. Christ, if someone grabs my camera bag and finds that glass wrapped in a sock what hell will they think? He picked up the case, went to his room and called Alex. “Hello Alex, I’ve got a ‘photo’ I’d like you to see.” “Oh yes, you’ve been telling me about your artistic talent.” “Are you free on Sunday?” “Yes, let’s meet for lunch at the Wald. Is that okay?” “Fine, what time?” They agreed to meet at noon and Mike went to sleep. Mike walked into the 36th headquarters at midmorning. Brandman was in his office shuffling papers.

“Phil, how did you do last night?” Brandman looked up and smiled. “Pretty good sir. I made about sixty bucks. I’ll give you half.” “No, Phill, you gave me what you won last night. The sixty is yours. Did Ingrid enjoy the game?” “Yes, she was really surprised to see all the officers throwing their money around. But you know, she’s never seen a crap game before.” There wasn’t much going on at the headquarters, so Mike left early. He wanted to give Alex the glass and was anxious to learn if Ingrid’s prints were on the colonel’s papers. On Sunday it was raining. Mike drove to Bonn to meet Alex. He got to the Wald Cafe before Alex and ordered a coffee and sat waiting. Surprisingly Alex was late. Time went by. Mike wondered if he got the time wrong. Alex was usually punctilious in everything he did. Finally Alex burst in and looked somewhat flustered. “Sorry, Mike, I got into a long conversation with Colonel Agnielli. He was in Bonn visiting Colonel Schulstad. I’ll tell you more later. You’ve got the glass, right?” “Sure do. I’m really anxious to see if Ingrid’s prints match what your at 7th Army found.” Mike handed Alex the glass which was in a small box, still wrapped in Mike’s sock. They had a quick lunch. Alex said, “I’ve got to get back. Agnielli and I have some stuff to go over before he leaves. Mike, I’ll have Schulstad call you when I want to talk to you.” He took the box, looked around carefully and walked out. Mike wondered what was going on. Alex wasn’t usually that curt and businesslike. He paid check and left. The week went by as they usually do. Mike flew with the squadron twice. Brandman didn’t seem to be doing anything suspicious. Friday night beer-call was lively. There were a group of Canadian pilots there, and the competitive hijinks began. The pilots arranged the club chairs and had relay hurdle races with every runner downing a beer at the end, then hurdling back to the finish line. And then there was the floor exercise. Competitors put their toes on a line; then they held two bottles, one in each hand. They slid the bottles forward, not letting any part of their body touch the floor beyond the toe line. Well muscled young men could hold one bottle, with their

arms fully extended and then slide the other bottle forward, pushing it further with their fingertips, then, with both hands on one bottle, slide back to the toe line. It was a vigorous competition won by a Canadian pilot who was known to be a weightlifter. And then they all got drunk! On Saturday morning when Mike got to his office Brandman came in. “Can I talk to you Colonel?” “Sure, Phil, what’s on your mind?” Brandman seemed very disturbed. “Sir, I don’t know what’s going on. When I went to the BX yesterday, Ingrid’s sister said that Ingrid asked her to tell me that she’d be away. She didn’t work on Friday, and when I called her last night, I got no answer. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Mike was nonplussed. He didn’t know what to say, so he stalled. “Phil, who knows what’s what? Maybe the BX is looking into things that got lost. They might be interviewing or interrogating her to find out something. I heard that the BX had come across some expensive items missing in their inventory. Let me make a few calls. Don’t let it get you down it’s probably nothing.” Phil seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I don’t want to dump personal problems on you sir, but I’m a little confused.” “Relax, Phil, and get back to work. I’ll let you know what I find out, okay?” “Yes, sir, thank you.” He got up and went back to his office. Mike knew what he had to do. He wanted to talk to Alex but thought it wasn’t wise, so he called Colonel Schulstad instead. “Hi, Colonel! I’m thinking of taking a spin on the Nurbergring this morning. Could I drop in to say hello?” “Oh, yes Mike. It’ll be good to see you. You can tell me all about your flying. You’re happy down there aren’t you?” “That I am, sir, that I am. Flying’s been great. So I’ll see you about one or two o’clock okay?”

“I’ll be here in the office Mike. Just come when you can.” Mike made a fast drive to the Nurburgring, paid the gatekeeper and burned rubber around the course. Mike knew the layout now and was able to hit the turns faster. He focused on the track. When he left the ring, adrenaline kept his head racing. He ran up the embassy steps, returned the guard’s salute and strode briskly to Colonel Schulstad’s office. He knocked twice and entered. “Sir, I’ve got to talk to Alex.” “Yes, I know. Alex’s at Adenouer’s office talking to his Intel officers. What’s going on?” “Has he told you about Ingrid?” “Yes, a little, but there is something else isn’t there?” “Sir, if you don’t mind I’ll let Alex tell us what he tangled up in something lately.”.” “He should be back pretty soon. Let’s have a coffee and relax Mike; you look flustered. How was the ring?” “I peeled off about twenty-five seconds from my time, but that’s not what got me flustered.” Colonel Schultstad’s lips pursed, and he nodded his head. “I know you’ve got something big going on. Alex told me a little about it a while ago.” Mike nodded. “Yes, sir, we both have been tangled up in something lately.” They dropped the subject and sipped the coffee, and chatted amiably about mundane affairs. Finally, forty-five minutes later, Alex bounded in. “Glad to see you, Mike. I was hoping you’d be here.” “Alex, I’ve got some questions about Ingrid. Has Colonel Schulstad been read in on this?” “Yes, Mike, I’ve covered what you’ve been involved in with Ingrid. You can go ahead.”

“All right then. Did you get the prints on that glass I gave you?” “Sure did. There were a lot of prints. Ingrid’s matched some that were on every page of the papers. She was probably taking photos of them while the colonel went to the pharmacy.” Mike nodded his head slowly. “That figures. Do you know if there’s something else going on with her? Major Brandman asked me because he said that she wasn’t at work nor at her house on Friday.” Alex quickly interjected. “Mike, the FRG Intel guys went to Bitburg on Friday and brought her here to ask her some questions.” “Did they arrest her?” “No. I should have said ‘interrogate’ not ‘question’.” Mike understood the difference. “Should I tell Brandman when I get back to Bitburg?” “No. Not yet. Ingrid’s been here since yesterday, and she hasn’t itted anything. Were going to have to talk to Colonel Twible in Heidelberg to corroborate her story.” “What was her story?” “She claimed that Colonel Twible was going over the papers in the hotel room and dropped them on the floor. They were scattered around so Ingrid said she picked up for the colonel.” “And of course, she didn’t read them did she?” Alex smiled knowingly. “That’s right. That’s what she said. She didn’t have any idea what those papers were about.” “Alex, you’ve got to get to the colonel and find out exactly what happened in that room before Ingrid has a chance to talk to him. He’s liable to agree with her.” Alex said, “I’m going to tell the FRG guys to not let her get anywhere near a

phone until I come back. I’m whipping down to Heidelberg as soon as we finish here.” Colonel Schulstad sat there, his eyes darting back and forth between Alex and Mike. He didn’t say anything because this was all new to him. When Alex left, Mike felt that he was left holding the bag. He couldn’t think of what he’d say to Brandman when he got back to Bitburg. Colonel Schulstad saw that Mike was troubled. “Mike, why don’t you stay here until Alex gets back. After he talks to that army colonel, we may have something solid to go on.” That idea appealed to Mike. A decisive outcome of the FRG’s investigation would erase the need for Mike to lie to Brandman about what was taking place. At seven o’clock, when Alex had not returned nor called, Mike and Colonel Schulstad went out for dinner. After a stiff martini at the colonel’s apartment they drove to Cologne. Colonel Schulstad wanted to try a restaurant recommended by the Ambassador. It was known for its menu of the local game, particularly wild boar and venison. The Saturday night dinner was robust. They both had boar and spaetzle. They put Ingrid’s investigation aside while downing two bottles of wine topped off with a heady schnapps. On Sunday morning Colonel Schulstad got a call from Alex. He told Schulstad that he and Colonel Cabel and a Seventh Army colonel were going to interrogate Colonel Twible. The Seventh Army colonel was there for a formal investigation ordered by the commanding general. Things were coming to a head. Mike was getting restless. He knew that Brandman would be biting his nails, wondering what was going on with Ingrid. Finally, at three-thirty, Alex returned with evidence that confirmed that Ingrid’s prints were on the top-secret papers that were in the colonel’s briefcase. And Colonel Cabel had a statement from Colonel Twible that he had not spilled his papers in the hotel room he and Ingrid shared. And finally, a reportt from the Seventh Army colonel that said that Colonel Twible, a married man, would be formally questioned about his relationship with Ingrid. Such behavior was ‘conduct unbecoming of an officer’ and could lead to disciplinary action. The merry-go-round whirled. The calliope played and the inevitable happened. Ingrid went to jail pending a trial. Colonel Twible got a written reprimand and was forced to retire from the Army and return to the states.

Mike reluctantly drove back to Bitburg,. On Monday morning, when Mike briefed Colonel Childs on the affair, he was surprised to learn that Ingrid had ed information she’d gotten from Major Brandman to a Stasi agent. He promptly alerted the OSI³ to the situation. Two OSI officers were in his office fifteen minutes later. When Mike finally told Major Brandman about Ingrid’s involvement with Colonel Twible, he was struck dumb. He couldn’t or wouldn’t believe it. Then Mike mentioned her with the Stasi agent and that the OSI was going to question him. Again Brandman was awestruck. He wondered what he’d done. Mike told Brandman that the OSI people would be in to see him at four o’clock and that he was to wait for them in his office. Then, Mike left. Mike and Colonel Childs went to the O club at five-thirty and sat at a small table away from the bar. Brandman’s involvement troubled Colonel Childs. He sipped his drink and shook his head in disbelief. “That ass hole got taken in by that Kraut girl. I can’t believe it. I thought he was smarter than that.” “He is smart, sir. But you know how it is, a few drinks and loving the woman can loosen your lips.” “Yeah, the World War II poster ‘Loose lips can sink ships’?” “Yes, sir. Let’s see what the OSI finds out. When will they let you know?” “I told them I’d be here waiting for them.” Several drinks later, the OSI officers came in and ed Colonel Childs. “Okay. What’s the bad news? Childs asked. The OSI major looked at Mike and said, “Is he cleared Sir?” “Yes. Colonel Child’s the one who alerted me to this.” The major and captain sat down. “It’s not as bad as you thought Colonel Childs. Most of what he talked about are in the papers or magazines. Yes, maybe a small detail or two slipped in but

nothing serious. He did talk a bit too much, but we don’t he revealed anything important. I think a good chewing would be sufficient. I wouldn’t even recommend a formal investigation.” Hearing this, Mike was relieved. He liked Brandman and didn’t want him stained as an accomplice to a spy. Colonel Childs said, “Well, that’s good news. I’d hate to have to court-martial him. But I’ll chew his ass, you better believe it!” The OSI officers both smiled, excused themselves and said, they would give a written report on their talk with Major Brandman tomorrow. “Yeah, fine. I’ll have a talk with Brandman tomorrow after I get your report.” That night, Alex called and asked Mike to meet him at the Bahnhof at eleven o’clock. Mike rushed there expecting some news about Ingrid. Alex looked around carefully, sat down and began. “Ingrid’s in hot water. The FRG is charging her with spying for the Soviets. She’ll probably end up in the slammer.” “Geez, Brandman is going to fall apart.” “Yeah, that’s the way it goes when you don’t know who’s who. But I’ve got something else to run by you. Want to hear it now?” “Yes, by all means. Shoot.” “There’s stuff simmering all through the NATO forces. And not only here in . Someone who knows what the Italians are doing is sharing the info with the bad guys, and we don’t know who the bad guys are. Not like up here. You smoked out Helga, Schreiber, Gundt and your suspect, Hans, the bartender at Bitburg. We know who to watch, but Colonel Agnielli has no hot suspects. He’s going to come and meet with your boss next week.” And so it closed. The gears whirled. Ingrid was tried and sentenced to twelve years in prison. They reassigned Brandman to the Pentagon, and Mike put it all behind.

It was over. But was it?

Book Two

Chapter 1

THE ITALIANS

For several weeks Mike tended to his duties in the Director of Operations office of the 36th Fighter Group. Unburdened of his clandestine task, at least for this while, he reveled in his job. He flew more often, saw Christine for two nights, and spent more time writing to his parents and old friends. Life for him now was a quiet, blissful respite. That’s the way it was until he got a phone call from Colonel Schulstad. After a brief exchange of the usual things that friends who haven’t seen each other for a while talk about, a seemingly casual invitation to a dinner party at Colonel Schultad’s home alerted Mike. He felt the second coming—coming. “Sure, Colonel Schulstad, I’d love to come. Did you say it was this coming Saturday? Yes, sir, that’s very kind of you. I’ll plan to spend the night…Yes, I’ll be there at five for cocktails.” After Mike had hung up, he said to himself, Shit, here it comes. I thought it was too quiet since the Brandman and Ingrid mess. Why does he want me to be there with Agnielli? There’s something up; you can be sure of that. The next day, Mike went in to see Colonel Childs. “Colonel Childs, I’d like to go to Bonn this weekend. Colonel Schulstad invited me to dinner on Saturday night. If there’s nothing special going on here, is it okay if I go?’ Colonel Childs studied Mike, and a slight smile turned up one side of his face. “Sure Mike, go ahead. Every thing is under control here.” “Thank you, sir; I’ll leave in the afternoon and will be back Sunday.”

And so he left Bitburg at three-thirty. He was prompt, actually ten minutes early. He rang the doorbell and Margarete greeted him., She blushed as she always did when Mike came to the door. Waiting inside were Colonel Schulstad, Colonel Agnielli, and Alex Bauer. That confirmed his suspicion that something involving him was coming up. Colonel Agnielli started. “Alex told me you cleaned up another mess, Mike. You’re doing good work.” “Thank you, sir, but Alex should get credit for what he’s done. He’s the one that got the FRG to look into what I only suspected.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Mike. You’re the one who spotted the first clues. That’s not easy for most people. Well, let’s get on with why we called you here.” Mike took a big gulp of his martini, sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward. Alex went on. “We’re getting some hints that recently there’s been an increased flow of information to the Stasi about the Italian Air Force. We think it comes from someone close to the commanding general, General Lucci.” “Don’t you have some people down there that can tell you what’s going on?” Mike said that in slightly insinuating tone. He wanted to stick with his job in the 36th. Colonel Schulstad ed in., “Mike, it’s a damned delicate situation. Agnielli wouldn’t have come here if he could do it himself. He ed you, and he and Alex both agree, and I do too, that you could make some inroads to the Italians.” “I don’t get it. What’s the connection?” Colonel Agnielli took the wheel. “Well Mike, you’re a fighter pilot and you guys all speak the same language, so here’s the setup. The Italian Air Force chief is General Lucci, his son Enzo is a captain—flies with their F-84 demonstration team, the ‘Red Barons,’ They’re going to be at Bitburg in a couple of weeks for the NATO air show. All the NATO outfits are putting on a show there. The Sky Blazers of the 36th with their F-100s will be the main event. When the Barons get here, the idea is for you to cozy up to Captain Lucci. Get friendly with him and try to sniff out what’s going on.” “Does Captain Lucci speak English? I don’t speak Italian, sir.”

“Yes Mike, he does. You know that all NATO pilots have to speak English for air traffic communications. Captain Lucci is fluent.” Mike nodded his head slowly, and a slow smile crept onto his face. “Yes, I’ll be at Bitburg when the Italians get here. I could meet them after the show.” Mike smiled like a cat about to grab a mouse. “I knew it wouldn’t be hard to get you interested, but keep in mind that our mission comes first.” Colonel Schulstad added, “Don’t let flying that Hun distract you.” Mike got serious. “No, sir, I know what comes first. Being at Bitburg will put me into the bar scene at night, and that’s where I’ll connect with that Captain Lucci.” Agnielli continued, “Good, now here’s the scenario. General Lucci is the Air Advisor to General Camporini who’s the number one NATO guy for Italy He reports to our iral Pete Moore, who’s the SACEUR⁴ chief, as you probably know. I’ll be brief, but I’ll fill you in with the details later. Anyway, General Lucci has an interesting background. In the thirties, when Il Duce was running Italy, Lucci was a closet anti-fascist. Let’s face it; his family is an old, wealthy and influential family.” Agnielli studied the end of his cigar. “When Mussolini took over, those elites began moving their lira into Switzerland and the US. They lost most of their farms, vineyards, nd shipping interests. They reclaimed most of that money and property after VE day, but the war changed a lot of their lives. Anyway, it seems that before the war General Lucci belonged to a secret antifascist group in Turin. Of course, the Russkies infiltrated the anti-fascist movement and when the war ended some of those Italians formed the nucleus of a Communist dominated labor movement in Italy. As you well know, those groups in northern Italy are growing stronger.” Mike nodded while Agnielli paused. “We don’t think that General Lucci ever got involved with the communist movement—at least not on the surface. He was like most of the wealthy families that were anti-fascist before the war. They reclaimed their properties after they kicked Mussolini out and then they got on our bandwagon. Now, most of them US interests but a few of those guys bought into the communist mantra, and they want to change the world. At least that’s what we think. We’re not sure about General Lucci, and that’s what worries us. Can you

imagine what kind of info a guy like him could share with the Soviets if he were leaning to the left? And can you imagine the influence the communists could have on him and then what that influence could do to skew his judgment about NATO forces in Italy?” Mike began to feel the weight and complexity of the problems the intelligence community dealt with, and he said. “Phew, I can see the potential for a real mess there.” “Yeah, well, that’s a brief outline, Mike, so, here’s what I’d like you to do now. I want you to meet General Lucci somehow, and cozy up to him. I know you’re not a brown-noser, but a little bit in this situation might help. His son, Enzo Lucci is a fighter pilot too—that should be helpful. He flies the Hog, and he trained with our Air Force at Williams⁴¹. “Yes, sir. When the Red Barons are at Bitburg for that NATO air show.,I plan to be there.” Agnielli’s eyes widened, he nodded his head, “Colonel Schulstad said you were fast on your feet. You’ve made a damned good start. See if you can get next to him, and then maybe that’ll get you closer to General Lucci. I don’t know if I need to say this, but just be real careful of what you say around him. Don’t let any of the ‘eye-ties’ on to what we know—or, for that matter, what we don’t know.” And so the dinner was served, and their friendly conversation continued. Alex left, and Colonel Agnielli went to the embassy guest quarters. Mike went to bed wondering if the Italian network would be anything like the Luftwaffe. He chuckled to himself and thought about what was dumped in his lap, the German problem. It. Helga zeroed in on him, rolled him in the hay, and showed her cards. When she got too curious about Slick Chick and the Matadors he nailed her. He chuckled audibly, his diaphragm involuntarily forced out a couple of jets of air, and said to himself; I’m sure as hell not going to get into the sack with Enzo—even if duty calls! Mike had no idea how close he could come to the source of the Italian problem. Back at Bitburg Mike had dinner at the club, then went to the bar, and sat at a table by himself sipping a Drambuie. He knew he’d have to go to Italy at some

point, and wondered how he could visit Enzo. Somehow he’d have to tell Colonel Childs something, but what? He suspected that Childs had hints of what Mike’s clandestine job was but how could he leave the 36th. He could go on leave, he supposed, but he didn’t think that was fair. He got thirty days leave authorized every year but didn’t want to spend it working. Skiing? Yes. At a Beach? Yes. He finally tucked those concerns away thinking, What the hell? That’s the way the ball bounces, I guess. I’ll do what I have to do. On Monday when Mike got to the office, Colonel Childs called him in. “Mike, I got a call from USAFE early this morning.” Mike wondered what that was. “Intell asked me to back you up if you needed some time away to do whatever it is you do.” Childs had a knowing, amused smile on his face. “If you want to I’ll put you on TDY (temporary duty) orders to cover you, okay?” “Yes, sir, I’ll let you know.” Christ! Agnielli must have asked USAFE to do this. I guess I won’t have to give Childs any reason to get away. Nothing more was said and Mike went to his office. When he ed Major Brandman’s office, Mike felt a chill of discomfort when he thought about Brandman’s messy involvement with Ingrid. There was a new lieutenant colonel scheduled to replace Brandman. Mike was anxious for his arrival so that he could take over whenever Mike had to leave. Nothing unusual transpired during the week. The Sky Blazers practiced their maneuvers twice, and the 36th got ready for the Nato air show. The various teams started coming in on Tuesday. The Dutch and Belgian teams landed in the morning. The Italian team was due in at four-thirty. Colonel Childs came into Mike’s office and said, “Come on, let’s go to the flight line. The Italian team is landing at four-thirty.” They scooted down the stairs, jumped into Mike’s car, and went to the flight line. The Italians came in two flights of four, skimming the runway and breaking sharply into the landing pattern. Mike could see they were top-notch pilots. Each one landed the fast F-84 in the right place with only a squeak of tires. Colonel Childs and Mike went to their parking area and waited while the team climbed out of their brightly painted planes. Captain Lucci, the right wing man

on the team, stood out. His friendly manner and unhesitating English made him the social leader of the group. Mike shook his hand, and Captain Lucci scanned his decorations, looked iringly at Mike, and said: “Are you flying the F-100, sir?” “Yes, Captain. I watched your formation. I can see you guys know how to fly. See you at the club tonight?” Lucci’s eyes sparkled, and he shot back, “Yes, sir, see you there!” The pilots got into the van that took them to the BOQ. They got out of their flying suits and ran to the O club. By the time Colonel Childs and Mike got there they were standing at the bar, beers in their hands, surrounded by 36th pilots. Mike eased himself into the clutch close to Enzo. When the pilots saw Colonel Childs and Mike the clamor subsided a bit. Colonel Childs sensed that his presence dampened the spirited gathering, so he stepped aside and sat at a table with some staff officers. When Enzo saw Mike, he stepped closer and raised his bottle, “Sante, Colonel! We like your beer!” Mike raised his and clinked his bottle with Enzo’s, “Captain Lucci, welcome to the 36th Fighter Group.” “It’s wonderful to be here, sir. I met one of your pilots who was an instructor at Williams when I was there, and he now flies with your Sky Blazers!” “Oh, that must be Bob Cass, right?” “Yes, that is correct, sir.” The smoke hung from the ceiling, and the clink of bottles punctuated the lively talking. Mike studied Enzo Lucci. He was shorter than Mike, hyper-energetic, and a bit theatrical, but Mike ascribed that to Enzo’s role with the aerobatic team. That night at the club, the Italians blended in with the 36th’s pilots and the British, French and Belgian teams. Captain Lucci, or as he emphasized, “Enzo,” seemed to know most of the European pilots and acted quite effusive with them. When he talked with Mike, he insisted that he come to Italy to visit and mentioned that General Lucci would like to meet him. That was the invitation Mike wanted. He casually said that he’d like to come sometime soon. The next day all the acrobatic teams left and so did the VIPs that had flown in

from USAFE headquarters and other Nato headquarters. Colonel Childs enjoyed the attention the 36th was getting, but he felt relieved to be getting back to his job of commanding a spirited flying outfit. Mike could tell he was relaxed; not careless or inattentive. A couple of weeks went by. Christine left a message saying she’d be at RhineMain on a Friday. He skipped away late on that Friday, and they did what they came for in the short time they had. She left on Saturday, and Mike whipped back to Bitburg. Saturday night the O Club was vibrating with a Roman nights party. Most everyone was in costume, and the drink of the day was Purple ion, a volatile mixture of hospital alcohol and grape juice. Mike was at the bar sipping a scotch and soda. Lost in thought, Mike felt a slap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Colonel Agnielli with his head thrown back, an open mouthed smile on his face. “Colonel Skora, what a pleasant surprise to find you here.” “I’m assigned here now—I left the embassy. It’s goodto see you. Can I buy you a drink?” “Yes, fine, I’ll have a Negroni. They probably don’t know what that is up here.” He laughed. “Neither do I Colonel. What is it?” Colonel Agnielli eased himself onto a stool. “It’s gin, Campari, a splash of sweet vermouth, a little lemon, and soda water. It’s an Italian drink originally, but quite popular in Washington—particularly in summer.” “So, it’s a tall drink, right?” Mike asked. Colonel Agnielli had a sly look on his face. Yes, it should be, but uh,“He cleared his throat.” at this time of the year I take mine with a lot of gin and just a splash of soda.” The noise in the bar rose to a constant cacophony. Mike pushed back the melancholy longing for days long gone. He knew it would never be the same. Colonel Agnielli glanced around casually and then leaned closer to Mike. He took a puff of his cigar, coughed and then said, “I hear the Red Barons were

here, did you see them?” “Yes, sir.,I met Captain Enzo Lucci. He even invited me to visit him in Aviano, and he said his father, General Lucci, would like to meet me.” “I knew we picked the right guy for this. Mike, go to it, and if you can slide down to Rome, and let me know what you dig up.” Mike looked around cautiously, and in a quiet voice said, “Yes, sir, I’ll be in touch.” “Oh, and another reason to get cozy with Enzo—his father’s having a big promotion party in three weeks. It’d be good for you to be invited to that if you can work it out.” On Monday morning Mike told Colonel Childs, “I’m thinking about setting up a cross-country flight down to Italy where the Red Barons are based. Is that okay with you, sir?” Childs looked Mike in the eye, “Let me know if Salter can’t set it up, I’ll see what I can do.” “Yes sir, thank you.” When Mike asked Major Salter if he could take one of the Huns to Italy for the weekend, Major Salter suggested that he take along a wing man, and Captain Roger Tucker grabbed the opportunity. On Friday afternoon Mike and Tucker took off in two Huns heading for Aviano air base in northern Italy. There weren’t any US Air Force flying units there but the 51st Storno Cachia that was made up of the 20th and 21st Gruppi had recently converted from flying the P-47’s to the jet powered F-84. USAFE had recently improved the air base which had been called Aeroporto Pagliani e Gori. Now it was called Aviano air base, with the USAFE Air Base Squadron, and the 7207th in place. The USAFE unit provided the weather forecasting capability that the burgeoning NATO forces needed. The linear distance from Bitburg to Aviano was only about 450 miles, but Switzerland didn’t permit NATO’s military aircraft to fly in their airspace. The flight pivoted around the western border of Switzerland, then over Milan, and

then to Aviano. When Mike called the control tower at Aviano for clearance to land a heavily Italian accented voice said, “Roger, era force-a, – zero-a – seven, due, five, you are clear-a for landing. Runaway, zero-a nine-a, five. Winds zero-a, seven–a, zero at ten knots.” Mike dove for the approach end of the runway with Tucker tucked in snugly on his right wing. When he crossed the approach end, he broke sharply up and left into a tight turn. Three seconds later, Tucker did the same thing. Gear and flaps went down, and the Huns kissed the runway smoothly. When they parked and cut the engines, Mike saw a civilian car following the military vehicles of the ground crew. Mike saw Enzo pop out of his Ferrari and wave. Mike opened the canopy, smiled and waved back. He climbed down the ladder hooked over the left side of the cockpit, and gave Enzo a big smile and a firm handshake. “Welcome to Aviano, Colonel Skora,” Enzo shouted. Mike casually returned Enzo’s salute and said, “Hi, Enzo, and call me Mike will you?” “Yes, yes, Mike it is!” He grabbed Mike’s soft traveling bag out of the gun bay and said, “Do you want to drive the car?” He knew that any fighter pilot would be impressed with his fire engine red Ferrari.” “Oh, no, Enzo. I’m not sure I could handle that beast.” He dropped into the low bucket seat and strapped on the safety belt. Enzo started the engine. With an explosive roar and screeching rubber, he spun off the taxiway. They came to a small building, and parked alongside a half dozen Italian cars; most of them convertible coupes. It was the Red Baron’s operations room. When they walked in a short, swarthy major jumped off his chair and said, “Welcome-a to-a Aviano colonel-a, I am Bruno Balboni.“He extended his hand and Mike felt his strong, vigorous shake. “You lead the Barons, don’t you, Major? You’ve got an impressive team here. Enzo never told me—what slot does he fly in?”

Enzo interrupted, “I am only the spare pilot, I announce the Baron’s maneuvers, usually, unless I am required to fill in.” “He a very good peel-ot-a, but he speak-a the Engleesh very good, so he talk when we fly.” Enzo added eagerly, “Yes, unless I have to fill in.” “Who flies that solo buzz job at the end of the show?” Mike asked. Bruno looked over his shoulder and pointed to a flight suit clad pilot who was engrossed in a girlie magazine. “Hey, Arnoldo—vine qua!” The pilot looked up, smiled, dropped the magazine, and came over. “Thees ees Arnoldo—our creesy one. He likes to come varee close to ground. “Arnoldo nodded and smiled sheepishly. He looked young enough to be a high school student. Bruno gestured to the other three pilots sprawled on easy chairs, cigarettes in their hands. “And there is Rinaldo, Pietro, and Gianni.” Mike said, “That’s five of you, Bruno. Who’s missing?” “Yes. Eet ees Giovanni. His wife in—in…” Enzo added quickly, “She’s having a baby in the hospital—and my wife, Galli— she is with her.” That was the first time Enzo mentioned his wife, and Mike’s suspicion that Enzo was a homosexual, faded. “Colonel Skora, uh, I mean, Mike. I will take you to my place where you will sleep, and then we meet at the Excelsior Hotel bar for,” his eyebrows went up and down, and a conspiratorial look blossomed on his smiling face, “an uh, how do you say it, beer call? Always on Friday in the US, right? And here we do it on Friday also.”

Enzo raised his hand, and with his fingers out-stretched said, “Five of us are trained in the U. S., and we bring the Beer Call tradition here.” He looked pleased with himself and added, “Now we’ll go to my place, okay?” And they roared off. Enzo’s apartment was close to the middle of Vicenza on a quiet, tree-lined street. Mike was surprised that Enzo just walked into his apartment, but when he saw the maid he understood why the door was unlocked. The large high ceilinged rooms, elegantly furnished with a woman’s touch, were in an old world fashion. Mike and Enzo changed into civilian clothes, and Enzo said, “Let’s go, Mike, the guys are waiting!” “What is it, men only?” Mike asked. “Yes, only men. The ladies may intrude, but only after eight o’clock. Galli, I think will not be there. She is with signora Martinetti—Giovani’s wife.” They darted out the front door into Enzo’s car. Enzo whipped the Ferrari around the narrow streets and screeched to a stop at the Excelsior. Mike immediately felt at home when he entered the cozy bar. Seven or eight short-haired young men were waving their arms and talking exuberantly. Photos lined the walls of the bar. There were pictures of the Red Barons, in P-47s and then in the F-84. Newspaper headlines in several European languages acclaiming their flying demonstrations interspersed with photos of them receiving awards from dignitaries. The bartender looked at Mike and acted like a proud family member basking in the glory and vitality of the new Italian Air Force. Enzo raised two fingers to the bartender and shouted, “Due!” The bartender poured two drinks from a bottle that remained on the bar. Enzo took the tumblers and handed one to Mike. “It is a ritual. You must first have a grappa.” He clicked Mike’s class and with one movement, raised his to his lips, and in two gulps emptied the glass. Mike followed suit, and the fiery liquid went down with difficulty. “What the hell is that, Enzo?”

