"That occurred to me. And, of course, to Dorotea. As it will to Claudia when she finds out. Alicia's not blaming me."

"Claudia doesn't know?"

"Alicia, Dorotea, and me, that's all."

"Claudia will have to know sooner or later."

"Dorotea told me sometimes women miss a period, partic ularly if they're upset. This may be a false alarm."

"Is that what Alicia is hoping?"

"It's what Dorotea and I are hoping. Alicia is convinced she's pregnant."

"You want me to go to Claudia, is that it?"

"Maybe later. Not yet. What I was hoping you could do is find out what's happened to Peter."

"I don't think I understand."

"Peter is suspected of being involved in what happened at the beach of Samborombdn Bay."

"In still other words, he is suspected of being a traitor. Is he?"

"Another shot to the nuts, Padre," Clete said. "I can't answer that."

"You don't have to; the answer is in your eyes. But I don't understand what you want me to do, what you think I could do."

"Don't you have some back-channel communication with

Germany? With other Jesuits in Germany? People who could ask questions and get straight answers?"

"What questions?"

" 'Is Peter von Wachtstein dead?' is the most important one."

"You think that's likely?"

"I think the possibility has to be considered," Clete said.

"There is a much easier way to get what you want done than using my channels," Welner said. "I'm surprised you haven't thought of it."

"I don't understand," Clete said.

"Tio Juan," Welner said.

"Peron? How the hell could he help?" Clete asked, and the answer came to him even before Welner replied.

"The Germans think he's important to them," Welner said.

"Von Deitzberg's apology to him about your father seems proof of that."

"They think he's going to be el Presidente," Clete agreed thoughtfully. "You think they'd tell him about von Wacht stein?"

"His interest in von Wachtstein might even… be helpful."

"Christ, I hate to go to him," Clete said, and then thought of something else: "And if I do, he'll know Peter and I-"

"Not necessarily," Welner replied. "You heard of Alicia's… problem… from your wife, her dear friend. And, as your father's son, despite the natural animosity you feel toward an enemy officer, you feel obliged to help a young woman who is like a sister to you."

"Jesus! You are devious, aren't you?" He chuckled and added: "Thank God!"

"Ignoring the blasphemy, my son, I will accept that as a compliment. Or-what is it you say-'a left-handed com pliment'?"

"You think my Tio Juan will help?"

"I think he will if you can force yourself to say Tio Juan' with a shade less sarcasm."

"When necessary, Father, I can-here's another Ameri canism for you-charm the balls off a brass monkey."

Welner laughed.

"And if Tio Juan can't-or won't-help, then what?"

Clete asked.

"I'll do what I can, of course."

"And what do we do if… things have gone wrong with von Wachtstein and he won't be coming back?"

"There are a number of young men of good family… a suitable marriage can be arranged. Not only is she an attrac live young woman, but she will ultimately own half of,

Estancia Santo Catalina."

"Jesus, that's awful!"

"Yes, it is," Welner agreed. "The best thing that can be said about a marriage like that is that it's in the best interests of the child."

Clete shook his head and reached for the bottle of Merlot.

[ FIVE ]

La Casa Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1905 18 May 1943

With a glass of Merlot in his hand, Don Cletus Frade stood at the window of the cloakroom looking through the slats of the blind at the drive where the cars of his guests would arrive for the reception. The drill, as he thought of it, was that when a car pulled up before the house, one of the ser vants would approach it, open the door, and lead the guests into the house and into the small sitting, which was across the foyer hall from the cloakroom.

There they would be greeted by a reception line of women.

At the head of the line would be Senora Dorotea Mallin de

Frade. Beside her would be Senora Claudia Carzino Cormano; then Senora Pamela Holworth-Talley de Mallin; and then the Senoritas Carzino-Cormano, Alicia and Isabela.

Though Senora Beatrice Frade de Duarte naturally felt entitled to a prominent place in the reception line-she had been born and raised in the Casa Grande-it was the unspoken hope of everyone concerned that her arrival would be delayed (either inadvertently, or intentionally by her hus band) until the guests had passed through the reception line and gathered in the large sitting for cocktails and Cham pagne.

That was not to happen. The very first car to arrive was the black Rolls-Royce of Sefior Humberto Duarte, and Beatrice was out of the backseat before the chauffeur could open his door.

"Shit," Clete muttered, and put his glass on the win dowsill. Then he had a second thought. Beatrice's early arrival might disturb the women-God alone knew what she would do or say in the reception line-but he needed to talk to

Humberto.

He walked onto the veranda and allowed himself to be emotionally greeted by his aunt.

"You look so elegant, Cletus!" she cried happily. "So much like your father, may he be resting in peace with your sainted mother and all the angels."

Clete was wearing a tweed sports coat, a checkered shirt, a blue silk foulard, gabardine breeches, and glistening

British-style riding boots. Their reception was informal,

Dorotea had announced, and the riding costume would set the proper tone.

After examining himself in a full-length mirror in his dressing, Clete had come to two conclusions. First, he looked like the Duke of Whateverthehell about to have tea and crumpets-whatever the hell a crumpet is-with the

Duchess of Windsor. The second, truth to tell, Cletus Frade, you do look pretty spiffy,

"And you are as beautiful as ever, Beatrice," he said.

"Dorotea's still dressing."

"Then I will go to her," Beatrice announced, and marched into the house.

Clete and Humberto embraced with genuine affection.

"You do, you know, look elegant," Humberto said.

"In Texas, we have a name for people who wear these things," Clete said, pointing at the foulard.

"Please don't tell me what it is." Humberto chuckled.

"And, as you may have noticed, Cletus, you are not in

Texas."

"Have I ever," Clete said, and adding, "We have to talk."

He led Humberto into the cloakroom and closed the door after them.

"Something's wrong?" Humberto asked.

Clete walked to a table on which sat an array of bottles and glasses. "You want wine, or something stronger?" he asked.

"A little wine, tinto, please," Humberto said. "I think it may be a long day."

Clete poured Merlot in two glasses and handed one to

Humberto, then stationed himself where he could look through the slats in the blind. He glanced out, and then faced

Humberto. "Alicia's in the family way," he said.

"Oh, my God!" Humberto said softly. "Peter's the father?"

Clete nodded. "I found out a couple of hours ago."

"Does Claudia know?"

"Just Dorotea, me, now you, and in a few minutes, Juan

Domingo Peron."

"Why him?"

"Add Welner to the list," Clete said. "He thinks my Tfo

Juan's influence with the Germans may be helpful."

"Alicia went to Father Kurt?"

"I did," Clete said then. "Oh, shit, I forgot about them."

Humberto walked to the window. Four men were getting out of a 1942 Buick Super with diplomatic tags. Three of them were in the pink-and-green uniform of U.S. Army offi cers, all with the golden rope of military attaches hanging from the epaulets. The third man was in a somewhat rum pled suit. Humberto recognized two of the officers and the civilian. They were Milton Leibermann, "Legal Attache of the American Embassy"; Captain Maxwell Ashton III; and

Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi. The third officer he had never seen before. "Who's the officer?" Humberto asked.

"I don't know his name. He's the new military attache.

Milton thinks I should meet him."

"And meet him in public," Humberto said.

Clete shrugged to indicate he had no idea of Leibermann's motives.

"You were telling me what Father Kurt had to say," Hum berto said.

"I asked him if he could find out what's going on with

Peter von Wachtstein," Clete said. "He suggested Peron would be useful. I told you about this von Deitzberg charac ter bringing the apologies of the German officer corps for murdering my father…"

"What do you think has happened to Peter?"

"I don't like to think about that," Clete said. "They obvi ously suspect he was involved with what happened at Sam borombon Bay. That's enough to put him in front of a firing squad, without even getting into the rest of it."

The door opened without a knock. Clete glowered at it and then smiled. Sefiora Dorotea Mallin de Frade, wearing a simple black dress and a double strand of pearls that had belonged to Clete's grandmother, entered the room. "Tio

Juan is five minutes out," she announced.

Enrico had stationed gauchos near the road from Pila to the estancia with orders to notify him the moment el Coro-nel

Peron's car appeared on the road. By galloping across the pampas, a gaucho could reach the Casa Grande at least five minutes before an automobile could do so by road.

She walked to Humberto and kissed him. "He told you?"

Humberto nodded.

"You think Tfo Juan will be able to help?"

"I tend to think Father Kurt is usually right," Humberto said.

Dorotea went to Clete and adjusted the foulard. "Now you look fine," she said. "Go easy on the wine, darling."

Clete exhaled audibly. "I hope I can charm the son ofabitch," he said, then added: "You haven't said anything to

Alicia?"

"Of course not," she said.

She leaned upward, kissed him rather chastely on the lips, and left the room.

Almost exactly five minutes later, the 1939 Packard 280 touring car provided by the Republic of Argentina for the use of its Minister of War rolled majestically up before the

Casa Grande and stopped. The chauffeur jumped out and ran around the front, almost succeeding in reaching the rear pas senger door before Sargento Rudolpho Gomez, Argentine

Cavalry, Retired, who had been waiting on the veranda.

The passengers in the rear seat got out. Everyone-the chauffeur, Rudolpho, Minister of War General de Division


Edelmiro Farrell, Minister of Labor Coronel Juan Domingo

Peron-was in civilian clothing, and the canvas roof of the enormous Packard was up; but Clete had no trouble envi sioning the roof down, everybody in uniform, and Farrell and Peron standing up in the backseat, hanging on to the chrome of the rear-seat windshield and trooping the line of the Hiisares de Pueyrredon.

Rodolfo led them into the house, and a moment later, the door to the cloakroom opened. "Patron," Rudolpho barked,

"el General Farrell and el Coronel Peron."

Clete walked across the cloakroom. "A sus ordenes, mi

General," he said. "Thank you for coming."

Farrell spread his arms wide. "Ah, Cletus," he said, "thank you for including me."

They shook hands.

Clete turned to Peron. "Tio Juan," he said. They embraced and went through the kissing ritual of intimate males. The touch of Peron's mouth on Clete's cheeks made him uncom fortable, but he forced himself to return the intimacy. •

"My boy," Peron said, patting Cletus's back.

Farrell kissed Humberto's cheeks-pro forma, Clete decided; there was no lip contact-and they each spoke the other's Christian name.

"What are we doing in here?" Peron asked.

"Tio Juan," Clete said. "With your permission, I want to introduce you and General Farrell to an old Texas custom."

"Which is?" Peron asked, smiling.

"We call it 'cutting the dust of the trail,' " Clete said.

He led them to the table with the array of bottles. He picked up two glasses half full of whiskey, handed them to

Farrell and Peron, and then picked up two more, handing one to Humberto and raising the other one. "Welcome to

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo," he said.

"I think I like your custom," Farrell said, and drained his glass.

"I am pleased, mi General," Clete said.

Peron chuckled. "And the Champagne, Cletus?" he asked, pointing at the open bottle in a cooler.

"The dust of the trail having been cut," Clete said, "you now can pick up the Champagne glasses and carry them into the small sitting to join the ladies. And if the ladies presume you have cut the dust of the trail with nothing stronger than

Champagne…" Farrell and Peron both laughed. "On the other hand, if the dust is still thick in your throats… it is a long ride from Buenos Aires." Clete picked up a bottle of scotch.

"Now that you mention it, Cletus," Peron said, holding his glass out.

Cletus refilled his glass.

"Does everyone get this treatment?" Farrell asked.

"Sargento Gomez has a very short list," Clete said, "of those he suspects have dusty throats."

Humberto took Farrell's arm and led him to the window so he could see Gomez at work.

Clete went to Peron and touched the sleeve of his dark blue double-breasted suit. "Tio Juan," he said softly. "I have a problem. Can I talk to you about it?"

"Of course," Peron said. "Of course you can, Cletus. We will make the time."

"Thank you," Clete said. "Perhaps now?"

Peron looked at him and then nodded. "Edelmiro," he said, and when Farrell turned to look at him, went on: "Why don't you and Humberto go in to the ladies? I need a moment alone with Cletus."

That was an order, and he called Farrell by his first name.

Colonels don't normally call generals by their first names. I guess that establishes the pecking order, doesn't it?

"Of course," Farrell said.

When they had gone, Peron looked at Cletus.

"I don't know where else to go with this, Tio Juan," Cletus said.

"I am touched that you are coming to me, Cletus. How may I help?"

"I learned today that Alicia Carzino-Cormano is with child," Clete said.

"My God! Yours?"

You filthy-minded bastard!

"Tio Juan, I have come to look on Alicia as a sister."


"Then whose?"

"I can tell you in absolute confidence," Clete said.

"Of course."

"The father is the German officer von Wachtstein."

Peron took a long moment to think that over. "I was not aware they had… become so close," he said finally.

"The dirty sonofabitch!" Clete said. "Taking advantage of a decent girl like that."

Peron smiled tolerantly. "There are those, Cletus, who would say the same thing of you," he said, and chuckled.

"Your wife's father, for example."

"That was different," Clete said with what he hoped was just the proper amount of indignation and embarrassment.

"I happen to know Major von Wachtstein better than you do, Cletus. And I can see why Alicia was attracted to him.

He's very much the same kind of young man as you. In dif ferent circumstances, I'm sure that you would become friends."

"With that Nazi sonofabitch?" Clete said. "Never!"'

"Major von Wachtstein is an honorable man," Peron said.

"A highly decorated officer from an ancient German family of officers. Did you know that his father is a teniente gen eral?"

"No, and I really don't care."

"I happen to know that Teniente General von Wachtstein is an honorable man, Cletus. Just as honorable, just as decent, as your father. Blood tells, Cletus. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that when Major von

Wachtstein learns of this situation-I presume he doesn't know?"

"According to what Alicia told Dorotea, he doesn't know."

"When he does know, I am sure that he will behave as honorably as you did when you learned the consequences-forgive me for saying this, Cletus-of allowing your lust to overcome your good sense."

"I wish, Tio Juan, that I shared your confidence in that bastard's sense of honor."

"He is not a bastard, Cletus," Peron said. "And I am sure that he will be as anxious as you were to ensure that the product of his indiscretion will not be a bastard either."

"He's in Germany, as I guess you know. Alicia doesn't even have an address to write to him."

Peron thought that over. "Does Claudia know?"

"Not yet," Clete said.

"I think the thing to do about that is to say nothing to her until I have a chance to talk to Generalmajor von Deitzberg.

Perhaps to Ambassador von Lutzenberger as well, but cer tainly to von Deitzberg. He's a soldier, and will understand.

And he is very highly placed in Germany. I'm sure he will be willing to help."

"That would be wonderful," Clete said.

And if von Deitzberg tells you to go fuck yourself, then what?

"Do you think you could find out when the bastard's coming back to Argentina?" Clete asked.

"You have your father's weaknesses as well as his strengths. He had great difficulty controlling his anger. I would be grateful if you would stop calling Major von

Wachtstein a bastard."

"Sorry," Clete said.

"It's too late to do anything about it tonight," Peron said.

"But I will call von Deitzberg tomorrow and ask him to lunch."

"And you really think he will be willing to help?"

"I'm sure he will," Peron said. "As soon as I have talked to him, I'll call and tell you what he said."

"I don't know how to thank you," Clete said.

"No thanks are necessary. We're family. Not only you and I, but by extension, Claudia and Alicia as well. Your father loved them as his own."

"I know."

"And now, Cletus," Peron said, affectionately putting his arm around Cletus's shoulder. "I think we should join your guests. Your Tio Juan will do whatever he can."


[SIX]

La Casa Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1930 18 May 1943

Clete found Milton Leibermann, Maxwell Ashton, Tony

Pelosi, and the new assistant military attache for air standing together against the wall of the large sitting. Coronel

Bernardo Martin was with them. They all held glasses of

Champagne.

"Ah, our host," Leibermann said. "I was beginning to wonder where you were, Don Cletus."

"I was having a private word, actually, with Coronel

Peron," Clete said. "I'm so glad you could make it, Milton."

He switched to Spanish, and smiled at Martin. "And you, too, mi Coronel."

"So good of you and Senora de Frade to have me, Major

Frade," Martin said.

"I thought we'd already had a little chat about your use of my former military title," Clete said.

"And so we have. My apologies, Don Frade. I seem to have trouble remembering that."

"Cletus, may I introduce Colonel Dick Almond, our new assistant military attache for air?" Leibermann said in English.

