There was the sound of gentle, middle-aged feminine laughter. “Colonel, you are being summoned by the chief of staff.”

He flipped a mental coin. Either the caller was telling the truth or someone was playing a joke on him. He felt it was the latter. He was about to make a snide comment when the woman continued. “Let me reiterate; you are the Lieutenant Colonel Burke who is a Russian expert on the War Plans staff, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there are a number of Colonel Burkes around as well as, just perhaps, more than one General Marshall, and I so wanted to make certain I had the right one too.” The caller had teased him gently, but he still felt his face flush. “Yes, Colonel, the General Marshall who is chief of staff of the U.S. Army does wish to see you, and right now. Does that pose a problem?”

“No, ma’am,” he said weakly.

“Fine. A staff car will be around for you in fifteen minutes.” With that, the woman hung up.

Fifteen minutes, Burke thought. If it’s a gag, I can go along with it for fifteen minutes, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wait up all night.

The car arrived in ten.

Burke stood at attention but squirmed inwardly as General Marshall eyed him coldly. Despite being in the War Plans department and working in the Pentagon, Burke had never before met the man, although he had seen him on a number of occasions. Marshall was aloof, austere, correct, and had a reputation, perhaps undeserved, for personal coldness.

“Relax and sit down, Colonel.”

Burke did sit as he was told, although it was difficult to relax in the presence of the four-star general who gave directions to both Eisenhower and, when possible, to MacArthur, who thought himself superior to everyone. He had been driven directly to Marshall’s office at the Pentagon and an aide had whisked him immediately into the general’s presence. He still had no idea why he was there in the spartan office.