“It is grappa—very strong, like a vodka.” “That’s a hell of a way to start the evening!” “Well, yes, but now you can have what you like, but the Barons have made the grappa necessary to begin every Beer Call. Mike knew that Enzo and other pilots trained with the US Air Force, but he wondered about the others. “So, did most of the pilots here train in the US?” he asked. Enzo shook his head, “Oh, no, only five. Bruno, he learned with the Germans, but the war ended so he did not fight the Americans.” He nodded at the small group singing at the bar. “Those five are all US trained. They have even learned your songs, but now they sing them in Italian!” Mike thought he recognized some of the tunes, but the words they sang threw him off. It was an Italian imitation of the Beer Calls that most of the young pilots experienced when they trained with the U.S. Air Force. Enzo continued, “It was them, and me, that started this Beer Call tradition. Those two standing on the right—they are the first ones trained here, with Italian instructors.” “When did you start the training program?” “It was only two years ago, and only a small group—perhaps ten the first time— and this year twenty-four have become pilots.” “Sounds good, Enzo, you’re in on the ground floor. You should move up pretty fast.” Enzo seemed to become thoughtful. “My father—he wants me to do well—but he is careful so that I am not seen to be, you know, pushed ahead by him.” “Yeah, Enzo, you’ve got to be careful.” Enzo seemed to drift away, and he said “Yes, it is sometimes all so complicated.” At eight o’clock a group of four young women entered the bar to the cheers of all the pilots. The mood in the bar changed immediately. Men straightened their

ties, ran their fingers through their hair and now spoke in hushed voices. Four of the pilots detached themselves from the rowdy group, Bruno led the way and kissed a short, dark-haired woman whose thick eyebrows almost met in the middle. Each of the three others kissed the cheek of his wife. “That is Victoria. She is Sicilian like Bruno. Sometimes the women make fun of her because she speaks only a Sicilian dialect.” “I thought Sicilians spoke Italian,” Mike said “Yes, it is Italian but quite different from the speech of educated Italians in the north.” Victoria was quite attractive, and after kissing Bruno, she smiled and nodded to the other pilots who came to meet their wives. Enzo said, “We will stay for may be one hour, then we must go to the Pomodoro restaurant where the Barons are to meet with the president of Fiat. He is giving each of the pilots a Fiat painted like our airplane.” “I’ll stay here, Enzo. I’m not on your team.” “No, no, you must go. There will be some publicity, and it will be good for us to have a colleague from the US Air Force.” Mike was a little startled to learn that Fiat was endorsing a military unit and he asked, “Does your government permit commercial companies to endorse the Barons?” “No, Mike, there is no official endorsement. He gives the Barons a car, and the news people print stories about the Barons, and the Fiat company like that. We do not have anything to do with the Fiat company.” Bruno pushed his way in between Enzo and Mike, laughed, and said, “Oh, no! But we are invited to stay at the Hotel Excelsior in Cortina to open the winter season, and we must drive our cars there because Fiat is paying the bill!” Mike thought, That sure is the Italian way to run things. It couldn’t happen in a US military outfit! “Do you get a car too, Enzo?” Mike asked.

“Yes, but I will give it to Galli. She has now a Volkswagen. Now we will all be driving Italian cars!” Mike met the ladies who spoke English in a formulaic way as though they had all learned the same responses. Mike noticed that Victoria was hesitant, and less distinct. Not much later Bruno announced that it was time to leave. Enzo leaned close to Mike, and translated, “He say we must go now. We do not want to keep press waiting.” The dinner was a typical Rotary Club type of function. The president of Fiat made a rousing speech about Italian entry into the postwar era of peace and industrial development. Flashbulbs punctuated his speech, and when Bruno rose to accept eight t keys for the Fiat’s the huge gathering burst into cheers. Bruno held up the keys and shouted, “We will be in Cortina to show the Olympians how I to do it!” After much wine and coffee laced with Sambuca, Mike followed a staggering Enzo to his car. Before Enzo could get into his seat, Mike asked, “This time, can I try out your Ferrari?” Enzo turned to Mike and stammered, “You—you should come with us to Cortina, Mike. We are leaving the women behind,” hic”—they are not allowed to ski.” “Sounds good, Enzo. If I can, I’ll come. When are you leaving?” “It is in December, I think, but I’ll tell you the date later,” Mike ed that Colonel Agnielli told him that Cortina was ideal for agents to operate in; nobody noticed when they came and went. They roared off to Enzo’s apartment where they saw a note on the door. Enzo read it, frowned and said, “Galli is staying at the hospital with signora Giordano. What time do you plan to leave tomorrow?” “I’ll meet Captain Tucker at eleven o’clock.” “Roger-r-r, Mike. Sleep well, and set your alarm clock if I don’t hear mine.” At seven-thirty Mike’s alarm buzzed. He heard Enzo rattling things in the kitchen, and he smelled coffee. After a quick shower, he slipped into his flight suit, laced his boots, and closed his flight bag.

“Good morning, Mike! Do you like Sambuca in your coffee?” “No, Enzo, I had plenty of it last night.” Enzo spiked his demitasse cup with a belt of Sambuca and took a sip. “I do not fly today so I can have this.” he said. “Have at it, Enzo—this coffee is good.” “Ha! Not like your American coffee, right?” “Oh, no, not at all. I usually like a big cup in the morning—like the French café au lait.” “Here it is only for ladies Mike.” Enzo drained his cup and poured another also with Sambuca. “Mike—my father, he is being promoted in three weeks. We are having a big party for this event in Milan. Can you come to it? You can stay with us at our home.” “Yes, Enzo, thank you. I think I can arrange that. I have some leave time, and I can take a few days.” “Wonderful! Plan to spend several days with us. The party is on Friday night, and there will be people you know there from —your Colonel Schulstad and the German chief of the Luftwaffe, General Gerhardt—even your Colonel Agnielli from Rome who you are meeting for lunch today.” “That sounds great, Enzo. If I can swing it, I’ll look forward to it. I’ll call you and let you know, and if your house is full, I can stay in a hotel if you will arrange it.” Enzo smiled broadly. “Mike, you must see our villa. It is an eighteenth-century estate. We have many, many rooms—enough for more guests than we have invited. “Enzo, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I told Captain Tucker that I’d meet him at base ops at eleven o’clock, and it’s ten-thirty now.”

“Yes, then we must go.”

Chapter 2

GALLI

It was a short ride to the air base, and when they parked at Base Operations Enzo exclaimed, “That looks like Galli’s car!” and he dashed in ahead of Mike. Tucker greeted Mike and held up a chart and flight plan. “Ready to go, sir— whenever you are.” Enzo walked to them with a young woman at his side. “Look, Mike, Galli learned you were leaving, and she came to meet you! Galli this is Colonel Skora, and Mike, this is my wife, Galli.” Mike met Mrs. Lucci’s eyes, and she held his gaze. Her head was tilted slightly; her eyebrows raised in an expression of anticipation. The soft radiance of her beauty enveloped him. He swallowed and managed a small bow of his head. ” I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lucci.” Still looking at him, Mrs. Lucci said in a teasing voice, “You don’t me do you, Colonel Skora?” With a mischievous look in her eye, she extended her hand.” I’m Galli—now do you me?” Mike stared at her, but couldn’t make any connection. It wasn’t possible that he’d met this alluring woman; he would have ed her. She aroused something in him that he’d never felt before, at least not at this intensity and it disoriented him. “No, I… I’m afraid I don’t,” he stammered and studied her radiant face, trying to place her. She smiled like a shy schoolgirl who had a secret. “We have met in Cannes at the beach during the war. You were with my sister Natasha. Do you her little sister? It was me, Galli, but I was only nine. I you gave me your silver wings—I still have them.”

Mike was astounded. This beautiful woman was that little girl! She went on, never taking her eyes off Mike. He felt hypnotized by her. Captain Lucci’s expression became quizzical. He looked at Mike, and then at Galli and back again at Mike. Mike shamefacedly blurted to Galli, “And where is Natasha now?” “You must come to General Lucci’s promotion celebration, Colonel Skora, and we can talk about Natasha and what has gone on. She is now married and has two beautiful children—and I am so happy that you were not taken away by that horrible war.” Standing there speechless, riveted by Galli’s unwavering eyes, Mike finally managed to say he would come and stay with them, he pulled himself away and said goodbye. He left knowing that it was something that needed to be done, and not for the reasons that Colonel Agnielli had described. With his head in a blur, he forcefully focused on his flight. Finally, he and Tucker blasted off to Ciampino. The flight to Ciampino, which is just outside of Rome, took less than an hour. Colonel Agnielli’s staff car was waiting for him with a Marine driver. He and Tucker whisked to the US Embassy. Tucker gracefully took advantage of Colonel Agnelli’s hospitality and accepted the use of his car and driver to visit the Catholic Pope’s enclave, the Colosseum, and other popular tourist attractions. “I’ll see you in the morning, sir, at ten o’clock?” “Yes, Tucker, let’s do breakfast, and then we’ll go to Ciampino together.” “Yes, sir, can’t wait to see the sights!” Tucker waved and left. Colonel Agnielli said, “Let’s talk Mike—lots of things to tell you.” He put his arm around Mike’s shoulder, and they strolled to a room in the embassy guarded by an armed Marine. “In here Mike—it’s where we can talk.” “Angela, get some coffee for us, si?”

“Si, Colonel Agnielli, pronto!” He closed the door, and they sat. Colonel Agnielli asked, “How did it go with Enzo, Mike?” “Great, sir, he invited me to General Lucci’s promotion party. You’ll be there too won’t you?” “Good, good. I’ll be there, and I don’t want to make it obvious that we’re connected. And Mike, can I suggest that you stay with the Lucci’s so that you can get familiar with their friends, habits, and activities? The more you learn about them the closer we’ll be to what we need to know. “Yes, sir, I understand, Mrs. Lucci, Enzo’s wife, sort of suggested that I stay for a few days.” “Good, Mike. I can see you’re hitting your stride. Now let’s get down to business.” Colonel Agnielli settled back in a high backed swivel chair and began, “I suppose that you’ve noticed there’s been a lot of construction at Aviano—and it’s not all for the Italian Air Force. It used to be called Aeroporto Pagliai e Gori —” he chuckled and said, “Excuse the Italiano. We made significantimprovements for an F-84 outfit from Alexandria that came over, and converted Enzo’s outfit to the F-84s they fly now. We changed the name of the field to Aviano around that time and brought an Air Base Squadron in to run it. They’re the ones that took care of your F-100.” He paused a moment, and relit his cigar, “Well, all that NATO activity down here has gotten the Russkies excited. There’s been an increase in clandestine activities, so we had to put a few more people in to keep tabs on them.” “Geez, colonel, that sounds interesting!” Colonel Agnielli looked up from his notes, “It’s good to hear you say that, Mike. It’s all interesting. We hope that you’ll be able to find the source of those leaks about our preparations.” “Sir, does all of this tie down to the Lucci’s?”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s more than one leak, but the stuff about our future build up is troubling. That kind of info has to be coming from a high level.” Mike began to see the main players in this performance; General Lucci, the Red Barons and Enzo on the inside of the Italian Air Force. Who else? There was a lot to try to patch together. Mike agreed to meet with Colonel Agnielli periodically, and with another CIA operative masked as the Assistant Attache for Business and Cultural Affairs. His current name was Dominico Agostino. All of Mike’s s would be filtered through Colonel Schulstad. They finally finished their talk. Colonel Agnielli said, “I’ll drive you to Ciampino, Mike, and see you off.” “Thank you, sir, we’re planning to take-off at three-thirty.” “Good, let’s go.” They drove past the Coliseum, and down Via Roma to Ciampino. Captain Tucker was waiting in the Italian base operations with a completed flight plan in his hand. He greeted Mike. “Ready to go whenever you are, sir.” Mike turned and shook hands with Colonel Agnielli. “Thank you, sir. That lunch was memorable.” Colonel Agnielli said, “Tell Colonel Shulstad ‘hello’ for me when you see him.” “Yes, sir.” Mike saluted Agnielli and followed Tucker out to their Huns. In-flight Mike rarely thought of anything other than flying, but this time he felt an odd detachment; a detachment from the life he’d been living, and an attraction to something that disturbed his self-assurance. He pushed those thoughts away when he made a position report to a ground station. The rest of the flight was routine, undisturbed by distractions. Mike spent the following two weeks digging into his duties as the operations training officer for Colonel Childs. He studied the USAFE orders that required

the 36th’s pilots to follow a multifaceted training program to attain a high level of combat readiness. The training directive included standards for gunnery, bomb delivery, physical training, and even escape and evasion training. Mike created a four-day exercise he named ‘Bitback’—that required pilots to evade ground forces searching for them and required them to try to penetrate a pseudoenemy environment. Those caught were interrogated and imprisoned, but not too severely so as not to harm the pilots. In the days following the end of the exercise, the stories that bounced around at the beer calls showed that the aircrews were indeed enterprising, ingenious, tough and oozing a fighter pilot spirit that distinguished the 36th fighter group. In the meantime, Mike privately planned his visit to the Lucci’s. When he mentioned that he’d like a week’s leave of absence for his trip Colonel Childs casually suggested that he’d give Mike TDY orders that would allow him ten days. “You won’t cost Uncle Sam anything, Mike, because you’re wining and dining, and staying there for free. Am I right?” Mike nodded, “Thank you, sir.” Colonel Childs look indicated that he knew more than he wanted Mike to know. The third week flew by, and Mike decided to drive to Milan on Monday. Driving to Basel, he could feel the past he’d bounced against dissolving and fading. He became like Gulliver untethering himself from the restraints that held him down. Mike could be held down, but never held back. When he wanted to do something he always did it. He hadn’t changed much over the years. South of Mannheim he intercepted the Autobahn and accelerated to top speed and flashed by Heidelberg, Karlsruhe, and Freiburg. The contours of the Black Forest against the eastern sky drifted by slowly as the eager, road-hugging Mercedes sped along. He stopped at the last AFEX (Armed Forces Exchange) gasoline station on the Autobahn as he approaching Basel. Once he crossed the Swiss border, Mike entered a world that he loved. He saw solid, tidy buildings and clean streets unscarred by the war that had ravaged the rest of Europe. Sparkling peaks reached into the crystal, clear air, displaying

their snow clad slopes and glaciers, beckoning the viewer to come ski, to climb. From Basel through Bern and down the veering road past the Swiss Freiburg, Mike imagined Galli beside him, but he couldn’t unravel the underlying meaning behind it. He had to remind himself of the purpose of this trip continually, but she kept stealing the scene. When he got to Martigny, Mike stopped and studied his map. The St. Bernard tunnel was about thirty miles south. That would bring him to Italy, then through Aosta and then east to Milan. It looks like I could be there in three hours…he glanced at his watch …it’s only four forty-five. Mike forced himself to stop thinking of Galli, and his feeling for her. Good judgment prevailed. He decided it would be unseemly to show up a day earlier than he had planned. In Martigny, he found a small hotel on a tree lined street, checked in, and went for a walk. At the end of a wide street, Mike stopped at a small shop; its window was full of knives, scissors, and every cutting implement he could imagine. He had never seen such an agglomeration of knives, big ones, tiny ones, cheap ones; and costly ones, beautiful ones and ugly ones; exotic ones and plain ones; knives with one blade and knives with dozens of blades! He decided he’d buy gifts for the Lucci’s. For the Generale he bought an elegant, silver letter opener. For Enzo a knife with screw drivers, and a bottle opener, and for his wife, Galli, he found a small engraved knife with tiny scissors and a nail file. Pleased with himself, Mike ate dinner, drank a half bottle of wine, and went to his room. At breakfast, Mike pulled a crusty, fresh roll apart, and cut a thick slice of the aged Gruyere, took his first bite and thought that if he could never have anything else for breakfast, he’d be content with bread, cheese, and a steaming cup of café au lait. Mike lingered over breakfast letting the time like when he was a boy; slowly eating dinner, and saving the best things for last. Finally, he set out at ten o’clock, planning to get to Milan after one o’clock, he drove at a moderate speed, reveling in the ing landscape. The narrow, winding road leading to and out of the St. Bernard tunnel demanded all his attention. Breath taking vistas at each turn intoxicated him, reminding him of his first ascent of the Matterhorn.

The mountain road ed a provincial highway and as he sped along, he saw on the northern horizon the Matterhorn and then Monte Rosa. The road turned south at St. Vincent following the tumbling glacier fed streams that flowed toward the Lombardy Plain. The Lucci villa was on the outskirts of Milan, and easy to find. Their driveway began at a massive glacial erratic boulder that deflected the road around it. There was a caretaker’s house on the corner. When Mike turned into the driveway, a man stepped out from behind a building, turned his hand up at the wrist, smiled, and cautiously approached the car. He bent his head to one side and said, “Buon giorno signore.” (Good day sir) “Buon giorno, uh, sono presente…vedere Generale Lucci.”(Good day. “Generale Lucci? Si, you are Colonel Skora, no?” “Si, yes.” He gestured with one hand toward the driveway. Mike noticed the shotgun slung over his shoulder. The road snaked through an olive grove, went alongside a vineyard, then led to a cobblestone courtyard. There was a large building on one side, and a carriage house with six stalls on the other. As Mike got out and reached for his bag, he heard Galli’s voice. “I see you have found us—was it difficult?” Mike looked up and saw her running down the walkway, a radiant smile on her face. “No Enzo’s directions were right. It was a pleasant drive through the mountains.” She stopped at his side, caught her breath, and then continued with a stream of questions. “How long were you driving? Enzo told me that you are now at Bitburg? Is this a new car? It’s very handsome. Are you tired? Would you like something to drink?” Mike laughed. “Galli, you sound just like you did when I first met you. Now the

answers—ten and a half hours,—yes, now I am at Bitburg,—no, I am not tired, and yes, I would like a drink!” She walked closely beside him. Mike self consciously shifted his bag to keep further from her side. Enzo came out the front door. “Buon giorno, Colonel Skora! Welcome to our family home.” He rushed up and took Mike’s bag. They entered through a massive double door with wrought iron studs and large hinges. An older woman wearing a coarse apron and a white head scarf held the door open. She bowed deferentially when Enzo and Galli entered. “I’ll take your bag up to your room, Mike,” Enzo said over his shoulder, “and Galli, get Colonel Skora something to drink!” Mike turned to watch Enzo and saw General Lucci coming down the curved, marble staircase. He was dressed in mufti, wearing an ascot and had a pleasant smile on his face. Enzo stopped and said, “Mike, here is my father, Generale Lucci.” The General raised both arms and said, “Colonel Skora, welcome to my home. I have been looking forward to meeting you!” He descended quickly, and Mike said, “I’m honored to meet you, general.” “Oh, yes, yes, I am so happy that you have come. Colonel Schulstad, he could not, but Colonel Agnielli, he will be here as well, and General Gerhardt—I think you know him?” “Yes, sir, I met him in Bonn.” General Lucci extended his hand and gave Mike a firm shake and then put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “You must be tired from your journey. Let us go to the library and have a drink, yes?” He looked inquiringly at Mike and briefly at Enzo who was scurrying along the upper corridor. Galli walked at Mike’s side, a radiant smile on her face. They entered the library lined with leather bound books that spoke of their

antiquarian provenance. There was a young man in a white jacket tending the fire with a pair of tongs. “E buono, Federico, basta.” (Good, Federico, that’s enough.) The young man whispered, “Si, Generale.” He glided out of the room, closing the door softly. Mike sat on a tapestry upholstered bench in front of the crackling fire, and Galli sat with him. General Lucci poured drinks into three glasses and turned to hand one to Mike just as Enzo bounded into the library and blurted, “Don’t forget me, Generale, sir!” Mike noticed a fleeting, hardening in the General’s eyes as he handed Enzo a glass. The General raised his glass to Mike and said, “Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Tenuta di Lucci—to our household, and to my son Captain Lucci, and his beautiful wife, Galli.” His eyes flickered from Mike to Galli. Mike drained his glass, and, wanting to divert the general’s attention, reached out toward Enzo. “Pour me another one of those Enzo. We fighter pilots have to set the pace around here.” The general’s expression softened, and he looked at Mike with an amused smile on his lips. Mike leaned back. A warm feeling enveloped him, and he felt himself being sucked into the old world charm that issued from General Lucci. The general refilled Mike’s glass, gave Enzo a trickle and emptied the bottle. “Enzo, look,” he held up the bottle, “we have emptied this. Perhaps you can bring in a bottle of our Barolo?” “Si, Generale.” Enzo darted into the kitchen, Mike heard a door close, and then steps thumping down stairs. The general rose put three wine glasses on a silver tray and placed it on a small, mosaic table at his side. “You must become acquainted with our Italian wines, Colonel Skora. They are not as easy to understood as your German wines. Our Barolo is very complicated —it is like we are,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. “With proper aging, it becomes better.”

Enzo burst in, carrying a bottle in each hand. “I have brought two, father. General Gerhardt will be ing us soon.” “Exacellent, Enzo.” He turned to Mike and added, “This wine was made before the war when we had the time and the workers to make it correctly.” Mike watched the general expertly uncork the wine. He poured a sparing measure into his glass. He held it up to the light, swirled it, smelled it, and then sipped. His eyes brightened, and he turned to Mike, “Si! Yes! This wine is one of my finest.” General Lucci poured the wine into the four glasses. “It is required for Barolo to age in the cask for two years, but the Lucci’s Barolo is held for four years before we bottle it.” “Is Barolo the name of the grape that you grow?” Mike asked. General Lucci laughed, “Oh, no, no, Barolo is the name of a small village in the Piedmont, perhaps one hundred fifty kilometers from Milan. It is from that village that we have the name of the wine.” “What kind of grape is it?” Mike persisted. “The Nebbiolo is the grape. My great grandfather, during the Risorgimento, brought the Nebbiolo vines to Lombardy—a century ago.” Mike sipped the wine. It was rich in cherry and other musky flavors, and, though it was as liquid as other wines he’d had, it left a lingering impression of thickness in his mouth. There was an elusive depth to it that reminded him of General Lucci. The library faced the gardens and the driveway that leads to the highway. Mike glanced out and saw a car approaching. Enzo said, “I think it is General Gerhardt.” He got up quickly and went to the front door. Car doors slammed, and muffled voices rose and fell, punctuated by laughter. The library door opened, and Gerhardt walked in, followed by his aide de camp. He extended his hand to General Lucci and put his arm around his shoulder. He then turned to Mike. “Colonel Skora, how pleasant to see you here.”

Mike rose, shook his hand, and sat down surprised that he didn’t sense any acrimony toward him. General Gerhardt wore a traditional version of a Bavarian Jaeger Meister’s outfit with a sleek turtle necked sweater. When there was a gap in the conversation, Mike looked at his watch. “Well, General Lucci, it’s five-fifteen. May I be excused to my room? I would like to grace your table this evening, fully alert, and appropriately dressed.” “Oh, yes, yes, Colonel Skora, but you must not concern yourself with what you wear. We will be only eight for dinner. Enzo has invited Lieutenant Colonel Mario Ponti and his lovely wife, sca. He is Enzo’s comandante, and we have known him for many years, so it will be like a happy family here—no need for a necktie. Tomorrow we can be more formal, but tonight—vino, risotto, a little osso buco Milanese—just like a real Italian family.” When Mike rose Galli got up quickly, “I will show you to your room, Colonel Skora.” General Lucci said, “Yes, my dear, that is kind of you. We will sit a few moments longer with General Gerhardt. Dinner at eight, Colonel Skora?” “Yes, sir, see you all later.” General Lucci sat down and watched Mike as he followed Galli out of the library. Galli led Mike to his room, opened the door, and walked in. Mike left the corridor door open. “I think you will be comfortable here. Ours is next door and the bath, it is in the hall, over there.” She pointed to the bathroom. “General Lucci has a bathroom in his room, but we must all share this one.” Mike was speechless. He swallowed and said, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Lucci, and I will see you at eight?” “Please call me Galli like you once did.” She stood at the door, her eyes moist, and she held a faint, sad smile. She took a slow deep breath, looked at Mike, and

left. “Jee-ee-sus Christ, what’s happening to me?” Mike muttered to himself. He flopped onto the bed and tried to make sense of where he was, and what was going on. His mind struggled to disentangle himself from the social scenario in which he was now involved. Galli, she seemed to understand his attraction and was showing in every way possible that she was fiercely drawn to him. Why? Was all of this a dream? He dozed for a brief time and awakened when he heard laughing voices in the corridor. Mike recognized General Gerhart and General Lucci’s voices. It was seven-fifteen. Mike slipped into the dark, gray slacks and a glen plaid jacket. Mike’s London tailor fitted them to enhance his athletic frame, yet made him look elegant and casual. He took General Lucci at his word and wore an open necked shirt under a blue, cashmere pullover Mike learned to like welltailored clothes from his mother, who always made sure that he looked good going to school. He heard Enzo and Galli’s voices. “I’ll go down to the library, Galli. You come down when you’re ready.” Mike paused at his door hoping to catch Galli as she left her room. He shook off that thought, flung his door open, and stepped into the hall. A door opened to his right, nd Galli stepped out. “Oh, Mi…Colonel Skora, are you going down?” “Yes Galli, I’m ready for dinner. I didn’t have any lunch today, I wanted to get here.” “You look very nice tonight, but you always do.” She beamed at him. Mike started down the stairs, Galli a half step in front of him. He consciously avoided walking beside her. The library door was open. He heard voices inside, so he entered, and ed the dinner guests. The massive stone fireplace held a crackling fire with robust flames devouring the split oak logs adding to the cheery ambiance. General Lucci, Enzo, General Gerhardt, and the Pontis, were standing, by the fire, glasses in hand. After introductions, General Lucci led Mike to a consul table where several bottles of aperitifs awaited his indulgence. Mike chose Pernod, and when he

topped it with water, it turned the cloudy, yellow color that he liked. Glass in hand, he turned, and Galli was standing in front of him. “Oh, I did not notice the Pernod! General Lucci, may I put down my Campari, and take Pernod instead?” General Lucci smiled graciously, “Yes, of course, my dear—Mike, will you?” Mike turned back to the table, Galli close at his side. He poured two fingers of the clear Pernod, and asked, “How much water, Mrs. Lucci?” She purred, “Oh, Colonel Skora, the same as you, and please call me Galli—as you did in Cannes.” “Yes Galli, but you are not a little girl anymore.” Enzo was standing beside Galli watching their interaction but didn’t say anything. A few minutes after eight the woman who met Mike at the door came into the library and murmured something to General Lucci. “Si Giuliana,” he said, and then to the whole group, “Well, we must go into the dining room. Giuliana has told me that the cook is ready to serve the soup— minestra di verdure. She didit just like my grandmother when I was a boy.” General Lucci directed the seating. He sat at the head of the table, General Gerhardt was on his right, and Colonel Pontii was on his left. Mike sat next to Colonel Ponti, Enzo on his left. Galli sat opposite Mike, and Mrs. Ponti graced the other end of the table. The General poured a crisp Pinot Grigio while Federico and Giuliana served the soup. Mike sipped the tawny wine that carried a fruity taste of peach and pineapple. He detected a trace of lavender fragrance and thought that the wine was extraordinary. “General Lucci, is this one of your wines as well?” Mike asked. “No, Colonel Skora, I wish it was, but it comes from a region called Friuli, which is more suitable for the Pinot grape.”

The General raised his glass high, above the flickering candles, “Salute! To our very dear friends, and their lovely ladies.” Mrs. Ponti raised her glass to the General and said, “And to our soon to be Lieutenant General Lucci who has seated me between the most handsome men in Italy.” With seven glasses raised, seven voices repeated “Salute. The leisurely dinner and the warm and gay conversations complimented the culinary magic that came out of the kitchen. After Mike had tasted the Osso Bucco, he asked Giuliana if she had cooked it. Giuliana smiled, pleased at his question, but modestly answered, “Non signore, la cuoco, lei cuchinare.” (no sir, the cook did it.) General Gerhardt turned to Mike, “Yes, Colonel Skora, this is very fine. We have this in . We call it ‘kalbe haxe’. Perhaps you have had it?” “I’ve seen it on menus. I think I’ll order it in the future, but we’ll never get risotto like this in .” Mike rolled his eyes. “This is ambrosia!” Galli looked at Mike fondly, “Yes, I , Mike, that you liked to eat.” Mrs. Ponti and Galli were evidently close friends, and when she talked to Galli, she’d switch from Italian to English whenever she noticed that Mike was listening to their conversation. Mike felt a warm and friendly attraction to Mrs. Ponti. She didn’t appear to be a complicated person, but he couldn’t stop trying to make sense of what she was. He thought that a discussion of political or military matters might give him some clues, but he thought he was too much of a novice to throw that card on the table. Mike felt as though he was in a Hollywood movie, and couldn’t believe that somewhere in this melange there was a culprit. As the time slowly drifted toward ten o’clock, General Lucci said, “Espresso for everyone? Enzo,” “he held up a hand that signaled ‘a little bit,’ then asked the room, “Grappa? Sambuca?” “Si, Generale.” Enzo slid open the door to the liquor cabinet, and brought out two bottles and

held them up to the diners, “Grappa or Sambuca for your espresso?” Federico brought out a tray of glasses for the Grappa. General Lucci said, “For me, it will be Grappa—the drink for men!” General Gerhardt added, “And for me.” Enzo asked Mike, “Grappa, the fighter pilot’s drink?” Mike laughed and said, “You bet Enzo. Let me try it!” Galli looked, raised her chin, and said, “Not for me. It will be Sambuca with my espresso.” sca said, “Oh, you men. You’re all alike!” And she laughed. The pleasant evening wound down. The Ponti’s excused themselves, and General Gerhardt followed. Mike thought that the Luccis might want to share their thoughts privately, he rose, excused himself, said “Goodnight,” and reluctantly left Galli’s caressing eyes. Mike awakened to the rain dripping on the copper sheathing outside his window. He got up to go to the bathroom and felt the damp chill. There wasn’t any central heating in that old stone manse, but General Lucci had electric heaters in the bathroom, and there were fireplaces down stairs. Mike thought it all luxurious. He hopped back into bed and resumed reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Mike had picked up the book after he’d met Galli, whose Russian ancestry heightened his interest in Russian history. Though the story was about a period more than a hundred years ago, Mike felt closer to Galli as the layers of Russian society, history, and culture unfolded themselves in Tolstoy’s masterful novel. He felt drawn into the story, and when he read the part where the young girl, Natasha, is told by Boris, the handsome young guard’s officer, that he loves her, but she must wait for four years before he can ask for her hand, Mike’s mind wandered back. He wondered if he had fallen in love with Galli eight years ago in Cannes. It was just a dream—or was it?