Clete by then had had time to run his eyes over

Almond-a tall, sharp-featured man he guessed was in his early thirties-and over the ribbons and insignia pinned to his tunic. There were a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple

Heart, and ribbons indicating he had served in both the

Pacific and European Theaters of Operation. There were other ribbons Clete didn't recognize, but the star above the shield of his pilot's wings he did.


It was the badge of an Air Corps senior pilot, awarded for flying so many years and/or for so many hours in the air.

There were no comparable wings in the Marine Corps. A second lieutenant fresh from Pensacola wore the same golden wings as the two-star chief of Marine Aviation, who had been flying longer than the lieutenant was old.

Nevertheless, Clete liked what he saw.

This guy has been around.

"Welcome to Argentina and Estancia San Pedro y San

Pablo, Colonel," Clete said as they shook hands.

"It's very kind of you to have me, Seiior Frade," Almond said in very good Spanish. "And actually, it's lieutenant colonel."

"I haven't been out of the Marine Corps that long,

Colonel," Clete replied in Spanish. "And-my memory being better than my friend Coronel Martin's-I still remember the difference between an eagle and a silver oak leaf."

Martin laughed good-naturedly.

Clete put his arm around Ashton's shoulders and shook

Tony's hand.

"And is one permitted to ask 'how was the honeymoon'?"

Leibermann asked.

"One is permitted to ask, Milton, but only a goddamn fool would answer."

Leibermann laughed.

"I'm sure you have much to talk about," Martin said. "So I will-what is it they say?-circulate?"

"Don't let me run you off, Coronel," Clete said.

Martin ignored the comment, shook Almond's hand, told him he was sure they would see one another again, and walked away.

"I was telling Dick that Martin is very good at what he does," Leibermann said.

"Oh, yes," Clete said. "Whatever you do, Colonel, don't underestimate Coronel Martin."

"I try not to underestimate anyone, Senor Frade," Almond said. "May I ask you a question?"

"As long as it's not about my honeymoon."


"The last place I expected to see a Lockheed Lodestar is on a dirt strip in Argentina."

"I think you'll be surprised by many things down here,

Colonel," Clete said. "You're familiar with the Lodestar?"

"As a matter of fact, last month, I flew one from the States to Brazil-our air base at Porto Alegre. You know it?"

"I know it's there."

"They're nice airplanes," Almond said.

"Is that what you've been doing? Ferry pilot?"

"No, actually, I was going through the attache course in

Washington before coming here, when a brigadier general I never heard of before or since called me up, asked if I was current in the Lodestar, and when I told him I was-I'd been flying brass around the Pacific in one-told me I was going to ferry one to Brazil the next morning. So I flew one to

Porto Alegre, parked it, and they put me on the next C-54 headed for the States. I never got an explanation."

He either suspects that's the Lodestar he flew to Brazil, or knows it is. But I don't think he's going to ask.

"You didn't get a DFC flying brass around," Clete chal lenged.

"I've got some P-38 time, too," Almond said. "I like to think of myself as a fighter pilot."

"We were getting an Air Corps P-38 squadron on Guadal canal just when I left."

"Then we apparently just missed each other," Almond said. "I made three missions off Fighter One, took a chunk of shrapnel strafing a freighter, and got sent home."

"And that's where you got the Purple Heart?"

"And the DFC. The freighter blew up."

Clete snatched a glass of Champagne from a tray in the hand of a passing maid. "I wonder what the boys on Fighter

One are drinking?" he asked.

"Warm Kool-Aid," Almond said. "War is hell, isn't it?"

"I've got a few hours in that Lodestar," Clete said. "But I need about twenty hours with a good IP."

"You're serious?"


"Absolutely," Clete said.

"Hell, I'm available, Senor Frade."

"I owe you, Milton," Clete said.

"It's nothing, Don Cletus," Leibermann said with a smile.

XVIII


[ONE]

Office of the Director, Abwehr Intelligence

Berlin

1425 22 May 1943

"Korvettenkapitan Boltitz, Herr Admiral," Admiral Wilhelm

Canaris's aide announced.

Canaris signaled Boltitz to enter. Boltitz took six steps inside the office, came to attention, clicked his heels, and said, "Good afternoon, Herr Admiral."

"I expected you earlier," Canaris replied, and pointed to the upholstered chair in front of his desk. "We are expected by Himmler at four-thirty."

"The aircraft was delayed, Herr Admiral."

"I didn't ask for an explanation," Canaris said, then: "You came here directly from Templehof? Then you missed your lunch, Boltitz?"

"It's not important, Sir."

"I didn't ask if you thought it was important," Canaris said.

"I have not had lunch, Sir."

Canaris nodded. "Neither have I," Canaris said. "The brain requires sustenance, a fact I frequently forget."

Boltitz didn't reply.

The door opened.

"Herr Admiral?" Canaris's aide asked.


"One, I thought I asked you to remind me to eat at twelve o'clock."

"I did, Herr Admiral. The Herr Admiral's response was

'Later. Not now.' "

"Two, get Boltitz and me something to eat. Sandwiches and milk and coffee will do, as long as we can have it in five min utes."

"Jawohl, Herr Admiral."

"Three, ask Fregattenkapitan von und zu Waching to come in."

"Jawohl, Herr Admiral."

Fregattenkapitan Otto voq und zu Waching appeared in

Canaris's office less than two minutes later. When Karl

Boltitz started to get out of his chair, von und zu Waching waved him back into it.

"Have you had your lunch, Otto?" Canaris asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Boltitz and I have not," Canaris said. As if on cue, a white-jacketed steward appeared with a tray of sandwiches.

The aide had them waiting outside; there's no way they could have been prepared this quickly.

Canaris signaled for the tray to be laid on his desk in front of

Boltitz, and then for Boltitz to help himself.

"Thank you, Herr Admiral."

The first bite of the leberwurst mit sempf was in his mouth, but he had not had time to chew when Canaris ordered, "Begin with the master of the Oceano Pacifico,

Boltitz."

He saw that I was chewing. Is this a reproof for thanking him?

Nearly choking with the effort, he managed to quickly swallow the liverwurst. "Kapitan de Banderano," he reported,

"stated very clearly that von Wachtstein was in his presence when von Wachtstein learned where the Oceano Paciftco's boat was to land on Samborombon Bay. And that that information came from Standartenfuhrer Goltz, who used the phrase 'it's time for you to see where we're going,' or words to that effect, before telling him-or actually showing him on a chart."


"Is there an implication that Goltz did not trust von

Wachtstein?"

"I asked that question, Herr Admiral. Kapitan de Banderano felt that Goltz had confidence in von Wachtstein. Goltz introduced von Wachtstein to de Banderano as 'my assistant in this undertaking,' or words to that effect. Kapitan de Ban derano felt that Standartenfuhrer Goltz was simply being careful. He also said that it would have been impossible for von Wachtstein to communicate with the shore from the time that Goltz showed him the landing spot to the time of the landing."

"Somebody told the Americans or the Argentines-one or the other, or both-where the landing was to be made,"

Canaris said.

"Kapitan de Banderano also stated with great firmness that von Wachtstein's behavior on the beach after the shootings was heroic. According to de Banderano, many shots were fired-this differs from von Wachtstein's account that there were not more than four or five-and that despite this fire, von

Wachtstein carried both bodies to the Oceano Paci-fico's boat, and then returned for the two crates which had been put ashore."

"How could de Banderano know this?" Korvettenkapitan von und zu Waching asked. "Could he see it? How far off shore was the Oceano Pacificol"

"Kapitan de Banderano commanded his ship's boat him self," Boltitz said. "He apologized profusely for the cow ardly behavior of his crew for not helping von Wachtstein."

"Then you are satisfied that von Wachtstein is not the man who informed the Argentines-or the Americans?"

"I believe, Herr Admiral, that he is less likely than

Gradny-Sawz and von Tresmarck."

"Let's hear what you have on them," von und zu Waching said.

"Let's finish with von Wachtstein," Canaris said. "He went to see von Stauffenberg?"

"Yes, Sir, he and Generalleutnant von Wachtstein."

"A purely personal question, Boltitz. How is von Stauf fenberg?"


"He's badly injured, Sir."

"He will live, would you say?"

"Yes, Herr Admiral. I don't think there's any chance of his dying now."

"Good. Germany needs officers like him," Canaris said.

"And you would say they-he and young von Wachtstein, I mean-are close?"

"Yes, Sir. When von Wachtstein was drunk at

Augsburg-"

"Tell us about that," Canaris interrupted.

"Well, he's apparently sort of a protege of General Gal land, Sir-the general put him up in his quarters, and told both Cranz and myself that he intends to have von Wacht stein assigned to the ME-262 project-"

"Von Wachtstein getting drunk, Boltitz, if you please,"

Canaris interrupted again, somewhat impatiently.

"Yes, Sir. There was a good deal to drink, apparently, in the General's quarters, and von Wachtstein got very drunk."

"You were there?"

"No, Sir, but General Galland told me not to judge him harshly. He had come from Oberstleutnant von Stauffen berg, and was terribly upset by his condition. General Gal land believed that was the reason he got drunk."

"Galland is another good man," Canaris said. "We might be a good deal better off with more very young general offi cers who've earned their rank in battle. Was there anything unusual in von Wachtstein's behavior when he was with

Hauptmann Griiner? Did he look guilty, in other words?"

"I thought his behavior was what one could expect,"

Boltitz said.

"Now tell us what you have learned about Gradny-Sawz and von Tresmarck."

"Very little, I'm afraid, Sir. Obersturmbannfiihrer Cranz put it to me that the SS had assets in place to observe them; that I didn't; and that to attempt to set up some sort of sur veillance would not only be unnecessary but might tend to alert them."

"And you agreed with that?" Canaris said.

"I didn't think I was in a position to argue with Ober sturmbannfiihrer Cranz, Sir. And in this case, I think he had a point."

"Do you think Galland will be able to have von Wacht stein transferred to him, Sir?" von und zu Waching asked.

"If he goes to the Fiihrer, and the Fiihrer is in the right frame of mind, he might. And actually, that might be the best solution to the situation. I'm sure von Wachtstein would rather be flying than doing what he's doing. I wonder… do you know, Boltitz… if having him assigned to the ME-262 project was von Wachtstein's idea, or Galland's?"

"I don't know, Sir. I know he flew the ME-262, what they call a check ride, with General Galland."

"And did he pass the check ride?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then I would tend to think that Galland really must have a high opinion of von Wachtstein's skill as a pilot," Canaris said. "The Fiihrer has ordered that he be informed-by Gal land-of the loss of each ME-262 in training. What is that phrase aviators use? 'Pilot error'? I don't think our Fuhrer believes there is any excuse for it."

He looked at Boltitz. "Eat your sandwich. We have to leave shortly."

"Jawohl, Herr Admiral," Boltitz said, and reached for the liverwurst sandwich.

[TWO]

The Office of the Reichsfuhrer-SS

Berlin

1455 22 May 1943

SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Karl Cranz marched into the office, came to attention, gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute, and barked, "Heil Hitler!"

Without rising from his desk, or even straightening up,

Himmler returned the salute with a casually raised palm. "I understand there was aircraft trouble," he said.


"We had to make an unexpected landing at Leipzig,

Herr Reichsprotektor," Cranz said. "But the reason I am this late is that I have been at the Propaganda Ministry's film laboratory."

"What's that all about?"

"The funeral service was filmed by Propaganda Ministry photographers. I arranged with General Galland to have it flown here in a fighter so that it could be processed immedi ately. It was ready-a rough cut, they called it-by the time I got here." He exhibited a small black can of film.

"And the purpose of this?"

"You told me, Herr Reichsprotektor, that you always felt you could judge far more about an individual from studying his face than by what came out of his mouth."

Himmler looked at him and smiled. "It's true, Karl."

"I believe it is, Sir."

"So you had a movie made? And what did you tell von

Tresmarck and the others was the purpose? That I wanted to study their faces?"

"They don't think I had anything to do with it," Cranz said. "And neither did the photographers. It's not very long,

Sir. May I suggest you have a look at it?"

"Canaris and the others will be here at four. We have to talk before then. One of the other things I believe, Karl, is that one should go to a meeting as well prepared as possible."

"And I have found that to be true, too, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"As you have learned that imitation-the most sincere form of flattery-goes a long way with Heinrich Himmler?"

"I wouldn't quite put it that way, Herr Reichsprotektor."

Himmler reached for his telephone. "I will require a pro jectionist immediately," he announced, and hung up.

The projectionist, a handsome young blond Stabsschar fiihrer, came into Himmler's private projection room from the corridor as Himmler and Cranz entered from Himmler's office. He gave a stiff-armed salute with his right hand and held out his left hand for the can of film.

"As soon as you can find time, Karl, there is film of that disgusting business in the Warsaw ghetto you will probably find interesting," Himmler said.

The private projection room was a small theater. There were two rows of chairs. In the front row were three com fortable leather armchairs, each with a table beside it holding a lamp, a telephone, a pad of paper, and a glass containing six freshly sharpened pencils.

Himmler waved Cranz into one of the chairs and raised his voice slightly. "Whenever you are ready, Stabsscharfiihrer."

A moment later, the room went dark and the film began to play.

The first shot showed two tracked vehicles, normally used to tow heavy artillery, but now towing trailers, moving between two lines of uniformed men, black-uniformed

Waffen-SS on one side of the road and gray-uniformed sol diers on the other. They stood with their rifle butts between their feet, their helmeted heads bowed in respect. Officers with drawn swords stood in front of the ranks of soldiers.

A casket covered with a Nazi flag was on each trailer.

The officers raised their swords in salute as each casket passed.

The next shot showed the mourners and dignitaries fol lowing the caskets, headed by General Galland.

"Major von Wachtstein is the fellow walking with Haupt mann Griiner, the two young Luftwaffe officers," Cranz said.

"Behind them, the chubby fellow is Gradny-Sawz, and the

SS officer is Sturmbannfiihrer Werner von Tresmarck, our man in Uruguay."

"I know the Austrian and von Tresmarck," Himmler said.

The next shot showed the procession moving through the gates of the cemetery. There were close-ups of von Wacht stein, Griiner, von Tresmarck, and Gradny-Sawz. Next came a shot of the Horst Wessel Monument, with the camera moving down it to reveal the caskets, now poised above the empty graves. The mourners and dignitaries were lined up at the head of the grave.

Two clergymen appeared, one in Army uniform, the other in the vestments of a Catholic priest. Though there was no sound track, it was obvious that both were performing funeral rites.

They were followed by two officers, first an Army gen- eralmajor and then a Waffen-SS SS-Brigadefiihrer. They! each delivered a brief eulogy, followed by the rendering of \ the Nazi salute.;

There were more close-ups of the faces of von Wacht stein, Griiner, von Tresmarck, and Gradny-Sawz.

The next shot was of a small battery of 57-mm antitank j cannon, which fired a salute. Then came a shot of the troops! and the mourners-with the camera lingering a moment on each of their faces-and the dignitaries rendering the Nazi salute as the flags were removed from the caskets, and the caskets being lowered into the ground.

This dissolved into a shot of Adolf Hitler, wearing his Iron

Cross First Class, rendering the Nazi salute, and then the I screen went white.

"Interesting," Himmler said, and then raised his voice slightly. "I'd like to see it again, Stabsscharfuhrer. I aril par- j ticularly interested in the faces of the mourners. Can you stop the film, or run it slowly, when those appear?"

"May I suggest, Herr Reichsprotektor, that I put the film in a still projector? There is a risk that the film might be damaged if I 'hold' too long in the motion picture projector."

"Then do that," Himmler said. "And tell the supply officer I want a motion picture projector in here that I can have stopped when I want it stopped without ruining the film."

"Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor. It will take me just a sec ond, Sir."

Himmler picked up the pad of paper and scrawled on it. "I am making a note to myself, Karl, about the Horst Wessel

Monument. I don't think it's quite what it should be. Maybe

Speer will have some ideas."

"I thought it was very impressive, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"Not impressive enough," Himmler said flatly.

There was a blur of images on the screen, and then the screen was full of a close-up of Hauptmann Griiner.

The Stabsscharfuhrer appeared with a small box con nected to a cable. "With your permission, Herr Reichspro tektor," he said, handing it to Himmler. "The top button moves the film rapidly backward; the button below, backward, one frame at a time. The next button moves the film forward, one frame at a time, and the lower button forward rapidly."

