A Despicable Profession by John Knoerle Page A

are about to consolidate control of Poland and Romania and are laying the groundwork for Czechoslovakia. But Germany is the key. If they can seize the industrial heartland of the Ruhr the game is lost. Your President Truman seems not to know this. He gave a party in January to announce the formationof the CIG. Guests were given black cloaks and paper daggers, as if this were all some silly parlor game!”
    â€œColonel,” I replied, preparing to reveal something I wasn’t authorized to reveal but figuring if you can’t trust a British colonel who had rescued you from certain death and had Churchill’s cigar humidor in his cupboard who can you trust? “We are just trying to track down a fugitive.”
    â€œYou never know what great good can come from a humble act,” said Norwood. “The British SOE deposed the truckling Prince Paul of Yugoslavia in March of ’41. We installed a Nazi resistance leader, Dusan Simovic, who promptly engaged the Wehrmacht. The results were murderous, 17,000 dead in Belgrade alone. But Simovic tied up Nazi air and armor for five weeks, delayed Hitler’s eastern push for five precious weeks.” The Colonel looked crossly at his empty tea cup. “And you know what became of that adventure.”
    Yes I did. German divisions got within ten miles of Moscow before they bogged downed under the assault of the Russian winter.
    â€œSo dear boys, pray tell me, I’m keen to know.”
    â€œThe name of the fugitive we’re after is a terrible big secret,” said Ambrose. “If that’s what you’re askin’. And over here, on this side of the table, we might be wonderin’ hows come two truckloads of Russian soldiers rolled up right after we did. Sir.”
    Ambrose’s reply was accurate in every detail. That Ambrose said it in an exaggerated Brit-baiting County Cork brogue may have prompted the Colonel to snatch up his pipe and bite down on the stem so hard that the bowl jumped up and made him look, for a moment, like Popeye the Sailor Man.
    â€œAmbrose, apologize to the Colonel for your demeanor.”
    â€œI was just...”
    â€œNow.”
    Ambrose apologized, even managed to sound like he meant it. I turned to Norwood. “We owe you our lives sir, and we are allies in a noble cause. Allies with separate interests however.”
    The Colonel sat so far back on his silk-draped sofa that it teetered on its hind legs. He set his feet and leaned forward, blue eyes blazing, enjoying my performance. He extended his hand, palm up. The stage was mine.
    â€œHow did the Red Army know we were meeting Herr Schultouer?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œNo idea?”
    â€œI always have an idea,” said the Colonel.
    â€œAnd what would that be?”
    â€œOur circle is a small one. And you had a secret rendezvous with a man who can’t keep a secret.”
    â€œSo the lady who told you about Schultouer meeting Yankee gunrunners also told the Red Army?”
    â€œAbsolutely not.”
    â€œWho did the telling then?”
    â€œThe man was drunk as a bosun’s mate, he may have told any number of people, he may have been overheard.”
    â€œAnd that’s how you knew to come to our rescue?”
    â€œCall it an educated guess,” said the Colonel, coldly.
    Ambrose piped up. “Not to seem ungrateful Colonel, but why did you give a hang?”
    â€œI believe I have explained this previously,” he said, leaning forward, biting off his words.
    Sedgewick crossed to the back door and held it open. We stood up and made for the exit.
    â€œStop by some evening,” called the Colonel over his shoulder, suddenly cheery. “I set the best table in Berlin.”

Chapter Fourteen
    Ambrose and I returned to the delivery truck and policed up the loose grenades, repacked them in the crate. I backed down the gravel drive and drove back down
Emststraße,
giving Ambrose the silent