Pages later, Mike heard a tap on his door. “Yes?” “May I come in? It is after eleven o-’lock. Aren’t you having breakfast?” It was Galli who stepped into his reverie. She stood at the door, a winsome smile on her face. Mike put down the book. “Good morning, Galli. Yes, I’ll have a little coffee and some bread. After that wonderful meal last night I don’t feel too hungry.” “If you come down now I will have a coffee with you.” Galli closed the door quietly. Mike sprang out of bed and dressed hurriedly and dashed down the stairs. Galli was pouring coffee into two cups, and she asked, “Would you like some cheese or marmalade with your bread?” “Cheese will be wonderful, Galli, thank you.” Mike heard the door open, and Federico came in carrying a canvas sling filled with logs to feed the glowing fire. Galli said, “Buon giorno, Federico.” “Buon giorno, signora,” Federico answered shyly, and then briskly swept the hearth and glided out of the room. When Galli finished pouring the coffee, she handed a cup to Mike. When he touched her hand, he felt as if he’d touched a live wire. Mike’s mind raced to find something to say to Galli, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Galli held her cup in both hands. and sat quietly looking at Mike. “For a long time I have been hoping to see you again, and now you are here. It is so strange to see you, Mike. It is like the years have not ed.” “Yes but a lot has happened in those years—to both of us.” “Yes, that is for sure. Look at me; I am now married, but, when I you,

I do not feel that I have married.” Her eyes dropped, and her voice was almost a whisper. The door opened abruptly, and Enzo came into the library. “Oh Galli, so that’s where you are! Father would like me to take our guests to see the vineyards and the winery.” “But it is raining, Enzo, Shouldn’t we wait for another day?” Galli asked. “No, I have some coats for the rain and we have umbrellas. Mike are you up for a wet sightseeing tour?” “Yeah, great, Enzo. I’d like to see the vineyard, and that winery.” Galli got up quickly and said, “I have a rain coat upstairs. I will come too.” As Galli left the room. Enzo said, “Galli, will you tap on General Gerhardt’s door, and ask if he would like to come?” She came back speedily. “No, the general does not wish to go—maybe tomorrow —but we can go now to show Mike the winery, and look, it has stopped raining!” They drove slowly through an extensive vineyard. It curved around a sloping hillside facing the sun. The fall harvest had been collected, yet a handful of vineyard workers could be seen bent low, probably pruning the vines. “How many people do you need to harvest all these grapes, Enzo?” Mike asked. “Those four that you see working now, and about a dozen others from the village who we hire every year to pick the grapes.” Mike asked, “How many bottles do you get from an acre? It looks like the vineyard is at least five or six acres.” Enzo laughed, “Not bad, Mike. Actually, it’s a little more than eight acres. We get more than 2,000 cases every year. It varies a bit.” Galli added, “And these wines are very, very good. This region is the best for

growing the grapes, and when this wine is aged it becomes very costly, and besides this vineyard, Prince Lucci—I mean General Lucci—has other vineyards that are leased.” Mike thought Galli sounded a bit like a chatelaine when she spoke of the vineyards, and he wondered what caused her to use the General’s title—’Prince’. “Now we will go to the winery,” Enzo said as he turned the car. Enzo drove past a huge barn to a smaller stone building that had one curved wall, and an opening for wagons to pull through. They stopped under the arched roof of the porte-cochere at a massive double door. Enzo said, “Here is where we bring the wine into the press room.” They got out of the car, and Enzo pulled the door open. Inside there was an enormous wooden press topped with a hydraulic piston that powered the pressing of the grapes. Enzo turned to Mike, who was examining the device. He smiled and said, “What did you think, Mike? I’ll bet you expected to see our workers stomping barefooted on the grapes, eh?” “Come on, Enzo, I’m not that dumb, but that press is something! But didn’t they use to tromp on them with bare feet?” Enzo laughed and said, “Yes, and they still do in the small villages in Campania and the other provinces in the south, but we are more advanced here.” Enzo proudly showed Mike the bottling room, and the tanker sized oak barrels that stored the wine while it aged. “We bottle it, and then it comes to our cellar for more aging.” Galli added, “And it brings a good price. Tenuta Lucci Barolo is well known here in Italy, and we even export it to America.” Enzo fell into his role as guide, and his manner became detached and punctilious. Galli and Mike made comments to each other and were thoroughly engrossed. It was almost as if they walked along together holding hands. They returned to the house as General Lucci and General Gerhardt were coming out of

the dining room. “Enzo, you missed lunch,” the general said. “You should have waited until after lunch to visit the winery. General Gerhardt wants to see it, too.” “Galli said the General didn’t want to go this morning. We can do it later today, or tomorrow, father. Colonel Skora wanted to see it t now.” “I don’t want to be difficult, General Lucci. It’s not necessary to escort me to your vineyards, though I am interested to see what you do. As you know, I too have a vineyard but not a winery. A neighbor processes my grapes, but with my label,” General Gerhardt said. Enzo said, “If you wish, sir, I’ll be happy to show you this afternoon or tomorrow.” “Let’s do it tomorrow after lunch. Is that convenient?” Lucci said, “Yes, Kurt, we will do it after lunch tomorrow—and Galli—Natasha will be here for lunch tomorrow, too!” Galli answered, “Good, Natasha will be pleased to see Colonel Skora again.” “Yes, Galli, Enzo has told me that you and your sister had met Colonel Skora in Cannes, during the war.” Galli turned to Mike and said, “Natasha is married to Dr. Bonicatti. They met at the University.” Mike said, “I’m glad to hear that. It’ll be good to see her again.” Galli quickly added, “They have a six-year-old girl, and a little boy now.” Her tone sounded almost cautionary. “Her husband is from a well-known family in Lombardi. They have manufactured fine China for centuries, and the family still owns the business.” “Where do they live now?” “Oh, in Bergamo where the factory is. The doctor is an orthopedic surgeon. He

does not do business, His brother Arnoldo is now the manager. Natasha works there, too. She is their head designer.” “Wonderful, Galli, I can’t wait to hear how her life is.” Galli said, “It’s very fine. She is very happy, and—and, you must we were two of us in Cannes—Natasha and me?” Mike wondered what prompted that comment but sensed something. Was it jealousy? He couldn’t figure it out. He sensed that Galli was anticipating that he’d be attracted again to Natasha, but he didn’t feel any attraction to her. He was mesmerized by Galli. After breakfast, General Gerhardt and Enzo left for the vineyards, and Mike went to his room to read. When he heard loud women’s voices, a barking dog, and a child crying he assumed it was Natasha and her family. He brushed his hair, slipped on a jacket and bounded down the stairs. Natasha, holding her little son, turned away from Galli and said, “Mike! Galli has told me that you are here. What a surprise!” “I’m surprised myself! When I met Galli, I didn’t recognize her. She was a grown-up! And you, you have two beautiful children!” Mike exclaimed. “After you had left Cannes, I didn’t hear from you, and when Simóne told me that Ned was killed soon after you both left Cannes, I thought you too had...had…” “No Natasha, I got your card, but I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I could only think about each day as I lived it back then.” “I understand, Mike, but now you are a colonel, and I am married to a wonderful man. Come and meet him.” They strolled into the courtyard and Natasha’s husband turned from the opened car trunk. He handed the dog’s leash to the little girl and stepped toward Mike with his face beaming and his hand extended. “Colonel Skora, I have heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you finally.” Mike shook his hand firmly. You have a wonderful family Dr. Bonicatti.”

“Oh, call me Dario, I insist.” Natasha and her family settled in. A lunch followed flooded with a constant flow of effervescent conversation and polite interruptions. While the two generals murmured to each other, Enzo, Galli, Natasha, Dario, and Mike talked and acted like school children on holiday. The evening meal was a simple family meal. Giuliana served a pasta pomodoro followed by thin slices of tender veal that had been dipped in a coating and resonated with northern Italian flavors. Everyone at the table could feel the impending excitement of the next day’s event. General Lucci said, “We will have a busy day tomorrow.” He looked at Mike, “Your Colonel Agnielli will be here tomorrow afternoon, Colonel Skora. Will you greet him with me?” “Yes, sir, just let me know, I’ll be right here.” General Gerhardt moved away from the table, stood erect, and in a slightly slurred speech said, “It is time for this old pilot to retire if you all will excuse me.” He made a little bow and walked to the stairs. The Pontis followed, then Enzo and Galli got up to go. Dr. Bonaccati said, “Natasha finish your espresso, I will go up, and look after the children. Good night, General Lucci. Mike, you and Natasha must share your lives after you both met in Cannes.” He rose and left the table. General Lucci yawned then said, “Good night to you both. If you wish more espresso, please serve yourselves. I have told Giuliana and Federico that they may leave.” Mike had a premonition that his being left alone with Natasha was somehow planned. Or was it? He thought: Her husband almost suggested that she stay with me. Was he suspicious or completely trusting? Natasha went to the kitchen and brought out a small pitcher of hot espresso. She topped Mike’s cup, then her own, and sat down looking at Mike.

“You are probably wondering why we have been left alone to talk. Dario suggested that I tell you a few things which, um, would be better left unsaid. But, may I be assured that none of this conversation is made known to Galli?” Mike was startled by that question. He thought, Galli? What is it that her sister wants to tell me? And why did she ask me not to tell Galli anything? “Yes Natasha, I promise that I’ll not tell anyone what you tell me.” “Good Mike. First, I’ll tell you a little about Galli’s early years. Our grandmother, who you met in Nice, died soon after the war ended. Galli and I were taken in by our uncle who lived in Monaco. Galli went to school there, and I entered the University of Bologna. All of this is difficult to describe, but our uncle began to pay more and more attention to Galli, and she began to do things that made me wonder. When I came back to Monaco after my first year at the University, Galli was twelve, and was becoming a very lovely girl, and…and maturing fast. I saw that she had expensive pieces of jewelry and too many new clothes. She told me about trips she made with our uncle, and then I began to notice that their relationship was not that of a child and caretaker. I concluded that he was attracted to her, and I could see that she was able to get her way with him in everything she wanted to do. I met my husband Dario at the University, and we began to see each other regularly. He was at the medical school, and when I graduated, we decided to marry. Galli was fifteen or sixteen then and was completely a young woman. We all lived together of course because she was still at school.” “I think you did the right thing, Natasha because Galli has become a lovely woman,” Mike said. “That’s not the end of what I want to tell you, Mike. While Galli lived with us, Dario told me some things. There was an Italian race car driver Carlo Caivano who Galli became friendly with when she was only sixteen or seventeen. He was well known, and quite a playboy. I know that she ran with a fast group of young girls at her school…Oh, I forgot to tell you, I arranged for her to stay at a boarding school in Brescia. That’s where the Milli Miglia is run every year. Do you know of this race?” “Yes, isn’t it from the Brescia to Rome and back?” “Yes, Caivano had won the first prize the previous year. Dario told me that after

he was killed in the race the following year, the press revealed that on the night before the race he was seen drunk, and cavorting with a young schoolgirl, and wasn’t fit to drive in the race. Dario suggested that Galli was possibly the girl because she had said that she knew Caivano. What’s worse is that she told Dario this to make herself more appealing to him.” “You mean she was playing up to your husband?” Natasha said, “Yes, Dario is very honest with me. We tell each other everything.” “Jesus, I can’t believe this!” Mike said. “I leave it to you to think what you want. I inquired at the school and learned that Galli had given the heaster a letter—I didn’t write it. The letter asked that she be permitted to be absent on several weekends so that she could take care of her ill sister’s child! Can you imagine?” Mike sat there slowly shaking his head in disbelief. “And when I asked her whether she knew Caivano was killed in the race she showed remarkable indifference and dismissed the subject with a ‘c’est la vie!’” “Why are you telling me this?” Mike asked. “Mike I can see she has attracted you, and I have no objection to that. I think you and I could become great friends, or even like brothers and sisters in-law, but I don’t want to see you hurt. That is truly the only reason.” Mike looked at Natasha and knew she was honest. “Just be careful, Mike, and be sure of her motives. She is a married woman now who shouldn’t act the way she does with you.” Mike’s thoughts flitted. Right and wrong bounced back and forth like a fast pingpong game. He nodded thoughtfully, and said, “You’re probably right, Natasha. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” “Yes Mike, you must believe that I do this only for your benefit.”

“Thank you, Natasha, I trust you.” He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said, “Shall we called it a night?” “Yes, I think we can sleep on it. You must to say nothing about our conversation.” Mike rose and said, “Please don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Good night Natasha.” “Good night, Mike—go up. I will bring the espresso to the kitchen, and come upstairs later.” Mike’s mind spun when he went to bed. He wondered if Galli could be involved in the intelligence leaks to the Stasi. Was she like Helga who seduced him to get information? So far he didn’t suspect that was the case, but he pondered the many possibilities. Surprisingly, he slept well. It was almost nine o’clock when he awakened. At breakfast, it seemed like nothing had changed. Galli greeted Mike, and her face glowed with pleasure. He felt the pull of her attraction. His mind pushed aside Natasha’s conversation, and he tried putting things together, so he could tell Agnielli something about his suspicions. He had to learn more about who could be involved. Mike turned to General Lucci. “General Lucci, I’m sure there will be many people at your celebration tonight. You have many friends in Italy.” “Yes Colonel Skora, of course. I have invited the local dignitaries, and there’ll be many from our military as well as some distinguished individuals—Dr. Roncalli the Director of the Filarmonica della Scala—and a few others that I can’t . Enzo added, “Father, Galli has invited Dr. Santoro,” he turned to Mike, “He was one of my professors at the university, and,” he turned back to General Lucci, “there is Giulio Raimondi who is building a music festival center in Spoleto, the American opera singer Nils Engelstrom.” He looked at Galli, “and who else did you invite?” Galli blushed and said, “Only Mario Pavesi. He is the famous actor.”

Mike noted the names mentioned, and planned to meet each one if he could. He wanted to understand their connection to Galli. Lunch was improvised. Giuliano put out cold meats and a hearty white bean soup. Natasha sidled up to Mike when he was making a sandwich, and whispered, “Galli invited Dr. Santoro. I will tell you about him when I can.” Santoro’s name hopped to the top of the list of people he would seek out. When the doorbell sounded General Lucci dashed to the window. “Yes, it’s Colonel Agnielli—just in time for a bit to eat!” He darted to the door as Agnielli came in. With his face beaming, the general embraced Agnielli as though he was a brother, and they were speaking Italian when they walked into the study. Agnielli saw Mike and said, “Mike! I see you got here from Deutschland,” he saw General Gerhardt. “Did you come together with General Gerhardt?” “No sir, I drove down from Bitburg. The general flew into Aviano.” “Wonderful to see you both, and of course you too, General Lucci.” Lucci said, “Come, you must meet Natasha and Galli, who is Enzo’s wife.” When Colonel Agnielli was introduced to Natasha, he said, “Mike has told me he met you in Cannes during the war, and Galli is your little sister.” Mike interrupted, “Sir, she’s not little anymore. She’s Enzo’s wife.”

Chapter 3

GENERAL LUCCI’S GALA

The time for General Lucci’s fete drew nearer. He had told his guests that there would be a car to take him and General Gerhardt to the Municipal Center, the setting for the black tie event. Colonel Ponti’s sedan was larger than Enzo’s, so it was agreed that the five of them would ride together. Ponti said, “If we drink too much, boys, sca can drive us home—and Mike, you ride up front with me.” But Galli, acting like the little girl who gets her way by charming everyone said, “Oh no! Colonel Ponti, you and sca must ride together like Enzo and me. Colonel Skora can sit with us.” She turned to Mike and asked, “Do you mind, Colonel Skora?” She paused and looked him in the eye. Mike got a vague feeling that her gentle rearrangement of their seating carried an unspoken command to him. At least that’s the way he chose to interpret it. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, perhaps not. During the ride, Galli leaned forward and chatted gaily with Mrs. Ponti. sca treated Galli like a younger sister. They both talked back and forth in a mixed stew of Italian and English, looking at Mike whenever they switched to English. “You must forgive us, Mike but we are making plans. Galli and I and another friend are going to Cervinia where Mario and I have a small chalet. Do you know it?” “Yes,” Mike said, “it’s on the Italian side of the Matterhorn, isn’t it?” “Yes, Mike. Galli, me, and our friend Victoria are leaving our husbands behind to fly their airplanes, but we are going to ski!”

Galli asked, “Do you like to ski, Mike?” “It’s one of my favorite sports,” he replied. Enzo said, “The Barons will be in Cortina for a week of skiing in December. We have been invited by the Hotel Europa to start the winter season. The Olympics will begin shortly after that.” Mike feigned surprise, “Oh! I thought the Red Barons were going to show the Olympians how to do it!” Enzo glanced at Mike, “You should come with us, Colonel Skora. We are leaving our ladies behind. They are not allowed to ski.” Galli turned her head to Enzo, then looked at Mike, “And we ladies are going to Cervinia in February and leaving our men behind.” It sounded to Mike that Galli directed her comment at him—at least it seemed that way. “You’ll be looking up at the Matterhorn. won’t you?” sca said, “Oh, you know the Matterhorn?” “Yes, I learned to ski in Zermatt years ago.” Enzo said, “Mike, there’ll be five of us going to Cortina, and if you come we’ll be six. We’ll tell the hotel owner you’re one of us. That way your room will be free.” “Sounds like a good deal to me, Enzo. I’ll let you know after I get back to Bitburg. I hope my boss goes along with that plan because I’ve arranged a ski week in Zermatt in February.” sca said, “Oh, Colonel Skora, it’s a shame you’re not going to be in Cervinia. Galli and I will be skiing there for two weeks.” Galli looked at Mike, her eyebrows raised and she asked, “Is it possible to get to the Testa Grizia from Zermatt? Perhaps you could meet us there for lunch.”

“I don’t think the ski lifts in Zermatt connect to the Testa Grizia, but I’ll find out and let Enzo know.” “I hope you can do it, Mike,” Galli said. They pulled up at the entrance to the municipal hall, and Colonel Ponti said, “I’ll park the car, wait for me inside.” He sped off around a corner, and sca led the way into the lobby. She gave their names to one of the welcoming attendants and got seating assignments. The interior of the banquet hall looked like it was set up for about two or three hundred guests. The long tables, arranged around a small space for dancing, were in front of the stage. There an orchestra also sat playing a traditional Italian song. When Colonel Ponti returned, they found their table. Enzo was on the committee for the event and had arranged to seat all of them together. General Lucci and General Gerhardt were at the head table with all the local dignitaries. The politicians preened, strutted, and made demonstrative speeches as politicians usually do whenever they have a podium. Mike looked around at the guests and noticed there were a few uniformed men scattered through the civilian group. He saw Agnielli talking to a group of military men and civil servants. After the dinner, the master of the ceremony announced that there would now be music for dancing, and the orchestra switched from traditional, regional Italian tunes to the American big band songs that had flooded the airwaves in the Forties. Almost en masse couples rose and tried to imitate what they’d seen in movies, or from watching American soldiers moving to the rhythm of the songs they carried within them; Mike watched Enzo and Galli rise. sca turned to him and said, “Mike, we must dance. Mario, he does not dance, and Galli has said that Natasha has told her that you are a good dancer.” Mike turned to Mario, “Do you mind?” “No, no, please go, but be careful. sca will step on your toes!” He suppressed a laugh. sca was a self-assured woman. She wasn’t a flirt. Mike could tell that she was a happy wife. Mario and sca’s enjoyment of each other was right on

the surface. Mike liked their friendly, uncomplicated openness. When they started dancing Mike learned who ran that family. sca had a tendency to leadership the dancing, but Mike stiffened, resisted, and, with his strong lead, he soon had control. sca relaxed and danced fluidly. “You are a very good dancer, Mike. Galli was right. Have you danced with her?” “No, she was just a child when we first met.” Mike felt like he was making an excuse and he didn’t know why. sca leaned back and studied him. “You must dance with her tonight. I think she would like that.” Mike wondered what she knew about something that wasn’t even clear in his head. Women sometimes seem to have a sixth sense for feeling things that a man isn’t yet aware of. Had Galli said anything to her about him? As he danced, Mike reminded himself why he was here. He scanned the guests for some insight they might provide. The song ended, and Galli and Enzo ed them in the middle of the dance floor. sca bubbled, “Oh, Enzo, my favorite dance partner. Let’s dance the next one. You can leave Galli in Colonel Skora’s hands!” She looked at Galli and said, “You were right, Galli, Mike is an excellent dancer.” The orchestra started Cole Porter’s ‘Night and Day,’ one of Mike’s favorites. Galli stepped toward him, and he took her hand. The orchestra started Cole Porter’s “Night and Day,” one of Mike’s favorites. Galli stepped toward him, and he took her hand. “Night and day, you are the one…” The room dissolved along with everyone in it. He was alone with Galli in an ineffably arrested moment in time. She blended with him, and he could feel her hesitant submission to his confident leading. She wasn’t a practiced dancer, and Mike subdued himself to an uncomplicated foxtrot in which she gained confidence. Mike was aware of every part of her that touched him. Her left breast pressed against his chest, and he could feel it throb with every beat of her heart. He was enthralled by Galli, and his feelings for he had for her were not like any feelings he had for other girls in his life. With them it had always been a give and take; an action and a reaction, nothing else. This affair was something that swallowed him whole. He was swimming in a sublime, euphoric, dreamlike state that severed every connection to everything he had taken for granted. He

felt Galli’s hand perspire, and he felt an impulse to bring her hand to his face; to smell it, feel it, and taste it. Yes, time stood still, for them, but for the orchestra, time ran out, and they stopped. Mike saw the other dancers and he came back to this world. Neither he nor Galli spoke. Mike led Galli back to the table, made a slight bow, and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Lucci.” He didn’t risk calling her Galli. That would have been too familiar and might reveal to Enzo the powerful attraction he felt for her, and he assumed, that she had for him. The people around Mike and his party were gregarious, and a little boisterous. Across the table Enzo was charming a local matron, and Galli was getting iring glances from a portly lawyer. Mike looked toward the head table and noticed that a civilian was standing between General Lucci and General Gerhardt. The general acted as though he knew the man and when he spoke to Gerhardt the man smiled, then talked to them both. The man had longish hair and a goatee. Mike thought he looked like an academic. Their back and forth conversation appeared intense, which is not what one would expect from newly introduced people. Mike wondered what they were saying. sca interrupted his rumination. She put her hand on his arm and said, “Why don’t you ask Galli to dance? I will tear Enzo away from that awful woman.” sca had a roguish smile, and she nodded her head toward the heavily made up woman that was so engrossed with Enzo. Mike asked Galli to dance, and her face brightened, “Yes, of course, thank you.” Mike led her onto the crowded dance floor, and when he took her in his arms, it felt like he’d known her all his life. Galli took a slow, deep breath, and nestled against him. Mike needed to say something, so he said, “sca is going to pull Enzo away from that woman who’s talking to him.” “Oh, she is, how you say, such a grande dame, but she is not.” “Oh, so you know her?” “No, not really. Enzo’s father has said things about her. Not bad things, only that

she is interested in no one but herself. During the war, her husband was with the Fascists. She is a widow now and would never it that her husband was with Mussolini.” “What happened to her husband?” Mike asked. “You know Natasha’s husband, Dario? His father was forced to work at the Bergamo Airfield that had German airplanes based there. In 1944, your Air Force attacked the airbase, and, sadly, Dario’s father and Count Astrelli, that woman’s husband, were killed.” “Why did he work there? Didn’t he have the business where Natasha works now?” Mike, you don’t know how it was in those days. The Germans and Italy’s Fascists controlled everything. He had no choice, and there was no business going on.” Mike watched the academic dance by with Countess Astrelli who caught his eye and smiled. She turned back to her partner, said something, and he glanced Mike’s way with a deadpan look. When the music stopped, the woman came over. “Galli, I think you know Professor Santoro?” “Yes, he has been at my father’s house.” A very slight flicker of Galli’s eyes revealed either her dislike of the woman or Professor Santoro, but she was a polite, and well brought up, and she managed to hide her true feelings. She suppressed those feelings in the interest of social harmony. Mike wanted to believe it was because of him. The evening affair came to its inevitable end. There werelaughter and fulsome farewells; they glancing at watches as though their owners were expected somewhere. It was a short ride to General Lucci’s house. Mike didn’t enter into the cheerful conversations flying back and forth between the front and back seats. From what little he understood, Mike assumed that Galli and sca would be in Cervinia next February. Mike had planned a skiing holiday in the Arlberg region

of Austria. He’d never been to St. Anton. The young Marine guard at the embassy, a real skiing nut from New Hampshire told him that the ski lifts connected to Lech and Zurs, and you could ski all day on a different trail. Mike had skied Zermatt but wanted to try the Arlberg where they perfected the Christiana turn that revolutionized recreational skiing. The more he heard Galli’s enthusiastic voice talking about skiing, the more he wanted to ski with her. He reminded himself that she’d be in Cervinia with two married women. Besides, what was the point? Galli was married to Enzo. The next morning Mike packed his things and came downstairs for breakfast. He put his suitcase by the front door and went into the dining room. Giuliana had arranged a buffet breakfast knowing that the guests would come down at different times. Mike saw Natasha, her children, and Dario at the table. Colonel Agnielli was helping himself to an array of cold meats, cheeses, and scrambled eggs. When Mike caught his eye, Agnielli winked at him and nodded his head toward the front hall. Mike thought: I guess he wants to talk to me. Mike took his coffee and croissant to the table and sat next to Dario and his boy. Natasha was sitting across the table with her little girl. “It was so nice to see you, Natasha, and you too, Dario. You have a beautiful family.” Natasha said, “You are leaving this morning?” Mike answered, “Yes, it’s a pretty long drive. I’ve got to get back.” Dario said, “You must come visit with us, Mike, when you can.” Mike saw genuine friendship in Dario’s smiling face. Agnielli sat next to Mike and attacked the assortment of cold delicacies. He didn’t say much to anyone, and within only a few minutes, rose. “Well, I’ve got an appointment in Rome this afternoon so I’ll be on my way. Mike can I ask you to help me with my windshield wiper? I want to put on a new one, but I’m not sure how to do it.” Mike jumped up and said, “Yes sir.”

He turned to Natasha and Dario, and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” When they got outside, Agnielli said, “Did you sniff out anything, Mike?” “Yes, sir, there were a couple of people that I’ll focus on, and Enzo just about forced me to go to Cortina with the Barons.” “That’s good, Mike. what I said about Cortina? There’ll be a lot of interesting people there. I’ll call Colonel Childs, and tell him you have to be there.” Relieved, Mike said, “Fine, sir, that’ll make it easy for me when I get to Bitburg.” They acted out the windshield wiper replacement ruse. Agnielli handed Mike the worn windshield wiper and got into his car. Mike saluted him as he spun out of the courtyard. Back in the house, Mike theatrically disposed of the windshield wiper, and then lingered over his coffee hoping to see Galli. She didn’t come down, so he said his goodbyes to General Lucci, General Gerhardt and Natasha’s family. He threw his suitcase into the Mercedes, waved as he swished around the turn, and went out of sight. The drive was a peaceful interlude from what the last few days had been. A variety of people that drew Mike’s attention stirred his gut. Galli had begun to be a mystery and a seductive distraction. The social complexity of his involvement with the Lucci’s was like a deck of cards scattered across the table in no discernible pattern. Someone, or several someones’s were Jokers. They all could be one or the other, and it was up to him to peek behind their screens and discover who they were. Natasha made him feel like he’d just finished a book. A book that revealed the circumstances that led to a fulfilled, and happy life. He closed it when he read the last page. And then there was Professor Santoro, Enzo and who else? The car devoured the miles, hungry to go faster Mike shifted his thoughts and returned to sensible driving because those thoughts began to screen his vision. The road leading to the Simplon snaked between snow-covered mountains with steep pastures rising to the lower snowfields. The clear cold mountain air

and the Alpine vista lifted Mike’s mood and disconnected the murky, confused thoughts he had when he left the Lucci’s. The narrow road squeezed between steep mountains was covered to protect it from winter avalanches. It was like driving through tunnels open on one side. General Lucci had told Mike that the recent improvements of the Simplon kept the open to traffic all year round. After crossing into Switzerland, Mike turned west at Brig. He turned north at Martigny and crossed into at Basel. Mike got on the Autobahn and decided to press on to Bitburg. The Mercedes leapt forward eagerly, and at 6:45 he drove through the Bitburg gate. On Monday morning Mike went to his office and was surprised to see Colonel Flynn when he walked in. “Good morning, sir, I just got back late last night.” “I knew you were here because Colonel Childs briefed me. He left yesterday for Wiesbaden. There was a group commander’s this morning. He told me a Colonel Agnielli called him, something about you. I noticed you signed in last night. Anyway, Benny said to make sure you’re able to get away to Aviano next month.” Flynn studied Mike, hoping that he’d fill him in on his extra curricular activities. Mike gathered that Childs didn’t tell Flynn everything he knew, which was the way it should have been. “Oh, umm, yes, sir. I have to be in Aviano on Saturday, December third. I’m supposed to meet some Italian Air Force bigwigs there.” Flynn nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what Mike was involved in but tried to act as though he did. “I guess someone could drop you off there in one of our T-birds.” “Yes, sir, I’ll clear it with Captain Beall.” “Hmm, yes, that’s fine. Colonel Childs called me last night, and said he’d gotten some clues that the 17th Air Force Tac Eval team is going to hit us real soon.” “Ouch! We just had an ORI a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t 17th know that?”

“No Mike. Childs got talking with the 17th D.O.⁴² and he let it slip that his guys would be visiting us soon. We’d better get ready for them.” Colonel Flynn went back to his office. Mike went to the intelligence offices and picked up the war plan for the 36th. He spent several hours reviewing the actions required of the squadrons, and then called the three commanders to a meeting that day at three o’clock. At the meeting, he announced the likelihood of a Tac Eval in the very near future. He cautioned them that because they would be demonstrating what their war plan mission was, they needed to be careful not to reveal too much to German nationals. Mike ed the known Stasi agents, the boot maker, and the club bartender Hans, but couldn’t tellwhat he knew. He emphasized the need to keep classified material away from custodians, the bookmaker, and employees in the O club. The Tac Eval was sprung two days later. For three days the squadrons launched their aircraft, and, in a frenzy, dispersed vital parts of their operations. When the squadrons were launching their aircraft, Mike was in the base control tower. He turned the high-powered binoculars toward the approach end of the runway. As he had expected, he saw a Volkswagen parked on the narrow road close to the fenced-in area. There were two men in the car, and it looked like they were holding either cameras or binoculars which were pointed at the aircraft, as they turned onto the runway. That figures, they’re checking the tail numbers and what else? I wonder if they know we’re exercising the war plan? I should Alex Bauer, and tell him what was going on, but he probably knows. He seems to know everything. Colonel Childs returned from Wiesbaden Monday evening, and the next day he heard the Tac Eval team leader’s report. He was pleased with the results, and the 36th fell back to its normal schedule. Several days later Mike went to the O club and was surprised to see Alex sitting at a table sipping a beer. When Alex saw Mike, he nodded discreetly, finished his beer and walked out. Mike checked his watch and sipped his drink slowly. Seven minutes later he left and saw Alex sitting in the car. He glanced around, sauntered to the car, and got in. “Seven minutes, Mike—you ed, eh?” “Yeah, Alex, I thought you wanted to talk to me. I almost called you a couple of days ago.”

“Really? Did you see something going on that you wanted me to know?” “Yes, Alex, I did. During the Tac Eval there were a couple of guys near the end of our runway watching, and probably taking pictures. Later, I saw a custodian emptying wastebaskets in the 53rd’s op’s building, and he didn’t dump the trash into the garbage can like he’s supposed to.” Alex chuckled, “Good going, Mike. We’ve been getting signals that the flow of info picked up when the Tac Eval started. I know about those guys taking pictures. I didn’t know about the 53rd’s custodian. That’s why I came here to talk to you—that, and something else. I know you’re going to Cortina with the Barons. Dominico Agostino—do you him? He’s got my job in Rome. Anyway, he’ll be up in Cortina when you are but he doesn’t want you to recognize him. He’ll get in touch with you. You act like you don’t know him, got it?” Mike got the drift. “Right Alex, I’ll wait for him to me.” “That’s about all I have for you Mike, I’d better leave and hit the sack. We look like a couple of queers sitting out here.” Mike laughed. “Go ahead, Alex. Good to see you. I’ll come up to Bonn sometime, and you fill me in on how you’re doing. Take it easy.” Alex drove slowly out of the parking lot, scanning the shadows. When Mike’s head hit his pillow, he thought about Alex and his clandestine activities. His thoughts then swung from Helga Gerhardt and what she led him to, to the Italian problem and Enzo and Galli. When he thought of Galli, he stopped ruminating and bathed himself in her alluring manner, but the impropriety of his attraction to a married woman disturbed him. Then he thought of Christine. She was a married woman, but he didn’t fall in love with her, nor she with him. Mike saw a difference, and he decided to call Frankfurt to see when Christine would be there.

Chapter 4

CHRISTINE, THE COUNSELOR

“Mrs. Hareldsted will be on flight 799 arriving at Rhine-Main at 6:58 on Friday, November 18.” Hot dog! That’s a week from tomorrow.! I can get away Friday a little early and stay over! Planning to see Christine sobered Mike and the next day he arranged the flight to Aviano with Captain Beall. After work Mike spent his evenings at the O club, sipping scotch, and speculating about the people he would see in Italy. It was all still a massive jig-saw puzzle. The pieces were there, but he couldn’t yet figure out how some of them fit together. When Friday came, Mike was sorry to miss the usual shenanigans at the club, but Christina beckoned. He decided to surprise Christine by meeting her when her flight landed. Mike left the base at four-forty-five and covered the narrow winding route in an hour and a half. When he got to Rhein-Main he checked the incoming flight schedule and saw that flight 799 was due to land at 6:45. He bought a cup of coffee and went to the gate. The engers started to stream through the gate, and Mike began to feel like a kid that’s been told, “There’s no school today!” The last stragglers came by, and he saw the uniformed attendants pulling their small carry-on bags. When he saw Christine walking with a male attendant, his anticipation simmered down. Christine spotted Mike, and her face brightened. She turned to her companion, and said something, then turned toward Mike. “What a surprise, Mike! I haven’t seen you for so long!” “I should’ve let you know I’d be here Christine, but I wanted to surprise you.” Mike’s expression revealed that he thought Christine was attached to the male attendant, but she read his mind, and her face took on the consoling look of a

mother comforting a disappointed child. “Mike, that was Bruce Cochran, a new flight attendant, and he’s gay, Mike. Did you think he was with me?” Mike broke into a wide smile. He took her bag, she locked her arm in his, and they walked along. “I’m so happy to see you, Mike. What have you been doing? Anything you can tell me?” “Nothing much, I’m stationed at Bitburg now with the 36th Fighter Wing.” “No more attache work?” Mike looked at her. “More or less, but a lot more flying now, gunnery practice at Wheelus, and stuff like that.” “Where’s Wheelus? Over here somewhere?” “No—I should say yes. It’s in Tripoli, Libya. We’ve got a big chunk of the desert there we use for a gunnery range. All the fighter outfits in Europe go there.” They stopped for a drink at the bar in the hotel. Christine said, “I need a double. That flight had a few losers and a couple of yelling kids, but I’m all back to normal because you’re here.” They finished their drinks. Mike said, “I’ve got a jug of Scotch with me.” “Mm-mm sounds good. I need a little of that and a lot more of something else.” When they got to their room, Mike got ice cubes poured the scotch, sat down and patted the seat beside him. Christine snuggled close. They sipped their drinks and talked. “You said, ‘more or less’, on the attache work.” A mischievous smile grew on Christine’s face. “I bet you’re still doing a bit of that sneaky—peeky stuff.” “No, really, I’m not—not anymore.”