"Thank you, Stabsscharfuhrer," Himmler said, and began to experiment with the switch. He spent ten minutes looking at the close-ups, and then raised his voice: "How do I turn the projector off?"

The screen went blank and the lights came on.

"All right, Karl, tell me what you saw in the faces."

"Of the three, von Tresmarck, in my judgment, Herr

Reichsprotektor, looked most nervous. Gradny-Sawz slightly less nervous, and von Wachtstein least nervous of all."

"Nervousness, or guilt?"

"There was, I thought, some guilt on the face of von

Wachtstein."

"And to what do you attribute the guilt?"

"In my judgment, Herr Reichsprotektor, I felt that he holds himself responsible for the death of Oberst Griiner."

"You think he's our traitor, then?" Himmler asked evenly.

"No, Sir. What I meant to say is that he and Hauptmann

Griiner are close friends, and he was-for lack of a better word-feeling guilty that his friend's father had died in his company; that he had not been able to prevent it from happening, that he had somehow failed his friend."

"Not because he was responsible for telling the Americans where the landing was to be made?"

"After speaking with Kapitan de Banderano-"

"Who? Oh, the captain of the Spanish ship?"

"Yes, Sir. Kapitan de Banderano said that he was present on the ship when von Wachtstein learned from Gollz where the landing would be made, and that at the time, Goltz made reference to its being time for von Wachtstein to learn. He said that it would have been absolutely impossible for von

Wachtstein to communicate with anyone on shore after he had the information. And he painted quite a picture of von

Wachtstein's courage under fire on the beach itself."


"I have to tell you, Karl, that I was surprised a moment ago when you said you thought von Wachtstein held himself responsible. I watched his face very carefully. That was not the face of a man who had anything shameful to hide. I could tell by the eyes, the lip movement… even the way he held his shoulders."

"Everything I have been able to learn about him makes the idea of treason sound unreasonable. General Galland thinks so highly of him that he will go to the Fiihrer if nec essary to have him assigned to the ME-262 project. And he is a close friend of Oberstleutnant von Stauffenberg."

"Who?"

"Oberstleutnant Graf Claus von Stauffenberg, Herr

Reichsprotektor. Who was severely wounded in Africa, nearly blinded, and who refused painkilling drugs in the belief they would slow his recovery."

"I heard about von Stauffenberg," Himmler said. "Any thing else on von Wachtstein?"

"Well, we have a lady, using the word loosely, in.Gal land's circle. She got him drunk-"

"A man who has secrets would think long and hard before abusing alcohol, wouldn't you say, Karl?"

"With that in mind, Herr Reichsprotektor, the lady-her name is Trudi-made sure he got drunk."

"How? Prurient curiosity overwhelms me."

"One pours cognac in a wide-mouthed jar, or a measuring cup, something on that order. Then it is placed in a freezer for however long it takes to bring the temperature of the cognac below zero. The cognac does not freeze because of the alcohol, you see. Then you drop a chip of ice into the jar.

The water in the alcohol/water mixture is attracted to the chip of ice and adheres to it. The ice chip is then removed.

This is done several times. Eventually, the remaining liquid has a much higher percentage of alcohol. One drink equals two or three."

"And you can't taste the difference?" Himmler asked.

"If one's first drink is ordinary cognac, one might notice a slight change…"


"You obviously have put this to a personal test, have you,

Karl?"

"In the line of duty, of course, Herr Reichsprotektor.

After the first drink of the special cognac, one cannot tell the difference."

"And what did Trudi learn from von Wachtstein?"

"That he was very upset by the injuries suffered by Graf von Stauffenberg, and that he had been present when Oberst

Griiner was killed."

"Huh," Himmler said.

"And also that even great amounts of alcohol in his system did not adversely affect his… romantic capabilities. I got the impression Trudi rather liked him."

"And what did we learn about Gradny-Sawz?"

"That he had a lockbox in the Credit Anstalt bank in

Vienna we had not previously known about, in which he apparently kept what was left of the family jewels. He appar ently plans to take them with him to Buenos Aires. If he returns to Buenos Aires."

"Nothing else?"

"The same sort of thing he does in Buenos Aires, ladies of the evening. Nothing extraordinary."

"And von Tresmarck?"

"Although temptation was placed in his path, he went to bed with neither male nor female. Neither did he drink to excess at any time-hardly at all, as a matter of fact."

"From which you infer?"

"I don't know what to infer, Herr Reichsprotektor. Von

Tresmarck is SS, so he would assume that he's being watched. That doesn't necessarily mean he sold out to the

Americans. And doing so, I think, would be illogical. He is not in a concentration camp with a pink triangle on his jacket; he is making money. And from what we have heard from Montevideo, he has his friends there."

"Keep on," Himmler said.

"I think we can assume that von Wachtstein didn't know the details of the landing. Goltz said so. And he is a junior officer, so I think Goltz would not have told him. Gradny Sawz, on the other hand, is the number two in the Buenos

Aires Embassy. Though he says he didn't, he could have known the details of the landing. Even more likely, I think, is that Goltz did confide the details to von Tresmarck, perhaps accidentally. Von Tresmarck's position is that he knew nothing about the special shipment except that it was coming.

And I get back to why would selling out be in his best interests?"

"To guarantee him refuge should we lose the war," Himm-ler said. "Men like that are dangerous." He chuckled. "They think like women."

"The same thing would apply to Gradny-Sawz, and we know he is willing to turn traitor," Cranz said. "He's done it once, why not again?"

Himmler grunted, thinking that over, and then asked, "Pre sumably you have compared notes with Canaris's man?"

"I think he agrees just about completely with me."

"Unless he has other theories to be shared only with

Canaris?"

"That's possible, Herr Reichsprotektor, but I think unlikely," Cranz said, and then: "Would it be valuable for me to know what Oberfiihrer von Deitzberg has learned in

Buenos Aires and Montevideo?"

"Ambassador von Lutzenberger confirms that Goltz did not tell von Wachtstein the details of the landing, and that he himself didn't know the position, only the time and general area. It is also his opinion that the Argentines, who have a patrol and surveillance capability, were keeping an eye on the Oceano Pacifico. Von Lutzenberger offers as a possible scenario that there would be a relatively senior officer-an oberst, for example-in charge of the surveillance. That such an officer would certainly have known Oberst Frade, and might well have been a close friend, and that when he saw Oberst Griiner and Standartenfuhrer Goltz-whom the

Argentine officer corps blames for the death of Oberst

Frade-landing from the ship, he simply behaved like a

Latin and ordered them shot. Knowing, of course, that we could not protest whatever happened to them without getting into what they were doing."


"Interesting. If that's true, there would be no traitor."

"I don't think we can take that as any more than a possi bility. Although when I think of Oberst Juan Domingo

Peron, I am tempted to believe an Argentine officer might behave that way."

"You're suggesting Peron might have been involved?"

"No. No. What I'm suggesting is that an officer like

Peron would be capable of doing what von Lutzenberger suggests."

"I understand."

"Von Deitzberg also reports that Frau von Tresmarck doesn't believe Goltz told von Wachtstein anything more than he absolutely had to know, and that she doesn't think her husband would be involved, because he would be-as she is-afraid of the consequences."

"We seem to getting back to Gradny-Sawz, would you agree?"

"I just don't know," Himmler said. "I have been thinking that if we do something about young von Wachtstein-without anything to go on-there is the problem of Generalleut-nant von Wachtstein. He would demand a Court of Honor for his son, and I think Keitel and others would go along with him. And if we do something about von Tresmarck- without anything to go on-we will lose his valuable services in Montevideo. That makes it tempting to go after Gradny Sawz, but without anything to go on…"

"I understand, Herr Reichsprotektor."

Himmler looked at his watch. "We have enough time, I think, to watch the film of the Warsaw ghetto," he said thoughtfully, and then raised his voice: "Stabsscharfuhrer!

How long is the Warsaw film?"

"Twenty-three minutes, Herr Reichsprotektor," the Stab sscharfuhrer called from the projection room."

"Would you show it, please?"

"Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"I find the whole Warsaw ghetto business simply inexpli cable," Himmler said. "Inexplicable and inexcusable!"

A moment later, the lights dimmed and an image of a battery of field howitzers lined up on a Warsaw street came onto the screen. They were firing at a block of apartment buildings, most of which were in flames.

The film ended with a line of Jews, men, women, and children, their hands in the air, walking between rows of

German soldiers toward a line of trucks.

[THREE]

The Private Projection Room

The Office of the Reichsfuhrer-SS

Berlin

1605 22 May 1943

"What are we doing in here?" Admiral Wilhelm Canaris asked as he-the last man to arrive-walked into the small, well-furnished miniature theater, trailed by Fregattenkapitan

Otto von und zu Waching and Korvettenkapitan Karl Boltitz.

Already present were the Reichsfuhrer-SS, Heinrich

Himmler; Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop;

Parteileiter Martin Bormann; Feldmarschall Wilhelm Keitel; and SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Karl Cranz.

"We are going to see a short film the Propaganda Minister intends to have in every theater in Germany by the end of the week," Himmler said with a smile.

"Do we have time for this?" Canaris asked, not bothering to conceal the disgust in his voice. "What kind of a film?"

"It has a dual purpose," Himmler said. "Goebbels is quite excited about it. He feels that those whose family members have made the supreme sacrifice for Germany can vicari ously experience the honor they would have been paid had circumstances permitted."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm afraid,"

Canaris said.

"Actually, this was Cranz's idea," Himmler said. "A picture is worth a thousand words, so to speak, right, Karl?"

"As I told you, Sir, inasmuch as some of the gentlemen have never seen the people we brought back from Buenos

Aires, I thought seeing what they looked like-how they behaved in this particular circumstance-would have merit."

"The film was shot by Propaganda Ministry cameramen,"

Himmler went on, obviously pleased with himself, "after

Cranz telephoned to Goebbels and suggested that the inter ment ceremonies of Standartenfuhrer Goltz and Oberst

Griiner might well have a certain propaganda value. Goebbels immediately saw the possibilities, and ordered the interment filmed."

"I still don't understand," Canaris said. "But let's get it over with."

"Herr Admiral," Cranz said, "the idea is that many German families who have lost people naturally wonder where they are buried and how. The unknown is often unpleasant. What I suggested to the Herr Propaganda Minister was that this film would leave in the minds of such people images of a dignified ceremony in which the deceased were honored by the

Fatherland."

"Let's see the film," Bormann said.

Himmler snapped his fingers. The room went dark, and after a moment the projector came to life.

"There will be, of course, a narrative, and appropriate music, and some final editing," Himmler said. "Goebbels's people are working on that as we speak."

The film of the funerals played.

The screen went blank, then white, and the lights in the room came on.

"I can see why this excited Goebbels," Martin Bormann said, "but I cannot see what the film has to do with the pur pose of this meeting."

"The Reichsprotektor believes that one can often learn a great deal by looking at people's faces," Cranz said. "And I am convinced he's right."

"To get to the point," Bormann said, "has the investigation turned anything up?"

"Nothing concrete. I think Korvettenkapitan Boltitz will agree with me."


"I'm afraid that's true, Herr Parteileiter," Cranz said.

"In other words, you cannot tell me-so that I can report to the Fiihrer-whether or not Operation Phoenix has been compromised?" Bormann replied, just a little nastily.

"We have learned nothing, Martin," Himmler said, "either here, or from von Deitzberg in South America, that suggests

Operation Phoenix has been compromised."

"You don't think that the murders of the military attache and your man Goltz has anything to do with Operation

Phoenix?" Bormann pursued, sarcastically.

"It is entirely possible that both were killed in revenge for the death of Oberst Frade," Himmler said. "And that those who perpetrated that barbarous act did not know, or even suspect, anything about Operation Phoenix."

"And that's what I'm supposed to report to the Fiihrer?"

"Inasmuch as I was given responsibility-together with

Admiral Canaris-for conducting the investigation, that's what / will report to the Fiihrer," Himmler said. "And I am extremely reluctant to go to the Fuhrer without something concrete."

"Canaris?" Feldmarschall Keitel asked.

"The incident on the beach at Samborombon Bay, Herr

Feldmarschall, is consistent with the character of the Argen tine officer corps. They deeply resented the murder of

Oberst Frade."

"I wondered if that was necessary," Keitel said. "So what are you recommending, Canaris?"

"I will defer to the Reichsprotektor," Canaris said.

"Unless there are objections, I think we should send von

Tresmarck and Gradny-Sawz back to South America,"

Himmler said.

"And young von Wachtstein?" Keitel asked. "Why not him?"

"General Galland wants him assigned to the ME-262 project," Himmler said. "And knowing Galland, he's pre pared to go to the Fuhrer to get him."

"He's not needed over there for Operation Phoenix?" Bor mann asked.


"He knows very little of Operation Phoenix, Herr

Parteileiter," Cranz said. "From everything Korvettenkapitan

Boltitz and I have been able to determine-and from what the Herr Reichsprotektor tells me we have learned in

South America-von Wachtstein believes the material they attempted to take ashore was in connection with

Admiral Canaris's plan to repatriate the officers from the

GrafSpee."

"I think it would be easier to go along with Galland,"

Himmler said, "to let him have von Wachtstein, than to open that can of worms with the Fiihrer."

"You're suggesting, Herr Reichsprotektor," Canaris said,

"that if he was needed later, von Wachtstein could be sent back over there?"

"Yes, that was my thinking."

"I have no objection to that," Canaris said.

"Nor I," Feldmarschall Keitel said.

"And that's what I'm supposed to report to the Fuhrer?"

Bormann asked.

"I am going to tell the Fuhrer, Martin," Himmler said,

"that in my judgment, and that of Admiral Canaris, Operation

Phoenix has not been compromised, and that he no longer has to spend his valuable time thinking about it."

"Obersturmbannfiihrer Cranz and Korvettenkapitan Boltitz are also going to South America, presumably?"

"Only Korvettenkapitan Boltitz, Martin," Himmler said.

"And I'm going to bring Oberfiihrer von Deitzberg back. I need both von Deitzberg and Cranz here, and I have great faith in Boltitz to continue the investigation and institute appropriate security measures in South America. Further more, Boltitz will have the services of Sturmbannfiihrer

Raschner, who will remain in Argentina."

"Then that winds up our business?" Von Ribbentrop asked. It was the first time he'd spoken.

"I think so," Himmler said, and looked around the room.

Keitel got to his feet. "I am pleased, I must say, that we are not going to have to trouble the Fuhrer further with this."


He picked up his field marshal's baton, touched it to his forehead, and walked out of the room.

"I have film of the Warsaw ghetto," Himmler said. "If anyone has time to see it-it's about twenty minutes."

No one had the time.

[FOUR] Cafe Tortoni

Avenida de Mayo

Buenos Aires 1505 25

May 1943

"I don't think this will take long," Coronel Bernardo Martin said to Sargento Manuel Lascano as Lascano stopped the blue 1939 Dodge on Avenida de Mayo in front of the Cafe

Tortoni. "Why don't you go around the block and park across the street?"

Lascano nodded his head vigorously to indicate he under stood his orders. He was still having trouble following el

Coronel's orders not to say "Si, Senor"-much less "mi

Coronel"-when they were in civilian clothing. He had tried

"Si, Senor Martin," but Martin hadn't liked that, either, ordering him not to use his name unless absolutely neces sary.

Martin sensed Lascano's discomfort and smiled. "Try

'OK,' Manuel," he said. "It's an Americanism, but it'll work for us."

"Si, Senor," Manuel replied, adding, somewhat uncom fortably, "OK."

Martin laughed, then stepped out of the car and walked across the wide sidewalk to the cafe. It was a historical landmark, the gathering place of Argentina's literati, thespi ans, and musicians for nearly a century. Photographs-or sometimes oil paintings-of the more famous of these dec orated the paneled walls of the large main room, and even hung on the walls of the stairway leading down to the rest rooms.

Though the place was crowded with patrons of all ages, there was, Martin thought somewhat unkindly, a high per centage of dramatically dressed and coiffured ladies well past their prime, but still with a coterie of admirers.

He walked slowly through the room until he saw Milton

Leibermann, sitting alone at a small table, reading La

Nation. "Well, what a pleasant surprise," Martin said. "May I join you, Milton?"

"It would be my great pleasure," Leibermann said, laying the newspaper down.

Their rendezvous was scheduled; they had decided upon it at the Frade reception at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. That was fortunate, because something had come up that Martin considered-a gut feeling; he could offer no explanation-he should pass on to Leibermann.

An elderly waiter appeared and took their order for coffee.

"Anything interesting in the paper?" Martin asked.

"Actually, there's a pretty good piece in here-from

Reuters, which I suppose will make you think it's British propaganda-saying that fourteen thousand Jews were killed in the suppression of the uprising in the Warsaw ghetto."

"That seems an incredible number," Martin said.

"And forty thousand were arrested," Leibermann went on.

"The number of dead and prisoners doesn't really surprise me, actually, but how long it took the German army to do it does. We hear all these stories about the invincible German army, and here they are, forced out of Africa, and taking six weeks to defeat people armed with only pistols and rifles, most of them without military experience."

"It does seem strange, doesn't it?" Martin said. "Of course, it is of no interest to neutral Argentina."

"I understand, of course."

The waiter delivered the coffee and placed the bill on a spike on the table. Martin saw that it was the fourth or fifth bill.


"Did I keep you waiting, Milton?" Martin asked, pointing to the spike.

"Truth to tell, I came a little early to escape someone in the embassy I didn't want to talk to."

"I don't suppose you'd give me a name? So that I can avoid him too?"

Leibermann visibly thought that over. "Colonel Almond," he said.

Martin was surprised that Leibermann had given him a name, and that one in particular, but his face did not show it.

Does he know that I had lunch with Almond?

Well, let's see where it goes. I was going to tell him anyhow.

"Apropos of nothing whatever, does the name 'Galahad' mean anything to you, Milton?"

"Sir Galahad. If he had a first name, I can't recall it. He's a character in English folklore," Leibermann said. "Sir Galahad: the purest of the Knights of the Round Table-are you familiar with these stories, Bernardo, are they part of Castil ian culture?"

"Who alone of Sir Arthur's knights succeeded in finding the Holy Grail," Martin said. "I'll have you know, Milton, I am an Old Boy of St. George's School. I learned much more of English legend than I really cared to know."

"I had no idea," Leibermann said. "So I'll bet you know all the words to 'God Save the King,' right?"

"Indeed I do," Martin said.

"Why do I think you were not testing my knowledge of

English legend?" Leibermann asked.

"Your Colonel Almond treated me to a very nice luncheon at the American Club," Martin said. "The name 'Galahad' came up."

Nothing showed on Leibermann's face, although Martin was watching closely.

"Really?"

"He seems to think it is a code name," Martin said.

"A code name for whom?"

"He beat around the bush a good deal; I had to guess most of the time what he was talking about. But I had the feeling that he thinks our friend Don Cletus has someone in the Ger man Embassy who uses 'Galahad' as a code name."

"Past tense, of course. During the brief period during which Don Cletus was mistakenly suspected of being some kind of intelligence officer?"

"Present tense," Martin said.

"But Bernardo, we both know that Cletus Frade has been discharged from the Marine Corps and is now a pillar of neutral Argentine society."

"Of course. I wonder why I keep forgetting that? He's told me himself on more than one occasion. And he certainly wouldn't lie about that, would he?"

"Of course not."

"Nevertheless, this is what your friend Almond believes.

The way he put it-between intelligence professionals, that is

…"

"Is that what you are, Bernardo? I always wondered how you occupy your time in the Edificio Libertador."

"I'm in charge of security," Martin said. "I thought I told you. Making sure the fire extinguishers work, protecting

General San Martin's sword, that sort of thing."

"Are you a descendant of General San Martin, Bernardo?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"That gives you something in common with Don Cletus, doesn't it? He's a direct descendant of Pueyrredon, or so I'm told."

"I am not going to let you take us off at a tangent, Milton,"

Martin said. "Who's 'Galahad'?"

They locked eyes for a moment.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Leibermann said.

Martin nodded after a moment. "Pity," he said. "If you had known, and were willing to tell me, I was prepared to share with you the twenty thousand dollars Almond offered me for the name."

"That's a lot of money, twenty thousand dollars," Leiber mann said.

"Your half would come to ten thousand," Martin said.

"Hypothetically speaking, Bernardo: If I knew who this fellow Galahad is, and I told you, and you told Almond, and he gave you the money, what would you do with your ten thousand?"

"Buy a red Buick convertible."

"No, you wouldn't."

"You tell me."

"You would turn it in."

Martin shrugged but didn't argue.

"And hypothetically speaking, so would I," Leibermann said.

"So he made you the same offer?"

"He's never mentioned that name to me."

"Maybe because he knows you know the name and won't tell him," Martin said.

Leibermann shrugged but didn't argue.

"Galahad now makes me very curious," Martin said. "I think I should tell you that."

"Still speaking hypothetically, Bernardo: If there is such a person, I would be very surprised if he posed any threat to the Argentine republic."

"The problem is, Milton, I'm supposed to be the fellow who makes decisions about who is dangerous and who is not."

"I've found over the years that sometimes you just have to trust your friends, Bernardo."

Their eyes met.

"I could turn that on you, my friend," Martin said. "And tell you that it is now your turn to trust this friend."

"I hope you don't," Leibermann said.

"All right, I won't. But my curiosity is still very active."

"I understand," Leibermann said. "And I hope you will understand that I hope your curiosity will go unsatisfied."

"Why would you hope that? If this man poses no threat to

Argentina, why would it matter if I had a name?"

"Let's go hypothetical again, Bernardo. If there were such a person, and Cletus Frade were the intelligence officer you mistakenly believe him to be, why wouldn't his name already be known to Almond?"

"Because Frade doesn't entirely trust the OSS?"


"The what? What's the OSS?"

Martin chuckled and shook his head.

"It could be, if all these hypotheticals were true, that Don

Cletus doesn't trust Almond, or the people he works for, to keep a secret. And that divulgence of that secret to the wrong people-intentionally or inadvertently-would probably see not only Galahad, but many other people, innocent people, killed."

Martin looked at Leibermann for a long moment. "Have you heard anything else of interest lately?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Not a thing, I'm afraid. And you?"

Martin shook his head. Then he stood up.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Milton," he said.

"Likewise, Bernardo. Tell me, have you been to the zoo lately?"

"No, but one of these days I'm going to have to go."

He put his hand out to Leibermann, shook it, and walked back through the Caf6 Tortoni to Avenida de Mayo.

[ FIVE ]

The Office of the Foreign Minister

Berlin

1410 25 May 1943

Parteileiter Martin Bormann was the first to arrive, in reply to a telephone call from Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop.

"What's this all about?" he demanded brusquely.

"Something has come up in connection with Operation

Phoenix that requires an immediate decision. From every one," von Ribbentrop said, and then, just a shade sarcasti cally, "Good afternoon, Martin. You're looking well."

"I left an important meeting to come here," Bormann said.

"If I was rude, I apologize. Others are coming?"

"The Reichsprotektor and Admiral Canaris," von Ribbentrop said. "Keitel and Donitz are at Wolfsshanze."


"What has come up? Or would you rather wait until the others get here?"

Von Ribbentrop handed him several sheets of paper.

"Would you like a coffee, Martin, while we're waiting for the others?"

"Coffee? No," Bormann replied, then, "This came in two days ago?"

"It came in ten minutes before I called you. There was some bomb damage to communications, the cryptographic facility. Everything was delayed. You don't want coffee?"

"No, thank you," Bormann said, and resumed reading the message.

Von Ribbentrop summoned his secretary and asked her to bring him a coffee and to make sure there would be coffee for the others when they arrived.

"Jawohl, Excellency," his secretary said, and added:

"Excellency, Admiral Canaris called, and said that he cannot make this meeting; he is sending Fregattenkapitan von und zu Waching and Korvettenkapitan Boltitz to represent him."

Bormann looked up from the message. "Canaris is obvi ously smarter than I am. What is this thing, anyway?

"Once you finish it, Martin, I believe it will all be clear," von Ribbentrop said.

Bormann snorted and resumed reading.

CLASSIFICATION: MOST URGENT



CONFIDENTIALITY: MOST SECRET



DATE: 22 MAY 1943 1645 BUENOS AIRES



TIME



FROM: AMBASSADOR, BUENOS AIRES



TO: IMMEDIATE AND PERSONAL ATTENTION



OF THE FOREIGN MINISTER OF THE GERMAN



REICH



HEIL HITLER!



MY DEAR HERR VON RIBBENTROP.



FOLLOWING IS A REPORT OF AN AUDIENCE WITH



THE MINISTER OF LABOR OF THE REPUBLIC



OF ARGENTINA, OBERST JUAN DOMINGO PERON



(PERON), HELD AT PERON'S INVITATION 22



MAY 1943 IN A PRIVATE DINING ROOM OF THE



OFFICERS' CLUB ON PLAZA SAN MARTIN.



PRESENT WERE THE AMBASSADOR OF THE REICH



TO THE ARGENTINE REPUBLIC (LUTZEN) AND



GENERALMAJOR MANFRED RITTER VON



DEITZBERG (DEITZ).



PERON ON 20 MAY 1943 PERSONALLY



TELEPHONED LUTZEN AND DEITZ AND SAID



THERE WAS A MATTER OF GREAT PERSONAL



IMPORTANCE TO HIM HE WISHED TO DISCUSS



WITH US AT LUNCHEON AT OUR EARLIEST



CONVENIENCE, IN THE HOPE THAT THE GERMAN



EMBASSY AND OFFICER CORPS WOULD BE



WILLING TO HELP IN THE RESOLUTION OF THE



PROBLEM.


BOTH LUTZEN AND DEITZ, WITHOUT PRIOR



CONSULTATION WITH EACH OTHER, IMMEDIATELY



ACCEPTED PERON'S INVITATION, AND INFORMED



PERON THEY WOULD BE AVAILABLE AT HIS



CONVENIENCE. PERON SUGGESTED 1330 HOURS



22 MAY AT THE OFFICERS' CLUB.



PERON IMMEDIATELY BROUGHT THE PROBLEM TO



OUR ATTENTION, BY INFORMING US OF THE



PROBLEM, AND WHAT ASSIS TANCE HE SOUGHT FROM US IN ITS RESO LUTION.



SPECIFICALLY, MAJOR HANS-PETER VON



WACHTSTEIN (HANS) HAS IMPREGNATED



SENORITA ALICIA CARZINO-CORMANO (ALI CIA). HER CONDITION AT THIS TIME IS



KNOWN ONLY TO HER PRIEST, THE REV.



KURT WELNER, S.J. (JESUIT), AND



PERON. ALICIA IS ONE OF -TWO DAUGH TERS OF SENORA CLAUDIA CARZINO CORMANO (MOTHER) -.



HANS IS THE SON OF GENERALLEUTNANT



KARL FRIEDRICH VON WACHTSTEIN (OLD WACH) WHO SERVES ON THE STAFF OF THE



FUHRER.



PERON TOOK PAINS TO POINT OUT THE



CONNECTIONS OF THE PRINCIPALS. MOTHER



HAD A TWENTY-YEAR-LONG RELATIONSHIP



WITH THE LATE OBERST JORGE GUILLERMO



FRADE (OLDFRADE), WHOM PERON


CONSIDERS TO HAVE 'BEEN HIS BEST



FRIEND, AND WHO LOOKED ON THE GIRLS



AS HIS DAUGHTERS, AS, PERON SAID, HE



NOW DOES. MOTHER'S ELDEST DAUGHTER



ISABELA WAS AFFIANCED TO THE LATE



HAUPTMANN JORGE ALEJANDRO DUARTE,



ARGENTINE ARMY (JORGE), WHO FELL ON



THE FIELD OF BATTLE AT STALINGRAD



WHILE SERVING AS AN OBSERVER WITH



VON PAULUS' S ARMY AND WHOM THE



FUHRER IN THE NAME OF GERMAN REICH



POSTHUMOUSLY AWARDED THE KNIGHT'S



CROSS OF THE IRON CROSS.



JORGE WAS THE SON OF SENOR HUMBERTO



DUARTE (BANKER) AND HIS WIFE BEAT RICE (BANKER'S WIFE), WHO IS THE



SISTER OF THE LATE OLDFRADE.



HANS MET ALICIA IN CONNECTION WITH



HIS DUTIES IN RETURNING THE REMAINS



OF JORGE TO ARGENTINA. PERON WAS IN



BERLIN AT THE TIME HANS WAS BEING



PROPOSED FOR THE MISSION, AND



PERON'S APPROVAL OF HANS FOR THE DUTY



WAS SOUGHT, IF MEMORY SERVES, BY THE



HERR FOREIGN MINISTER HIMSELF.



WITH THE EXCEPTION OF OLDFRADE'S SON,



CLETUS HOWELL FRADE (YOUNG-FRADE),


WHO IS BELIEVED TO BE AN AGENT OF



THE AMERICAN OFFICE OF STRATEGIC



SERVICES, PERON FEELS THE ENTIRE



FAMILY IS VERY SYMPATHETIC TO THE



GERMAN CAUSE, OR AT THE WORST



NEUTRAL. IN PERON'S OPINION, ALTHOUGH



HE ASSURED US HE WILL DO HIS BEST TO



CONTROL YOUNGFRADE, YOUNGFRADE, WHO



FEELS AN ANIMOSITY TOWARD HANS, IS



CAPABLE OF TURNING PUBLIC OPINION,



AND MORE IMPORTANT, THAT OF THE



ARGENTINA OFFICER CORPS, AGAINST



HANS, AND THUS THE GERMAN OFFICER



CORPS AND THE GERMAN CAUSE ONCE HE



LEARNS OF ALICIA'S CONDITION, AND THE



IDENTITY OF THE FATHER.



IN VIEW OF THE FOREGOING, LUTZEN AND



DIETZ ARE FORCED TO AGREE WITH PERON



THAT THE MATTER IS MORE THAN THE



PRIVATE BUSINESS OF HANS AND ALICIA.



THAT IN FACT IT AFFECTS THE GOOD



RELATIONS PRESENTLY EXTANT BETWEEN



THE GERMAN REICH AND THE REPUBLIC'OF



ARGENTINA.



PERON IS AWARE THAT HANS IS IN GER MANY, AND BELIEVES HANS IS ASSISTING



IN THE INVESTIGATION OF THE DEATHS


OF OBERST GRUNER AND STANDARTEN FUHRER GOLTZ. IN THIS CONNECTION,



PERON TOLD US IN CONFIDENCE THAT HE



BELIEVES THE MURDERS WERE PERPETRATED



BY FORMER SUBORDINATES OF OLDFRADE,



ALTHOUGH HE HAS NO PROOF.



PERON REQUESTS THAT IF HANS CAN BE



SPARED FROM HIS DUTIES IN CONNECTION



WITH THE GRUNER/GOLTZ INVESTIGATION



THAT HE IMMEDIATELY BE RETURNED TO



HIS DUTIES IN ARGENTINA, HIS OBLIGA TIONS AS AN HONORABLE GERMAN OFFICER



BE MADE CLEAR TO HIM, POSSIBLY BY



OLDWACH, AND THAT HE ENTER INTO A



MARRIAGE WITH ALICIA.



ALTERNATIVELY, PERON SUGGESTS THE



POSSIBILITY OF ALICIA GOING TO GER MANY, THERE TO ENTER INTO MARRIAGE



WITH HANS.



DEITZ FEELS THAT INASMUCH AS HIS



INVESTIGATION OF HANS HERE HAS SHOWN



NO CONNECTION BETWEEN HANS AND THE



GRUNER/GOLTZ MURDERS, THE FIRST



REQUEST OF PERON SHOULD BE SERIOUSLY



CONSIDERED, FOR THE FOLLOWING REA SONS:

(1) PERON ALMOST CERTAINLY WILL BE



THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF ARGENTINA.



GRANTING HIS REQUEST WOULD BE PROOF



THAT THE GERMAN OFFICER CORPS DEEPLY


REGRETS THE UNFORTUNATE DEATH OF



OLDFRADE, AND IS WILLING TO MAKE



AMENDS IN ANY WAY IT CAN.



(2) THE MARRIAGE OF HANS TO ALICIA



WOULD BE A MAJOR SOCIAL EVENT IN



ARGENTINA AND REFLECT WELL ON GERMAN



INTERESTS.