“You never told me what you did in Bonn. You flyboys like to talk about what you do, but you seem different.” “What do you mean?” Christine’s manner showed only cheerful curiosity, and he relaxed. “I sort of guessed you were still in the spook business.” Mike frowned and drew his head back as if in disbelief. “Mike, I’m not prying. What you do is your business but why did they transfer you to Bitburg?” He didn’t want to let out too much info. Christine was very perceptive, and she’d probably concluded more about Mike’s activities than he knew. “Oh, it’s a long story, but I’ll tell you some of it.” Mike thought for a moment and then went on. “ when I told you about Helga Gerhardt, the general’s wife that turned out to be a Stasi agent?” Christine nodded. “Yes, I her. Didn’t she pull the wool over your eyes?” Mike quickly said, “Yes, she did. Mrs. Gerhardt, the German girl, Ingrid and Major Brandman ended my involvement as an Air Attache, so I transferred to Bitburg to, uh, a full-time flying job.” “I didn’t hear from you for quite a while, so I called you a couple of times. Mike, I was worried about you flying that hot airplane you like so much.” “I got a little tangled up in Italy for a while, and I couldn’t get to Rhein-Main.” Christine thought it wise not to ask too many questions. She thought he must still be doing things she shouldn’t know. Mike felt a need to settle her mind and decided to trickle a bit about his activities. “I was in Milan for a while—at an Italian general’s promotion party. I was, uh, doing a friend a favor by getting to know him through his son who’s a pilot. Enzo Lucci’s his name. I got to know him pretty well, so I was able to on info to my friend.”

Christine nodded and said, “No woman this time?” Mike chuckled. “No, but actually yes. It’s a rather complicated story.” “Isn’t everything in your life complicated, Mike?” Christine looked amused. Mike had to get Galli off his chest. Christine was the only one to which he could unload his story—she couldn’t talk about him to anyone, so he began. “That Italian pilot, Enzo, was married. He introduced me to his wife, a young and beautiful woman, who I didn’t recognize until she told me she was the little sister of a girl I met in Cannes in 1944, just after the southern invasion. I guess I made an impression on her then. She even had the silver wings I gave her! So, yes, she sort of hooked me. Christine, I didn’t want to get involved with her, but she reeled me in one night in Cervinia where she was staying with a couple of wives of her husband’s flying outfit.” Mike continued with veiled allusions to Galli’s need to become an actress. Christine listened carefully and saw that Mike was downhearted. She said, “Mike, I’d be very cautious with that young lady. I don’t think you can see what’s going on in her head. What can it lead to?” She reached across the table and squeezed his arm. “Believe me, Mike, I’m only saying this to protect you. Just be alert.” Christ! She sounds like Natasha. Both of them are decent, level-headed women. I’ve got to listen to them! He put down his drink and thought he’d said enough. Mike drew Christine close, and they kissed. It went as expected, and anticipated. Prelapsarian abandon and all pretenses are gone, they wallowed, smoothing the puzzle of their lives while shards of their experiences that had shattered under scrutiny dissolved. They talked over dinner. Unlike Mike’s interactions in his work, they were both relaxed and candid. Christine told Mike about her relationship with her husband. She was never censorious and frequently chuckled when she related personal anecdotes. Lubricated with scotch and then wine, Mike let the cat out of the bag. He told her about Galli, and what he knew that perplexed him without revealing anything about his search for covert connections.

They finished dinner and took the elevator up to their floor. In the room there were no surprises. They had no doubts and would have no regrets. They did what they needed. The next morning they parted with an affectionate hug. Driving back to Bitburg Mike felt like he was a car that just had its tires balanced. The asymmetrical interweaving of unknown clandestine activities and operatives had unbalanced Mike’s methodical thinking. The interlude with Christine erased the shards of appearances that had shattered under scrutiny. With the ORI and Tac Eval behind them, the 36th seemed to be taking a slow breath. They all felt they were in the clear for a year even though Colonel Childs and Mike never assumed that. Experience had shown them that those evaluations could happen anytime. The high-spirited activity in the 36th Fighter Wing, that was ignited during the war game gradually slowed, and Mike’s attention shifted to his covert duties. A few days later he called Enzo at Aviano and asked when the Barons were leaving for Cortina. “We are expected there on Saturday. We are guests of honor at a big party at six o’clock on Saturday, so we are all driving our Fiat’s to Cortina after lunch—I think about two o’clock. It’s only an hour drive, so if you get to Aviano before two I’ll pick you up at base ops okay?” “Sounds good, Enzo. I’ll plan to get in about twelve o’clock. That’ll give you plenty of time. Will it be just the two of us? I’ve got my skis and stuff.” “Oh, yes, our wives are not coming, and we each have to drive our Fiats because they will be in the Fiat advertising for the press and everything.” “Okay then, Enzo. Look for my inbound flight plan. I’ll be coming in a T-33.” Mike called Captain Beall and suggested they take off at about ten o’clock on Saturday. The flight from Bitburg ed by the western tip of Switzerland. The snow blanketed mountains rested serenely south of Lake Geneva, as their flight path turned east to Aviano. Enzo greeted them at base ops and graciously invited Captain Beall to have lunch with the Barons. “No, I better get back to Bitburg. We’ve got a promotion party for Major, I

mean, Colonel Salter tonight.” Mike felt a barb of guilt because he couldn’t be there. Salter had treated him like he belonged in the squadron, but duty called. He had to do what he was doing. “Thanks, Captain, give Colonel Salter my congratulations. He’s a fine commander.” Beall said, “That he is, sir. That he is.” Enzo and Mike drove off to the officers club to the Red Barons who had gathered for lunch. The plan was to leave together after lunch. After two bottles of wine and much laughter, with Bruno in the lead, they got behind the wheels of their cars and roared off.

Chapter 5

CORTINA D’AMPEZZO

The ing of six bright Fiats speeding in close trail formation would be a sight that many villages between Aviano and Cortina would many days after. When the entourage pulled up in front of the Europa, Mike noticed a massive steel framework in the square in front of the hotel. Enzo said, “They are going to put our cars on that framework so that it will look like we are in our six ship flying formation.” Mike saw the structure. It looked like a couple of those trailers that hauled cars around. There were several men clothed in Fiat jumpsuits tinkering with the construction. When the six Fiat’s stopped at the front door one of the men, probably the boss, came over and talked to Bruno. After much pointing and waving Bruno called the Barons together, and, pointing and gesturing, he told the Barons what to expect. Enzo translated for Mike. “Bruno says that we will take out our baggage, and then drive over there,” he pointed to the device, “and they will put our cars on the platform, and then they will raise it,” he gestured with both hands, “so that we will be in flying formation.” Mike said, “Astounding, Enzo, that’ll bring a lot of attention!” “Yes, they will make many photos and films. Let’s take everything out of the car, and I will take it to them.” Four bellhops gathered the Baron’s luggage and carried it into the lobby of the hotel. Several guests stopped to watch the Barons, as they moved their cars toward the man who waved his arms to direct them to their designated position.

When the drivers got out of their cars, the workers began to fasten them to the framework. In short order, they stepped away, and the team leader started the engine on a large compressor, and then, watching the six Fiats anchored to the frame, he turned a handle, and the device began to rise. Mike heard the spectators murmuring excitedly, as one end of the device lifted and began to tilt slowly. When it looked like the cars were climbing at about a thirty-degree angle, and turning to the left, the operator turned the compressor off. The spectators applauded and shouted compliments to the crew who doffed their hard hats, and, with big smiles, made a theatrical bow. “Not bad, Enzo. I thought it was foolish, but your cars look great! It sure makes those Fiats look good.” Enzo laughed, “Later we have to stand there in our flight suits for the press photographers. Then we are free to do what we please for a week!” They ed at the reception desk, got their keys, and waited while the bellhops took their skis to a room off to the side of the reception desk. The clerk told Mike in heavily accented English, “You may also leave your boots een dat room. There ees a separate door outside. After skiing, you leave your skis, and change your boots eef you wish, sir.” “Thank you, that’s a good idea!” Enzo’s room was next door to Mike’s on the same floor. The other five rooms were on the floor above. As Mike walked into his room behind the bellhop, Enzo told him to be ready for the cocktail party at six. “But the Barons we will meet in the bar at five okay?” “Fine, Enzo, so I’ll see you at five, ciao.” Mike unpacked his bag and turned on the water in the tub. He looked in the mirror, ed that he’d rushed out this morning without shaving, and decided he needed a quick one. The room was comfortably warm, and when Mike slipped into the hot tub, he felt himself soften. Italy did that to him. Everything was mellow from the sound of the language, the food, the music, the people, even the decor. He looked at the luxurious tub; long, rounded; the soft

bed, puffy pillows, velvety drapes, and the timeworn desk and dresser. There were no hard edges here. The bath water cooled, reminding Mike he had to meet the Barons at five, and that he had work to do. He sprang out of the tub, slipped on a black turtleneck, slacks, and his favorite Saville Row jacket. He ed to grab the room key, which was attached to a bulbous, pear-shaped device that deterred guests forgetfulness. The hotel holds room keys and ports. Those rules had always amused Mike, but, since his involvement in covert activities, he saw it as an aid to law enforcement that served to track suspicious persons. The Barons were seated together, drinks in hand when Mike walked in. Bruno was holding a leather cup. He covered its opening while he shook it. “Liar’s dice, Bruno? You guys play liars dice?” Mike asked. “Col-on-el, Enzo has taught us how to play. Come sit—loser pays for drinks.” Mike squeezed in next to Enzo. Bruno turned the dice cup over and slammed it on the table. Carefully he peered while shielding the five dice. “have-a two pairs—seekses and fours.” He slid the cup over to Gianni. Gianni carefully looked under the cup. “I have two pair—sixes and fives.” He slid the cup over to Pietro. Mike asked Enzo, “What’s with the flying suits? Aren’t you guys going to change for the party?” Enzo said, “No Mike, we must wear our red flying suits for the party. It’s all for the press.” Mike snorted, sipped his drink, and when Pietro lifted the cup and said, “Liar!”, he looked at the five dice. There was a pair of sixes, a four, a three, and a snake eye. Gianni groaned, raised his glass, and waved to the waiter.

“Vassolio! Ancora per favore⁴³.” Their voices got loud, and the cup was slammed hard on the table as the drinks came one after another. The bar began to fill with a mixture of people who all stared at the Barons. They were accustomed to being the focus of attention, and Mike saw a bit of a swagger when one of them went to the men’s room. The double door to the lobby burst open, and men carrying large camera bags, followed by several attractive young women, came into the bar. Enzo noticed Mike looking at them, “Those are model’s will be photographed with us for the Fiat advertising. I know it’s silly, but they are paying for the hotel and everything, and they gave us the cars. Don’t your Air Force Thunderbirds do such things?” Mike suppressed a snicker and said, “Oh yeah, they get a lot of attention from the press, and from the ladies, but I don’t think they can accept anything like cars.” Enzo said, “Here a little bustarella⁴⁴ is all right, but not too much, eh?” Mike chuckled, “It’s no big deal, Enzo, there’s plenty of—what’s that word— bustarella?—in the U.S., too, but we pretend we don’t see it.” As the photographers and the models walked into the bar, Mike was surprised to see Professor Santoro talking with a tanned, blonde young man in ski clothes. He looked like an Olympian, but he was drinking something from a bottle that the bartender poured. Without being too obvious, Mike watched them. Their conversation was serious. They spoke with their heads close together, and Mike noticed that Santoro would look warily to the side now and then, but neither of them glanced at the women who attracted the looks of every other man at the bar. Mike thought that odd. Bruno looked at his watch. “This is the last one. It’s six o’clock.” As they shouldered through the bar crowd, the Barons, in their bright red flying suits, rose and began to walk toward the lobby, all eyes were on them. Why wouldn’t they draw attention? Professor Santoro turned, and, when he saw Enzo,

he reached out and tapped him. “Well, Captain Lucci, how nice to see you here.” Enzo stopped and shook Santoro’s hand. Mike followed the Barons toward the lobby, glanced back, and saw Enzo shaking the hand of Santoro’s companion. I wonder what that’s all about, Bruno led the group across the lobby to the dining room. There was a bevy of attractive young women sporting Fiat logos on stylish jackets. They were the welcoming committee. One of them led the Barons to a table festooned with bright flowers. It was obviously the table for the Fiat VIPs and their guests. The room began to fill with a mixture of active looking tanned skiers, and couples in evening dress. Enzo ed the Barons and sat next to Mike. “That was Professor Santoro one of my professors at the University. Didn’t you meet him at my father’s party?” “Yes, I do him. Who was that with him? I don’t think he was there that night.” “No, he is a businessman from Brenner. Do you know that town?” Mike shook his head. “No, it’s near the Brenner into Austria, isn’t it?” “Yes! It’s a funny place where the locals speak German. When I talked to him in Italian, I could hear the German accent. Of course, he speaks both languages. Brenner was once part of Austria, you know, but it’s in Italy now.” “What does he do?” Mike asked. “I think export/import—things like that.” Mike nodded. “Did you catch his name?” “Si—yes, it is, uh, Stornach. Yes, Stornach, Basil Stornach.” Mike tucked the name into his memory file to share with Colonel Agnielli. The party gained momentum, as the wine bottles, and who knows what else,

emptied. Guests circulated unrestrained in the lively ski season atmosphere. Most seemed to know one another. Small groups formed, and then dissolved, as the people wanted to be seen, and to see everyone. Mike noticed that Professor Santoro and his companion Basil were circulating amongst the various groups, but Mike noted that Santoro merely nodded to certain acquaintances, and said a few words, but never ed a group to talk. Basil followed him, his head turning casually from side to side, smiling and nodding now and then. Mike had the feeling that Basil was not a part of the gathering. He acted more like an uninvited guest. Photographers, news camera operators, and the managers of the event clustered on each side of the stage, waiting for the sponsors of the event to take the stage. After everyone was seated dinner was served, and after dinner, coffee with Sambuca and other liquors followed. The hotel proprietor took the waiting microphone. His mellifluous voice, and syrupy speech, Enzo translated for Mike. “He say he is honored to be a part of the Olympics this year and to host the Red Barons, and the Fiat car company in this launching of the winter season, and stuff like that.” The proprietor gestured at the Barons, and the audience burst out in applause. Bruno and the Barons rose, waved, made a bow, and sat down. The proprietor introduced the president of the Fiat Corporation, who made a brief speech, and thanked the Hotel Europa for hosting the event, and allowing Fiat to install the display of the red Fiat cars. The event began to wind down, and some of the Barons were eyeing the attractive young women. Arnoldo was the first to leave the table. He took the arm of one of the models, and they walked out of the dining room. Bruno said, “Oh, ho! Arnoldo has captured one. Let’s go to the bar, and see what’s up!” The bar was jammed with skiers, as the Fiat guests trickled in. Bruno was leading the way, but Giovanni peeled off and eased toward three Fiat models. Bruno shook his head and said something in Italian. Mike asked Enzo what he said.

“He say this is too close to home for him.” Mike laughed, “Don’t give me that, Enzo. You fighter pilots are all the same.” “No, Mike, Bruno is right. We have to be careful because everybody knows us.” As Mike casually scanned the crowd he saw Dom Agostino sitting at the end of the bar, then he saw Professor Santoro and Basil at the opposite end. Mike was sure that Santoro recognized him, but Santoro turned to Basil. As the evening wore on people shifted, and Santoro eased closer to Enzo, who was standing at the edge of the space surrounding the Barons. There was a constant chattering of voices, and outbursts of laughter over-riding the music. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung from the ceiling. Mike saw a small table away from the bar. There was a couple at the table, and an empty chair, so Mike, drink in hand, gestured at the table. May I?” The young couple both answered, “Ci—Ci, yes, for you,” the man said, and gestured at the chair. “Gracie,” Mike said and sat down. He had a good view of what was going on. The couple politely ignored him and went on chatting in Italian. Professor Santoro walked closer to Enzo, caught his eye, raised his glass in greeting, and said something Mike couldn’t hear. Enzo stepped closer to Santoro, and Basil’s face brightened with a smile. He said something to Enzo that made him act sheepish, and he made a dismissive gesture at his flight suit. Both Professor Santoro and Basil talked. Each focused on Enzo. Santoro ordered drinks, and handed one to Enzo, and soon another. They both were talking to Enzo more than they had all evening, and Mike wondered why. Bruno walked away from the group, and into the lobby. He didn’t come back. Mike thought he’d made a night of it. Now Enzo was leaving with Professor Santoro and Basil! Mike stood up. He was trying to see if Dom Agostino was still there, but he too was gone. Shortly after, Mike said good night to Pietro and Rinaldo and asked them where Enzo was. They looked at each other, and both shrugged their shoulders. “He go to another bar—the Valanga I think,” Pietro said. They looked at each other and said good night to Mike.

Mike went to his room and fell into bed riding the alcohol down a gentle slope, and into a sound sleep. In the morning he awoke to the sound of voices. He looked out the window and saw a beehive of activity on the Plaza. The Fiat crew was getting ready for the day’s activities. Mike was dressing when Bruno knocked on his door. He asked Mike if he knew where Enzo was. “No, Isn’t he in his room?” “No, I have called and pounded the door, and when there was no answer I get the maid to open door, but no Enzo!” Mike wondered where Enzo was, and couldn’t help thinking that Professor Santoro and Basil had something to do with it. “What time do you begin with the cars, Bruno?” “Eet ees schedule for eleven.” He glanced at his watch. “I must go. Eet ees ten-forty.” He left hurriedly. Mike called after him. “If he comes in, Bruno, I’ll tell him.” Bruno waved his arm and disappeared into the elevator. Mike finished dressing and went down to the lobby just as Enzo burst in still wearing his flying suit. “You’re late, Enzo. Bruno is looking for you.” Enzo glanced at his watch. “It is only ten-fifty-five. I am already in uniform, and five minutes early,” he said. “Where were you last night, Enzo?” “Oh, too much grappa. I was with Professor Santoro and Basil Stornach. I stayed in Basil’s villa,” he said. “He has two bedrooms there.” Enzo studied Mike, looking for an indication of disbelief. Mike sensed it.

“At least you weren’t shacked up with one of those models, Enzo. If you were, I’m sure Galli would hear, of it.” “No, no, that is good, Mike. You can tell her where I was last night. I’m sure she called me.” Enzo was relieved. The Fiat crew had put up a huge Olympic banner, and a Fiat banner. for The film crew flooded the area with bright lights where the six red cars suspended, as if they were flying in a formation. The Barons were posed here and there while photographer’s cameras flashed incessantly. It was a spectacle that drew the attention of guests, hotel workers, and townspeople. It finally ended at one o’clock, and everyone went to lunch. When Mike stopped by the reception desk to pick up his room key, the clerk handed him a message in a sealed envelope. “Call me—room 312 D.” Mike went to his room and called room 312. “Hello, Mike, this is Dominico. Anything you can tell me?” “Yes, a couple of things—over this phone?” “No, meet me at the Café Vittorio at three-fifteen.” A light snow was falling, and skiers with skis over their shoulders were returning after their last runs. Small groups and couples talked excitedly, gesturing at the falling snow that would make the pistes smoother the next morning. When Mike entered the Vittorio, he saw Dominico sitting in a corner booth. He casually looked around and then walked toward Dominico. “Hi, Dom, when did you get here”? “A couple of days ago. What can you give me?” “I don’t know if it’ll amount to anything, but I noticed that Professor Santoro is here. When the Barons were drinking together Santoro and another guy, Basil Stornach, took Enzo to another bar. That night Enzo didn’t get back to the hotel.

He stayed with Stornach at his villa.” “Good, Mike, I’ll find out who this Stornach guy is. What do you think is going on?” “I’m not sure yet. Maybe in a couple of days, I’ll spot something. Can I you if I’ve got something?” “Yes, if you want to talk to me put a note in a sealed envelope for room 312. Don’t write anything, just put the time you want to meet me on the note, but add seventeen to the time. Like if you want to meet me at ten, write twenty-seven, and I’ll be here at ten. I’ll do the same for you. If you get a message from me with a number, deduct seventeen, and I’ll be here.” “Sounds good, Dom. Are you a skier?” “Yeah, I’ll probably go for a few runs tomorrow morning.” They finished their cappuccinos. Dom said, “You go ahead first. I’ll check to see if anyone’s taking an interest in us.” Mike changed himself from a cocky, self-assured fighter pilot into a low profile operative which showed how much he was immersing himself into the game. The change stimulated Mike. Dealing with people and trying to uncover what they were doing ignited his curiosity. When he found something that confirmed his suspicions a feeling blossomed in him much like he felt when he made a good score on the gunnery range. Mike walked out of the cafe and turned toward the Europa. In the lobby, skiers were streaming out of the ski room and noisily heading for the bar. Mike followed them. He heard a mixture of languages. It was mostly Italian, occasionally German, and there was some Slavic language. They were what Mike expected to see at a place like Cortina. He went into the bar and saw three or four people sitting at the bar hunched over their drinks, looking like they had been there all afternoon. Mike sat at a small table away from the bar and looked around. He did a double take.

That looks like Basil—in ski clothes, he must have quit early, Basil glanced at the entrance every time someone walked in, as though he was expecting someone. Mike ordered a second drink and watched the boisterous skiers relating the day’s adventures. He ed that as soon as the Barons finished lunch, they changed into ski clothes, grabbed skis, and headed for the slopes. Mike felt like he should be among them, carefree, and full of life. Tomorrow, I have to get on my boards and pound those slopes. His daydream was interrupted when he heard Bruno yell, “Hey, Col-on-ell-a!”. He looked toward the door and saw the Barons behind Bruno. Their faces were glowing, and some snow still clung to their sweaters. Mike noticed that Basil saw them, straightened up, stood, and riveted on Enzo. Enzo hadn’t seen him yet; Mike wondered if they would connect. The Barons appropriated chairs from nearby tables, and they all sat down. “How was the skiing, guys?” Mike asked. “Oh, magnifico! Magnifico!” Bruno said. Enzo chimed in, “The snow was terrific. There were about six inches of new powder and not many people on the slopes. You’ve got to come with us tomorrow, Mike.” “I will, Enzo. What time do you guys get started?” “After breakfast—say, nine?” “Nine it’ll be. I’ll be ready to go.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Basil walking to the opposite end of the bar where Enzo would be apt to see him. The Barons bantered back and forth, and Enzo stayed in the middle of the lively conversation. Mike kept glancing at Basil and noticed that he was staying focused on Enzo. Mike suspected that Basil was there to Enzo, so he decided to draw Enzo’s attention to Basil.

“Enzo, isn’t that Basil Stornach at the bar? It looks like him.” Enzo looked and squinted. “Yes, I think so. I will go say hello to him.” One and one make two! Mike thought. When Enzo got up and started for the bar, Basil’s face brightened. He held up a hand. “Enzo! You didn’t break a leg?” Enzo laughed, “Oh, no, I’m not permitted to break a leg because I am a pilot!” Basil signaled the bartender, and they began to talk back and forth. After ten or fifteen minutes Mike saw Basil stand up, shake hands with Enzo, and go into the lobby. Enzo came back to the table and slid onto a chair. “Basil just told me he was one of Professor Santoro’s students, just like me.” “Did you know him at the University?” Mike asked. “No, I think he was leaving there when I started. We saw each other sometimes at the bar we went to in Bologna. That’s what he told me, but I didn’t him.” “Is he going to ski tomorrow?” “Yes, I asked him to us tomorrow morning, but he couldn’t. I’m going to meet him after lunch. We’ll probably find you on the slopes.” Mike began to see what he suspected was happening, Basil was steering Enzo away from the Barons. He guessed that they wouldn’t see Enzo and Basil on the slopes. A light snow fell that night, and the morning sun promised a good day. After breakfast Mike and the Barons headed for the gondola, hungry to make tracks in the unbroken snow. “We’re going up to Tofana; it’s the highest mountain here in Cortina,” Enzo said. “How high is it?” Mike asked. “Bruno, isn’t Tofana about 3,000 meters?”

“No, Enzo, eet ees more—maybe 3,300.” Enzo said, “There, Mike, it is more than 10,000 feet. Better than in the USA, eh?” Mike shot back, “No, Enzo, I’ve skied Arapaho in Colorado. The bottom of the ski lift is higher than 10,000 feet.” “But not as beautiful as these Dolomites, right?” “You’re right, Enzo, Cortina is more beautiful.” Enzo said, “Bruno, be sure to show Mike the restaurant Pomedes. I will ski down to meet Basil for lunch.” The rest of the morning, they all followed Bruno, who was an aggressive, fast skier. In close trail, they whizzed by skiers who weren’t pushing their limits. When they stopped at eleven-forty-five Enzo said, “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you all in the afternoon.” He schussed down the slope, and out of sight. Bruno looked at his watch. “We go for eating something now?” He said. The Pomedes was bulging with clomping skiers carrying trays of food or drinks. The Barons each took a half liter of wine to wash down what they ate. Mike followed suit and noticed that he felt the effects of the wine after one glass. Probably the altitude, we’re up about 9,000 feet. It didn’t seem to bother the Barons, who downed their wine and were ready to go. Mike didn’t finish his and was glad the wine he left wasn’t visible in the ceramic pitcher. The skiing was exhilarating, and palliative. Mike’s brain kept returning him to duty, and his reason for being in Cortina. That was Enzo. Where is he? The afternoon dissolved in a blur of six testosterone driven skiers, each trying to

outdo the others. There were euphoric intervals on trails above the tree line that widened into bowls of pristine, untouched snow where they spread wide, each marking a path in broad arcs, and then straight lines, where one or another schussed ahead of the others. Mike was perspiring in the afternoon sun until it began to sink toward the western ridges, then he felt a chill in the slight breeze when he stopped to ire his surroundings. He untied his parka from around his waist and slipped into it. Pietro skied to his side. “You are cold, Mike?” “Yeah, I don’t have a thick sweater under this. I wonder where Enzo is?” Pietro looked at Mike and didn’t say anything, but Mike could see that he thought something. A faintly amused look came and went on Pietro’s face. “You know Enzo. He is sometimes not like we are. He is always going off somewhere by himself.” Mike nodded but didn’t say anything, and he fell behind Pietro, as they caught up with the others. Skiing, which is like flying, demands full attention. Mike’s brain whirled as he tried to piece together clues, but he couldn’t get a clear picture. At least not yet. As the shadows of the mountain peaks crept across the ski area, most skiers were leaving the slopes. Bruno yelled, “The lifts will stop at four-fifteen, we’d better make this the last run okay?” “To the bar!” shouted Rinaldo, and he took off, pushing hard with his ski poles to take the lead away from Bruno. At the base of the ski run, they all made a high speed turn throwing a spray of snow at other more conservative skiers. The Barons noisily stacked their skis in the storeroom, and then pushed their way through the lively crowd to a table. Mike looked around for Enzo or Basil, but neither one was there.

After a round of thirst quenching beers, the Barons went on to Strega and grappa. At seven-thirty there was still no Enzo. Mike said, “I’m getting hungry, guys. I’ll see you all later.” He went to his room, showered, dressed, and headed to the dining room. He saw Dom there, but, as Dom told him in Colonel Agnielli’s office, he didn’t want to be recognized. When the waiter served Mike’s soup, the five Barons came in and sat at a table set for eight. Bruno waved to Mike. “Hey, Mike, come on here. Bring your vino, and mangiare with us.” Mike’s waiter saw the exchange and quickly came to his table. “I weel put your place there—’s good?” “Yes, thank you.” Mike took his wine glass and ed the Barons. “Have you seen Enzo?” he asked. They all shook their heads. “Maybe we see him tomorrow,” Bruno said. Mike noticed that they seemed to glance at each other knowingly. They all agreed to meet for breakfast. That night Mike fell asleep soon after his head sank into the pillow. At seven-thirty Mike started to the bathroom, but hesitated when he heard Enzo’s phone ringing. He went to the connecting door and listened. The phone rang about ten times and then stopped. Mike didn’t hear Enzo answer and assumed he’d not plumped into his room last night. Five of the Barons came into the dining room and sat at the large table reserved for them. No Enzo. Mike said, “I hope Enzo is all right. I don’t think he came to his room last night.”

He noticed sly looks between a couple of the Barons, but he pretended not to notice it. Eager to get on the slopes, the Barons raced through breakfast. They skied like men and paused for a liquid lunch. Still no Enzo. It wasn’t until dinner that he showed up at the Europa. He sheepishly ed the group at their table. Mike tried not to appear too interested in Enzo’s activities, so he didn’t say anything, leaving the questions to the five Barons. “Where the fuck have you been, Enzo, shacked up somewhere with one of those models?” Rinaldo asked. Enzo was bleary-eyed and looked like he had a big hangover. “No, no—I—I skied with Basil, but he wanted to ski the Grande Cortina. That’s why I didn’t see you. After, we went to the Valango bar, and we drank too much grappa and missed dinner, so Basil said we could eat at his villa. Well, we ate a little, drank a lot, and, well, I ed out there.” “So you didn’t ski today?” Bruno asked. “No, I went to my room at two o’clock, fell asleep, and here I am with a headache like Mount Vesuvius!” Bruno said, “Are you sure you didn’t sleep with a little pussy?” The Barons chuckled and glanced at each other. “No, no, please don’t say that. If Galli hears she will be furious.” Mike sensed that Enzo hadn’t followed the time-worn path of fighter pilots away from their home base. Some did, and some didn’t, but everything else about Enzo did fit the pattern except for the focal point; a woman; unusual. Mike decided to talk with Dom. He sent him a note to meet him at ten the next morning. Over espresso, at the Café Vittorio, he told Dom what Enzo had done. Dom said, “I learned a little about that Basil. The people in Brenner say he’s new there, and he travels a lot—into Austria, Switzerland, Rome, Bologna, and he talks about his travels. My guy told me that one bartender there thinks he’s a ‘Finocchio.’” Dom chuckled when he said that.

“Finocchio? What’s that mean?” “Sorry, Mike, that’s Italian slang for a guy that’s—you know,” he made a fluttery movement with his hand, “a little queer maybe?” That locked into place. Mike ed what Alex Bauer told him about the likelihood that Professor Santoro was working with a homosexual to get information. Alex said that Dominico Agostino described a bar near the University of Bologna that was a gay hang-out, and Santoro often went there. When Mike asked if Santoro was, a queer Alex said he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think so. “Do you suppose this guy Basil is part of that scene? I mean, you know, getting someone to compromise themselves because they’re queers?” Dom said, “It looks like there’s a good possibility he’s being set up. After all, his old man heads up the Italian Air Force, so Enzo is bound to hear a lot of stuff the Stasi would like to know. Keep your eye on him, Mike, and I’ll try to find out some more about Stornach.” “We’re leaving here on Saturday, so I won’t be able to watch Enzo after that. I’ll be heading back to Bitburg.” Dom nodded and became thoughtful. “I’ve got someone who can keep tabs on him. I’ll tell Agnielli all this, and he’ll keep you up-to-date. Santoro is the guy I want to catch. Enzo may be a leaker, but he’s small potatoes. Santoro has been at this game a long time.” Mike nodded, “That’s good, but I feel a little sorry for Enzo. If the Stasi guys dragged him into this business, I’m pretty sure he’s not doing it because he wants to. He’s pretty well anchored flying with the Barons, and he seems happy. He’s married, and he respects his father.” Dom said, “Don’t let appearances distract you, Mike. A lot of nice guys end up doing bad things.” He paused for a moment and went on. “I know you’re in pretty tight with his family, but don’t let that blind you.” Mike quickly said, “No, no, Dom, I won’t. I’m just trying to give you some background info—just to be helpful.”