(3) THE MARRIAGE OF HANS WOULD VERY



LIKELY BE USEFUL IN CONNECTION WITH



A CERTAIN PROJECT THAT HAS RECENTLY



UNDERGONE CERTAIN REVERSALS. BANKER



MIGHT VERY WELL BE USEFUL IN THIS



CONNECTION AS BANKER AND BANKER'S



WIFE HAVE BECOME INTIMATE FRIENDS OF



HANS.



(4) WHATEVER INFLUENCE YOUNGFRADE HAS



WITH ALL OTHERS WOULD BE GREATLY



DIMINISHED BY A MARRIAGE BETWEEN HANS



AND ALICIA.



(5) JESUIT HAS EXPRESSED CONCERN THAT



TRAVELING TO GERMANY WOULD SUBJECT



ALICIA TO SOME RISK TO HER PERSON AND



THE UNBORN CHILD.



LUTZEN CONSIDERS THAT EITHER OF



PERON'S REQUESTS BE GIVEN CONSIDERA TION AT THE HIGHEST LEVELS, AND FUR THER SUGGESTS THAT WHICHEVER SOLU TION IS DECIDED UPON BE ACTED UPON



AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.



RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED:

THE UNDERSIGNED PARTCIPATED IN THE



PREPARATION OF THE FOREGOING MESSAGE



AND CONCUR IN EVERY DETAIL.



MANFRED RITTER VON DEITZBERG



GENERALMAJOR, GENERAL STAFF, OKW



MANFRED ALOIS GRAF VON LUTZENBERGER



AMBASSADOR OF THE GERMAN REICH TO



THE REPUBLIC OF ARGENTINA



END MESSAGE



When Bormann raised his eyes from the message, he saw that Fregattenkapitan von und zu Waching and Korvet tenkapitan Boltitz had come into the office. He sighed, shrugged, and handed the cable to von und zu Waching.

Von und zu Waching had just finished reading the first page when Reichsprotektor Heinrich Himmler and SS Obersturmbannfiihrer Karl Cranz marched into the room.

"Heil Hitler!" Himmler barked, and he and Cranz gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute. The others returned it. The look on

Himmler's face suggested that he didn't think the salutes of von und zu Waching and Boltitz were up to standard.

"Well, Joachim, what's so important?" Himmler asked.

"There has been a cable from Buenos Aires," von Ribben trop said. "Von und zu Waching's reading it now."

Himmler looked at von und zu Waching, who handed him the page he had read. The look on Himmler's face suggested he thought he should have been handed the entire message, whether or not von und zu Waching was finished. Von und zu Waching passed the second two pages to Himmler one at a time. Himmler read them all before passing them to Cranz.

"You considered this important enough to have me come all the way over here, Joachim?"

"I based its importance, Joachim, on the importance your man von Deitzberg apparently places on it," von Ribbentrop replied.

Cranz finished reading the cable, started to hand it back to von Ribbentrop, then looked at Boltitz. "Have you read this,

Karl?"

Boltitz shook his head.

"Give it to him," Himmler ordered.

"The question seems to be simple," Bormann said.

"Would sending the fertile Major von Wachtstein back to

South America be a major contribution to Germany's good relations with Argentina, or would we be sending the fox back into the chicken coop?"

"I would substitute the phrase 'major contribution to the success of Operation Phoenix' for 'good relations,' " Von

Ribbentrop said.

"The question as I see it is whether we can trust young von Wachtstein," Himmler said. "Cranz?"

"Where is he now?" Bormann asked.

"In Augsburg," von und zu Waching said. "And in that connection, I think I should mention that General Galland telephoned to the Fiihrer asking that he be assigned to the

ME-262 project. And the Fuhrer approved."

"Damn!" Bormann said.

"Well, Cranz?" Himmler asked impatiently.

"Herr Reichsprotektor," Cranz said, "nothing that Korvet tenkapitan Boltitz and I found in our investigation suggests that von Wachtstein is anything but what he appears on the surface. A simple, courageous officer, who, when he can be pried from the arms of some female, executes his orders to the best of his ability. Would you agree, Boltitz?"

"Yes, Sir," Karl Boltitz said.

"What are you going to tell the Fuhrer, Joachim," Bor mann asked, "since he approved of Galland getting von Wachtstein?"

"I think I would agree with the Foreign Minister that the Fiihrer has too much on his mind as it is to trouble him with what we all,

I'm sure, consider an administrative matter," Himmler said.

"With all respect, Herr Reichsprotektor, I don't believe I have the authority to make a decision in this matter without the personal concurrence of Admiral Canaris."

"Well, then, damn it, the decision will be made without him," Bormann said.

"You go back there, Fregattenkapitan, and report to him the contents of this cable, and what we decided to do about it.

If he has any objections, he can tell von Ribbentrop or Himmler."

"Jawohl, Herr Partieleiter."

"When do you and the others go to Buenos Aires, Boltitz?" Himmler asked.

"Tomorrow night at half past seven from Templehof, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"Is that enough time to bring von Wachtstein here?"

"I'll have to start making the arrangements immediately, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"Well, then, may I suggest that you and the Fregattenkapitan get about your business?" Himmler said.

Von und zu Waching and Boltitz gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute.

"Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor," von und zu Waching said.

The two came to attention, clicked their heels, and marched out of the office.


[SIX]

Guest Room No. 1

Quarters of the General Officer Commanding

Luftwaffe Flughafen No. 103B

Augsburg, Germany

1820 25 May 1943

Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein jerked the sheet of paper from the

Olympia portable typewriter, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it angrily into a wastepaper basket.

What the hell! If I ever finish writing this-and it is goddamned difficult to write it in the first place, not mentioning having to write it knowing some goddamn Gestapo clerk is going to read it-it will probably be on the first Condor some Ami P-51 pilot will luck up on and shoot down over the Atlantic.

Well, shit, I have to write it. I'll give it another shot when I come back.

Or will I?

Will I write Alicia, or will I have a couple of drinks with Trudi, and then, principleless sex maniac that I am, bring her up here and fuck her ears off and put off the letter I have to write Alicia for one more day?

Goddamn it, I know what I'll do. I'll go to the hangar office and write it on one of their typewriters before I come here.

I will at least try to do that, as I will try not to fuck Trudi, and I will probably fail at both.

He looked at his US Army Air Corps-issue Hamilton chronograph, exhaled audibly, and stood up.

He was in his underwear. He put on a shirt and a sweater, then sheepskin high-altitude trousers and boots. He took the sheepskin jacket from a hanger, picked up the flight helmet, and left the room.

Oberstleutnant Friedrich Henderver was waiting for him in the living room.

"You look unhappy, Hansel," he said.


"No, Sir."

"I was about to go looking for you," Henderver said. "But I thought you might be entertaining Trudi."

"No, Sir."

"There are two schools of thought about that, you know,"

Henderver said as he picked up his sheepskin jacket and waved at the door. "One is that a little activity of that sort calms a man down and makes him a better pilot. The other is that one should neither drink nor fuck for at least twelve hours before flying, because it slows down the reflexes."

Peter laughed dutifully.

"Well, smile," Henderver said. "Trudi will be here, I'm sure, when we get back."

"Yes, Sir."

"Tonight we are going to combine more stick time for you with an experiment with droppable fuel tanks. Phrased simply, that means, presuming we can get the bitch off the ground with all that weight, we will go to seven thousand meters. If we haven't exhausted the auxiliary fuel getting up there, we will exhaust what's left and then jettison the tanks. If we run out of fuel on the way to seven thousand, we will jettison the tanks at that time. In either case, the tanks will crash through the roof of either an old people's home or a children's hospital."

"What I really like about you, Friedrich, is your cheerful way of looking at things."

Henderver laughed.

Thirty minutes later-just as he thought he was going to run out of runway-Peter finally felt life come into the con trols of the two-seater ME-262 and managed to lift it off.

The tanks were jettisoned as they reached 6,500 meters.

"Well, that seemed to work," Henderver said. "And here we are at altitude with nearly full main tanks."

"Which will now crash through the roof of an old people's home, right?"

"And give Herr Goebbels one more opportunity to pro vide photographic proof of the Amis murdering innocent

Germans," Henderver said.


General Galland was in the hangar when the doors closed and the lights went on.

Henderver and Peter climbed down from the cockpit of the ME-262. Both gave the General the military, rather than the Nazi, salute when they walked over to him.

"How did it go?" Galland asked.

"I don't want to know how much over maximum gross weight we were," Peter said. "I had a hell of a time getting it off the ground."

"We need better engines, General," Henderver said seri ously, and then added, in a lighter tone, "On the other hand, we got to a little over sixty-five hundred on the auxiliary fuel."

"Tell me, Hansel," Galland said. "If the Reichsprotektor,

Herr Himmler, asked you personally to trust him about something, would you?"

"Sir?"

"Watch yourself, Hansel, that's a trick question," Hen derver said.

"The bad news, Hansel, is that you're out of the ME-262 program…"

"Sir?"

"And-depending how you feel about Argentina-the good news is that you're going back over there."

"I don't understand, Sir."

"General, we need him," Henderver said.

"According to Herr Himmler, the Reich needs him more in Argentina," Galland said. "He wouldn't tell me why. He asked me to trust him, which translates to mean he would be happier if I didn't register outrage with the Fuhrer."

"I vote for registering outrage, General," Henderver said.

"So do I, Sir."

"Well, you're a nice guy, Hansel, and a good pilot, and this is going to break Trudi's heart, but this is one time I don't think I should get in a fight with our beloved Reich sprotektor."

Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry, Hansel," Galland said. "You know what it is.

They call it conservation of ammunition. I don't have that much left."


"I understand, Sir."

"There will be a Heinkel here in about an hour to fly you to Berlin. From the Fuhrer's personal fleet, I'm told. I had your stuff packed. That will give you time for a quickie with

Trudi."

"With the General's permission, and aware of the damage I might be causing to the reputation of Luftwaffe fighter pilots, I think I would rather have a drink with you and

Friedrich."

"OK, Hansel," Galland said. "We can do that here. I'll send my driver for your stuff and some Champagne."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I'm really sorry about this, Hansel," Galland said.

XIX


[ONE]

San Carlos de Bariloche

Rio Negro Province, Argentina

1320 29 May 1943

Don Cletus Frade turned the Lodestar on final, which put him over the incredibly clear and blue waters of Lake

Nahuel Huapi, with the village of Bariloche to his right and the Andes Mountains in the background. "Flaps, twenty per cent," he ordered.

Lieutenant Colonel Richard J. Almond, U.S. Army Air

Corps, reached for the flap control, moved it, and when the indicator showed twenty percent, called back: "Flaps at twenty."

Almond was in the right seat of the Lodestar, in civilian clothing except for his Air Corps A-2 leather flight jacket.

Frade was wearing his Marine-issued leather flight jacket, which differed from the Air Corps model in several details, including its fur collar. Almond's jacket had a leather collar.

Frade's jacket insignia still included a leather patch with- now faded-gold wings and the legend, "Frade, C. 1/LT

USMCR" stamped on it.

"Gear down," Frade ordered.

Colonel Almond reached for the wheel-shaped control and pushed it forward. When the green bulb indicating the gear was down appeared on the instrument panel, Almond reported: "Gear down and locked."

Cletus Frade reached for the throttle quadrant with his right hand.

"One twenty-five," Colonel Almond reported the airspeed, then turned and looked up at First Lieutenant Anthony C.

Pelosi, Corps of Engineers, Army of the United States, who was standing between them, supporting himself with one hand on the back of the pilot's chair and the other on the back of the copilot's seat.

"You want to go strap yourself in, Lieutenant?" Almond said, expressing what was actually an order in the form of a suggestion.

"Go fuck yourself," Lieutenant Pelosi responded and didn't move.

It took a moment for Colonel Almond to really compre hend what had just been said to him. But as they were about to land on a gravel strip in remote Argentina with a pilot at the controls who had no more than thirty hours' total time in this type of aircraft, this was not the time to do anything about even such an outrageously obscene refusal of an order from a superior.

"One ten," Almond called to Frade, then, "One hundred."

At ninety miles per hour indicated, Frade gently retarded the throttles and eased back a hair on the Lodestar's wheel, whereupon the airplane stopped flying and the wheels made a gentle contact with the ground. "Dump the flaps," he ordered as the Lodestar rolled down the gravel strip.

Colonel Almond adjusted the flaps. "Zero flaps," he reported. It was a gentle chastisement. The proper command

Frade should have given his copilot was "Zero Flaps" not

"Dump the flaps."


Frade slowed the aircraft to taxi speed long before they had reached the end of the gravel runway.

"Nice landing, Clete," Almond said, giving credit where credit was due.

Frade nodded. He stopped the Lodestar, turned it around on the runway, taxied back to the end of the runway, and then turned the airplane around again.

They were now ready to take off.

But instead of reaching for the throttle quadrant, Frade shut the left engine down, put the right on LOW IDLE, and applied the parking break.

"Get out of the aisle, Tony," Clete said as he unfastened his shoulder and lap harness:

"Yes, sir," Pelosi said.

Pelosi politely and respectfully says "Yes, sir" to Frade, and "Go fuck yourself" to me? That will cost you, Lieu tenant, just as soon as we get back to Buenos Aires. Who the hell do you think you are?

Almond had a second thought: Well, that just may give me the reason to get rid of him. He's entirely too close to Frade.

Remove a small problem before it causes large trouble.

All I have to do is report that obscene insubordination and say that he is obviously unsuitable for service here. And

Frade can't protect him; it would be his word against mine.

Almond followed Pelosi and Frade into the cabin and to the rear door. Captain Maxwell Ashton III, Signal Corps,

Army of the United States, and Trade's bodyguard, or what ever he was, the Argentine who followed him around like a puppy, carrying a shotgun, started to unfasten their seat belts as they passed.

This was the third time Almond had provided Frade with flight instruction in the Lodestar. The first two sessions, they had been alone (except for Frade's shadow) and the instruction had really been in basic aircraft handling. Loss of an engine immediately after takeoff, that sort of thing. They had used the El Palomar field for that, and had made perhaps thirty touch-and-go landings.

Frade was an apt pilot and had been a quick student. All he had needed was a little instruction.


For their third session, Frade asked for a cross-country flight. Almond had readily agreed. It would give him a chance to see the country from the air, something he didn't know how else he would manage. And when Frade sug gested they take Ashton and Pelosi, to give them a chance to see the country from the air, he agreed to that, too, and left notes for them in the boxes at the embassy, telling them to arrange their schedules so they would have two days free starting that Friday evening.

Pelosi had the door open by the time Frade reached it, and one by one everyone in the plane jumped to the ground.

It was piss-call time.

Frade tucked himself into his trousers and turned to smile at Almond. "Tell me, teacher, if that was an official check ride, would you have passed me?"

"Yes, Clete, I think I would," Almond said.

"In other words, you think I'm qualified to fly that bird all by my lonesome?"

"Well, I would recommend, of course, that you have a co pilot; but sure, you're qualified to be pilot-in-command."

"When you get back to the States, make sure you tell

Colonel Graham that," Clete said.

"Excuse me? Who?"

Clete didn't respond.

"Let me have your.45, Enrico," he said.

Enrico Rodriguez reached around, took what looked to

Almond like a Colt Model 1911A1.45 ACP pistol from the small of his back, and handed it butt-first to Clete.

What the hell is he doing?

Clete ejected the clip from the pistol, examined it, and put it back in place.

He was counting cartridges to make sure there wasn't one in the chamber and the pistol was safe. 1 wonder why he did that?

Colonel Almond erred. Clete had counted the cartridges remaining in the magazine-six-to be sure that the seventh was chambered in the pistol.

He pulled the hammer back, then looked around. He pointed to the side of the runway, where, twenty-five yards away, there was a makeshift runway marker, a large tin can painted yellow.

He raised the pistol and fired.

Even with the muted roar of the left engine, the unex pected sound was shocking. Almond's ears rang.

What the hell was that all about?

"My God, Clete!" Almond exclaimed.

The can came to rest. Clete fired again and the can jumped into the air again. It landed again, and Clete fired a third time, sending the can another ten yards across the field.

"That's all," Clete said. "My uncle Jim was always saying,

'Quit while you're ahead, Clete, quit while you're ahead!' "

Holding the pistol to his side, he looked at Almond and went on: "That's sound advice for you, you sonofabitch," he said. "I hope you're smart enough to take it."

"Excuse me? What the hell is going on here? If this is some sort of joke, I don't like it."

"When you get back to the States, Almond, you will tell

Colonel Graham, won't you, that you checked me out in this aircraft?"

"Who the hell is Colonel Graham?"

"This would be a very bad time for you to try to be clever with me, Almond," Clete said.

"Would you please move that pistol away from me?"

Almond said.

"I'm not pointing it at you," Clete said. "My uncle Jim taught me never to point a pistol at anyone I didn't intend to shoot. And I haven't really made up my mind whether I'm going to shoot you or not, or let you go to the States and have a little chat with Colonel Graham."

"I have no goddamn idea what you're talking about!"

Almond said, aware that his voice sounded a little hysterical.

"I never heard of a Colonel Graham!"

"Bullshit!" Lieutenant Pelosi said.

"He may be telling the truth," Clete said. "What the hell, it doesn't matter if he does or not. You, Captain Ashton, in your next communication with Colonel Graham, will report that both you and Lieutenant Pelosi were present when

Colonel Almond informed me that I was now qualified to fly the Lodestar."


"Yes, Sir," Ashton said.

"But I think you should tell him that conversation took place at El Palomar, not here. That's not the truth, but we're in the intelligence business, and we can be cut a little slack."

"Yes, Sir," Ashton repeated.

"Who do you work for, Almond?" Clete asked. "And remember that you're an officer and a gentleman, and offi cers and gentlemen don't lie."

"I'm assigned to the Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence, G-2, in the War Department."

"And they sent you down here to ask questions about

Galahad?"

Almond didn't reply.

"Yes or no, Colonel," Clete said. "And I think you should understand that if I think you're lying to me, I probably will decide to shoot you."

"Yes," Almond said faintly, and added: "Yes, that is one of my missions."

"Thank you," Clete said. "I really don't like to kill people unless I have to."

"You were pretty dumb, Colonel, to ask Ashton and me about Galahad, and really stupid to ask Coronel Martin,"

Tony Pelosi said.

"The thing is, Almond, Galahad is critical to an operation

I'm running here," Clete said. "I don't want his identity known to G-2, or the Bureau of Internal Security, or anyone else."

"Those were my orders, Major Frade," Almond said. "You can hardly fault me for trying to carry them out."

"When they interfere with my operation, I can," Clete said. "Nothing personal."

"I'm glad you understand," Almond said. "Frade, we could have talked about this. You didn't have to go through that melodramatic business with the pistol."

Clete raised the pistol slightly and fired again. The bullet struck a rock two feet to Almond's side and went into a screaming ricochet.

"Mother of God!" Almond almost shrieked. "You're crazy!"

"Do I have your attention now, Colonel?" Clete asked.


Almond stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Here's the rules. You stop asking questions about Gala had. If you do, I will find out, and I will either kill you myself or have you killed."

"Do you realize what you're saying, Major?"

"Yes, I do. If you ever appear anywhere near my estancia, or my homes in Buenos Aires, you will be shot on sight. Or, anyway, killed. People here like to use knives."

"Well, then, you better kill me right here and now,"

Almond said. "Because if you don't, I intend to make a full report of this incident."

"I expect you to," Clete said. "But you'd better con sider-and you will have time to think it over in the next couple of days-what you're going to say in your report."

"What I would do, Almond," Ashton said, "if I were in your shoes, would be one of two things. I would report that you compromised your mission here-that you blew it, in other words-and that not only do you feel you can do no more good here, but that you have received death threats-"

"You heard those death threats, Captain, if I have to remind you of that!"

"I didn't hear any death threats," Ashton said. "Did you hear any death threats, Lieutenant Pelosi?"

"No, Sir."

"If I may continue, Colonel," Ashton said. "Or you can stay here, enjoy the good life, and forget you ever heard

'Galahad.' "

"I think you should shoot him, Senor Clete," Enrico

Rodriguez said. "Or let me. I don't trust him."

"You can shoot him the first time you see him near

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, or anywhere near the houses in Buenos Aires," Clete said. "I really don't want to kill him unless I have to."

He turned to Almond. "I really don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to. And for something else to think about in the next couple of days: If I have to, the Argentine government will consider that I've done them a favor."

"What is this 'next couple of days' business? Is that some sort of ultimatum?"


"I think it will take you at least a couple of days to get back to Buenos Aires," Clete said. "Would you give me your wallet, please?"

"What?"

"Your wallet, Almond," Clete said. "It'll be returned to you in Buenos Aires."

"You're not going to leave me here!"

"Yes, I am," Clete said. "Enrico, get his wallet. And make sure he has no other identification on him."

"Si, Senor."

"When we get home, mail his stuff to him at the embassy," Clete ordered.

"Sir," Ashton said. "I could just leave it on his desk at the embassy."

"Better yet," Clete said.

Enrico professionally searched Almond, and took his money, his diplomatic carnet, his diplomatic passport, and his keys.

"Give them to Captain Ashton, please," Clete said.

"Si, Senor."

When he had finished, Clete handed him the pistol. "Careful, there's still one in the chamber," he said.

Enrico carefully lowered the hammer, then ejected the magazine and refilled it before replacing it.

"Now march the Colonel over there," Clete said, pointing to the end of the runway threshold. "When I have the other engine running, leave him there and get on the airplane. If he does anything suspicious, you can shoot him in the foot, but you are not to kill him. Understand?"

"Si, Senor."

"Ashton, you want to ride up front with me and work the controls?"

"Yes, sir."

Clete climbed into the Lodestar, followed by Ashton and

Pelosi. It took him less than a minute to strap himself in and restart the left engine. Sixty seconds later, Enrico climbed aboard and closed the door. Thirty seconds after that, the

Lodestar reached takeoff velocity and Clete lifted it into the air. "Wheels up," he ordered.


"Wheels up and locked," Ashton reported twenty seconds later.

On the ground, Lieutenant Colonel Richard J. Almond,

U.S. Army Air Corps, watched in disbelief as the Lodestar climbed smoothly out over the bright blue waters of Lake

Nahuel Huapi.

Christ, I don't even know where that village is!

And then, surprising himself, he was suddenly very nau seous.

[ TWO ]

El Palomar Airfield

Buenos Aires 1905 29

May 1943

When Cletus Frade turned the Lodestar on final, he saw'that the runway lights had not only been turned on but that he was going to need them. "Shit!" he said, then ordered, "Gear down."

There came the sound of laboring hydraulics, then Captain

Maxwell Ashton's voice came metallically over the intercom: "Gear down and locked," he said. "Why 'shit'?

Have we reason for me to soil my undies?"

"What happened to your blind faith in my flying skill?"

Clete asked as he lined up with the runway lights.

"I fear that was a fleeting blind faith," Ashton said.

"Answer the fucking question, Cletus!"

"I'm not going to be able to fly this thing to Estancia San

Pedro y San Pablo tonight," he said.

The wheels chirped as the Lodestar touched down. Clete smoothly slowed the aircraft down.

"God, may I reconsider my rash promise never to sin again if I ever made it safely back to earth?" Ashton asked. "I was under a certain strain when I made the offer."

Clete picked up the microphone. "El Palomar. Lockheed

Zebra Eight Four Three on the deck at five past the hour. I will need parking instructions to remain overnight and fuel service, please."

"Eight Four Three, take taxiway Two Right, make a right turn on the tarmac, and park your aircraft in front of the ter minal."

"Taxiway Two Right, right on the tarmac to the terminal."

"Correct, Eight Four Three."

"Muchos gracias, amigo," Clete said, and hung up the microphone.

Ground handlers were waiting in front of the terminal to help him park the Lodestar. He shut it down and climbed out of the pilot's seat. "Permit me to say, Captain Ashton, that in all of my vast experience flying Lodestar aircraft, I have never met someone who could handle the flaps and gear controls with such skill and elan as you showed," Clete said.

"I hate to remember that I was a passenger the first time you flew this great big sonofabitch," Ashton said.

"I think it was the second time I flew it, not the first," Clete said, and walked into the cabin. "Enrico, find a phone some place, call the house on Avenida Coronel Diaz, and have someone drive a car out here. Is Senora Dorotea's Buick there?"

"Si, Senor Clete."

"Then have them bring the Buick."

"Clete, I can drive you into town, my car's here," Tony

Pelosi said.

"I want to go around town, not into it," Clete said. "But thank you."

"Are we going to do an after-action, boss?" Ashton asked.

"You mean did our theatrics properly impress Almond?"

"Yeah."

"I think so. It went well, I think. I thought he was going to piss his pants when I shot next to him."

"A completely understandable reaction, I would say,"

Ashton said.

"I hope it went well," Clete said thoughtfully. "I really don't want to have to kill him."

"Are you prepared to?" Ashton asked, very seriously.

Clete met his eyes, then nodded.


"Sometimes, despite the unkind things Colonel Graham said to you, I think you really are suited for this line of work," Ashton said.

"I'm almost sorry Almond doesn't know Graham," Clete said, not responding to the comment. "And I agree with

Tony, I don't think he's even heard his name. I thought it would be sort of funny if Almond told him he had checked me out in the Lodestar."

He walked the rest of the way down the aisle, opened the door, and jumped to the ground.

"Welcome to Buenos Aires, my friend," Coronel

Bernardo Martin said, stepping out of the shadows. "I was getting a little worried about you."

"I'm touched, but why should you be worried?"

"You left Posadas Airfield at half past eleven this morn ing, and no one's seen you since."

"Well, it's a long way from Missiones Province, mi Coro nel."

Ashton jumped to the ground, then Pelosi.

"You remember these gentlemen, I'm sure," Clete said.

Martin saluted, and Ashton and Tony returned it some what awkwardly.

"We don't salute when we're in civilian clothing," Clete said.

"Really? I wonder why not? I don't think that people stop being officers when they put on civilian clothing, do you?"

Enrico jumped to the ground, saw Martin, and saluted.

"You see?" Martin asked, chuckling. "Enrico under stands."

"Unless you'd rather stand around here chewing the fat with Coronel Martin, why don't you guys take off?" Clete said. "Call me when you hear something."

"Yes, Sir," Tony said.

"I see Lieutenant Pelosi isn't the only one who can't seem to remember you're no longer an officer," Martin said.

"For which I will order him tarred and feathered," Clete said.

"You're not going into town with them?" Martin asked.


"I have to tie the airplane down, and then see that it's fueled," Clete said. "That'll take thirty minutes. There's no point in them waiting around."

"Then good evening, gentlemen," Martin said. "It's always a pleasure to encounter members of our diplomatic corps, and I'm glad that my fears about your welfare were groundless."

"They were probably intuitive, mi Coronel," Ashton said.

"After flying with Senor Frade, I am always tempted to kiss the ground when we finally get back on it."

Martin laughed dutifully, and offered his hand to each of them.

"Go find a phone, Enrico," Clete ordered when they had gone.

"May I ask why?" Martin asked.

"To get us a car to drive to the estancia," Clete said. "My wife's car is at the Coronel Diaz house."

"I'll be happy to drive you to Coronel Dfaz. My car is here."

"Thank you, but no thank you," Clete said. "I wouldn't want you to waste your valuable time waiting for me here."

"I insist, my friend," Martin said, smiling.

Clete met his eyes and then shrugged.

"In that case, how would you like to help me tie down the airplane?"

"I would be delighted," Martin said.

"Manuel, this is Senor Frade, and the gentleman sitting beside you is Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez, Retired," Martin said when they were in the blue Dodge.

"I'm happy to meet you, Manuel," Clete said. "Even if I suspect that you're more than el Coronel's driver."

"In a very real sense, Cletus," Martin said. "Manuel is to me what Enrico is to you. Where I go, he goes, and he knows that what he hears or sees goes no further than I tell him it should."

Clete was watching Lascano's face in the rearview mirror. It flushed with pride.


"If he's half as good at that as Enrico," Clete said, "then I would say you are fortunate to have him as a friend,

Bernardo."

"I think so," Martin said. "So tell me, Cletus, do you see much of our mutual friend Coronel Almond?"

"No, can't say that I do."

"He's looking for someone called Galahad," Martin said.

"Who?"

"I thought that was perhaps the reason for your tour of

Argentina today, Cletus. That you were assisting the Colonel and Major Ashton and Lieutenant Pelosi in trying to find

Senor Galahad."

"Bernardo, you couldn't be'more wrong," Clete said.

"A man bearing a striking resemblance to Coronel

Almond was reported getting on your airplane at El Palomar this morning."

"Is that so? I can't imagine why. Maybe your… friend… mistook Captain Ashton for Coronel Almond."

Martin smiled. Almond was tall and thin with very fair skin. Ashton was short, dark-skinned, and obviously Latin.

"I suppose that's possible," Martin said.

"You're looking for Colonel Almond, are you, Bernardo?

Why?"

"Actually, it's Mr. Galahad who's piqued my curiosity. Do you know him, by any chance, Cletus?"

"Never heard the name."

"I thought you might have been looking for him in Cor doba or Posadas."

"My, you have been keeping track of me, haven't you?"

"I thought perhaps you were headed for Montevideo again, despite what I took to be our understanding that you wouldn't do that without passing through immigration."

"I wouldn't do that," Clete said. "Not only would that be illegal, but it would violate our understanding."

"And what were you doing in Cordoba and Posadas, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm thinking of starting an airline. I wanted to take a look at the airfields around the country. Captain Ashton went with me to help me with the controls. And to get a look at the land. He's an assistant military attache, you know, and they like to learn as much about the host country as they can."

"So I've heard," Martin said. "And I don't think you found

Galahad in Bariloche, either?"

"I don't even know who your Senor Galahad is, as I've told you, Bernardo."

"And you weren't in Bariloche, either?"

"San Carlos de Bariloche? I didn't even know they had an airfield."

"Just a simple gravel strip," Martin said. "No terminal.

Very few people even know it's there. But you have experi ence in flying into simple airfields that very few people know about, don't you?"

"A little."

"Well, in my simple way, I've just been trying to put things together," Martin said.

"What things?"

"I had a most interesting report from the Gendarmeria

Nacional in Bariloche several hours ago. A man walked into town from the direction of the airstrip, went to the Gen darmeria, identified himself as Colonel Almond, said he had lost his diplomatic carnet and his passport, and requested assistance."

"Was it your friend Colonel Almond?"

"Yes, it was. I spoke with him on the telephone. He was not willing to tell me how he'd gotten to Bariloche, or how he'd lost his identification."

"I wonder what he was doing in Bariloche?" Clete asked.

"I thought maybe he might be looking for Senor Gala had," Martin said. "And I thought maybe you dropped him off in Bariloche while you were flying around the country."

"Why would you think that?"

"A large red airplane was seen flying over Lake Nahuel

Huapi," Martin said. "In the belief that it might be landing, the Gendarmeria lieutenant drove to the airstrip. But there was no red airplane when he got there. He said he thought he saw a man who could have been Coronel Almond standing at the end of the runway, but he wasn't sure."

"I wonder who that could have been?" Clete asked.


"What I'm wondering is how Colonel Almond got to Bar iloche. There are only two buses a day, and he wasn't on either of them."

"Gee, that is puzzling, isn't it? Did you ask Colonel

Almond?"

"He did not wish to discuss the matter. He claimed the privileges of his diplomatic immunity."

"That wasn't very cooperative of him, was it?"

"I thought it was very uncooperative," Martin said. He exhaled audibly and shrugged. "Cletus, my friend, we're getting close to your house. Can we stop fencing?"

"Is that what we've been doing?"

"I have the feeling that you don't want Colonel Almond to find Galahad. True or false?"

"If I start answering questions, do I get to ask questions?"

"Within reason."

"Then I will answer questions within reason. First answer, true. You now owe me one."

"Does Coronel Juan Domingo Peron know the identity of

Galahad?"

"I'm sure he doesn't. Now you owe me two."

"Would you like Peron to know his identity?"

"I'll take my first question now," Clete said. "Why did you ask that question?"

"Peron asked the German ambassador for his help in getting someone back here from Germany. I thought it might be

Galahad."

"Got a name?"

"The German pilot Major von Wachtstein. That's your two questions."

"Alicia Carzino-Cormano is in the family way. Von

Wachtstein is the father."

"That's the truth?"

"Does that count as a question?"