“You’ll have to excuse me for insinuating that you’re getting soft Mike, but that’s the way they trained me.” “No offense, Dom. You’re right, I am involved with that family more than I should be, but that’s something aside from what we’re talking about.” “Just try to keep your personal life apart from what we’re here for, Mike. I don’t have to tell you how, but I’m sure you’ll be able to do it.” “Right, Dom, I know. Sometimes it’s hard for me to people I knew before I got involved with this spook stuff, but rest assured I’ll be careful.” Mike drained his espresso. “I’m going to have to go. I’ve told the Barons I’d meet them on the slopes this afternoon.” “Check in with me before you leave Cortina, Mike. It’s on Saturday, right?” “Yeah, how about Saturday morning? The Barons are planning to leave right after lunch.” “That’s good, Mike. We can wrap up what we’ve learned here. I’ll see you on Saturday.” Mike went back to the Europa, changed into his skiing clothes, ate a light lunch, and headed for the gondola. At mid-afternoon, he found the covey of Barons. Enzo was there, too, and looked like he’d made a good recovery from his hangover. That afternoon, as usual after skiing, they went to the Europa lounge to quench their thirst. As they walked in Enzo stopped at the bar, and chatted briefly with Professor Santoro, and then ed the Barons. Mike noticed Santoro leaving the bar a few minutes later. Mike expected that Enzo would leave, too, but he didn’t. He even sounded as though he was looking forward to the next day’s skiing with the Barons! Bewildered by Enzo’s comments, Mike wondered if he’d drawn the wrong conclusion about Enzo’s behavior with Basil and Professor Santoro. On Thursday Enzo didn’t show any inclination to Basil and Santoro after skiing.

Enzo talked affectionately about Galli, and Mike’s suspicions further dampened. That night another light snow covered the landscape. On Friday morning the excitement was palpable in the lobby and ski room. Guests laced boots and clattered skis and poles, as they streamed out to the gondola. Enzo, effused with cheeriness, burst out of the ski room. “What a day! What a day! Skiing will be as good as flying!” Mike felt a tinge of regret for some reason. Was it because Enzo acted thoroughly normal? By normal Mike meant like a normal man, not a homosexual, which made Galli seem less attainable. Was that it? Mike pushed back those unspoken thoughts and then wondered why Galli acted as though she wanted him. After skiing all day the exhausted and thirsty Barons slumped into chairs at the Europa Bar, and gulped one beer, then another, and then switched to Grappa and Strega. It felt like a typical fighter pilot’s beer call. Everyone was relaxed, laughing, and talking. Mike noticed Professor Santoro at the bar sipping a drink and glancing their way. Enzo had his back to the bar and didn’t see him, so Mike decided to check his suspicions by throwing out some bait. “Oh, there’s Professor Santoro at the bar, Enzo. Did you see him?” Enzo said, “No, where? Oh, yes, I see him. I must tell him that we are leaving tomorrow.” Enzo got up and walked toward Santoro. Mike studied their interaction.Santoro’s face beamed, and he quickly signaled the bartender for drinks. Enzo stood there chatting, and finished his drink, then walked back to the Baron’s table. “I’m sorry, but I must go with Professor Santoro to the Valanga bar. I’ll see you all later.” Mike suspected that he wouldn’t come back that night. He probably stayed at the Villa because he didn’t the Barons for dinner. Before he went to his room, Mike left a note for Dom. He wrote the number twenty-seven, which meant he’d meet him at the Vittorio at ten o’clock. He went

to his room, and tapped on Enzo’s door, but didn’t get a response. Just like last time. Basil and Stornach will get him loaded, and he’ll stay over at the villa with Basil. Any confusion Mike had felt about Enzo evaporated, and he fell asleep. The phone rang at eight o’clock the next morning. Mike sat up in bed and listened for any sound from Enzo’s room. When he didn’t hear anything he called the hotel operator and asked for Enzo’s room and rang it and could hear Enzo’s phone ring, and ring, and ring. There was no answer, so he hung up. It looks like he did it again. Mke wondered what Enzo’s overnight absences meant. They seemed unusual, mostly because he didn’t think a woman was involved, but he wasn’t sure. Time would tell. Mike gathered his belongings, set them by the door, and went down for breakfast. He ed the Barons at their table. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He glanced around the table. “The others aren’t awake yet?” Bruno took the cigarette he had lit out his mouth. “I know Arnoldo will be late. I think he fell in love. Did you see Enzo last night?” “No, Bruno, I don’t think he slept here either. We’re not leaving till after lunch, right?” “Si, maybe one or two o’clock—cosi-cosi.” He waved a hand that said ‘maybe this, maybe that.’ Mike ordered breakfast, and ate it slowly hoping Enzo would come in. About nine-thirty Arnoldo came in with a big smile on his face. “Finalmente, ecco Arnoldo, che bello!*” Bruno said in an ironic manner.

(Finally, here’s Arnoldo, how nice!) Mike couldn’t understand all that was said but could tell they were kidding Arnoldo. There were a lot of rolled eyes, and good-natured accusations. Arnoldo reacted to their teasing by smiling and blushing at the same time. Shortly before ten o’clock, Mike told them he’d be back for lunch and left the gathering. He hurried to the Café Vittorio and found Dom there reading a paper and sipping coffee. Dom looked up when he saw Mike. “Hello, Mike, you guys are leaving today, right?” “Yes, Dom, I wanted to tell you a couple things before I leave.” Mike pulled his chair closer to the table. “Enzo stayed away again last night. He was with Basil, I’m sure. I don’t know what’s going on, but it just doesn’t feel right to me.” Dom nodded slowly. “Interesting, I had one of my s here in Cortina snoop around to find out a little about Stornach’s villa. He bought it two years ago, and had a local carpenter do a little work on it—leaky roof, that sort of thing,” he looked at Mike conspiratorially, “and you know what else?” “No, what else?” “The carpenter couldn’t figure out why Basil wanted an opening cut through the wall between the two bedrooms.” Dom chuckled and went on. “I’ve never been in that place, but do you want to bet there’s a mirror hanging on the wall in the bedroom Enzo slept in?” Mike said, “Yeah, I get it. A two-way mirror, right? To take photos of whatever is going on in that room.” Dom nodded. “Uh-huh, that’s the first step. Basil gets Enzo drunk and makes him do something compromising in that bedroom, gets the photos, and they’ve got him. Mike said, “It sure looks like that’s a possibility. How in the hell can we be sure?”

“The next few days are critical. If Enzo does something out of line, and they get photos, they’ll confront him, and threaten to expose him unless he comes across.” Mike nodded thoughtfully, and Dom went on. “Can you hang around Enzo for a few more days? I’ve got to know where he goes and who he sees.” “I’m supposed to fly back to Bitburg tomorrow.” “I’ll call Agnielli, ask him to your boss and extend your leave for a week. Can you do it?” “Sure, that’s why I’m here. How can I keep in touch with you?” “There’s a lieutenant at Aviano Airbase. He’s the club officer—Carlos Pavesi. I’ll tell him who you are. You can tell him whatever you’ve got for me, and he’ll relay it to me pronto.” “That should be easy.” “But be careful. Pavesi is an intelligence officer, but no one at Aviano knows that.” “I’ll him as soon as I get back to Aviano, Dom. Can I assume I’m cleared to stay there until next Saturday?” “Yes, don’t sweat it. I’ll take care of it.” They finished the coffees and pastry, and Mike left. When he got to the Europa it was too early for lunch, so he picked up his key, and walked toward the elevator. He heard Enzo’s voice and stopped. “Hey, Mike! Wait for me!” Enzo ran up to him, and they got into the cage. “Where were you last night, Enzo? Shacked up with one of those models?” “I’m sorry, Mike, but no, I wasn’t with a woman. I wouldn’t do that to Galli. Basil got me tipsy again, and I fell asleep at his place, so I stayed there.”

“That Basil must be some boozer, isn’t he?” “Oh, yes, he drinks Strega like it’s water.” “We’re leaving right after lunch, Enzo. Want me to call you when I’m ready to go down?” “Yes, please, Mike. My head feels like it’s going to explode. Some aspirin and a short nap are what I need.” They went to their rooms, and, as he was unlocking his door, Mike turned to Enzo. “I’ll call you in about an hour, okay?” “Great, Mike, great. I’ll be ready.” Mike closed his door and wondered what went on between Enzo and Basil. There must be something. Basil and Santoro both seem to drag Enzo away from his pals. What is it that attracts them to him?

Chapter 6

ROBERTO AND THE THEATRE

The train of red Fiat’s left the hotel Europa’s parking lot at two-thirty attracting the attention of all who could see them. They followed Bruno, their leader, in trail formation displaying the image of who they were. Once on the highway, the six cars flowed along in a relaxed trail formation neither too close nor separated enough to allow intrusive vehicles to insinuate themselves within their line. As in their flying, their antics displayed the disciplined disregard of everyday concerns for safety and conformance with traffic laws. When the covey entered the fringe of Aviano’s neighborhoods, they began to peel off from the formation with a toot of their horn and turned toward home. Enzo pulled into his garage, turned off the ignition and said, “Well, here we are Mike. What time are you leaving tomorrow?” “Oh, I called Bitburg this morning, and they said they couldn’t pick me up until next Sunday so I’ll have to stay here. Is there a BOQ at the airbase?” “Yes Mike, but you don’t have to stay there—stay with us here. Galli is a pretty good cook!” Things were falling into place. Mike knew he had to keep an eye on Enzo and he liked the idea of being close to Galli. He couldn’t understand why she seemed to be so openly attracted to him. He too was drawn to her but was able to keep his attraction in control. After all, she was married, and living with her husband and that was a line he didn’t cross. At least not usually. His relationship with Christine was different. They both knew they weren’t playing for keeps and falling in love wasn’t a danger. With Galli, the potential for losing control lurked too close for comfort. “That’s nice of you Enzo. I could go to the base with you every day. You could

find me a desk couldn’t you?” Enzo laughed. “You don’t have to do that Mike, Galli stays quite busy during the week. She’s out almost every day. Sure, you can come with me to the squadron if you would like, but I’ll leave it up to you.” They took their bags and, as they went up the stairs the door flew open and Galli burst out, “You’re back! Good, and you’ve brought Colonel Skora! We can have a nice dinner together.” She looked at Mike and said, “You’re leaving tomorrow aren’t you?” Enzo said, “No Galli, Mike will be staying with us until next Sunday.” “Oh! That’s a pleasant surprise isn’t it?” “I hope it’s not too much trouble for you Galli, but they can’t send a plane for me until next Sunday.” “Oh no-no-no. It’s no trouble at all. You can come with me to the theater on Monday. We are rehearsing a new play.” “Be careful Mike, Galli will put you to work.” “No Enzo that is not my intention I simply want Colonel Skora to the time, and he can meet some of the cast if he comes with me.” It was all settled, and Mike went to his room with two thoughts that competed for his attention. Enzo, what he was doing, and Galli, Galli and himself, part of a picture that kept intruding on the job he needed to do. On Monday morning Enzo left for the airbase and Galli flew around excitedly getting ready to go to the theater. “You must meet Roberto Aiello, the leading actor. He’s very talented and popular. Do you know the film director Federico Fellini and Victorio De Sica? Roberto’s agent has connected him to their films.” “I’ve heard of Fellini; he’s big time in the states. I saw his film ‘La Strada’ in Washington.”

“Well then, let’s go to the theater. I must be there at 10 o’clock. The prompting work is essential in the early rehearsals. Later I have almost nothing to do, and then when the play is open to the public, someone else becomes the prompter, a professional person.” “Do you feel left out?” “No, not really. I like to see the play performed with an audience. When I’m prompting, I do not see the play for what it is, only the words of the script.” They drove to the Teatro Sala Fontana and went in through a door that Mike assumed was the stage entrance. It was. The lights on the stage were bright; and they had arranged the furniture to show a working-class living room. The director, script in hand rushed over to Galli, kissed her cheeks and turned to Mike. “This is Colonel Mike Skora of the United States Air Force. He is a good friend of Enzo’s.” The director turned to Mike and said, “I am honored to meet you, Colonel Skora. I your Air Force when you were here in Italy in 1944; we are so grateful to you.” He held Mike’s hand as he spoke. One of the entourage of actors on the stage strode over toward Galli. He kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her affectionately. Galli said, “Colonel Skora, you must meet Roberto Aiello, the leading actor.” The man turned, and like a father meeting his daughter’s prom date, he looked Mike up and down pausing his gaze on his shoes. Finally, he smiled coolly, extended his hand and said, “I am Roberto Aiello, and you are the American officer, a colonel?” Yes, sir. I’m Mike Skora, Enzo’s friend.” Roberto Aiello looked at Galli and back at Mike. “I see, yes. Galli has told me about you, and Enzo is also my friend.” Mike wondered when Galli talked about him to this pompous actor and what she told him. He sensed a restrained hostility in the way Roberto scanned him. He seemed to be sizing Mike up as if he resented Mike’s connection to Galli. Roberto turned to Galli and said, “Will you have lunch with me after the rehearsal? I would like your help with the script. You have so smoothly arranged

the changes I suggested my dear. I don’t know how this play can turn out without your assistance.” “Oh Roberto, no I cannot come today. Colonel Skora is our house guest, and I must take him to Aviano this afternoon. Can we do it tomorrow?” Roberto frowned for a moment, glanced at Mike and then smiling at Galli said, “Yes that will be fine.” Mike had no reason for feeling what came next but he felt like a high school boy that didn’t like a classmate talking to his girlfriend. Was it jealousy or his ego rising in front of this handsome, smooth-talking actor? The rehearsal lasted two hours; all focused on the second act. Galli frequently prompted the players, and the director at times, interrupted the performance to discuss specific actions and gave detailed critiques spoken in Italian. The director looked at his watch and said, “Finito! Va bien, domani a (what time in Italian) When Mike got into Galli’s Volkswagen, he asked, “So you told Roberto about me. What made you do that?” Galli turned to him and said, “Oh? When I had lunch with him, I think I mentioned you. Yes, I’m sure that was the time.” “When was that?” “It was after I met you at Enzo’s home.” A flicker of hesitancy crossed her face, but then she quickly said, “Why don’t you come with me to the rehearsal tomorrow and then we can have lunch with Roberto? he wanted to have lunch with me?” Mike nodded and said, “Yes, that’ll be fine but didn’t he want your help with the script?” “Well, if we can’t do it during lunch I’ll take you to the airbase, and I’ll go back to the theater.” They drove to the airbase and met Enzo at the officer’s mess for lunch. “Well Mike, are you now an actor?”

Mike laughed, “No Enzo, but I met the star of the show, Roberto Aiello.” Enzo nodded. “What did you think of him?” Mike thought carefully. There was something about Roberto that he didn’t care for but Galli seemed to like him, and he said he was Enzo’s good friend. Mike said, ” He’s alright I guess. A bit carried away with himself, but I suppose that’s the way actors act.” Enzo chuckled. “He’s very talented and a rising star. The newspapers rave about him.” “Yes, and Galli told me that he might be featured in films.” “He has been already. De Sica used him in a short film last year, and when it was produced, it got much publicity. Galli went to the premiere, and we have photos of Roberto and Galli—it was in all the papers.” “Enzo, you shouldn’t talk like that. It sounds like you are boasting.” “No Galli, but isn’t it true that you have helped him with his career? how disturbed he was last year when his wife went back to…” “Enzo! That’s enough! Yes, I have assisted Roberto because he needed somebody. Now can we have lunch? I must go back to the theater this afternoon.” Galli sounded irked by what Enzo was saying about Aiello. Mike wondered where Roberto’s wife went. After that lunch went smoothly and when Galli patted her lips with a napkin and put it on the table, she got up and banteringly said, “I’ll leave you two aviators now so that you can talk about your airplanes. I’ll see you both later.” After Galli left, Mike wanted to find out why she veered the conversation away from Roberto, so he asked Enzo. “Galli sounded peeved when you were talking about Roberto during lunch. Where did his wife go?” “Oh that. Roberto’s wife is English; he met her when he was in school there. Her family is there, and she was driving through last summer and had a horrible accident. She had to have one leg amputated. She went to her parents home and hadn’t come back.”

“Must’ve been tough for Roberto.” “Oh, he was disturbed for a while, but he’s very ambitious, and he buried himself in his work. He doesn’t talk about it anymore. Galli has been very ive, that’s why she caters to him a little.” “I guess he’s a pretty good actor.” “Oh yes, very good. Roberto has recently played a minor movie role. I’m sure he will become a big star.” Mike sensed there was more to that story, but he didn’t want to sidetrack Enzo with more questions. Galli had gotten home just before Mike and Enzo and was hustling and bustling in the kitchen making dinner. She greeted them with a glass of fine wine from the family vineyard. They finished the first bottle, and Enzo uncorked another. Galli said, “It’s so nice to have you here Colonel Skora…” Mike interrupted her, “Galli, please call me Mike okay?” She looked over her glass at him. “Yes Mike, I will.” She was in a good mood, and her eyes lingered on Mike, and he began to feel self-conscious and shifted his attention to Enzo. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow Enzo?” “We’re doing a practice air show, the weather is supposed to be good, and debriefing always takes an hour or more so I won’t be having lunch until whatever time we finish. You should stay and go to the theatre with Galli, I’ll see you for dinner.” “That’s good Enzo. I’m so glad you’re here Mike. Tomorrow will you tell me what you think about the play and the performers? I’ll keep it a secret, but you can tell me what you think.” “I’m not a theater critic Galli, but I’ll tell you what I think.” “No, but you’re an intelligent viewer. I get so involved sometimes I can’t see small mistakes.”

Enzo said, “Roberto always takes your suggestions doesn’t he?” “Yes but sometimes I think he’s just nice to me.” The phone rang. Galli answered it and said, “It’s for you Enzo.” “Who is it?” “He didn’t say, but he said it was important.” Enzo went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and said, “Captain Lucci.” Mike could tell the caller was talking because Enzo kept saying ‘si—si’ now and then. Mike thought, I wonder who is calling. Usually Enzo’s callers say who they are, of course, they’re mostly military men, but I think this one wasn’t. Enzo came back to the table, and Mike noticed he seemed flustered. “Galli, I must go to meet someone at nine o’clock. I won’t be gone long.” Galli asked, “Who was it?” Enzo’s face reddened, and he said, “Oh, it’s someone from the Europa, the hotel in Cortina. I think the Barons owe some money.” Mike didn’t think a hotel would seek a payment that way, but he wasn’t sure that it was unusual, so he didn’t raise any questions. Galli said, “Oh you and those Barons… what did they damage or what bills didn’t they pay? You’re all like naughty children.” Enzo smiled and said, “Yes that’s it. I didn’t do anything, but I don’t know about the others.” After dinner, Enzo put a bottle of grappa on the table, poured himself a generous amount and drank it quite fast. “I’d better go now. See you both later.” He left hurriedly with a concerned look on his face. Galli turned on some music and still sipping her dinner wine, ed Mike in the living room. “Our play is opening on Friday night, Mike. Roberto told me that Fellini wouldl be there.” Mike said, “I suppose there’ll be a lot of press attention won’t there? You’re going aren’t you?”

“Yes, Roberto has invited me but I think you and Enzo should be there too I’ll ask Roberto to include both of you.” Mike nodded, thinking, she sure likes to be around celebrities and Roberto seems to like having her around. At ten o’clock Enzo came in. Mike could see that he had something on his mind, he looked preoccupied. Galli said, “Enzo, Mike and I were just talking about the opening night on Friday, and I thought it would be good for Mike and you to come to the aftertheater party… and how was it with the man who called? Did you settle anything?” Enzo said, “Yes, yes, it’s, uh, all settled but as for Friday, no. I’ve got to go to see my father. I’m going to call him and tell him we’ll be in Rome tomorrow night.” Galli said, “But, you know I can’t go to Rome. I must to be here for the opening of the play. Why don’t you and Mike go, and I can stay for the play?” Mike sensed that Enzo was under some pressure and thought he’d better stick to him to see if he could smoke out what was troubling him. He quickly said, “Galli, yes, I think it’d be better if I went with Enzo, is that all right with you Enzo? I’d like to see Colonel Agnielli.” “Yes—yes, it will be good to have your company Mike we can share the driving. My father thinks highly of you; he will be happy to see you again.” “I’ll have to call Bitburg and have them pick me up in Rome.” Galli looked back and forth at them and said, “Both of you are so alike you have the secrets that you never tell me.” Mike tried to keep the scene light, he chuckled a little and then said, “And you Galli, you can mix with the VIPs and leave us hoi polloi out of it.” “Va bien,(okay) so it will be. I will be with the persona di magiore reguardo (people of importance) and when will we see you again Mike?” Galli asked. “I don’t know. If I go skiing in Zermatt in February maybe to Testa Grigia, I’ll

let Enzo know in a couple of weeks.” Mike could hear Enzo talking with his father. “Si—si, domani.”

Chapter 7

HEADQUARTERS IN ROME

Enzo came in from the kitchen and said, “We’ll have to leave right after breakfast Mike, it’s about 600 kilometers to Rome, about a seven-hour drive. I’m glad you’re coming, we can split the driving.” They all went to bed early. Galli called Mike for breakfast at seven o’clock. Enzo was sipping coffee when Mike came in carrying his bag. “I’m ready to go Enzo.” “Sit down Mike, drink your coffee and eat something. We’ve got plenty of time if we leave around nine o’clock, I can catch the general in his office.” “I’ll call Colonel Agnielli later this morning and tell him I’m on the way. Can I take your car when you get to your dad’s headquarters? Colonel Agnielli is downtown at the American Embassy.” “That’s fine Mike. I won’t need the car until I’m ready to go back, probably on Saturday. “That’ll be great Enzo.” As they were getting ready to go, Galli said, “I don’t know why you have to drive to talk to your father. Couldn’t you call him instead of both of you driving all the way to Rome?” “No Galli, it’s tricky. I have to get his boss General—to approve the extra money. It’s complicated.” She pouted and sent them off onishing Enzo to drive carefully Mike immersed himself pondering how he’d try to unfold the details of what was going on. He knew he had six or seven hours and hoped something would come up. For three hours nothing did, but then Enzo said, “Mike can I tell you something that you can keep to yourself? I need your honest advice.” Here it comes, Mike thought.

“Sure Enzo, my lips are sealed. What is it?” “I’m very embarrassed by what happened in Cortina, but I must tell my father everything, and I will tell you but you must promise that you will not tell anyone else. I want your advice if I’m doing the best thing.” “Enzo what you tell me now is between us and only us—until you clear me to talk about it.” Enzo slowed the car a bit, turned to Mike and said, “What I’m going to tell you started in Cortina after I met professor Santoro who introduced me to Basil. when I didn’t come back to the hotel and slept in Basil’s villa?” “Yes, go ahead.” “Well, I got drunk, really drunk that second night and Basil turned out to be a queer. I don’t what happened, honestly, but I suspected something when he…um, helped me undress and put me in a bed. I ed out and woke up bare ass naked and him standing in the doorway looking at me. I thought that was all it was until I got home. the call I got?” Mike nodded, and Enzo went on, “Well, the guy I went out to talk to showed me the pictures they took of me in bed with Basil with my cock in his mouth! The guy says I can have the photos if I cooperate with him; otherwise they’ll find their way to General—desk.” “Those bastards! They set you up! So they want you to tell them what you know about our NATO operations? Enzo nodded. “Yes. I could never do that but what can I do? I’ve got to tell my father before… as you Americans say, ‘before the shit hits the fan’. It’ll ruin my father.” “Wait a minute Enzo! This is a good chance for you to tell all to your father and his intelligence guys and then you can act as though you’re going along with them. That way we can on some phony and misleading info to the Stasi’s.” Enzo’s face brightened, his lips widened and he said, “Yes! I can see it! I play along with them! The closer they got to Rome, the more Enzo beamed about the angle that Mike presented as a way of neutralizing the sordid business of Enzo’s affair with the

Stasi agents. Mike said, “Enzo, I told you my lips are locked. I hope your dad’s intelligence guys go along with what I suggested, and I should call Colonel Agnielli to tell him about it. Keep in mind he’s very involved in things like this, that’s why he’s over here. I think you can guess that our CIA is involved in all the classified stuff going on in NATO, so, can I tell Colonel Agnielli before you tell your father?” Enzo frowned and then said, “Yes, I guess it’ll be okay.” He looked at Mike with a worried look. “But I don’t want to have everyone know about it.” “No Enzo, it’ll be in our best interests to keep the info close to our chests, otherwise, the Stasi guys will get suspicious.” Enzo nodded slowly and seemed to relax gradually. He looked at Mike and said, “Maybe it will be better if you tell Colonel Agnielli and then your intelligence person can tell my father—that way it will be a fait accompli and it will sound better for me.” Mike got the drift of Enzo’s idea. There was no reason to tell Gen. Lucci a Stasi agent had seduced his son. Mike’s plan would reflect favorably on Enzo because now he was portrayed as the instigator and not the victim of the episode. And Galli could be kept in the dark too. Mike thought the scheme through and couldn’t think of any potholes. He liked Enzo and was willing to bend a fact or two to favor his awkward position. As they came closer to the Italian Air Force headquarters building, Enzo said, “So Mike, when I see General Lucci I will not tell him of my problem but can I say that you and the US intelligence people want me to play this game?” “Yes Enzo, what I’ll do is have Colonel Agnielli come to your father’s office to brief him on details of the operation and ask him for his approval of the false info we want to feed the Stasi. It should involve Italian operations so it’ll be logical for you to have access to it.” Enzo sat up straight. The guilt-laden look disappeared, and he became his effusive, confident self. When Mike dropped Enzo off he said, “Enzo, tell your dad that the Americanos have something to discuss and that I’ll see him tomorrow.” Enzo beamed, saluted Mike as he scooted off in his Fiat.

Mike and Colonel Agnielli took turns briefing Dominic about the plan. He listened, his eyes squinted as he absorbed the details. His face had a vaguely skeptical look as he made slight nods to assure them that he understood. When they finished, Col. Agnielli said, “So there it is Dominic. What do you think?” “It sounds good to me, but I’ve got a couple of things that don’t seem to fit.” “What are those things?” Colonel Agnelli asked. Dominic thought a moment. “Before Mike got involved in all this we were aware that someone was leaking information weren’t we?” Colonel Agnielli nodded and said, “Yes that’s why I got Mike involved.” “And didn’t we suspect that Professor Santoro was possibly involved?” Colonel Agnelli nodded. “Then why the fuck did they have to set up General Lucci’s son—didn’t we already suspect that he was feeding the info?” “Yes, Dominic but we weren’t sure were we?” “No. But then why did Santoro and Basil have to set up Enzo, take those pictures and then threaten him with exposure?” Mike suddenly realized that what had happened to Enzo in Cortina contradicted the likelihood that he had already been feeding info to the Stasi. The plan was still workable where Enzo was concerned, but it meant that Santoro was possibly getting information from another source. Mike spoke up. “It sure sounds like Enzo hasn’t been the leaker. Whether or not he’s a homo isn’t important because he’s just shown us he won’t cave into threats of exposure.” Dominic said, “I agree with you Mike it just doesn’t make sense that he was the leak because now he’s itting he was caught up in this sordid scenario.” Colonel Agnielli said, “Looks like we’ve got two things going on at the same time. One is Enzo and what we give him to leak to the Stasi and the other is, who was the leaker before Enzo’s involvement? Enzo would be a very desirable

target for blackmail, being the son of the general in command of Italy’s NATO force. He could if he wanted to, get hold of a lot of top-level planning. Dominic, was it top level stuff that was going to the Stasi before this Enzo affair?” Dominic said, “No sir I wouldn’t say so, but it was a lot of stuff that wasn’t public knowledge, movements of flying units, gunnery training in Sardinia, names of key people, stuff like that. It’s all classified info but not critical.” “So it looks like we’ve got to keep looking for the connections.” Dominic nodded. “Looks that way sir.” Colonel Agnielli said, “Well, let’s decide what we can dream up for Enzo to leak to the Stasi and then let’s get ready to brief General Lucci tomorrow. I’ll call him and make an appointment.” Dominic said, “Whatever we come up with, I’ve got to tell Washington. They’ve got to put out some vague info to get the Stasi curious.” The three stayed up until two in the morning conjuring fragments of info that they would release to the media and then more fake, classified military information that would be leaked by Enzo. There would be news releases of the possibility that vast tracts of land in northeastern Italy would be taken by the government for a future air base. There would be an announcement that a surveying company was surveying the property. That company would, in fact, start a survey but when that activity caught the attention of the press, they told them that they could not reveal the purpose nor the client of the survey. Back in the states, intelligence would sprinkle vague clues about future increases of NATO’s military capabilities. A pattern of false information was created to authenticate the false information Enzo would give his Stasi . At ten o’clock the next morning, Colonel Agnielli, Dominic and Mike were in General Lucci’s office. He had his chief of intelligence, Colonel Battali and Enzo with him. “I assume Colonel Agnielli that this briefing will be classified. Shall we go to the secure conference room?” “Yes sir, I would say it’s top-secret I assume that Captain Lucci and Colonel

Battali have a clearance?” “Yes, certainly. Colonel Battali is chief of intelligence and Captain Lucci, like all our pilots have Top Secret clearances.” They went through a door into a small anteroom where an armed officer sat behind a desk. They all signed in and he unlocked another door to a room hat held a conference table and eight chairs and no windows. Colonel Agnielli started the briefing but turned it over to Dominic who was intimately familiar with the details. General Lucci leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table, and listened intently. When Dominic mentioned Enzo’s involvement, General Lucci glanced at Enzo with no expression on his face. When Dominic finished, he asked if the general had any questions. “Captain Lucci—Enzo, has indicated his involvement in this. I’m not exactly pleased with his behavior that led to those photographs. Nevertheless, I must say that I am pleased that he responded the way he has. I think your plan can turn this unsavory situation into an opportunity. What do you think Colonel Agnielli?” “Si General, this is an opportunity to lay a smokescreen on our military plans, and it will distract their agents from valuable information. I will keep in close touch with Colonel Battali and you, of course, will be kept fully informed of this operation.” “Fine Colonel Agnielli. Then we can proceed, and I want to commend Colonel Skora for an idea that foils a Stasi thrust.” Dominic said, “It goes without saying that everything we’ve said today is topsecret and on a ’need to know’ basis. Are we clear?” Everyone nodded, and they left the room. A sense of relief enveloped Mike. The Enzo problem lost its jagged edges, but there were fragments still not identifiable. When Colonel Agnielli first briefed Mike, the clandestine mission was apparent, but after he became embroiled in the Italian chapter of the story, he felt himself getting emotionally involved. It wasn’t the same as digging into the Luftwaffe’s secrets. He had always been cynical of postwar Germans posing as allies. The Italians were different. Even after the fascist Mussolini ed Hitler’s Nazi horde, the Italians were our

friends, not enemies. And then there was Enzo, the Red Barons, and Galli. There was more there to filter, to weigh. He rationalized his need to step away by telling Colonel Agnielli and Dominic that he needed to get back to Bitburg. He didn’t mention that he needed to share a bed with Christine. Christine had no emotional complications. She was straightforward with no speculation or guesswork. He needed that kind of involvement now. General Lucci arranged a flight to Bitburg on the courier the Italian headquarters sent to NATO headquarters twice weekly. Mike left Rome in a comfortable seat on that courier. When Mike landed at Bitburg, he stopped in to see Colonel Childs. All was going well, and he settled down for a typical week. He flew twice and checked Christine’s schedule and cursed himself because she’d been in Frankfurt earlier that week. Back in Rome, Dominic and Colonel Agnielli met in the embassy’s secure room to write a report on the Enzo affair and to then send it to C I A headquarters. Enzo had to appear cooperative with the Stasi agent and needed to give something to the agent. They scanned recent unclassified releases of NATO activity in European news networks. Those snippets of information hinted at developments that were shifting the balance of power between the Allies and the Soviet Union. Colonel Agnielli scanned a list of relevant stories and circled several that he thought might spark interest behind the Iron Curtain. It was a strategy Mike conjured after Enzo confessed to being threatened with exposure by the Stasi agent who had compromising photos of him.