"A small question."

"That's the truth. I got that from my wife, who said Peron is

'taking care of things.' I am not supposed to know either about the baby or Peron."

"OK."


"If I asked how you got von Wachtstein's name, would that be a small question?"

"It would be a very large question, which I can't answer."

"If I were in the intelligence business, I really would like to have someone in the Germany Embassy."

Martin chuckled.

"You know who Almond's looking for, don't you?"

"That would be a big answer, worth a big question from me."

"Agreed."

"Yeah, I know who he is. Will I give it to you? No. So don't ask."

"You don't want me to know, and you don't want Almond to know, and you don't want Peron to know."

"If that's a question, yes."

"It was a statement, but I'll give you a question."

"I'll swap all my questions for one favor," Clete said.

"I'll listen to the proposal."

"If you find out who Galahad is, would you tell me before you tell anyone else?"

"Why would you want me to tell you?"

"I'll throw that question in with the others," Clete said.

"Because at that time, I could tell you things I think would color whatever decisions you had to make."

"OK," Martin said. "I make no promises beyond telling you before I do anything with Galahad's identity."

"Deal. We're now even."

"I'll give you an answer without a question. Almond offered me twenty thousand dollars for Galahad's identity."

"I know," Clete said.

"Senor," Sargento Lascano said. "We are at Senor Frade's home. Shall I drive around the block?"

"No, just pull up in front," Martin ordered. He put out his hand to Cletus. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Don Cle tus."

"And you, Bernardo."

"One more question," Martin said. "If for some reason- suspicious behavior, for example, like his mysterious appearance in San Carlos de Bariloche-Colonel

Almond was determined to be persona non grata, would that please you?"

Clete hesitated a moment before saying, "No." "Because they would send someone with the same mission?" Clete nodded, and opened the car's door.

[THREE]

La Case Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

2205 29 May 1943

Senora Dorotea Mallin de Frade was in the small sitting, knitting blue baby booties-she was convinced she was car rying a boy-when she heard the wheels of an auto crunching the gravel on the driveway.

This was followed by the slam of an automobile door, which made her suspect that it was her husband. He had never learned to close a door. He always slammed automobile doors as if he hated the cars they were attached to.

She rose from the chair in anticipation of having a word with her husband.

In a moment, the door to the small sitting opened.

Don Cletus Frade's heart swelled when he saw his wife, the picture of a young mother-to-be, actually knitting what ever they called those things they put on baby's feet. "Hey, precious," he said emotionally.

"You bah-stud," Dorotea said with precise English pro nunciation. "You miserable bah-stud!"

"It was too dark to fly it back here. We had to drive."

"You left here, you bah-stud, at the crack of dawn, telling me you were going to get a few hours' instruction in the

Lodestar. You did not tell me, you bah-stud, that you were going to fly the plane alone to Buenos Aires to get that instruction. You implied that Colonel Whatsisname was here."

"I said nothing of the kind."

"I quote you, Cletus Frade. A few hours from whenever the hell you got out of bed in the middle of the night-"

"It was after six. It was light."

"From after six, if you insist, a few hours translates to ten or eleven o'clock in the morning. I had luncheon prepared. You didn't arrive. I called El Palomar, where a very nice man at the petrol place told me that you had been there about seven, picked up Colonel Almond and Tony and Maxwell Ashton, and taken off about seven-thirty."

"Correct."

"You promised me you would not fly the aircraft by yourself until you were qualified to do so."

"That will never happen again, I promise you," Clete said.

"Why do I detect more deception in your tone of voice?"

"You're suspicious by nature?"

"You bah-stud!" she said, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

He smiled at her.

"Cletus, I have been sitting here the entire afternoon and the entire evening, knitting these damned booties, with visions of you crashed somewhere. Where the hell have you been?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh, yes, I do!"

The telephone rang. Clete moved toward it.

"No. you don't! Someone will answer it. Where were you,

Cletus?"

"All over the country," he said.

"Specifically."

"Posadas, Cordoba, and Bariloche."

"My God!" Dorotea said. "I didn't know there was an air field at Bariloche. Damn it, Cletus, couldn't you have learned how to fly that aircraft without flying all over

Argentina? Is that why you lied to me, because you knew I would beg you not to?"


He saw the anger was gone, replaced by sadness.

"Baby…" Confirmation came when he saw tears form in her eyes.

"My God, you're about to be a father! Doesn't that mean anything to you at all?"

"I had a reason," he said. "I don't think you want to know what it was."

"Our understanding, Cletus, was that you were to share everything with me."

"I was dealing with Almond," Clete said. "He was sent down here to find out Galahad's identity."

"Sent by whom?

There was a knock at the door, and Antonio entered without knocking. Dorotea quickly turned away so that he would not see her tears. "I beg pardon, Don Cletus, but el Coronel

Peron is on the line, and says it is very important."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I saw you drive up, Senor."

Clete walked to the telephone and picked it up. "Tio Juan, how are you?"

"I have just learned from friends of mine that a friend of ours, as we speak, is on his way back to Argentina," Peron said. "I thought you would like to know as soon as possible."

"Jesus Christ, that's good news!"

"I can only hope that it will alter the opinion you hold of my friends," Peron said.

"Sure," Clete said.

"I thought perhaps Dorotea might wish to tell Alicia. I have not called Estancia Santo Catalina."

"I'm sure she would. You're very thoughtful, Tio Juan.

And I'm grateful."

"We're family, Cletus. I could do no less."

"Well, I'm truly grateful."

"As soon as I have further details, I'll pass them on."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Cletus," Peron said sonorously, and the line went dead.

"You're truly grateful about what?" Dorotea demanded.


"He came through," Clete said. " 'As we speak,' Peter's on his way to Argentina." "Thank God!"

"You better get on the phone to Alicia. Or maybe drive over there in the morning."

"We'll drive over there tonight. I want to be there when

Claudia finds out."

"I'd rather go in the Buick, if you don't mind."

"It's about out of gas," Clete said, and held open the door of the Horch for her to get in. He was just about to drive out of the garage when Enrico appeared, carrying the Browning shotgun.

Dorotea didn't seem at all surprised to see him, didn't protest, and then waited until they were on the macadam road through the pampas before picking up their original conversation precisely where it had been cut off: "You were telling me Colonel Almond was sent down here to identify

Peter… Galahad. By whom?"

Clete exhaled, and decided this was as good a time as any to get it over with. "I originally suspected the OSS, but he says it was the G-2. That's Army intelligence, and I think he was telling the truth."

"He told you this?"

"At the time, I had a pistol in my hand and had just let off a round two feet away from him."

"You threatened to kill him?" Dorotea asked matter-of factly.

He nodded.

"Did he believe you?"

"I hope so. Otherwise I will have to kill him."

"You should have told me before," she said. "Then I wouldn't have worried myself sick all afternoon and evening."

"I'm sorry about that, baby."

"Enrico, do you think that man, Colonel Almond, believes

Senor Clete will do what he said?" "Si, Dona Dorotea."


"Well, then, it's been a good day all around, hasn't it?"

Dorotea said.

"We still have Claudia to face," Clete said.

"That's right, and for God's sake, darling, let me handle that!"

"Yes, dear."

Dona Claudia Carzino-Cormano received Senor and Senora

Frade in her dressing gown, explaining that their very wel come visit was unexpected, and that she had decided to retire early.

Then she looked at them expectantly.

Alicia, also in her dressing gown, came into the room looking very frightened.

"You should have stayed in bed," Claudia said, and turned to Clete and Dorotea. "She's got some sort of influenza. This morning she was nauseous."

"Mother, for God's sake."

"Alicia," Clete said. "Peter's on his way to Argentina.''

"Oh, thank God!" Alicia said, and started to weep.

"Exactly what is going on around here?" Claudia demanded suspiciously. "I'm pleased to hear that Peter's coming back, but couldn't you have telephoned the news?

Or wouldn't it have waited until morning?"

"Tia Claudia, there's something Alicia's been trying to find a way to tell you," Dorotea said.

[ FOUR]

El Palomar Airfield

Buenos Aires 1640 30

May 1943

Clete was sitting in the cockpit of the Lodestar. One of the two speakers of his headset was on one ear, allowing him to listen to radio traffic; the other ear was free, so he could con verse with the student sitting in the right seat.

He was functioning as an Instructor Pilot, and loving the role, because his student was not only attentive and an obvi ously quick learner, but absolutely adorable as well.

And then he heard what he was waiting to hear: "El Palo mar, Lufthansa Six Two Nine."

"Darling, put your cans on," Clete ordered.

" 'Cans'?" Dorotea parroted, obviously amused at the term; but she put the earphones quickly over her head. Her husband thought her expression was priceless.

"Lufthansa Six Two Nine, this is El Palomar."

"El Palomar, Lufthansa Six Two Nine is at two thousand meters sixty kilometers south of you, over the River Plate.

Request approach and landing instructions."

"Lufthansa Six Two Nine, El Palomar. Permission to approach El Palomar on present course is granted. Descend to one thousand meters. Report when twenty kilometers from the field."

"El Palomar Six Two Nine. Understand and will comply.

Beginning descent at this time."

Two minutes later, Lufthansa Six Two Nine called again.

"El Palomar, Six Two Nine. At one thousand meters. Due north. Indicating four hundred kilometers. Estimate maybe twenty-five kilometers from your station."

"Six Two Nine, Palomar, continue your approach," the tower said.

"Oh, shit!" Don Cletus Frade said.

Dorotea looked at him with concern. He pointed out the cockpit window.

El Coronel Bernardo Martin and Manuel Lascano were walking across the tarmac toward them. Both were in uni form. Leica 35-mm cameras hung from their necks.

Enrico put his head in the cockpit. "Senor Clete…"

"I saw them."

"What do I do?"

"Open the door and smile," Clete said. "What else can we do?"

"Si, Senor," Enrico said, and turned and went into the pas senger compartment.

A minute later, Martin put his head into the cockpit.

"Seniora Frade," he said, "how delightful to see you."

"Mi Coronel," Dorotea said. "Since we're going to be friends, why don't you call me Dorotea?"

"I would be greatly honored to do so, Dorotea," Martin said. "My Christian name is Bernardo."

"And what brings you to El Palomar, mi Coronel?"

"I would be honored if you would also use my Christian name, Don Cletus."

"And I would be pleased if you called me Clete, without the Don, Bernardo," Clete said. "You didn't answer my question."

"Lufthansa Six Two Nine," Clete heard over his ear phones, "you are cleared to land on Runway One Eight.

There is no other traffic. The winds are from the north gust ing to thirty kilometers."

"Understand, One Eight. Winds north gusting to thirty. I have the runway in sight."

"I would hazard the guess that I'm here for the same reason you are, Clete," Martin said, and knelt, and then pointed out the side cockpit window. Lufthansa Six Two Nine had its wheels down and was making its final approach to El

Palomar.

"Good-looking bird, isn't it?" Clete asked.

"Beautiful," Martin agreed. "For my general fund of avia tion knowledge, which is faster, this or the Condor?"

"I think I'm a little faster," Clete said.

"I hope you won't mind," Martin said, "but I asked the authorities to have him park his machine to your right."

"Why should I mind?"

"I thought it would give us a chance to see who's getting off, without appearing too obvious," Martin said.

And make a few snapshots for the family scrapbook, right?

"I'm sure you will be both be delighted to see Major von

Wachtstein again," Martin said. "I just wonder which of you is more delighted."

"You think he'll be on that plane?" Clete asked innocently.

"Well, we'll see in a minute, won't we?" Martin asked, and went into the cabin.


"How did he know that?" Dorotea asked.

"He has someone in the German Embassy."

"Do you think he knows about Peter?"

"I think he suspects."

"And if he finds out for sure?"

Clete held his hands up in a gesture of helplessness.

Ground handlers and customs and immigration officers marched across the tarmac. A moment later, Ambassador von Lutzenberger and Generalmajor von Deitzberg, both in civilian clothing, came out of the terminal and walked quickly after them.

"That's Ambassador von Lutzenberger," Dorotea said.

"The other one is von Deitzberg, who is an SS officer pre tending to be a soldier."

"How do you know that?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, Clete decided. "Martin gave a picture to Leibermann. Leibermann made a copy for me."

"Is Martin on our side?"

"Martin is on Argentina's side. And I suspect that he is just as adept at getting cozy with the Krauts as he is with me."

The Condor taxied onto the tarmac and the pilot skillfully parked it beside the Lodestar. The cockpits were separated by the length of the right wing of the Lodestar and the left of the Condor.

The pilot of the Condor looked down with shameless curiosity at the blonde sitting in the copilot's seat of the

Lodestar with earphones over her soft blond hair.

Stairs were wheeled up to the door of the Condor as it opened. The delegation of Argentine officials climbed them and entered the aircraft.

A moment later, a plump man got off.

"Gradny-Sawz," Clete said.

"I know."

"That's von Tresmarck," Clete said as a second man appeared in the door. "He's from Montevideo, where he runs the ransom operation. He's queer."

"Really?" Dorotea replied, then: "Oh, there's Peter!

Thank God!"

Peter, who was in uniform, glanced at the Lodestar.


For Christ's sake, Peter, don't wave!

He was followed by a man in a German naval officer's uniform. He followed Peter down the stairs, where they both gave von Lutzenberger and von Deitzberg stiff-armed Nazi salutes, shook their hands, and then followed them across the tarmac to the terminal building.

"Who was he?" Dorotea asked.

"I never saw him before," Clete said. From a nearly for gotten portion of his brain, information he thought he would never have to use popped to the top. "He's a Korvet tenkapitan."

"A what?"

"It's the same rank as lieutenant commander. The equivalent of major."

"Nice-looking man," she said.

"He's a goddamned Nazi," Clete snapped.

"Cletus, you're jealous!"

A moment later, other passengers began to leave the air plane.

Four or five minutes later, Martin appeared in the cockpit again.

Apparently he's satisfied that everyone who's going to get off is off.

"Thank you for your kind hospitality, Dorotea and Clete," he said.

"It's nothing, Bernardo," Dorotea said.

"Our pleasure," Clete said. "I don't suppose you know who the naval officer was?"

Martin hesitated before answering. "His name is Boltitz.

He's to be an assistant naval attache."

"I owe you one."

"Are we still keeping score?"

"I'm sure you are," Clete said.

They shook hands, and Martin left.

"Enrico!" Clete called, and when he appeared in the cockpit,

"Get the extinguisher, please."

"Si, Senor."

"What you do, honey," Clete said to his student, "is turn on the MASTER BUSS. It's already on, because I wanted to use the radios. Then you put the mixture to FULL RICH, the throttle to LOW

IDLE, punch the ENGINE PRIME button, then the

LEFT ENGINE START."



"OK."



He glanced out the window. Enrico was standing by a large fire extinguisher on wheels."

Clete gave him the "winding it up" sign, and Enrico nod ded.

"Do it, baby," Clete said.

"Really?" she asked, and set the controls as he had explained. The left engine ground, coughed, and came to life.

"Let it warm a second, until it smoothes out, then get off

FULL RICH, and when you see Enrico is ready with the extin guisher, start the right engine."

A minute later, she looked at him happily.

"El Palomar, Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three," Clete said, "on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual flight rules to Pila."

Dorotea looked at him curiously.

He pointed to her microphone.

She smiled and picked it up. "El Palomar, Lockheed

Zebra Eight Four Three," Dorotea said into it, "on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual flight rules to Pila."

A long moment later, the tower replied, disbelief evident in the man's voice.

"Say again, Senor?"

"That's Sefiora, Senor," Dorotea said. "I say again, Lock heed Zebra Eight Four Three on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual flight rules to Pila."

There was an even longer wait for El Palomar's reply.

"Zebra Eight Four Three, make a left turn from your parking position. Take Taxiway Left Four to Runway Two Eight.

Report when you are on threshold of the runway."

"That's enough instruction for one day," Clete said, and took Dorotea's microphone from her hand to reply to the tower. There was a look of disappointment on her face.

Enrico put his head in the cockpit. "Ready, Senor Clete."

"I'll tell you what, baby, when we're ready to go, put your feet on the pedals and your hands on the wheel, and follow me through."

"Really?"

"Really."

She smiled at him.

What the hell, Amelia Earhart was a pretty good pilot, and women are ferrying everything up to B-17s from the fac tories. There's no reason she can't be taught to fly.


[ ONE ]

Estancia Santo Catalina

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1530 12 June 1943

The wedding of Senorita Alicia Carzino-Cormano to Major

Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein posed many of the same problems as the wedding of Senorita Dorotea Mallin to

Senor Cletus Howell Frade… and also some additional ones.

For one thing, the thatch roof was in bad shape on La

Capilla de Santo Catalina, which (like La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo) served as the parish church for its estancia. The roof had been up for twenty-five years, and was leaking. Though Dona

Claudia Carzino-Cormano had directed its replacement, until that was completed, a tent was used as a chapel to serve the workers.

When the need for the chapel for the wedding became known, that process was one-third completed-the old roof and its rotting supports had been removed. There was no way the repairs could be completed in less than a month, which was of course out of the question. As was a marriage ceremony in Buenos Aires. There was no time for that, either. A six-weeks-premature baby would be credible, while a three-months-premature baby would not.

As was to be expected, Senora Dorotea Mallin de Frade offered Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo's La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros for the wedding, as well as whatever else Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo had to offer.

Dona Claudia accepted the offer of the chapel but not the

Casa Grande. Her daughter would have her wedding recep tion in her own home. That was only fitting. Furthermore, a reception in Dorotea's Casa Grande would be awkward.

Clete might agree to entertaining the Germans, but he would not like it; and Clete, like his father, was unpredictable when forced to do anything he didn't want to do.

It was in fact not at all easy for Claudia herself to be charming to the Germans, for she agreed with Cletus that they had been responsible for the murder of Jorge Guillermo

Frade. Cletus was a North American and could get away with not bothering to conceal his contempt for the Germans, but Cletus was not the mother of a girl about to bear a half German baby. And perhaps, she tried to tell herself, the time had come to put that awful tragedy behind.

Claudia arranged for six Mercedes buses to be brought from Buenos Aires to transport the wedding guests and the

Estancia Santo Catalina workers to La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros, on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, and back. The trucks of both estancias would be put to the same use.

Peter, thank God, did not get on his high horse about having a Protestant clergyman participate in the ceremony; and

Father Kurt dealt with the Right Reverend Manuel de Parto, bishop of the Diocese of Pila, who waived the usual routine for wedding banns and was pleased to be the celebrant, assisted by Father Welner.


Another set of problems for Claudia came in the person of Juan Domingo Peron. On one hand, he had arranged to have Peter returned from Germany. The baby would have a father. A good father, from everything Claudia had seen of

Peter.

On the other hand, Peron was close to the Nazis who had ordered Jorge's murder.

Not to mention his disgusting behavior. His sick interest in very young girls was at least private. But he had now focused his public interest on that dreadful Radio Belgrano

"actress," Eva Duarte, whom he had taken as a mistress.

Worse, the sale of Radio Belgrano had come through. Eva

Duarte and her sleeping partners were no longer Cletus's problem, but Claudia's. And the little tramp had already been making noises about being grossly underpaid.

Dona Claudia was a nervous wreck by the time it was over, but the wedding went off without a hitch.

As it turned out, Don Cletus Frade managed to avoid the whole thing, claiming a serious problem at one of his vine yards, San Bosco, in Cordoba Province. He telephoned his profound regret that he would be unable to attend the wedding or the reception.

Claudia saw him, however, peering through the slats of the cloakroom blinds at La Casa Grande, as Major and

Senora Hans-Peter von Wachtstein left La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros between an honor guard of dress uniformed officers, Army, Navy, and Diplomatic, of the

German Embassy.

The only thing that went wrong after that was that the wedding trip didn't go as planned… and that wasn't really such a problem. Claudia had arranged for a suite in the

Provincial Hotel in Mar del Plata, but the newlyweds never went there.

Instead, they flew in one of the Piper Cubs to God Only

Knew Where. Someone, either Peter or Clete, had left it on the pampas for a getaway after they left the reception at

Estancia Santo Catalina.

Alicia left her a note: They would be back in seven days.


[ TWO ]

Avenida Pueyrredon 1706

Piso 10

Buenos Aires

1605 20 June 1943

Having received no response to the ringing of the bell,

Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein let himself into his apart ment. "Hey, anybody home?"

"In here, Peter," a familiar voice called.

Peter went into his sitting room, where he found Korvet tenkapitan Karl Boltitz, in civilian clothing, behind his desk.

His hand was resting on a folded copy of La Nacion.

"Hello, Karl," Peter said. "What are you doing here?

Where's my maid?"

"After she let me in, I gave her the rest of the day off,"

Boltitz said.

"What's going on?"

"Sit down, Peter," Boltitz ordered coldly, pointing to a leather armchair.

"I'll stand, thank you," Peter said, his temper starting to flare.

Boltitz pushed the newspaper to one side. It had con cealed a Luger 9mm Parabellum pistol. "Sit down, Peter,"

Boltitz repeated.

"What's going on?" Peter replied, but sat down.

"It says here-if we are to believe Reuters, and I do-that

Rome was bombed by five hundred American planes last night. Is that what happened, Peter, you decided we will lose the war? And wanted to be on the winning side?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Peter said.

"While you were flying off on your honeymoon, I took a trip by car," Boltitz said. "To Puerto Magdalena. There I spoke with Lothar Steuben and other members of his family.

Now do you know what I'm talking about?"

Peter didn't reply.

"Herr Steuben reported that you left his home, 'to conduct business,' after you had convinced Herr Loche that you needed to know where exactly the boat from the Oceano

Pacifico would land on Samborombon Bay. That's how the

Americans-or the Argentines, it doesn't really matter- knew where to be, and when. You told them, Major Freiherr von Wachtstein."

Peter didn't reply.

"Do you deny this, Peter?",

"No," Peter said simply.

"Did you know the intention of your friends, vis-a-vis

Oberst Griiner and Standartenfuhrer Goltz?"

"No."

"Why, Peter?"

"You know what they are bringing ashore, of course?"

"Radios to assist in the repatriation of the GrafSpee offi cers, you mean?"

"No, I mean cash, and gold taken from the mouths of Jews after they had been murdered in concentration camps, intended to provide sanctuary for the Bavarian corporal and his filthy friends after Germany loses this war."

"You swore a personal oath, on your honor, to the Fiihrer."

"That was a terrible mistake. I spent time in Russia. I know what the Nazis really are."

"The point is, Peter, I took the same oath you did, and I am honor-bound to adhere to it. By your own admission, you are a traitor."

"All right," Peter said, "now what?"

"Your treason, among other things, has kept German sub mariners on the high seas, starving, in great risk of being discovered and sunk, because the Oceano Pacifico could not resupply them. Some of them are friends of mine."

"Some of them are friends of mine, too."

Boltitz shrugged. "I suppose that's true," he said. "A gen eration ago, Peter, if this confrontation occurred between your father and mine, this would have solved the problem."


He tapped the Luger with his fingertips. "My father would have left your father alone with one cartridge in the pistol, and your father would have done the honorable thing, and that would have been the end of it."

"My father would probably have tried to take the pistol away from you," Peter said.

"I wouldn't try that," Boltitz said. "I have a full clip in here, and I could get off three shots before you got out of the chair."

"I think I would rather be shot than shoot myself," Peter said.

Boltitz quickly picked up the pistol and pointed it at him.

Peter felt pain in his stomach.

"I don't really want to shoot you, Peter. Please don't make me."

"If I'm a traitor, why should you hesitate?"

"Because then your treason would have to come out. And that would hurt other people besides yourself. Your father, for one. I am unable to believe that he's aware of your treason.

General Galland, for another. He thinks you are an honorable

German warrior-"

"So do I," Peter said. "We just see honor differently. My allegiance is to Germany, not Hitler, not National Socialism."

"-and it would be very awkward for General Galland if it came out that an officer he personally asked the Fiihrer to have assigned to him was a traitor."

"Christ!"

"And the child your wife will bear would for all of his life be stigmatized by having a traitor for a father."

"What are you going to do? Turn me loose?"

"My honor forbids that, although, personally, I would like to. I've come to like you, Peter."

"Oh, shit!"

"There is a path you could take," Boltitz said.

"Really?"

"Tomorrow you're going to fly to Montevideo."

"And I should crash into the River Plate?"

"No. That might be suspicious. If you did that, there wouldn't be a body. But if you crashed at El Palomar on landing, it would be considered a tragic accident. Do you follow my reasoning?"

After a moment, Peter nodded.

"Do you agree?"

Peter nodded again.

"May I lay the pistol down again?"

Peter shrugged.

"I suppose this might be considered, under the circum stances, absurd, but will you give me your word of honor?"

"You have it, Herr Korvettenkapitan," Peter said.

Boltitz looked at him for a long moment, then stood up, tucked the pistol into the small of his back, and walked out of the sitting.

When Peter heard the door close, he walked to the nearest toilet and just managed to get to his knees in front of the water closet before he threw up.


Von Lutzenberger disappeared from view.

His safe is apparently either under his desk or low on the wall.

Von Lutzenberger reappeared, holding two envelopes in his hand. "You look like you had a bad night, Boltitz, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I didn't get much sleep, Excellency," Boltitz admitted.

"These came on the same plane you did," von Lutzen berger said. "They are addressed to you, but I'm familiar with their contents."

He handed him the two envelopes. One bore his name in handwriting, and Karl opened that one first, because he recognized his father's handwriting. It was a very simple note.

Berlis


[THREE]

The Office of the Ambassador

The Embassy of the German Reich

Avenue Cordoba

Buenos Aires

0950 21 June 1943

"Korvettenkapitan Boltitz is here, Excellency," Fraulein

Ingebord Hassell announced.

"Ask him to come in, please," von Lutzenberger said.

"And please do not disturb us."

"Jawohl, Excellency," she said, and pulled the door fully open until there was room for Boltitz to pass her.

"Good morning, Karl," von Lutzenberger said. "There's something I want to show you. It's in my personal safe. Why don't you have a seat?"

"Thank you, Excellency."

As you embark on your new assignment must tell you that I take great pride in knowing that you will faithfully execute without question whatever orders you receive from Admiral Canaris.

May God give you strength in this time of great challenges to Germany. I will pray for you

Boltitz glanced up at von Lutzenberger, who was looking at him. He opened the second envelope.


Oberkommando Per Wehrmacht of the Director of Intelligence

Berlin

22 May 1943

Korvettenkapitan Karl Bollitz

Dear Boltitz:

In case there mightbe some question in your mindconverning your responsibilities in your new assignment:

You are under the direct orders of

Ambassador von Lutzenberger and you will comply with hisorders as if they had come fromme.

In this connection, all communications of any kind must be von Lutzenberger before they are forwarded to me or any other of ce,

Heil Hitler!

Canaris


Karl Boltitz looked at Ambassador von

Lutzenberger.

He heard his father's voice in his ears:

"The best advice I can give you, Karl, is to listen to what Canaris is not saying."

Christ, does this mean what I think it does?

"Do you have any questions, Boltitz?"

"No, Excellency."

"May I have the letters back, please?" von Lutzenberger asked.

Boltitz handed them to him.

Von Lutzenberger carefully burned both and their envelopes. "These did not, if I have to say this, come to me via the diplomatic pouch."

"I understand," Boltitz said.

"Major von Wachtstein came to see me this rooming before he left for Montevideo.

He told me of the chat you two had last night."

"Yes, Sir?"

"In a few minutes, von Wachtstein will land at Montevideo," von Lutzenberger said. "And he should be back here two hours or so after that. I told him I was counting on him to be careful. I missed him when he was in Germany. He's our only pilot, you know."

"Yes, Sir, I know."

"You really should make an effort,

Boltitz, to get to know him well. I think you have much more in common than you may have realized previously."

"Herr Ambassador-" Boltitz began.

Von Lutzenberger stopped him with an upheld palm. "That will be all, Boltitz.

Thank you for coming to see me."


[FOUR]

The Office of the Director

The Office of Strategic Services

National Institutes of Health Building

Washington, D.C.

1045 22 June 1943

"Got a minute, Alex?" Colonel William Donovan asked, stepping inside the office of the Deputy Director for Western

Hemisphere Operations, Colonel Alejandro Graham.

"Truth to tell, Bill, I'm up to my ass in alligators."

"I really need just a minute."

"OK."


"I just had a rather interesting chat with the G-2," Donovan said.

"Really?"

"Someone has apparently told him we have a team in

Argentina headed by someone named Frade."

"I wonder who told him that? That's supposed to be Need

To Know."

"That's what I told him. He was pretty vague about that.

He said he was sorry, but I didn't have the Need To Know who told him that. He sort of hinted it came from the White

House."

"From the White House? That place leaks like a sieve, doesn't it?"

"I keep telling Roosevelt he should tighten things up,"

Donovan said. "But you know how he is."

"Yes, I do. Is there more?

"Oh, yes. It seems the G-2 sent a new assistant attache' for air to Buenos Aires. And this man not only got to meet

Frade-your friend Leibermann introduced them-but checked him out in that Lockheed we sent down there by mistake."


"Really? I'm not sure I'm glad to hear that."

"And then, the attache told the G-2, Frade repaid his cour tesy by threatening to kill him."

"Maybe the attache asked Frade the wrong question,"

Graham suggested.

"I have no way of knowing this, of course-and the G-2 said he had never heard the phrase 'Galahad'-but I think maybe the attache did ask Frade the wrong question."

"That does seem likely, doesn't it?"

"What do you think I should do, Alex?"

"I think I'd tell the G-2 he should tell his man to be care ful."

"I did. I told him that Frade's already killed six people we know about."

"I think the figure is four, but who's counting?" Graham asked. Then, more seriously: "Are you going to have trouble with your friend Franklin about this?"

"I don't see how he can complain to me that Frade threat ened this guy without admitting to me he sent him down there to ask a question he promised me he wouldn't ask."

"I don't know which of the two of you is the more devi ous," Graham said. "I say that as a compliment. Now get out of here and let me go back to work."

Donovan left, and Graham sat at his desk, the events of the last two months whirring through his head.

You dodged the bullet that time, Cletus, he thought. / hope it doesn 't make you cocky. Donovan's not the kind of man to give up easily. Next time, he may not bother to ask the question at all. Next time, maybe you 'II be the one on the other end of the pistol…

And whose hand would be holding it? A German? An

American? An Argentine?

He sighed and shook his head.

One more alligator, he thought. But when you are already up to your ass in alligators, what difference does one more make?

He turned back to his papers and started to read.



This file was created


with BookDesigner program


bookdesigner@the-ebook.org


16/10/2005

Table of Contents

SECRET HONOR W.E.B. GRIFFIN Prologue

HEADQUARTERS

CLASSIFICATION: MOST URGENT

TRANSPORT AND STORE THE SPECIAL CARGO

AND THEIR DEDICATION TO THE PRINCI PLES OF NATIONAL SOCIALISM AND THE

THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF

II

CLASSIFICATION: MOST URGENT

ARGENTINE GOVERNMENT WOULD HAVE MADE

FAMILIAR WITH THE INCIDENT.

SECRET

0600 SURVEILLANCE TERMINATED

1623 ARENALES

IV

Schloss Wachtstein

17."

BACARDI AT FIRST OPPORTUNITY WILL

VI

VII

She poured herself a cup of coffee.

PRIORITY

VIII

THE SITUATION IS BEING EVALUATED AT

FREIHERR VON WACHTSTEIN AND

TERNICH. KORVETTENKAPITAN KARL BOLTITZ,

IX

GENERALMAJOR MANFRED VON DEITZBERG

THE FUHRER'S HEADQUARTERS 30

HIM AS AN OLDER BROTHER-TO EXPRESS

XI

"OK."

"OK."

XII

OK?"

URGENT

XIII

1943

Or was it Baron Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, the Graf-to- i

XVI

ENGINE START."

XVII

XVIII

CLASSIFICATION: MOST URGENT

BOTH LUTZEN AND DEITZ, WITHOUT PRIOR

CONSIDERS TO HAVE 'BEEN HIS BEST

WHO IS BELIEVED TO BE AN AGENT OF

OF OBERST GRUNER AND STANDARTEN FUHRER GOLTZ. IN THIS CONNECTION,

REGRETS THE UNFORTUNATE DEATH OF

THE UNDERSIGNED PARTCIPATED IN THE

XIX

"OK."

LEFT ENGINE START."

Canaris

"OK."


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