Chapter 8

THE ROAD TURNS

Mike shuffled papers for a few days and got restless knowing what was going on in Italy. He called Colonel Schulstad and told him he’d be in Bonn on Saturday and would like to see him. On the surface, it was a routine social call, but as planned, Mike knew Alex would be there. Mike drove to Bonn, had lunch with Schulstad who told Mike Alex would pick him up at three-thirty. They drove along the Moselle river, and Mike reviewed what he learned in Rome. Alex listened intently, and when Mike finished, he looked at him, slowed the car down and began. “Mike some noises being reported by Dominic Agostino that we should talk about.” “Anything to do with Enzo Lucci’s with those Stassi agents?” “I don’t think so. It’s a lot of soft intelligence. Nothing based on the phony secrets created for Enzo. Besides, he hasn’t reported any s to Pavesi at Aviano. I guess you know Enzo is back in Aviano now. He did relay some interesting info he picked up at the club.” He paused for a moment and then went on, “The Barons were partying one night, and Pavesi heard them needling Enzo about his wife.” Mike’s ears perked up. “What did he say?” “I didn’t talk to Pavesi, but Domenic relayed what he said. It was something about her becoming a movie star—they even mentioned Hollywood.” Mike was perplexed. He couldn’t put aside the doubts he had after Natasha told him about Galli’s early life. There was something else that gave him pause. Roberto Aiello had visibly shown indifference to him when Galli had introduced

him to Roberto or was it dislikes? And the way she squelched Enzo when he talked about Roberto’s wife. Alex continued. “There’s something else going on down there. One of our guys reported that he saw Santoro and Roberto Aiello in Vicenza. Roberto’s play was there. Anyway, the company has an interest in Santoro and anyone connected to him. Roberto was seen ing a paper to Santoro. We didn’t know who Aiello was until we got photos developed. Doesn’t Enzo’s wife Galli have some connection with him?” “Yes, she acts as a prompter during his rehearsals, and they both have an interest in filmmaking—I think Aiello has arranged a screen test for Galli.” “I don’t know where this is going to take us Mike but what caught our interest was some recent info we got from you indicating someone was slipping information to them. I had Dominic talk to Enzo, but Enzo said that he had no whatsoever with the ones who think he’s one of them, so Dominic and I could only assume someone like Aiello was the talker.” “He says he’s Enzo’s friend, but I can’t imagine Enzo spilling the beans to him.” “I think you’re right Mike, but you know how people are. They don’t always know that what they know is something that somebody else wants, get it? What I’m suggesting is that you be alert to the possibility that stuff goes from Enzo to Galli innocently, but where the info goes after that, we’d like to know.” You implied that the info they got wasn’t valuable. Can you give me a hint?” “Yeah Mike, it isn’t like with Helga Gerhardt, this is just dirty laundry, schedules, assignments and stuff like that but there is a connection.” “What do you want me to do Alex, should I head to Aviano again?” “No—no Mike. Go where you have to go to sniff around for anything about Roberto.” Mike left Bonn and drove back to Bitburg. On Monday morning he stepped into Colonel Childs office and mentioned that he’d like to have a short leave of absence in February.

“What’s happening Mike?” Mike told him he wanted to go to Zermatt to ski. “Are you going to be doing anything else down there Mike? If you are you shouldn’t burn all your leave days to do things that you have to do.” “No sir,…Well, not exactly. I do plan to ski for my pleasure, but I may need to devote a little time to do, umm, some other stuff.” “Just for the record, I’ll put you down on orders for a fifteen-day leave. When you get back, I want you to tell me how you spent that time. What days were just for you and how many days for your duty.” “Sir, that’s more than fair. I won’t take advantage of it.” Mike spent several days cleaning up the paperwork in his office. He arranged to fly on three afternoons to keep his hand in the Hun. Flying and hanging around the squadron operations office unburdened Mike from his onerous duties. By the end of the week, he decided to try to intersect with Christine and clear some of the confusion in his head. Christine’s airline office in Frankfurt gave him her schedule for this next thirty days. One of her flights arrived on a Saturday and departed on Tuesday. That flight suited him. He decided to meet her on Sunday for lunch and leave early on Monday so he’d be in his office by nine o’clock. Sunday couldn’t come fast enough; he was edgy. It was a grey, drizzly day when he got to Rhein-Main. He checked the flight schedule board and was relieved that she’d be in on time. After the engers left the plane, the crew appeared. Mike saw her following the pilots. Suddenly a big smile broke out on her face when she saw Mike. Mike waved, they met and stopped to talk. “Mike, two flight crews will be in the suite this weekend. Got any ideas?” “Sure Christine, I’ll check us into a room. Will you have a problem with that? I mean, do you want them to know you’ll be with me?” Christine chuckled. “No Mike, no problem. It’s an unspoken rule in the airlines that once the wheels are up, no one sees anything.”

Over lunch, they told each other rather innocuous things. Mike wasn’t ready to unburden himself of his weighty problems. Christine talked about her sister Celine “I’m going to take her to Austria this spring. It’s her first time in Europe. and she just broke up with the young man she was dating—she’s not heartbroken, just a little lost.” “Austria? Where? There’s great skiing in the Arlberg region—ever been there?” She shook her head. “I knew you’d know where to go. You should come with us —but no hankey-pankey, with sis’ there I have to keep my nose clean.” “Christine—you didn’t have to say that. I’d never mess your family up.” Christine kissed the air. “That’s what I love about you—you’re a decent man.” “Thanks, but I don’t know if I can get away. There’s a lot on my plate right now.” Christine leaned forward and said, “Tell me about it if you can—upstairs.” They went to the room, Christine pulled four mini bottles of scotch out of her purse and with a conspiratorial smile said, “Look what I’ve got—want some?” Mike smiled and answered, “That’s not all I want.” “Naughty boy!” she said as she unbuttoned her dress. Need we say more? It was one for him and one for her, then they talked. Mike went through the scene about Galli and what Natasha said about her early life. And he told her parts of Enzo’s plight. He couldn’t reveal all of it but came close enough that she able to make the right conclusions. “You’re in a tricky business Mike. I can’t tell you much because I don’t know the game you’re playing, but where the women are concerned, I have opinions I’ll share with you.” Mike nodded. “Christine, you know I trust your judgment and being a woman, you know a hell of a lot more about them than me.”

“That Galli is quite a piece of work. There are lots of surfaces there, and I think you’re too easily taken in by what you see. I’m not criticizing you, Mike, most men are like that. But what her sister said about her is the real her. It looks like she learned early in her life that she could manipulate men to get what she wants.” Mike sat there soaking up what Christine was saying. It made sense. Christine was like Natasha. Natasha didn’t play any games with him before, and she was stripping away a part of her sister’s deception now. He thought, what a difference between two sisters, a difference seen only by a sister! Early on Monday morning Mike drove fast, lost in thought. I’ve got to see Galli. I better call Enzo and find out when she’s going to Cervinia…yeah, then I’ll take off for Zermatt and see if I can connect with her at the Testa Grizia. He got to his office at eight-thirty. Not bad for a day when work started at eight! Mike called Enzo and made some small talk before asking when Galli would be leaving him to cook his meals. Enzo said, “Maybe only breakfast Mike—I eat at the club, she leave on Friday— not this Friday but next week.” That clinched it. He’d take the leave of absence effective Monday and sign out on Saturday. It was only a day’s drive, and he knew the route. Mike wrote a brief memo to Colonel Childs requesting a leave of absence of ten days, effective February eleventh, 1957. After he typed it, he brought it to Child’s office. “You don’t want two weeks on those orders? I told you that when you got back I’d adjust the time you spent there.” “I was only trying to make it a little closer to what I need, but if it’s better to cover it with fifteen days, I’ll change it.” Childs picked up a pen and scribbled on Mike’s memo. “That’ll do it, Mike.” He looked at Mike, a sly, knowing smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Mike gathered everything he needed for his trip. Skis, boots, clothing and seal skins to attach to his skis that would make the uphill trek across the Theodole

Glacier to the Testa Grigia easier. Early Saturday morning he loaded the Mercedes and then had a hurried breakfast at the club. He drove off the base and went streaking down the highway to get on the Autobahn heading south to Basil. Two hours later he swung east at Martigny and headed for Brig. Mike left the main highway at Brig and drove the winding road to St. Christof where the road ended. He parked in a secured parking lot that he’d used on previous visits, boarded the cog rail train that ascended to Zermatt. Mike stepped onto the Zermatt station’s platform, paused for a moment and looked into another world. Colorful horse-drawn carriages from the hotels waited for engers. The Main Street had three feet of packed snow. Carved steps led down to each shop entrance. The sky was a radiant blue, the air cold and crisp. The mountains surrounding the village, dominated by the Matterhorn to the West, straddling the Italian border. Bronze faced locals stood out against the gaily clad skiers. Mike checked in at the Zermatterhof Hotel and went to his room. The French doors opened on a small balcony that faced the Matterhorn. He felt whollly detached from the life he was living. Mike longed to escape his mixed-up world, but he clenched his fists and got ready to do what he knew he had to do. Mike knew that Galli was in Cervinia. Enzo had told him that she’d be there late on Saturday. He had told her he’d be in Zermatt on Sunday. She had suggested that they meet for lunch at the Testa Grigia on Tuesday, but she said that she’d be there for several days later if he for some reason couldn’t get there as planned. On Sunday morning he took the cog train to the Gornergrat. From there he could ski in several directions and return to the Gornergrat. One particular lift went down to the Theodole glacier. He skied down to see if that one brought him as close as he could get to the Testa Grigia. He looked for a good route across the glacier and saw a shorter ski trail and lift that ended higher on the glacier. The distance from that lift to Testa Grigia was longer, but the route looked less steep. Satisfied with his reconnaissance Mike had lunch and skied for a short while and decided to ski down to the hotel and relax. He bought a few postcards, sat in the lobby sipping a beer and wrote the cards.

On Monday morning Mike planned to try the route he’d selected and had no idea how long the ascent would be. He tucked the seal skins in his anorak and headed for the cog train that went to the Gornergrat. He made a run that ended on the glacier and took the lift back up to the Gornergrat. The higher trail down to the glacier was steep and short. At the bottom of his run, he saw that the incline leading to Testa Grigia wasn’t as steep. He fitted his skis with the seal skins and began a slow ascent toward the Matterhorn. After an hour and almost halfway so he turned around and followed the tracks from the base of the lift. He took the cablecar and stopped for lunch in the massive stone building. Tuesday’s the day I guess; I’ll give it two or two and a half hours…should be enough. Now all I need is decent weather, he thought to himself. Mike made several stimulating runs and then skied down to the hotel. That night in the hotel’s dining room the guests were served the house gluhwein, a tasty heady concoction of heated wine with cinnamon and spiked with brandy. When he went to the gluhwein table, several British coupleswererefilling their glasses. One ascot clad young man stepped closer to Mike. “I say old chap; I think I saw you coming down the glacier this morning. Where did you come from?” Mike explained what he was doing, and he caught the Brit’s interest. “The seal skins you say, and they attach to your skis?” “Yes. There’s a loop attached to the front of your skis; then you unhook the rear cable guides so that you can lift your heels for cross-country skiing.” “Well, I’ve done a bit of cross-country skiing in England, but it was mostly small hill’s, with those I could tackle the steeper inclines.” “Yes, these skins make trekking cross-country as easy as walking.” The Englishman sucked on his pipe and nodded his head. “Always learn something new from you Yanks.” “No sir, it’s old, I Iearned it over here.” Mike took another glass of the heated gluhwein and a small plate of raclette and returned to his table. He knew the Brit was telling his friends about the skins

because he saw him turn and point his elbow at Mike as he talked. That night a few inches of new snow dusted the valley but the morning was bright sunshine, sparkling off the pristine mountains. Mike immersed himself in what was around him and what he wanted to do on Tuesday. He left the hotel, skis over his shoulder and past the group of British skiers. One of them turned and said, “Off again old chap?” Mike turned, smiled and said, “I’m going to climb up to the Testa Grigia have lunch and ski back.” “Oh, do you have your seal skins with you? Can I show them to my mates?” Mike put down his skis, took the rolled up seal skins out of his anorak pocket and unrolled one of them for the group. They all felt the fir, nodded and understood how they worked. He rolled the skin and pocketed it, picked up his skies and said, “Well I’m off!” Mike boarded the Gornergrat train filled with cheerfully happy skiers. Most were in larger groups or with someone. Mike sat, alone, gazing across the snow covered expanses, the horizon broken by the lofty mountains. His thoughts went to Galli. Who was she? Other than her demonstrably youthful beauty and her alluring manner, her young life was one that had deeply concerned her sister. He was startled when Natasha told him several things that seemed a part of the Galli he had not seen or felt. Was it possible that she could keep parts of her past life so well concealed? Or was Mike overwhelmed by her response to him and his silent sexual attraction which thus far he had been able to restrain? Like the cog train that clicked along its undeviating path, Mike’s thoughts remained on Galli’s track. The complexity and mystery of his duties could not intrude into his thinking of her. I better not bust my ass today if I’m going to climb up to the Testa Grigia, he thought. As the train ed the Riffelalp, he ed his first rock climb, with his guide, Franz Perren in preparation for the Matterhorn. Younger and wilder then, he thought. The train clanged to a stop, and the eager skiers grabbed their gear and surged to the door eager for their first downhill run. Mike wasn’t in a hurry and lingered near the cable lift that would bring the skiers back up. The trail he wanted was a bit to the left and stopped higher on the glacier. He attached his skis and glided

down. There weren’t any skiers taking that trail and that suited Mike. He didn’t want to explain what he was doing with the seal skins and where he was going. Better that way—no distractions. The empty chairs on the lift’s cable clanked by swinging in the steady breeze. The trail had been broken by an early ski patrol who ensured that it was safe and open. High mountain glacier skiing requires caution because the glacier could develop a crack which could trap skiers. Mike followed the tracks in their swerving turns but held his speed in check. He didn’t want anything unexpected to delay the trek to Testa Grigia. The run dropping only about 2,000 feet stretched over a mile and a half. The slope was graded intermediate and took him only fifteen minutes to get to the bottom. He studied the route he’d take over the glacier to the Testa Grigia—and to Galli. There were only two bronzed lift attendants at the bottom who greeted him cheerfully. They were fit young men who were probably climbing guides in the summer. They took quite an interest in Mike’s preparations for his ascent and seemed familiar with the seal skins. “Have you done the Haute Route with those skins?” One asked. “No, I haven’t. I’m just going to the Testa Grigia for lunch. I’ll be back later this afternoon” They both looked on approvingly, and Mike felt they thought him to be like they were, it made him glow, a good stimulus for his meeting with Galli. He waved good-bye and began a steady, sliding rhythm that was slow enough not to wind him. The altitude was above 10,000 feet; oxygen deprivation was inevitable. Mike ed with a chuckle that when skiing in the Arapahoe basin in Colorado, bending down to buckle his boots got him dizzy! He was at 11,000 feet! Thoughts like that flowed through his head, never distracting him from his wanting to see her. The February sun and the still air made Mike perspire. He stopped, peeled off his anorak and a heavy sweater, tied them around his waist and continued. The trek somehow was therapeutic, though he couldn’t shake his obsession with the young woman. Could he detach himself from the world he knew, and still have control? He didn’t know how he could separate the two aspects of himself, Climbing closer to the Testa Grigia he quickened his pace and tried to spot Galli. He checked his watch and thought, Too soon perhaps-I hope she shows up. He began to have doubts that she’d be there, but soon, he saw three figures on the corner of the deck that looked like they were searching. Mike raised a ski pole and waived, sure enough, one of the figures waived both arms frantically. He was sure it was Galli. As he drew closer, he heard her shouting, “Mike! Mike! We are here!”

Chapter 9

TESTA GRIGIA

sca and Victoria stood beside Galli, waving. The other woman looked like Angelica, Rinaldo’s wife. The Testa Grigia was teeming with active skiers in colorful outfits. Some were sprawled out on the hard-packed snow around the terrace; their faces turned to the brilliant sun. Skis and poles were embedded in the snow waiting for the owners. Mike stopped, unbuckled his skis and stood them into the packed snow. Galli ran over, her face shining. “Oh, you have come! I’m so glad. I have been telling sca and Victoria that you would be here. What are those things on the bottom of your skis?” “I needed these seal skins to climb across the Plateau Rosa. It would have been hard without them.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. While she talked, her eyes looked intently into his, and he felt a tremor in his loins. His mind raced, What the hell is going on? Natasha cautioned me about her. She’s acting as though she’s single, available, unguarded. Is it me? Or is it her? “We can have lunch and then can you ski with us? Down to Cervinia? Will you have time to get back to Zermatt?” Mike looked at his watch. “I think so. If we have lunch, ski down and back up here, that should be enough time.” “Good! Let’s go then.” She took his hand and led him to the deck near the restaurant, Victoria, sca and Angelica followed seeming to hold back as though they didn’t want to intrude on Galli’s tete a tete. sca ordered a liter pitcher of wine as soon as they sat down. “For five I think eet ees enough. Cannot get tipsy so high up.” She filled their glasses while they ordered lunch. “You will ski with us, Colonel Skora?” She asked.

“Please sca, call me Mike. Yes, I’ll make one run, and then I’ll have to ski down to the Gornergradt lift and then down to Zermatt.” Galli asked, “Can you come tomorrow too? Maybe a little sooner so we can ski and talk together?” “Sure Galli, if the weather is good I should be able to get here a bit sooner.” “I’ll stop here at eleven; now I know where to look for you” sca glanced at Victoria who looked back at her with no expression. Mike wondered what they were thinking. The light lunch went down fast with the wine. The women gathered their gear waiting while Mike stripped the seal skins from his skis. He rolled them tightly, stuffed them in his anorak. sca started out. Galli turned to Mike and said, “She is an excellent skier, very fast too, I think I slow her down.” They fell into line and began the long descent to Cervinia. After several sweeping turns on the open slope, they came to the tree line that narrowed the trail. sca stopped. “We’ll take a short rest before we do the harder part.” Mike pulled up next to Galli and asked, “So Galli, what have you been up to lately?” “Oh, the usual. I have been quite busy at the theater.” “How’s Roberto doing?” Galli’s smile faded a bit, and she said quietly, “Oh, he’s fine. He will be in a motion picture with the director DeSica—and—and I might play a small part in the film.” Mike was impressed and said, “Really Galli? That sounds great! What does Enzo think about that?” She pouted a little and said, “He is not so much excited as I am.” “Why is that?” “Well, I had an audition for the film. I was filmed saying some of the lines. Signor De Sico, he was very much pleased with my audition and—and, I don’t know if I should tell you this, he said, I could be contracted in Hollywood.”

“Wow! Galli, that’s amazing! Did you tell Enzo that?” She shook her head. “No—no. I didn’t tell him. I would need to go to America, and I know he will not leave Italy and his flying.” She looked at him, an imploring look in her eyes seemed to be asking for his indulgence. They finished the ski run, got back on the lift and were whisked up the mountain. At the top of Galli said, “I hate to see you go, Mike. sca why don’t you all ski down, I will stay a little bit before Mike leaves.” The three women seemed anxious to be away from Galli and Mike. He sensed that they felt the unspoken thoughts going on between them. sca cheerily said, “Yes we will go now Galli. I think we can do another run.” Mike and Galli skied to a bench on the snow, slid the rear of their skis under and sat down. They turned to each other. Mike was oblivious to where he was and what he was doing. He was completely trapped. “So Mike, I will see you tomorrow, maybe earlier?” “Yes, Galli I’ll try to get here early enough to ski a little longer with all of you.” He looked at his watch. “I don’t know what time the Gornergrat lift stops so I’d better start down. So, I’ll see you domani.” She answered, “Si, domani Mike.” “Va bien Galli, domani.” Mike felt the way he did when he was a kid wishing the Saturday matinee movie and wanted it to go on and on. The slide down the Plateau Rosa was smooth and pleasant. When he saw the Gornergrat lift, it was still making the round-trip. There were only about five or six skiers were climbing on as he slid into place. One of the attendants he saw that morning nodded to Mike. Mike asked, “What time do you stop?” “For you, I think this maybe your last run.” “Thanks. I’ll see you domani!” From the Gornergrat to Zermatt there were several routes to the Riffelberg and then only one from there to Zermatt. The upper slopes were varied in difficulty; Mike took a trail designated for experts. It was steep and weaved between rock outcroppings that demanded keen attention. Mike fell into his usual state of

mind; he skied the way he flew, fast and hard. The final part of the trail followed the cog train’s route which was carved out of a steep, massive cliff. Mike skied smoothly to the bottom. Perspiring, Mike slid to a stop slung his skis over his shoulder and headed for a couple of beers, a shower and a hearty dinner. When he stopped at the hotel desk, the clerk took his room key from a hook. “I have a message for you, Colonel Skora.” He handed Mike an unsealed envelope. Mike couldn’t imagine who would have called him. He read the note, “Mike give me a call. Something’s come up. Colonel Agnielli.” It listed a number. Mike turned to the clerk and asked, “Can I call Rome?” The clerk said, “Yes sir, you may do so from your room if you wish.” Mike nodded, turned and said, “Can you have two bottles of beer sent to my room?” “Yes, of course, sir.” Mike stripped off his anorak, sweater, and ski boots, lay down on his bed and thought to himself; I wonder what’s up? It must be important. I wonder if they’ll want me back? Those thoughts clouded his mind a bit. He thought he might have to leave and not see Gall, I for a while. Mike dialed Colonel Agnielli and then looked at his watch. Shit, it’s after five I bet this is his office number, he thought. He sat on his bed the phone pressed to his ear, it rang several times, and someone picked up. “Colonel Agnielli’s office.” “Is the Colonel in?” A male voice answered, “No sir, this is Sergeant Rodrigues at the Embassy switchboard. May I help you?” “This is Colonel Skora. Colonel Agnielli called me here in Switzerland and asked me to call him back.” “Yes, sir. I’ll relay your message. Will you be at the same number?” “Yes Sergeant. I’m standing by for his call.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mike hung up, then called the desk and told the clerk that Colonel Agnielli would call and that he’d stay in his room. The two beers he’d ordered hit the spot. He stretched out on the bed, propped his head up with pillows and his mind spun. He gulped the first beer right out of the bottle but poured the second into a glass, sank back on the bed and re-ran the Elysian day he’d spent with Galli. Mike wondered if he was falling in love or if it was only a hormonal attraction. He cast those thoughts aside and focused on Colonel Agnielli. The phone rang, and Mike picked it up on the second ring. “Colonel Skora.” “Hi, Mike this is Joe Agnielli. I think you should know what’s going on up here, that’s why I called you. Nothing serious but a few uncertainties have cropped up. I think we can talk about it without worrying too much about who might be listening; you got it?” “Yes sir, so go ahead.” “Well Mike, you know Santoro and his connections, right? One of our guys reported that he saw Santoro and Roberto Aiello in Vicenza. Roberto’s play was there. Anyway, we’ve had an interest in Santoro and anyone connected to him. Roberto was seen ing a paper to Santoro. We didn’t know who Aiello was until we got photos developed. Doesn’t Enzo’s wife Galli have some connection with him?” “Yes, she acts as a prompter during his rehearsals, and they both have an interest in filmmaking—I think Aiello has arranged a screen test for Galli.” “I don’t know where this is going to take us Mike but what caught our interest was some recent info that we got from you know where that indicated someone was slipping information to them. I had Domenic talk to Enzo, but Enzo said that he had no whatsoever with those who think he’s one of them, so Dominic and I could only assume someone like Aiello was the talker.” “Geez Colonel. How in hell could he connect with the interesting stuff? He says he’s Enzo’s friend, but I can’t imagine Enzo spilling the beans to him.” “I think you’re right Mike, but you know how people are. They don’t always know that what they know is something that somebody else wants, get it? What

I’m suggesting is that you be alert to the possibility that stuff goes from Enzo to Galli innocently, but where the info goes after that, we’d like to know.” “You said the info they got wasn’t important. Can you give me a hint?” “Yeah Mike, it wasn’t like with Helga Gerhardt. This info is just like dirty laundry, schedules, assignments and stuff like that but there is some connection.” “What do you want me to do Colonel? Should I head up to Aviano again?” “No—no Mike. Stay where you are and sniff around for anything about Roberto.” When Mike hung up, he was relieved that he could stay in Zermatt for the week and he looked forward to getting Galli talking. When he went down for dinner, he saw the Brits in the dining room and waved to them but sat at a small table for two. Another beer and he ordered a raclette, lamb chops and a half bottle of local red wine. The next morning Mike sprang out of bed looking forward to seeing Galli, though his pleasure dimmed when he ed he had to sniff out what she could tell him about Roberto. After a fast breakfast Mike gathered his gear and got the early train to the Gornergrat the train wasn’t filled with skiers as it was yesterday. At the last stop, Mike clambered off and saw the ski patrol start down the trail under the lift. They skied slowly looking up at the chairs for mechanical problems. One of them made sweeping traverses looking for hazards on the slope. Mike attached his skis and started down staying behind the ski patrol knowing they would probably restrict his skiing on the un-inspected trail. The morning air was still and cold. He blew out a steamy breath and set off down the slope. At the bottom, the patrol got on the lift leaving one behind. Mike swerved to the side, away from the stream of skiers that had followed him. He attached the skins to his skis, looked across the snow-covered glacier and began his trek. An hour later, alone on the bright white expanse, and perspiring, he stopped and took off the anorak. Mike knew that sweating could lead to cold seeping through the sweater. It was a quarter after ten. Looking up at the Gornergra, he reckoned to be there within an hour and resumed the steady rhythmical pace while his mind spun trying to conjure how he’d question Galli. The time went fast. When he looked ahead, he saw a lone figure on the deck that seemed to be looking his

way. Assuming it was Galli, Mike raised a ski pole and waved. She immediately raised both arms and waved. Mike was relieved that she was there. As he drew closer, he saw that she was alone. He slid up below the deck, undid his bindings, took off the skins, shouldered the skis and trudged up to Galli. “You are here just as you said. I came early. sca and Victoria will be later. We can ski together Mike. Do you want to rest?” “I could use something to drink Galli. Let’s have a tea or coffee; then we’ll ski.” “Yes, yes. That will be fine. Shall we stay out here?” “Fine Galli.” Mike ordered a beer and a coffee. Galli ordered tea. “So Galli, what have you been doing lately? I mean at Aviano not here. How’s Enzo?” Galli said, “Enzo’s fine. Here arranged everything with Genera. Lucci but I don’t know the details. sca and Victoria don’t know anything about what happened at the hotel.” Mike chuckled. “No, I’m sure that the bad boys didn’t want to let their wives know. Better to forget about it.” “Yes, I think so. Enzo doesn’t talk about it either.” “And how’s Roberto? You’re still working with him aren’t you?” “Yes, of course. Roberto depends on me to…to his lines, and I know he appreciates it because he is always trying to arrange with directors, for my, how can I say this… possible involvement in acting.” “Yes, I know you’ve had an audition haven’t you?” “Yes but that’s only the beginning. I must do screen testing. Roberto says that I could become an actress in the film business.” “That’s a big leap isn’t it Galli? Are you ready for that?” “I-I don’t know Mike. Am I ready to become a family woman with children and

all that—like Natasha? I wanted to be like her or like those girls on the beach in Cannes. ? I the one with silver hair that sunbathed without the top of her bathing suit. Natasha told me she was an actress and not very nice, but she had all those young Americans around her, and I wondered.” “Natasha didn’t think much about those girls. I those drunken pilots that were hypnotized by her topless display. That’s what I liked about Natasha; she wasn’t like that.” “But if I became become a movie star would you think less of me?” “No Galli. You are who you are. Nothing can change that.” “You’re right Mike, but we must make choices. Isn’t that true?” Mike studied her and then said, “Yes Galli, choices are made, things change, and then you might need to make other choices.” “Yes, Mike. That is the way it has been for me. There are things I want, but I can’t always get them.” “Like what Galli?” She giggled. “Don’t be embarrassed Mike, but I wanted you when I met you. And now, it’s the same only now I’m married.” “And you’re steering yourself to a movie career?” Galli blushed. “Oh, it’s not so easy. Roberto said I would have to go to Hollywood. How can I? Enzo will never leave his father and the Barons. It is his whole life. Roberto told me that he is locked into his Air Force.” “Yes, I think he loves flying.” “How can I go to America then? I will have to-to-forget about what I-I-want to do.” Mike decided that Galli was determined to become a movie star. She was driven to get what she wanted. What Natasha had told him seemed to be early recognition of a flawed character.

“Couldn’t Roberto help you somehow?” “No, his wife, she is important to him. Even though she is now with her family in England, she calls him often and Roberto, he always becomes disturbed afterward.” “How?” “Oh, he gets nervous and always asks me more questions and he comes and goes more, but then he settles down.” “More questions Galli? About what? Why would he be asking you questions?” “I think only to take his mind off work and to forget her.” Mike laughed. “It sounds like you tranquilize him when he has problems.” “Yes, I try. Sometimes I have to ask Enzo things so that I can take Roberto’s mind away from his—his worries.” Mike began to see the process. Roberto displayed nervousness or anxiety and probably convinced Galli that what she could tell him about Enzo’s military life calmed him down. He got her believing that he was a ‘wanna-be’ to explain his curiosity about the Italian air force. Thinking he’d probed enough, Mike said, “Let’s enjoy today Galli. Let’s ski.” “Yes, I’m ready to go!” They left the deck, clamped on their skis and started down. Mike slowed and waved Galli on. “Go ahead Galli, I’ll follow.” She pointed her skis downhill and ed him. He followed. He watched her competent and graceful technique, better than most of the other skiers on the slope. Mike’s mind bounced around from thoughts about what Colonel Agnielli had told him, to the complexity of Galli. She wasn’t easy to figure out. Except for her displayed interest in him and his attraction to her, everything else was a puzzle. They got to the bottom of the trail and swung into the lift entry area. The chairs came around fast; there was no waiting. Mike and Galli settled on the swinging chair. He noticed that she moved closer to him, their shoulders touching.

“That was a nice run Galli; you ski beautifully.” “Oh thank you, Mike. It’s so nice to be doing with you what you like.” Mike wondered about her comment. They made another run, still, no sign of sca. On the lift, Mike looked at his watch. “It’s about three o’clock Galli. I should get back to Zermatt.” She pouted and said, “No no, please Mike, let’s make one more run and then you can go.” “Let’s make it a fast one okay? Try to keep up with me.” She nodded and smiled, pleased. As they started down, she saw sca, Victoria, and Teresa coming down the slope. She yelled at them. They stopped, waved, and sca yelled, “We’ll see you at the Valanga.” Mike was setting a fast pace. Galli kept up with him, but he could see she was falling back. He slowed, looked at his watch. Christ! It’s three-thirty! He thought. “Come on Galli we’ve got to get going.” “Can’t we stop for a rest?” “No, I’ve got to catch the lift. It stops at four right?” She didn’t answer, just nodded. They skied, and Mike could see that Galli was getting tired—then she took a tumbling fall. Mike stopped and saw her lying flat on the trail and not moving, so he herringboned up the slope and anxiously said, “Are you all right Galli?” “She answered, “Yes, I—I think so, but my knee is twisted. It hurts.” Mike felt her knee, lifted her leg and was glad to see that it didn’t seem broken. “Do you think you can make it down?” She nodded. “But—but I must go slowly. It hurts when I turn.” Mike glanced at his watch. Three-forty five. “It’s getting close Galli. I’ve got to get that lift.” “You can go ahead, Mike. I’ll—I’ll go down by myself, slowly,” she said.

“No, I can’t let you do that. Suppose something else happens?” Mike thought he saw a suppressed flicker of a smile on her face. “If you miss the lift it will be my fault. I’m sorry.” Mike felt committed to her well-being and decided that if he couldn’t get back to Zermatt, he’d worry about it later. Galli finally got up and skied very slowly, favoring the leg that wasn’t injured. He let her go first, staying close behind. People whizzed by them while the minutes ed. They were within sight of the bottom of the lift when Mike saw the cables stop. He glanced up at the slope; all the chairs were empty. “Galli, Jesus, it looks like the lift has stopped!” “Oo-oo, yes, I think so.” She looked at her watch. “Yes, it is four o’clock, they stop at this time.” Mike slid to a swirling stop, Galli drew up next to him. “You can spend the night with us and go to Zermatt tomorrow.” “No, I’ll get a room in a hotel—but I don’t have my port with me, and I don’t have enough money to pay for it, maybe they’ll give me a room anyway.”“Galli smiled and said, “You see? Now you must stay with three women. Isn’t that the easiest thing to do?” Reluctantly Mike agreed. “Yes, I guess so. I can buy a toothbrush, and I’ll have to clump around in these boots.” Galli laughed, “I will buy you some slippers Mike, you will be fine.”

Chapter 10

CERVINIA

They slid down to the base of the lift, took off their skis, slung them over their shoulders and followed the flow of skiers into the main street of Cervinia. Mike saw a pharmacy. “I think I have enough money for a toothbrush and…” Galli interrupted him, “Yes but don’t buy toothpaste. You can use mine.” Mike nodded and stepped in, purchased a toothbrush and counted the Swiss francs he had left. Enough for a couple of beers, he thought. When he stepped out of the Pharmacia, Galli said, “Come now, let’s get you some comfortable shoes.” She grabbed Mike’s hand and crossed the street to a shop that had a variety of shoes in the window. They placed their skis against the building and stepped in. Galli confronted a clerk and speaking Italian, told him what kind of shoes she wanted, gesturing at Mike’s feet. The clerk nodded and said, “Yes sir, I oo-ner stan. You must-a-a, remova the boots prego.” Mike sat, took off his boots, the clerk measured his foot, stepped away and came back carrying three boxes. He opened each box while Galli examined the shoes, pointed to one, turned to Mike and said, “Here, I think this is a good one. You must try to see if it is comfortable.” Mike looked at the shoe, it was well made, black, soft leather, a classic loafer. Mike asked, “Quanta costa?” But before the clerk could answer, Galli said, “No Mike, please do not worry, I will pay for them.” “Well, I’ll reimburse you later.” She looked at him and said, “As you wish, but can’t I make you a present this time?” “We’ll see Galli.” The shoes fit comfortably, and Mike walked out carrying his boots. He knew the shoes were expensive, but he didn’t say anything. As they walked along they came to a lively café filled with gregarious skiers, their hands flying with Italian gestures.

“Oh, this is where we always stop after skiing. I think sco will be here with the others. Let’s go see Mike.” Mike was hesitant. He didn’t have enough money to pay for drinks, but Galli read his mind. “Come, Mike, I have enough money to buy us an aperitif.” The place was noisy, smoke hung from the ceiling, the clinking of glasses and bottles punctuated the loud outbursts of laughter and, singing. They found sca, Victoria, and Angelica at a table. Mike pulled up a chair and looked for another one. sca was sitting on the banquette, Galli slid in beside her and said, “Take the chair, Mike, I will sit here.” sca said, “Well Mike, you must stay with three old maids tonight. It will be good to have a man in our chalet.” She poured a generous glass of the local wine, topped off the others and held the pitcher up to the waitress. “Ancora cameriera por favore.” (Another please waitress)The wine came quickly, went down smoothly and before Mike finished his glass, Galli refilled it. “Go easy Galli; this stuff hits me on an empty stomach.” sca turned to him and said, “Yes Mike we must eat a bit of pasta, change our shoes and then we can get tipsy.” Veronica and Angelica clinked glasses. Veronica said, “Il bevunda vino a quando la neve si sciogli!” “What did she say?” Mike asked. Galli answered, “I’ll drink till the snow melts!” They finished the wine and walked in the chilled twilight air to the chalet that was close to the main street, convenient for skiing and social life. The chalet had three bedrooms, sca in one, Victoria and Angelica in another and Galli had the third. Mike saw a daybed in the living room and said, “I’ll flop here with a pillow and a blanket.” “No-no!” Galli said, “You stay in my room, and I’ll sleep with sca.” Mike frowned. “No. I will not take your room, you’ve already done enough for me, and I’ll not impose anymore.” Galli pouted but didn’t challenge Mike. sca put a large pot of water on the stove and hustled getting bread, cheese, and olives while Angelica set the table.

“Victoria! Per favore, stappare vino!” sco pointed to a cluster of wine bottles. It didn’t take long before, sca’s pasta was ready. They sat, clinked glasses and dove into the pasta Pomodoro. The women had changed their ski clothes and boots and were anxious to have a night on the town. “Let’s go to the Valanga club,” Galli said excitedly. “What’s the Valanga Galli? Mike asked. “Oh, it is Avalanche.” It was only a five-minute walk to the club. When they opened the door, the thumping of the band vibrated the floor and a mass of funfilled voices made talking impossible. They pushed through the crowd and found a small table. Mike pulled a chair from an ading table, and they sat. Galli shifted her place to be beside Mike. Mike thoughts spun. He wondered how he’d ask Galli some of the questions he had but Galli set the stage for him when she said, “You must dance Mike, in your new shoes.” She took his hand, and they squeezed their way to the dance area. When he put his arm around Galli, he forgot for a moment why he was there. A shadow of guilt brought him back to reality. “It’s so nice to dance with you, Mike. I can’t believe you are here.” Galli said. Mike felt her draw closer to him. He bent his head and felt her hair on his cheek, when he, breathed, an ephemeral fragrance erased the smoke-laden air. He gathered his thoughts and said, “What’s in the future for you Galli?” She looked up at him, and her smile relaxed. She became taciturn, less voluble so unlike her. Finally, she said, “Some of the things that attract me, I’m not sure of.” “What are they, Galli? You seem to be well attached to your life.” She looked at Mike and said, “Yes but-but…” she paused, “well, you know, I am married into a fine family, and I have found you! And now, as I’ve told you, I’m learning that I can become an actress.” Mike pondered how he’d get her to talk about any classified things Enzo told her. and how such information ed into the Stasi network. He held her close, dancing smoothly and said, “Galli, you’re an exceptional young woman. There are so many things you can do but what is important is for you to do what you

want, not what others want.” “Yes, but isn’t it true that sometimes one must give others what they want to get what you want?” “Of course, that’s called compromise. You take a little, and you give a little. Life’s like that.” She didn’t say anything for a while. Mike bounced off a couple of other dancers who seemed to be a bit tipsy. “Haven’t you found that to be true? You can stay fully attached to your beliefs.” Galli nodded and said, “Yes, I think so. I have sometimes been more interested in what I wanted then-then…” Anxious to have Galli continue in this vein Mike interrupted, “That’s what compromise is Galli when you want something.” The music stopped, and they ed their friends. The drinks came and went. After two Stregas Mike said he’d had enough and they all agreed it was time to go. Back at the Villa, they sat for a while until sca said, “Oh-it’s after eleven. I must get my beauty sleep. Veronica and Angelica yawned, and they left the room. Galli said, “I will bring you a blanket and pillow, Mike.” Mike settled on the sofa and waited while each of the women finished in the one bathroom. He was coming closer to something with Galli when they talked, but it slipped away when others ed the conversation. Tomorrow, Mike planned to ski with Galli alone so that there’d be something to say to Colonel Agnielli that night. He fell asleep while his thoughts shifted back and forth between what he knew and didn’t know. What he knew was that she appeared to want him, but he couldn’t succumb to that temptation. What Mike didn’t know was what was behind her relationship with Roberto, or her wanting to become a movie actress and what Natasha had told him about her earlier life. The chalet settled into silence. Other than the faint ringing of the bell in the clock tower, Cervinia slept. Mike sank into the deep sleep a day of skiing and evening drinking guaranteed. Dreaming he was a little boy, and his mother was pulling a sweater over his head and was trying to stuff his arm into a sleeve, Mike realized that it wasn’t a dream and slowly awakened, but there was someone pulling him. The fog cleared suddenly, and he realized that Galli was sitting by him and was pulling his arm under the blanket.

“Galli, it-it’s you.” He couldn’t say anything else. “It is cold now, too cold for one blanket. I was putting another one on you,” Galli whispered. Mike couldn’t contain the enchantment he felt, reached out, circled her waist, and she fell to him. their lips locked and they arranged themselves for the pre-destined conclusion., As their awareness of where they were returned, replacing the wanton entanglement, they became quiet, listening for sounds that they didn’t want to hear. Galli kissed Mike and whispered, “I must be in my bedroom now,” and she quietly crept off. Mike laid there, his mind spinning. He desired her, was smitten by her. He thought, Oh my God! What in the hell is happening? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. How can this be? Is she just living a childhood fantasy? Or is it me? Is it possible that—that she wants something from me? He fell asleep and awakened to the voices of the women in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Mike dressed and ed the others in the kitchen. He and Galli looked at each other but acted as if nothing had happened. “Today after lunch I think I’ll head back to Zermatt. I don’t want to miss the lift up to the Gornergrat sca said, “Come, Mike, wasn’t it fun last night? You had three women all to yourself.” Angelica and Victoria giggled. Galli looked at Mike but said nothing. On the chairlift, Galli pressed close to Mike. He didn’t know how to start the conversation. She looked at him then said, “Mike I-I-never knew it would be like that.” He had to say something, so he said, “For me too,” knowing that what she said didn’t mean the same thing. “Where do you go after Zermatt?” she asked. Mike thought for a moment. “I’ll drive back to Bitburg. My car is in St Nicholas.” Galli looked thoughtful. Then she said, “I suppose I won’t see you again.”

“How can I? You’ve got Enzo, and I feel like-like…I don’t want to break up your marriage.” “No Mike, you wouldn’t. Even if there weren’t you, I would probably have to leave him if—if I go to Hollywood, “she paused, turned to Mike with soulful expression and went on, “you will go back to America won’t you?” Mike nodded. Oh, Mike, I would be so good to you.” He then began to feel that there was a plan in the air that he didn’t know. At what point did it germinate? When Galli first met him? Later as they became more acquainted? Or was it when she began to be seduced by a film career? He was still deeply attracted to her. but now he became circumspect. Thoughts intruded and cooled his ion. He decided to play into her dreams. “Yes, I’ll be in the US next year. Probably in Washington at the Pentagon. If you decide to leave Enzo, I’ll be there for you Galli. In the meantime, as difficult as it will be for me to stay away from you, I will. For both our sakes, I must .” Galli nodded. “Yes, I can’t tell Enzo and—and if I must leave him.” Mike added, “And I certainly won’t talk about all of this to anyone-especially to Enzo.” The chairlift reached the top, and they slid out of the way and ed sca and, the others. sca yelled, “Two runs okay? And then we have lunch si?” “Sounds good sca, go ahead, we’ll follow you.” They made a tight line; each turned in the track of the one in front. Mike stayed back, made wider turns and fell further back then skied as he liked, faster. So it went for two runs, then lunch. At lunch, Galli said, “Mike you can make one more run, yes? There is plenty of time.” Mike looked across the glacier below, the sky which was getting cloudy. “I better not, if the visibility gets bad on the glacier I might have trouble finding the Gornergrat lift. The trail I took here was unmarked.” Galli said, “sca, you all go ahead and make a run. I’ll stay for a while to chat with Mike, and I’ll you when you come back up. They said goodbye to

Mike and skied off laughing and waving. Mike carried his skis and led Galli off the deck to the bench below. Galli sat down and sighed. Her face clouded over. She looked at Mike when he sat down beside her. “I still have those silver wings you gave me in Cannes.” Her comment dimmed his suspicion as he ed her childish face radiate with pleasure. He said, “I’m glad I gave them to you.” “Yes. We didn’t know it would this way did we?” Mike shook his head. “No, that was the furthest from my mind.” “Will you write to me?” Mike knew he had to keep in with Enzo at least until they’d bared the Stasi involvement. “Yes Galli I’ll write to Enzo, but I’ll always say something for you. If you can, would you phone me occasionally?” She quickly nodded, “Yes, yes. I will call you. I know you can’t be calling me but let Enzo know what you’re doing and where you are. I will always read your letters.” Mike nodded, his thoughts about Galli were muddled. He got up. “I’d better get going, Galli. I can’t miss the Gornergrat lift.” Galli got up, looked up at the deck then came close to Mike. They kissed. For a moment it was like last night. Mike broke the embrace and said, “I’ll see you, Galli, soon I hope.” She had tears in her eyes “Yes Mike, we must…we must…” He locked onto his skis, looked over his shoulder, raised his arm and skied away.

Chapter 11

BACK TO BITBURG

From the Testa Grigia, the slope fell gently toward the base of the Gornergrat. Mike checked his watch and knew he had more than enough time. By threethirty, he was sitting on the chair lift drawing him up to the Gornergrat. Skiing down the long trail to Zermatt cleared Mike’s brain of some of the confusion occasioned by Galli. He got to his hotel at four o’clock. The desk clerk handed him his key, and a message from Colonel Agnielli. Mike went to his room, ordered two beers, kicked off his boots, threw two pillows against the headboard, and settled down for a long conversation with his mentor. “Mike! Nice to hear from you. Where the hell were you last night? I called three times, and you weren’t in. Were you shacking up with someone?” “No, Colonel. I’m sorry. I got trapped in Cervinia.” He didn’t mention the night with Galli. “I see, well, l I’ve got a bit of news for you about Roberto—I mean—about his wife.” “What about her?” “She’s well known to us. One of her family who worked in the Britts foreign office defected to Moscow when he was tipped off a few years ago by Philby. You know about him, don’t you?” Mike ed press s about suspicions that a mole in the British Embassy was leaking information to the Soviets. The name Philby surfaced. “Yes, I think so. Wasn’t it Philby?” “You’ve got it, Mike. They were peas in a pod. Those Brits were giving the

Soviets everything. So Roberto’s wife happens to be part of that inner circle. We don’t know for sure, but there’s a good chance she’s the one that’s steering Roberto’s nose to sniff out info from Enzo and Galli. What do you think?” “Sounds like a connection, but Galli told me that Roberto has her set up to go to Hollywood. I guess he’s got connections there.” “Ah-ha! Mike, this web could be wider than we thought. You know Senator Joe McCarthy has been smoking out communists in Hollywood and we found a few of them were bent. It might be part of the network that connects with the Stasi.” “That’s possible, sir. I know that film director that Roberto brought into this is left-leaning. He’s the one who said he had a Hollywood connection.” “I’ll alert my side and see if they can find anything flowing between the Italians, the Brits, Stasi, and even across the Atlantic.” “Sir, what do you want me to do?” “Well, Mike, it’s best we act like we don’t know anything. Go back to Bitburg. I’ll do a little research, and I’ll you.” “Yes, sir, I’ll leave here tomorrow. I’ll be in Bitburg tomorrow night.” “Good, I’ll you.” They ended the conversation. Mike finished his beer, napped for a while, and dressed for dinner. He thought it best to call Galli—to assure her that he cared about her, and to complete a logical pattern. “Yes, Galli, I’m about to go down to dinner. No, no, I’m eating alone. I’ve got to get up early, and get back to my job. Yes, yes, I will, and please tell Enzo I’ll stay in touch.” He sat down for dinner, and had a feeling of relief that he was away from Galli’s magnetic power; relieved of the need to disassemble, and to pry her affairs. The day began with a turned page in an onerous book. Driving through the peaceful countryside with snow clad peaks at every turn seemed to distance him from the disquiet of the past few days.`

Once he hit the main highway in Bri, Mike accelerated and ed anyone in front of him. When he ed Basel and got on the German autobahn his speedometer ed the hundred miles per hour mark. It’ll be good to get back in that the Hun: he thought. Mike went through the gate at the base, slowed down, and parked near the BOQ. He took the skis off the rack, grabbed his bag, and went to his room. It was only six o’clock, and it was a Friday night. He smiled in anticipation of bellying up to the bar at the club, and ing the rowdy pilots. He streaked down the stairs, and hopped into the car. Its engine was still hot. He chirped the tires, and got to the club in time to hear a roar of laughter. All the pilots were in the dining room, beer bottles in hand, and looking at the stage at one end. A crew of six or seven pilots was lifting a Volkswagen onto the stage! “What’s going on?” he asked a waitress. “They have Colonel Childs new Volkswagen, and they are putting it on the stage.” “Is the colonel here?” “No-no, I think they have taken the car from his quarters.” Mike grinned and shook his head. Those guys are something else. I hope they don’t get into trouble. But Colonel Childs is a fighter pilot…he’ll cut them some slack, he thought. The thoughts of the past week faded, and Mike played along with the momentum of the retreat. There was a bounce in his brisk step toward the bar. He felt at home. He ordered a beer from Hans, and looked for Major Salter. He was anxious to fly that F-100 and mix it up with the young Tigers*. He saw Salter standing in the doorway watching; with a tight smile fixed on his face. He didn’t restrain his pilots’ hijinks, but he maintained a measured caution; probably embedded at West Point. Mike came up behind him. “Jim, can you put me on the schedule Monday?”

Salter turned. “When’d you get back, colonel? How was the skiing? Yes, how about Monday—ten o’clock briefing?” “Fine, Jim, really beautiful. Skiing was superb. Ever been to Zermatt?” “No, so far only St. Anton and Davos in Switzerland.” Suddenly it became quiet. Colonel Childs walked in, stopped, and aw the car on the stage. “I reported that someone stole my car! I’m going to get the air police on the guys who did it!” Mike saw he was making an effort to suppress a smile. He continued frowning, but he looked like he enjoyed being made a victim by his young officers. He was quite the commander. He was tough, but well liked and respected. The officers carefully lifted the car from the stage, rolled it through the double doors, and left it in the commander’s marked parking space. The evening was the beginning of a restorative week for Mike. Galli only came to mind a few times, and Colonel Agnielli didn’t at all. He buried himself in his work, and flew four times that week. Mike hadn’t thought about Christine at all until he heard two pilots talking about the stewardesses they had met in Paris. Christine came to mind. Mike ed being with her about a month earlier, and decided to call Frankfurt to find out her schedule. “You say she’ll be there next Thursday? Fine. Can I leave her a message? Tell her that Colonel Skora will be in Frankfurt on Thursday at six-thirty. Thank you.” After he hung up the phone, Mike thought about what he’d tell Colonel Childs about needing to be absent on Friday, the day after Christine arrived. Things were going smoothly in the 36th Wing, so, on Wednesday afternoon he worked up the nerve to ask Colonel Childs if he could be away on Friday. Mike didn’t say why he wanted to be away, he only said he needed to be in Frankfurt on Friday. Mike didn’t want to lie but what he said implied that his undercover work required him to be in Frankfurt.

On Thursday evening at six-twenty, Mike was in the Rhein-Main air terminal after a speedy sprint from Bitburg. Christine’s aircraft was ten minutes late. After the engers walked by, a few minutes later, the crew ed. He saw Christine coming. She was walking alongside a young woman that Mike assumed was a crew member. When Christine saw him, she broke into a grin, waived to Mike and said, “Hi, Mike! you’ve got to come over and meet my sister!” They walked up to Mike, he felt his excitement slide down because he knew he’d not be sleeping with Christine “Celene, this is Colonel Mike Skora that I told you about. I asked him to come to meet you and to tell us where we should go skiing.” Mike recognized that Christine was laying the groundwork for Celine to think his relationship with Christine was only a casual friendship. When Mike shook Celine’s hand he mentioned he’d met her sister when he flew from New York to Frankfurt. Celine said, “Colonel Skora, Christine has told me how nice you were to her when she lost her port. You were at the embassy in Bonn were’nt you?” “Yes, I was the assistant air attaché there and I connected her with the right people, but now I’m assigned to a fighter outfit in Bitburg.” Christine quickly smoothed the gaps. “Yes Celine, Mike expedited the process and made it so easy for me to get another port.” As they strode toward the exit, Christine asked, “Colonel Skora can you us for a drink at the Hotel?” “Yes, yes. I was heading for Weisbaden but there’s no hurry.” They took a taxi to the hotel, and stepped into the bar. Mike ordered a double Lagavulin, Celine had a rum and coke and Christine a martini. The stage was set for Christine’s charade. “Mike, Celine is an architecture student and she wants to see the Cologne Cathedral. We’re going there tomorrow—do you know a good restaurant there?” “Yes, I do. Cologne is only–miles from Bonn. I could meet you there on

Saturday night for dinner if you’d like.” Christine caught Mike’s eye and she gave a slight nod of approval. “Oh! That would be wonderful Colonel Skora. You can tell us where we should go to ski when we leave next week.” Mike told them about the Guten Essen (Good Food)–restaurant and said he’d meet them there at seven on Saturday. After the one drink, he excused himself, said ‘good night’ and found his car where he’d parked it. He got in and drove back to Bitburg. On Friday morning, Colonel Childs was surprised to see Mike, he looked at him but didn’t say anything. Child’s knew enough about Mike’s other duties so he kept his nose out of his activities. Later that day Mike casually mentioned that he might need a few days the following week. Child’s nodded and said, “You know what you have to do Mike, go ahead.” Mike looked forward to dinner on Saturday. It was all working smoothly. Celine was quite attractive and had a warm demeanor. Somewhat like Christine, but not married, not experienced, and she was somewhat wide-eyed and curious. He got to the restaurant–fifteen minutes early and had his second drink in his hand when they were led to his table. They sat and Christine said, “This is a delightful place Colonel—so German. It’s not like where I eat in Frankfurt.” “Thank you Christine, and please call me Mike, you too Celine. This old place has been here since before the war.” He turned to Celine. “So you’re studying architecture and the cathedral is what you want to see?” “Yes, Colonel—I mean, Mike, the cathedral is lucky to have survived the war. I’m looking forward to seeing all of it.” Mike thought a moment. He knew the Cathedral had been hit by bombs and was currently being repaired. “I hope there is enough of it left for you Celine” They studied the menu while Mike ordered a bottle of fine Moselle wine. Mike suggested they try the kalb-haxe, a traditional German dish, usually served for two because of the large chunk of meat on the bone. It was served with red cabbage and potato dumplings. They ordereded as Mike suggested he had smoked pork chops with sauerkraut and potato dumplings. Before the food got

there, another bottle of wine was opened and the conversation became relaxed and unrestrained. Celine talked about the Cathedral. “Yes, I know it was bombed. My professor told me it was hit fourteen times yet still stands. It’s spires are more than 500 feet tall!” Mike said, “They knew how to build them in those days.” Celine burst in enthusiastically. “Yes! They started it in the 13th century. Can you imagine? And also the work they have done on it has followed the original design, even before the bomb damage. It’s a truly authentic Gothic design. It’s considered a masterpiece!” “Celene, I didn’t know you were so well informed! I’m going to enjoy you guiding me through it tomorrow. Mike, can you come?” Mike said, “I’d like to but I’ve got some stuff that needs to be done.” Eventually dinner was finished. Over a liquor, they talked about skiing for next week. “The place I’d recommend is St. Anton in Austria Christine. It’s a small town but the ski lifts connect with two other towns Lech and Zurs. The upper slopes are wide open with a lot of unbroken surfaces if you like powder skiing. You can ski all day and never ski the same trail twice.” “That sounds good to me Mike. Any chance you could us next week?” Mike’s brain flashed through his involvement with Galli, not only what happened between them but her role in the feeding of NATO information to the Stasi. As his mind shifted to that part of his life to what was now before him, he began to feel something akin to discomfort about Galli and what had transpired. Celine kept appearing briefly in his thoughts. “Right now, I don’t know Christine. I might be able to scoot down to St. Anton on Wednesday and stay till Sunday. You’ll have to call me and let me know where you’re staying. I’ll try to unscramble my work and check with my boss.” Celine looked at Mike. “I hope you can come at least for a few days. I have lots of questions for you about . Christine told me you’ve been in places I’m

studying. Isn’t Bernkastel close to where you are?” “Yes Celine, it is. And there are some interesting old buildings there. You probably know more about them than me, but we can talk about it. Yes, I will try to see you both next week—at least for a couple of days.” Mike drove to Bitburg and felt a subtle change in the road he was on. Not the road he was driving on, it was the road winding through a dark forest of unknowns that held unforeseeable surprises. On Sunday Mike called Alex and they met in–for lunch. Alex got down to business. He pulled his chair closer, looked around and his voice lowered. “You know what the Stasi got a hold of?” “No Alex, what? Is it bad?” “Depends on how you look at it. all that phony intelligence we gave to Enzo to feed to his Stasi handler?” “Yes. We put some of it in press releases too didn’t we?” “Yeah, all a waste of time. What I’ve learned is that the Stasi got wind of Enzo’s phony compliance about those photos they’ve got hanging over his head.” “How in the hell did they find out?” Alex said, “We think that Enzo told Galli enough about his trip to Rome to see General Lucci and they’ve concluded he itted to what was going on in those photos.” “Did you ask Galli?” “You didn’t know Galli left Enzo and went to Hollywood?” “N-no! When? Did you talk to Enzo?” “Yes. When I asked him if he ever told anyone that he was playing our game, he itted telling her because she kept asking him for details.” “So she’s the Stasi connection?”

Alex shook his head. “Wrong again Mike. She’s more a less clear on that. She’s off to Hollywood and we suspect Aiello milked that info out of her, ed it to Santoro and Santoro ed it to his handler.” “That bastard Aiello. He’s kissing ass to get to Hollywood too!” Alex smiled. “Don’t they all Mike? Santoro is the bad guy. He’s the one that develops a nest of leakers so we nailed him. Right now he’s being questioned and the Italians have him confined.” “How about Stornach?” “Him to. He’s in the slammer. His villa in Cortina is being searched.” “What a waste of time Alex. What the hell did I do? Nothing!” “No Mike. Don’t feel that way. You did a lot. You’ve got close to the sources of this operation. We couldn’t have caught Santoro and Stornach. They have been in this business for years.” Mike said, “I’ve about had it with this spook business Alex. I don’t think I’ll be any good at it.” Alex said, “That’s understandable. You sort of got a little collateral damage didn’t you?” Alex had a sly grin on his face. “Wh—what do you mean?” “Mike, I’d have to have been blind if I didn’t see what was going on between you two. You’re blushing Mike. You don’t have to say anything. I think Colonel Agnielli and me are the only ones who saw it—and we ain’t talking.” It was as if abruptly a load was taken off Mike’s shoulders. Driving back to Bitburg, Mike decided he’d tell Colonel Schulstald that he wanted out of this kind of work.

Chapter 12

ST ANTON

The Pension der Steinbock was in the center of St. Anton, a small village, so it popped into view when Mike drove in. Mike’s room was in the eaves on the third floor. The slanted ceiling was a warm tinted wood that made the room charming. There wasn’t a phone, but the proprietor told him the American ladies were in room 205. Mike opened his suitcase and took out a jacket he had bought when he skied in Kitzbuhel. He went to the second floor and knocked on the door to 205. “Just a moment!” When the door opened, Christine stood there, a big smile on her face. “Mike! You’re here! And it’s only six-fifteen. Oh, I love your jacket Mike, it’s Austrian, isn’t it? “Yes, it’s made of a traditional Tyrolean fabric called Loden cloth. They make it from wool that they boil to make it dense, and it’s waterproof.” Christine fingered the jacket then said, “Nice, come in, let’s have a drink before we go to eat’” Mike looked over Christine’s shoulder and saw Celine. She had gotten out of her chair and quickly stepped close to Christine. “I’m glad you could get away Mike, the skiing here is sensational.” Mike was glad to see Celine. “Didn’t I tell you it was a great place?”. Mike sat at the small table and Christine poured him his favorite, Lagavulin. “No ice Mike but the water’s cold.” He took a long sip and relaxed. He hadn’t noticed

it before, but Celine was a bit taller than her sister, and she looked slimmer, even in the bulky ski sweater she was wearing. Mike thought. Her boobs aren’t as full as Christine’s, but she’s got them. “Celine, I can see you’ve been hitting the trails, your face is glowing.” Celine’s cheeks got a little brighter. She was blushing. “You’re right Mike. We’ve skied for three days, and it’s been gorgeous and sunny every day.” “How are you two doing on the slopes?” “Celine is good. Wait till you see her ski, Mike! She was on her school’s ski team.” “That was in High School Mike. I wasn’t on my college team.” “You were for a while until you broke your leg. Mike, she would have been their best skier, but she didn’t stick with it.” “Come on Christine. I went to college to learn something, not only to ski!” Mike said, “I guess your break healed okay if you’re skiing again.” “Yes it did, but that was almost five years ago. It was in my Sophomore year in college.” “Where did you go to school? In the US?” “No, I got a scholarship to McGill, in Montreal, but my graduate work is at Yale, in Connecticut.” “So you’re in the Ivy League now! Yale’s a top-notch school.” “Yes, they let me in because they’re trying to get more women interested in architecture.” Christine seemed to step back from the lively conversation that Celine and Mike were having. He noticed it and thought that she was acting somewhat like a chaperone. Her manner made Mike comfortable in the present milieu, and with his interest showing in Celine.

Christine looked at her watch and said, “Gosh, time flies when we’re having fun. It’s seven-twenty-five, we should go eat.” She looked at Mike, “Mike, you’ve been here before, where should we go?” “I a wonderful Gasthaus here. The owner is an elderly woman, and she does all the cooking. She makes the best borscht and apple strudel I’ve ever tasted.” Celine jumped up. “Let’s go there, Chris. Mike knows the best places doesn’t he?!” They walked down the snow covered street, their arms locked with Mike in the middle, three happy people, laughing and trying to trip each other. They turned into the Arlberg Gasthaus and sat at a long table they shared with three locals. They all had big steins of beer like the locals, along with borscht, sausages and finally the strudel. Walking back to the pension, as they ed a noisy café, Christine asked, “Anyone interested in a little dancing?” Mike looked at Celine, and she said, “Oh, Mike, Chris said you were a terrific dancer.” Christine quickly added, “Mike, I told Celine about that time we were getting my port, and you asked me to go to that party at the embassy.” Mike picked up the ball. “Oh, yes, that was that affair that Ambassador Doherty had. Yeah, I ed we dropped in for a drink, and I asked you to dance.” That settled, they all stepped into the Olympic bar where a four-piece band was beating out some Big Band music. They found a table, ordered drinks and Christine said, “Alright Mike, show Celine how you dance.” Mike turned to Christine, their eyes met, and a silent message went from Christine to Mike. It was a message he liked and felt altogether free to let his relationship with Celine go where it wanted to go. Mike hadn’t any idea where all this would end up, but he felt free—and with Christine nearby, he managed to keep a neutral position. The situation was delicate. His with Christine began to take on a semblance of some of his clandestine activities. They were things that he couldn’t reveal to Celine or even allow suspicions to arise. Mike had enjoyed his meetings with Christine and had

no qualms about them, but now he began to feel subtle guilt hovering over him. His mind couldn’t rationalize being with Christine and her sister. Mike had to act as though he had no involvement with Christine, and that seemed to be dishonest, yet, he couldn’t come up with a solution. It would have been easier if he was only protecting Christine. She was the one who was in the dangerous position. If her backstage forays with Mike became known to her husband or Celine, it would be disastrous. Mike was equally troubled that Christine would think his interest in Celine was inappropriate. Somehow, the need for deception in a purely social sphere aroused more guilt than the things he’d done in clandestine activities. Eventually, his fighter pilot persona clouded the difficulties, and he threw himself into this arena of opportunity. And so he asked Celine to dance. She rose quickly and took his hand. “After what Christine said about your dancing Mike, I hope I can keep up with you.” Mike put his arm around Celine, and he moved into the crowd. Mike’s dancing was limited. His steps were constrained, and he spent most of the time dodging the exuberant skiers swirling on the small, floor. He became aware of Celine as he moved. She felt firm, like a gymnast, not a ballerina. She seemed confident dancing, yet, followed his steps faultlessly, with no tendency to take the lead. Mike felt an attraction to her that was more friendly then libidinous. She too radiated a warm acceptance of him. After they sat down, Mike noticed that Celine had moved her chair closer to him, but he didn’t think she did it for that reason. The evening ed. They drank their beer and went back to the pension. Mike said ‘good night’ and added that he was looking forward to skiing with them both. It was another bright sunny day on Thursday morning. After a light breakfast, they went to the chairlift. Christine jumped onto a chair carrying one enger, leaving Mike and Celine to take the next chair. Again, Mike thought Christine was trying to throw them together but dismissed that idea as wishful thinking. They rode the chairlift and talked about the scenery, the skiers they saw below them, and more small talk. It sounded like both of them were holding something back while trying to say interesting things. At the top of the lift, the saw Christine. She waved and said, “I’m taking an easy run—Mike, let me know

what you think of Celine’s skiing, she’s too fast for me!” and she turned down the gentle trail. They started to ski down a trail that Mike knew. Celine said, “This is a nice run. We did it yesterday and had lunch in Zurs.” Mike pointed down the slope. “Go ahead Celine, I’ll follow you.” Celine turned downhill, and after two or three turns, she looked over her shoulder for Mike. When she saw he was close, her speed picked up, and her curves became tighter. Mike was surprised that Celine skied that well. Her form looked like she was a competitive skier. When Celine stopped, Mike made a tight turn to her downhill side. “You’re an excellent skier Celine. Go ahead as fast as you want, and I’ll try to keep up.” “That’s about as fast as I ski Mike, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble keeping up with me.” “Okay, go ahead—I’ll try to keep up.” Mike chuckled. For the rest of that run, Mike could see Celine had pulled out all the stops, and he had to concentrate on the skiing to keep up. Christ! She goes like hell! Mike thought. They had lunch at the top of the lift. Mike usually ate fast to get back on the slopes, but this time and those on the following two days seemed to be leisurely. There was more to say and more questions asked. He talked about his wartime adventures and asked Celine about her school days, hoping to learn about her broken romance. “We were going together pretty steady for almost a year. I thought I loved George, he was a soccer player and a big man on the campus, he knew everybody, and I guess I just got caught in the swirl. I was pretty serious until I saw him at the tennis courts playing with a girl and then I saw him put his arms around her, so I left. And that was that, I realized I didn’t love him and felt a little relieved.” Mike didn’t press for more than that, and he changed the subject. What he

realized was that this woman had nothing to hide and he was content with taking her for who she was. It was so unlike his recent involvements-except those with Christine. It was strange that she seemed to accept his growing relationship with Celine. They didn’t ski on Sunday and spent the morning over breakfast that seemed to go on and on. The three of them acted like they were reluctant to leave. Christine asked Mike, “How long will you stay in Mike; you’ve been here a couple of years haven’t you?” “I think my tour is up this summer. I’m not looking forward to it, but I’ll probably be in the Pentagon.” Celine quickly said, “That’s in Washington isn’t it?” “Yes Celine, Washington, DC, about a couple of hours south of New York. New Haven is quite close to New York isn’t it?” “Oh, maybe an hour and a half by car—maybe a little less.” “Almost next door Celine, if Mike ends up in Washington, you might see each other.” Mike hadn’t thought of that, but now, he did. He glanced at his watch. “Well, it looks like it’s almost lunch time—I’d better get on the road. I’ve got to be at work tomorrow; you don’t have to leave here until Tuesday, is that right?” “Yes Mike, I’ve got a flight on Wednesday, but Celine’s staying in Frankfurt until the following week. I’ll be back then, and we’ll leave Frankfurt together,” she turned to Celine, “didn’t you say you needed to get to Heidelberg and some other place near there?” “Yes, Heidelberg and Bernkastel where those old buildings from the early fifteenth century are. Their architecture pre-dates the Tudor style in England.” Mike was impressed by her scholarship. “Bernkastel is fairly close to Bitburg Celine. I’ll give you my phone number— don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” Mike scribbled his phone number and his address at the airbase. “If you call during working hours, I’ve given you

the Headquarters number. They’ll connect me. If it’s at night or the weekend, that’s my BOQ number.” “Celine, Mike is a very organized military man—not like people you know.” Christine looked at Mike, and there was a wordless exchange of approval. “Well, I’m off like a dirty shirt—it was great skiing with you both—take care.” Mike left for a fast drive to Bitburg.

Chapter 13

CELINE

Enroute to Bitburg, Mike thought back to the four days in St. Anton. They had erased all thoughts of his air attache activities. Those sublime days reminded him of who he was, not what he was during his assignment in . Celene kept slipping into his thoughts, not because of any deliberate actions on her part, but a subtle appeal was developing. His thinking bounced back and forth between Galli and Celine. He was attracted to Galli by her intense interest in him. But his barely controllable magnetism pared down after Galli was swept into the Hollywood whirlpool. Mike still found Galli appealing and beautiful, but she was at a distance now. There was something about Celine that attracted Mike. She had more substance and didn’t arouse any questions. After Celine arrived, Christine acted friendly with Mike the way Enzo did, but Christine was accepting of Mike’s interest in Celine. She acted more like a parent approving a potential suitor. Mike felt that if he took that route, he had a green light. Mike’s tour of duty in was drawing to a close. He wanted to disentangle himself from connections with Colonels Schulstad, Agnielli, and Alex Bauer. They were likable men, but Mike had a bellyful of counterespionage. He needed to tell them something—but what? Time went by fast—as fast as Mike drove. Speed restrictions didn’t matter, and the 150’s tires chirped as Mike sped around corners. Mike ed through the air base gate, parked at the BOQ and offloaded his skis. It was only four-forty-five, too early for dinner. He went to the headquarters building and stopped at the OD’s⁴⁵ office and signed in from his leave, and then called Alex Bauer. “I just signed in Alex; I had a few days of wonderful skiing in St. Anton. If you’re coming this way, can you stop in and bring me up to date?” Alex agreed and said he’d be in Bitburg on Thursday. Mike had dinner at the club, then went to the bar and found a few pilots he knew. After a few drinks and talk about St.

Anton he went to bed. On Monday morning he went to Colonel Childs’ office to let him know he was back. “I can see you’ve been out in the sun Mike. The weather must’ve been good. How was skiing?” “Couldn’t be better, sir. I didn’t have to do some of the things I’ve done before when I asked you for time off, so it was glorious and relaxing,” Colonel Childs studied him, and Mike felt Childs was more familiar with what he was doing than he let on. “That’s good. You don’t have much time left over here unless you extend for a year.” He looked into Mike’s eyes. “Of course, I’d approve that Mike. You’re a good officer.” “Thank you sir, but, I—um, I think I’m ready for some stateside life. I’ve been in too long.” “Well then, you’ll rotate out of here in June, right?” “Yes, sir maybe a bit sooner. I’ve got enough leave time, so I’m planning thirtydays with my folks before my next assignment.” “Sounds okay. I’ll let headquarters know, and your next assignment will be forthcoming.” Mike laughed. “I’ll bet you a nickel that it’s the squirrel cage⁴ . Most of the guys out of the command and staff school got assignments to desk jobs I don’t know how I ended up here.” Colonel Childs smirked. “You must have done something to get that attache job.” Mike was sure that Childs had him figured out, but he didn’t answer him. He got up. “I’ll get back to my desk sir, and thank’s again for everything you’ve done for me.” Back in his office, Mike decided he needed to talk to Schulstad first, so he called

Alex and told him he’d try to arrange a meeting at the embassy with Schulstad on Saturday. “That’s fine, Mike, so then I won’t come to Bitburg on Thursday. Should I tell Schulstad that you’d like to meet with him?” “No, Alex, I’ll call him, and I’ll tell him you wanted to talk to me. Maybe he’ll ask you to us.” “Sounds good Mike—I’ll probably see you on Saturday.” When Mike called, Schulstad said, “Great Mike. Why not here in my apartment? I just made a batch of Texas chili—we can have it for lunch. How does that sound?” “I love chili, sir. I’ll be there at noon and if you don’t mind, would you ask Alex to come? He called me and said he wanted to talk to me.” Colonel Schulstad agreed and seemed pleased to include Alex. Mike spent the week clearing the things piled in his ‘In Basket’ while he was gone. On one day, he met with the squadron commanders, and they put their heads together and planned some of the new training requirements directed by 17th Air Force Headquarters. Between the daily work and nights in the O club bar, mixing with the 36th’s pilots, Mike thought through some reasons to give Schulstad and Alex for wanting to ease out of his role as an air attache. Even though he’d been officially transferred from his air attache duties and reassigned to the 36th, he was still obliged to follow the orders of those clandestine actors. That was what he needed to clear before he could detach himself from that connection. Sooner than he had expected, Colonel Childs called him to his office and handed him the orders for his new assignment. It was to headquarters USAF, Directorate of Operational Requirements, with a reporting date of July eighth. “You can request your leave now Mike, as long as you report there as required.” Mike thought a moment and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll make the request next week if that’s okay.” “Fine Mike. I’ll try to get your replacement in here before you go if I can. You

can break him in.” “Very good, sir. Mike thought, Not much time left. I’ve got to get out of this job with Alex and Colonel Agnielli. Let’s see, April, May, then a thirty day leave in June? Celine said she’ll be coming this way; it’ll be nice to see her. Friday night he called Celine at Christine’s suite at the Post hotel where she was staying. “Oh, Mike! I’m so glad you called. I’ll be here only for another ten days, and I was hoping you’d take me to Bernkastel.” “I’ll be in Bonn for lunch on Saturday. Could you get here for dinner? I could take you to Bernkastel on Sunday.” After talking about it, Celine agreed to come to Bonn on Saturday afternoon, if Mike would make a hotel reservation for her. He thought it wiser not to be in the same hotel with Celine because Christine might make the wrong conclusion, so he decided to stay at the embassy. On Saturday morning Mike drove directly to Colonel Schulstad’s apartment in Bonn. When he got there, Alex was sitting with a cup of coffee in his hand. Mike wondered what they had discussed. “So, what’s up Mike? I haven’t seen you for a while.” “Well, you know me—between my job in the 36th, and what you guys involved me in, was, shall I say, hectic?” They both laughed. Alex said, “it’s simmered down lately hasn’t it?” “Yes, that’s what I wanted to say. I think you know, my three-year tour over here is about over. I’ll be at USAF headquarters in July, and I’m not sure how my connection with you, Alex and Colonel Agnielli is going to play out.” “I’ve already talked with Agnielli about this. What we had you looking into has been more a less sorted out, both here in and that stuff in Italy. I don’t want you to feel that your second-rate Mike because you’re not. However, Agnielli thinks of you as a temporary employee. So, for you, it’s all over. There’s just one last thing you’ll have to do.” Mike became apprehensive. “What’s that? I’ll be gone pretty soon, and I’ve got

a thirty day leave planned.” “After you sign in at the Pentagon, you’ll have to be debriefed in Langley⁴⁷ to put a lock on what you’ve learned here.” “Shall I call them and set up a meeting?” “No Mike, you and your boss in the Pentagon will be ed, so don’t worry about it.” Mike felt relieved. “As for me, right now—are you telling me it’s finished? I can stop thinking about it?” Alex smiled and just nodded slowly. The chili lunch was delightful, and the only thing on Mike’s mind now was Celine. When he said his goodbyes, Schulstad and Alex assured him that they’d see him off when the time came. Mike drove to the embassy, filled with a glow of friendship for both of them. In his room at the embassy, Mike called Celine’s hotel, but she hadn’t checked in yet. He tried again at six o’clock. She was there. “I’ll pick you up in about a half-hour, is that okay?” “Yes, Mike. I’ll be in the lobby.” It was only a ten-minute drive to the hotel. Mike was anxious to see Celine, so he left after he hung up and was at the hotel at six-twenty. He entered the lobby and didn’t see Celine, so he called her room. “You said six-thirty Mike. I was waiting to go down.” Mike felt like a high school boy on his first date. When he heard the elevator “ping,” he walked toward it as the door slid open and Celine stepped out. Who is this beautiful young woman? Mike thought. In St. Anton, Mike saw her only in ski outfits; now she wore lovely and feminine clothes. In high heels, she was about as tall as Mike. Celine, her face radiant, came to him and they hugged. Mike smelled the fragrance she used, one that he’d never noticed before.

They went to a small eatery, ordered wine and food, and Mike felt like he had just stepped into a movie that had begun. During dinner, they chatted amiably about Christine, her family, their parents her college life, and Celine finally said, “I want to hear about you, Mike. I know you can’t tell me about your work— Christine thinks you’re doing something under-cover, but tell me about yourself.” “Well Celine, I should tell you that I’m a divorced man. I don’t want you to think badly of me so I’ll tell you the details and you can judge for yourself.” Mike then told Celine about Rachel and the reason they had married. When he finished, Celine said, “I can’t believe a woman would do that! It’s awful! There’s nothing you could do to save that mess. Oh, Mike, I feel so sorry for you. What I thought was bad when I broke up with the guy I was with, is nothing compared to what you went through.” Mike could feel her concern, and he saw her as someone with whom he could share all his inner thoughts. They drove back to the hotel, parked, and Mike opened Celine’s door. “Celine, it’s been nice having dinner with you. We’ll have to do it again.” Celine had a slight smile on her face and said, “I’ll be here for ten more days Mike.” Mike was at a loss for what he could say or do so he blurted, “I enjoy being with you, Celine. You’re a breath of fresh air. I’ll try to come see you while you’re here.” “And after? Would you come to New Haven?” Mike got back his composure. “How about New York? We could meet there— there’s a lot to see and do there.” On Sunday, Mike took Celine to Bernkastel to do what she wanted. When they drove along the east bank of the Moselle River, Celine put down the book she’d been scanning and began to talk. “Can you believe that there were Celtic settlements in Bernkastel in 6000 BC?” Mike said, “Celtic? I didn’t know they were ever out of the British Isles—it’s

hard to believe.” “This book is all about architecture, but this section about middle age architecture includes a lot about Bernkastel. Probably because the professor who wrote it grew up there before the war.” “Is he one of your teachers?” “Yes. Professor Friedman and his family left when Hitler came to power.” “He’s lucky he got out.” The talk about the professor reminded Mike of Professor Santoro, but he shook off that thought because Celine had no reason for a teacher to play up to her—even one from . “Yes. Professor Friedman has been at Yale ever since. He’s the head of the architecture department. He talked a lot about , that’s what got me interested in coming here, and Christine made it easy for me.” Mike glanced at Celine. “I’m glad he sold you on .” “I wish I could stay here longer. I’d like to see Heidelberg, that’s where he taught before Yale. But I guess I can’t see at all. My thesis is on Renaissance architecture in . That’s why I want to see Bernkastel. There’s a building there that is a good example of the transition of the Renaissance to the Baroque style.” “I think I’ve seen that house. The second floor is larger than the ground floor— like our colonial garrison style.” “No Mike. The building in Bernkastel was made like that to make room for the street below so that the carts could go by easily.” When they drove into the center of Bernkastel Celine looked left and right like a child who’s seeing her first Carnival. “Oh! Mike, there it is, can we park and go see it?” She was looking at the Pointed Roof House that showed external timbers. Mike smile and enjoyed her enthusiasm and her excited voice. They parked and walked over to the building. Celine stopped and started snapping photos from all sides.

“We can go inside Celine; there’s a wine bar that’s open to the public.” “I want to get some photos of the town hall as well, and there’s St. Michael’s fountain, they’re both Renaissance style and were built in the 17th century!” After seeing those, Celine asked Mike to drive up to the Landshut Castle that rose above the town. “We’ve got to see that. It dates way back to the ninth century—and, and we’ve got to see the Gothic chapel. It has a world-famous library that holds manuscripts from the ninth to the 15th century!” Eventually, late in the afternoon, they went Into the Wine Bar in the pointed roof house. Sipping glasses of excellent Moselle wine, Celine unfolded all the details of the thesis she was writing. Mike asked her questions which she answered, showing her intense interest in architecture. He felt soothed by her sweet unsophisticated talk. After two glasses of wine, Mike asked, “Would you like to eat here or back in Bonn?” “Let’s eat here if you don’t mind.” “Fine Celine. After dinner, we’ll go back to Bonn, and if you’re willing, I’ll drive you to Frankfurt on Monday morning.” Mike took Celine to the Post hotel for dinner, and it triggered memories of Helga Gerhardt which he quickly shook off. They got to Celine’s hotel in Bonn at tenfifteen. “I’m staying at the embassy Celine, but I’ve got to be at Bitburg by nine o’clock. If you’re willing to leave at six-thirty tomorrow, I’ll drive you to Frankfurt.” “Oh! That would be wonderful—is it okay for you? I can be ready at six-thirty.” They said goodnight and Mike squeezed Celine’s hand and held it while he talked. “I enjoy being with you Celine, and it’s only a short ride.” The next morning they left Bonn, and when Mike dropped Celine off, he said, “So, you’re leaving soon, I’ll come by next week—maybe on Saturday. When is Christine coming in?” “She comes in on Sunday, and we’ll leave on Monday. It’ll be nice of you to

come on Saturday. We can have our last dinner together—for a while, I mean.” Mike read that as a hope to see him back in the states. Again, he held Celine’s hand, and both of them didn’t seem anxious to separate. Mike got to Bitburg a little before nine. During the week, he flew on four afternoon’s and felt like he was back in his realm. On Saturday when he called Celine she said, “Why don’t you come in the afternoon? We can do some sightseeing and then have dinner.” Mike felt a subtle wave of intense pleasure “Fine Celine. I’ll get there around mid-day, and I’ll call when I get in.” “Good. I’ll be waiting.” At two-thirty they took the same sightseeing boat that Helga showed Mike. And again, ing her, clouded the afternoon. Fortunately, Celine’s effervescent personality buried those thoughts, and he enjoyed the afternoon. At dinner, for no apparent reason, they both became a little solemn, and even after two bottles of wine, Celine didn’t have much to say. After they had liquor in the hotel’s bar, Mike said, “I’d better get going.” “I thought you’d be staying overnight.” Mike had thought about it but decided that it’d all turn out better if Christine knew he’d returned to Bitburg. They both exchanged their addresses and phone numbers and then, Mike took her to the elevator. Mike thought he saw her eyes get shiny almost teary. He held her hand, came closer and leaned toward her. Celine leaned forward, and slowly Mike kissed her on the lips and stepped back. Back in Bitburg, Mike immersed himself in his duties in the 36th’s headquarters. He felt it was a vacation compared with the dual role he had been playing. The recent s with Celine worked to blanket the unpleasant thoughts of the women he had tangled with in his search for the Stasi connections. It began with Helga Gerhard, Ann Schreiber, Ingrid—. Their identities as women faded. They became as indescribable as Rachel was to him. Galli? She was changeable, like a chameleon. Or was she only so self-centered that she became like a stray ball on a billiard table? And where was Christine in this game? And Celine? Whenever Mike thought about the recent past, he tried to separate people he knew and trusted from the agglomeration of players in the covert sphere. He wanted to keep Colonel Schulstad, Colonel Agnielli, Alex Bauer, and even Enzo Lucchi in his thoughts. They were acceptable people.

The weeks ed, one after another. Now it was spring. Mike unwound at Friday night beer calls in the O club surrounded by people much like himself. Celine wrote to Mike and told him that she’d completed her graduate work in May but was going to stay in New Haven until the end of June when her apartment lease ended. Vancouver was a long way from the east coast so Mike was pleased to learn that Celine would be in New Haven until the end of June. Mike told Celine that he’d be in Amherst soon after he returned and would drive to New Haven to see Celine before she left for Vancouver. Mike felt all the pieces of his life were now in a place like he’d just finished a jigsaw puzzle, and he liked the completed picture. Christine knew Mike was scheduled to leave in early June and when she flew into Rhein-Main, she called him. They met where they usually did and had dinner together. Christine told Mike that Celine said that she was attracted to him. When Mike reacted with a soft smile, she leaned forward and said, “Are you falling in love with Celine?” Mike blushed and tried to change the subject. “Christine, I hope you don’t mind, but I ed for a room here. I think we’ve done what we wanted and not so surprisingly, Christine said, “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Mike. You’re a straightforward guy. We were naughty, weren’t we? We can still be good friends can’t we?” Mike nodded and now thought of Christine as someone like a sister-in-law. One with whom things happened but one who became only a memory. And so it ended. He got a celebratory sendoff when he left the 36th in early June. On the long flight to Washington, Mike thought back to his farewell visit with Christine. He chuckled to himself when he ed how his tour of duty had started, and now, how it was ending. That was the last thread that he had to break before he could think about Celine and his future with her.

Chapter 14

WASHINGTON

When Mike got to Washington, he rented a car to drive to Amherst. He called Celine, and when he heard her voice, all he wanted to do was to see her again. It was almost eight o’clock when he got to New Haven. Celine told him how to get to her place. Mike found her apartment building, rang the doorbell, got a quick buzz and when he got off the elevator, Celine was standing by her open door. Yes, she is beautiful, Mike thought. They embraced and went into her apartment. Celine asked, “Are you hungry? I can I order a pizza from this great place, and they deliver very quickly.” “Yes Celine, that sounds good to me. I rushed out of DC without eating, and it’s another two hours to Amherst.” Celine was on the phone ordering the pizza, and she waved to Mike, pointed to a bottle of Pinot Noir. He nodded and uncorked the wine as she hung up the phone. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes so we can have a drink, huh?” Mike poured two glasses, then sat on the only easy chair in the apartment. Celine sat on the couch; it looked like the bed where she slept. It was a small apartment, only one room, a small kitchen and a bathroom. They told each other what they’d been doing. Celine revealed that she would stay in New Haven until the end of June, then she was leaving for home in Vancouver, and she said she would look for work as an architect. “I’ve sent my resume to a couple of firms in New York. I might end up there, not too far from DC. Is it?” “Why don’t you try the Smithsonian. A government job wouldn’t be bad would

it?” “Hm-m, I didn’t think about that. Could they use an architect in a museum?” “The Smithsonian is a huge operation they have all kinds of museums, and they’re bound to need someone who can design interiors. You could do that couldn’t you?” Celine nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve done some interior designs for businesses and art museums. Yes, I’ll try that. I’d sort of like working in DC.” “I think that it be great Celine, I could see you now and then.” She looked at him. “Yes, I’d like that. I’ve still got a couple of weeks here, sandI’ll see if I can find something in the Smithsonian, or maybe an architectural firm in Washington. I have to put everything I own in storage until I know where I’ll be.” They finished the pizza and the wine. It was nine-thirty when Mike looked at his watch. “Well Celine, I’d better get on the road. My parents expect me tonight.” Mike decided to that he wouldn’t start anything romantic with Celine, not yet, and not in her small apartment. “but I’ll call you soon, and I’ll come see you before you leave for Vancouver.” “That would be wonderful. I—I don’t want to hold you up—you haven’t seen your mom and dad for quite a while have you?” Mike shook his head and started for the door, and Celine walked toward him. He put his arms around her and looked into her eyes. “If it weren’t for my parents, I wouldn’t bother going to Amherst. I’d rather stay here with you.” He kissed her on the lips affectionately, not ionately, and left. When Mike got to Amherst, Professor Skora couldn’t stop asking Mike questions about his duties in Europe. Mike told him as much as he thought he should. His mother wasn’t as inquisitive until he casually mentioned Celine… Mothers often tend to read their offspring’s minds and the way he described Celine, she sensed all the things that he did not say. Somehow she could see that there was a lot more behind his cheerful demeanor. She thought to herself that he had totally overcome the bitterness that had bubbled up after his divorce from Rachel. He hadn’t mentioned her at all, which she thought was unusual, though

it pleased her that her dear son had healed so well. Mike called Céline a few days after his arrival. Celine sounded cheerfully excited when he asked how she was doing. “What you said about the Smithsonian is right Mike. I sent them my resume a couple of days ago after I read their website. They offer a lot of employment opportunities. Did you know they have seventeen museums? They’ve got thousands of employee’s.” Mike was very pleased that Celine had followed his suggestion so quickly. After he gave her his phone number, he said, “I’ll call you soon but if you hear from them, call me, okay” After the phone call, his mother could see Mike was very buoyant and she asked him what it was that he wanted Celine to tell him. When he explained that Celine was trying to get a job at the Smithsonian she knew why. They wanted to be together. A few days later, Celine called. “Mike! I can’t believe it! The Smithsonian wants to interview me next week. I’m so excited.” “I wanted to drive down to New Haven to see you but I’ll wait. Good luck next week Celine, give me a call when you get back to New Haven after the interview.” Mike’s mother wasn’t nosy but she did listen to his conversation. After Mike explained Celine’s recent graduate degree in architecture, and her interest in the Smithsonian, she said, “We’d like to meet her Mike. Why don’t you invite her to come with us to Tanglewood on July first. The Boston Symphony starts the summer program and we’ve planned to go there before you go to Washington. Mike ed that Celine had planned to stay in New Haven until the end of June, so if she came to Amherst on the thirtieth, they could go to Tanglewood before Mike left for DC. He longed to see Celine again and a few days later she called and said her interview went well. Mike told her he was coming to New Haven. He left the next morning and got to Celine’s apartment at ten-tthirty… Mike kissed Celine and sat and had a cup of coffee with her. Celine suggested that they go to the University Gallery.

“It’s fabulous Mike. It was designed by Louis Kahn and holds an enormous collection. It doesn’t look it, but it’s the oldest university art museum in the Western world!” They spent almost two hours in the museum and left after Mike said, “I didn’t have breakfast Celine. Let’s get a burger somewhere.” “Oo-oo, yes, Louis’ is an old time Yale hang out. Let’s go there.” “Lead the way Celine—sounds good.” After their lunch, they went to Celine’s apartment. Celine had a cool bottle of Pinot Noir and they sat, sipped and talked. Mike mentioned the Tanglewood visit and Celine shied away from the invitation. “I don’t want to intrude on your family Mike.” “No Celine, it was my mother’s idea. She wants to meet you and, umm, I’d like you to meet my mom and dad.” Celine agreed to take the train on the thirtieth of June to Springfield which is only a thirty minute drive from Amherst. “Call me when you’re due in Springfield and I’ll be there to pick you up.” The afternoon hours ed swiftly. At five o’clock Mike said, “Can we go out for an early dinner? I’d like to be on the road about eight or so.” Celine pouted. “We can have dinner here Mike. I’ll make something easy—I thought you were staying over.” The shadow of Christine hung over Mike, that, and an inexplicable feeling that he wanted his relationship with Celine to continue as it was now, innocent. Celine rustled in the kitchen and then asked, “Mike, is spaghetti all rights? I’ve got some meatballs I made too. Do you like that?” “Sounds fine, and I truly love meatballs.” They didn’t talk much over dinner. Celine told Mike she was going to DC next week for an interview. “Let me know how that turns out. It’d be great if you got a job in DC.” She

nodded eagerly. After dinner they sat together on Celine’s couch. Mike held her hand as they chatted aimlessly and he drew her to him. She melted against him, her face turned up to him expectantly. He couldn’t resist, and kissed her, wrapped his arms around her and whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.” Celine said softly, “I think I already have.” They kissed again, ionately, the way affairs like this begin. Celine turned herself as their lips stayed locked and Mike’s hand slid across her breast. It was an invitation if he needed one, but again, Mike felt Celine was untouchable and he took her face in both hands and kissed her again. “I should get going—I hate to, but I should.” Now, Celine clung to him when he got up and with arms around each other, they walked to the door. Mike opened the door, turned to Celine, kissed her and said, “I do love you Celine.” Her eyes were teary, she nodded and couldn’t say anything. Mike left, turned and blew her a kiss. She smiled and returned it and he sped off to Amherst. Back in Amherst, Mike shed any pretenses he may have had. He called Celine every day and it was obvious to his parents that he was smitten. In the following week, Celine called Mike. His mother answered and handed the phone to Mike, turned the music lower and she and his father left the room. They acted like parents who are totally accepting of someone who will take their son away from them. “Mike! I can’t believe it! I got the job and they wanted me to start right away but I told them I’d begin on July tenth. That’s right after you report to the Pentagon, right? I thought we could drive down together.” Mike was ecstatic. His new job, and with Celine nearby made it perfect. “Yes, I’ll pick you up at your apartment. Are you coming to Tanglewood with us?” “Yes. I get to Springfield at two-fifteen on the thirtieth.” Mike met her at the station on Friday and hey drove to Amherst. “I’m so glad to see you, Mike.” She took his hand.

“Me too,” and they held each other’s hand until they pulled into the Skora’s driveway. They enjoyed Tanglewood and the weekend glided smoothly to a close. Mike’s parents adored Celine and she in turn glowed being basked under the light of Mike’s loving parents. Mike was an only child and his mother let Celine know she’d like her for a daughter. Celine left on Monday. Mike planned to drive to New Haven on Thursday, pick up Celine and then get to Washington on Saturday, July eight, to report in at the Pentagon. When he signed in, the duty officer told him to report to the personnel office on Monday at 08:00. Things accelerated. Mike dropped Celine at a nearby hotel and told her he’d check in the BOQ at Bolling Air Force Base which was close to the Pentagon. He told her he would return to take her to dinner. When he got to Celine’s Hotel in Arlington, she said, “I called the Smithsonian and they had a list of apartments in Arlington which is convenient for employees. I’ve got three different buildings that have available apartments. Can we look them over tomorrow?” Mike agreed. They had dinner and both went their separate ways. On Sunday Mike drove to Celine’s hotel and they went apartment hunting. Celine liked the second place they looked at and signed a lease. It was a sunlit sixth floor, two-bedroom apartment with an indoor swimming pool. Mike liked it and jokingly said, “Gee, if we got married I could stay here with you.” Celine looked at Mike thoughtfully. “Would you?” Mike nodded and he erased his smile and said, “Yes I would, wouldn’t you?” Celine couldn’t talk. Tearfully she nodded and said, “Yes. You know I would.” They kissed and stayed hugged together. Mike finally said, “Let’s figure out when.” Things were happening fast. When Mike came to the Pentagon personnel office, he was directed to his assignment in the Directorate of Requirements and was given a message from the Directorate of Intelligence that said his debriefing with the CIA was set for Friday. During that week Mike and Celine talked about their marriage plans and Mike

said, “Celine, I’d like to go through that debriefing so I can put all that stuff behind me. Let’s make our decision after that, and don’t tell your parents until we decide.” The CIA de-briefing was held in a secure room in the Pentagon on Friday. Mike was startled to see Alex Bauer there. The CIA representative carefully reviewed all of Mike’s interactions with other CIA operatives and he was told to erase them from his memory. He was asked to sign a document that acknowledged his understanding and compliance with the need to maintain secrecy off all his clandestine activities. At the end of the two hour session Mike was asked if, in the future, he was needed for undercover projects would he agree to comply with CIA directives. Mike agreed. He was a loyal officer who would do what was required of him. After the meeting he and Alex went to lunch. Mike was surprised and pleased that Alex showed such a warm sense of friendship for him. He had liked Alex when they first met, but thought Alex’s duties required him to act the way he did. “So, Mike. What have you been up to since you snagged those Stasi characters?” Mike told him about Celine. Alex knew about Mike’s affair with Christine and seemed pleased with Mike’s ission that he loved her sister, Celine. “I know you pretty well Mike; it doesn’t surprise me that all this happened so fast.” Mike suddenly thought I wonder if Alex would be my best man if Celine and I got married? Mike was planning that he and Celine would have a civil marriage and if she wanted to, they could later let her parents arrange a church ceremony for them in Vancouver. When he asked Alex, Alex was quick to say he would, if they could do it within ten days, which he had arranged to spend with his parents in Pennsylvania. Mike said, he would try to arrange it for the day before Alex had to return to . That evening he explained everything to Celine, and they arranged with a justice of the peace to have the marriage on July twenty-fourth. Celine called her sister and made her promise not to tell their parents until Celine could announce it to them. Christine very happily said she’d fly down to DC and be

Celine’s maid of honor, and so it went. Just as in Mike’s flying life, things happened fast. Christine came to Washington on the twenty-third. She surprised Mike by her genuine happiness for Celine’s marriage. She told Mike and Celine that she broke her promise to Celine because she informed their parents about their marriage. “Mom and dad understand Celine. They agree with how you’re arranging your life and they even leave it up to both of you to choose the date for the church wedding in Vancouver.” Mike felt a little like he did when the war ended and he knew his life was going through a rebirth—only this time, his future was clear to him. The wedding happened as planned. Christine went back to Vancouver, Alex left for Bonn, and Mike settled in with the Directorate of Operational Requirements. A year past and he and Celine were expecting their first child. Mike’s life had been advancing smoothly. The long hours he spent flying his desk in the Pentagon were unpleasant but necessary. When the Air Force’s Colonel. Now he dreamed of his next assignment after he finished his three-year tour with Air Force headquarters. New fighter aircraft were replacing the F-100, and Mike wanted to be assigned to a fighter group, hopefully, as the Director of Operations. He shared those dreams with Celine in the evening at dinner. Then it happened. Mike got a top-secret letter from the CIA.

ENDNOTES

1shit hits the fan—war starts 2Balloon goes up—War begins 3 SAC—Strategic Air Command 4spook--spy 5Wilco—Will comply 6Recce—Reconnaissance aircraft 7NCO—Non-commissioned officer 8NCOIC—Non-commissioned officer in charge. 9USAFE—United States Air Force, Europe 10SOP—Standard operating procedure. 11Stasi—East German Intelligence Directorate 12Recce—reconnaissance 13 mess dress—formal uniform 14 BX—Base exchange 15BOQ—Bachelor Officer’s Quarters 16ETA—Estimated time of arrival 17DO—Director of Operations 18Firewall—Full throttle

19Stan/Eval—Standard Evaluation 20Fursty—Furdtenfeldbruk 21Whirly-birds—Helicopters 22Big Wheels and 23Eighty-eights—Anti-aircraft guns 24Tyndall—Tyndall Air Base, Florida 25Hun—F-100 26TDY—Temporary duty 27Goonie-bird—C-47 cargo aircraft 28greased—smooth landing 29Weenie—headquarters staff officer 30OER—Officer’s effectiveness report 31Crowd killers—Bomber aircraft, also 32GCA—Ground controlled approach 33flying their watches—hand movements imitating flight 34ORI—Operational readiness inspection 3517th—Seventeenth Air Force Hq. 36 T.S.—Top Secret 37T-bird—T-33, a dual seated F-80 38head shed—CIA headquarters 39OSI—Office of Special Investigations

40SACEUR—Supreme Allied Commander, Europe. 41Williams—Williams Air Base 42D.O.—Director of Operations 43vassolio! Ancora por favore.—waiter, another please 44bustarella—bribe 45OD—Officer of the Day 46squirrel cage—The Pentagon 47Langley—CIA Headquarters