The Honor of Spies

VII

[ONE]

Hotel Britania

Rua Rodrigues Sampaio 17

Lisbon, Portugal

1745 4 September 1943

The deputy director of the Office of Strategic Services for Europe cracked open the door of his suite, saw the deputy director of the Office of Strategic Services for the Western Hemisphere standing in the corridor, pulled the door fully open, and gestured for him to enter.

"Nice flight, Alex?" Allen Dulles asked as the two shook hands.

"Coming in here from Morocco on that old-fashioned Douglas DC-3 was a little crowded and bumpy. But the rest of the trip, on the Constellation, was quite comfortable," Colonel A. F. Graham said.

Dulles chuckled.

"Howard knows how to take care of himself," Graham added. "There's a galley, and a couple of stewards, and bunks with sheets and pillows. And we flew so high, we were above the bad weather. What's up?"

"Wild Bill know you're here?" Dulles asked.

"You said don't tell him, so I didn't." Graham met Dulles's eyes, smiled, and asked, "What are we hiding from our leader?"

He took a long, thin, black cigar from a case, then remembered his manners and offered the case to Dulles, who shook his head.

"There's been a very interesting development," Dulles said. "What would you say, Alex, if I told you that the Germans know a great deal about the Manhattan Project?"

"You sound surprised," Graham said.

"A very great deal, Alex," Dulles said.

There was a battered leather briefcase on a desk. Dulles went to it, unlocked it, matter-of-factly took a yellow-bodied thermite grenade from it, set it carefully on the desk, then went back into the briefcase and came out with a stack of eight-by-ten-inch photographs, which he handed to Graham.

Graham read the photograph of the cover sheet carefully, then looked through the stack of photographs of the rest of the document.

"I have no idea what I'm looking at," he confessed.

"You know about the Manhattan Project's facility in Tennessee?"

"Oak Ridge?"

"Oak Ridge is Site X," Dulles said. "What this is--these are--are photographs of the weekly progress report on the four projects they're setting up there to separate enough weapons-grade uranium from uranium ore to make a weapon. Or weapons. Atomic bombs."

"Where'd you get this report?"

"From the Germans. Specifically, from Fregattenkapitan Otto von und zu Waching, who is Admiral Canaris's deputy."

"Meaning the Germans have a spy--spies--in Oak Ridge?" Graham asked incredulously. "That's bad news. You haven't told Donovan?"

"No, I haven't told Donovan."

"Why not?"

"The Germans don't have spies in Oak Ridge. The Russians do. The Germans apparently have people in the Kremlin. According to von und zu Waching, that's where those photos came from."

"How long have you known about this?" Graham asked.

"Since two o'clock this afternoon. Canaris got word to me that he thought it would be to our mutual interest if we got together with von und zu Waching--"

" 'We'?" Graham interrupted.

"You and me. He asked for you by name. So I sent you the 'come to Portugal very quietly' message. Canaris doesn't play games, for one thing, and for another, I really didn't want to deal with whatever this was by myself."

"What the hell is it all about?"

"What comes immediately to mind, obviously, is that it is not in the best interests of the German Reich for the Soviets to have an atomic bomb. Stealing the knowledge of how to make one from us is a quick way for them to get one."

Graham nodded his agreement.

"This is all you got from this guy? What's his name?"

"Fregattenkapitan Otto von und zu Waching. That's all. He asked if you were coming, and when I told him you were, he 'suggested' we wait until you got here before we got into anything else."

"Where is he now?"

"In his room, waiting for me to call him."

"Call him," Graham said.

[TWO]

"Good evening," Fregattenkapitan Otto von und zu Waching said five minutes later, with a bob of his head.

He was in civilian clothing, a gray-striped woolen suit that looked a little too large for him, a once-white shirt--which instantly brought to Graham's mind the advertising campaign that tried to convince American housewives that the use of a certain soap powder would absolutely protect their husbands' white shirts from turning "tattletale gray" and thus suggesting they were failing to properly care for the family breadwinner--and worn-out shoes.

The Germans are running short of soap. And material for suits. And shoes.

It's as simple as that.

"My name is Graham," Graham said, offering his hand.

"Your reputation precedes you, Colonel," von und zu Waching said. "I am, as I'm sure Mr. Dulles has told you, Otto von und zu Waching, and I have the honor of being Vizeadmiral Canaris's deputy. Thank you for coming. I am sure you will feel the effort was worthwhile."

His English was fluent, with a strong upper-class British accent.

"Let's hope so," Graham said.

"Would either of you be offended if I outlined my position here? Our positions here? I suggest that would be useful."

"By all means," Dulles said.

"I am a serving officer. Our nations are at war. I have, as has Admiral Canaris, come to the conclusion that Adolf Hitler, and most of the senior officials and military officers around him, must, in the interests of Germany, be removed from power.

"This is an internal matter. While on its face it is treason, that treason is limited to removing the National Socialist government--the Nazis--from power. Neither Admiral Canaris, nor myself, nor any of those associated with us are willing to betray our soldiers, airmen, or seamen by taking any action, or providing to you or anyone else any intelligence which could affect their combat efficiency and therefore place their lives in danger.

"Is that your understanding of the situation?"

"Frankly, Captain . . ." Graham replied, so quickly that Dulles looked at him with what could have been surprise or alarm or both. ". . . is that what I call you, 'Captain'?"

"If it pleases you," von und zu Waching said.

Graham went on: "You're aware, I'm sure, Captain, that we are both serving officers in the naval service of our respective nations; that the U.S. Marine Corps is part of the U.S. Navy?"

"So I understand."

"Well, in the United States Navy, we have a saying, and I would be surprised if there isn't a similar saying in the Kriegsmarine."

"And that saying is?" von und zu Waching asked with a smile.

Graham switched to German and said, rather unpleasantly, "Why don't we cut the bullshit and get down to business?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"There are two cold facts coloring this conversation," Graham said pointedly. "One is that you've lost the war, and you know it, and the second is that you want something from us. So why don't we stop splitting hairs about what constitutes treason and get down to what you want from us?"

Von und zu Waching's face turned white.

"Captain," Graham said, "I came a very long way at considerable inconvenience because I thought that Admiral Canaris had something important to say, not to listen to crap like you just mouthed."

Von und zu Waching looked at Dulles.

Graham snapped: "Don't look to Dulles to bring me up short, Captain. I don't work for him, and he can't order me to give you whatever it is you want from me. And you wouldn't have asked him to get me here if you could get what you want from him."

Von und zu Waching said nothing.

Neither did Dulles.

"Okay, getting to the bottom line, Captain," Graham said, coldly reasonable, "why don't you tell me what it is you want from me, and what you're willing to offer in exchange?"

"Has Mr. Dulles shown you the material from Oak Ridge?"

"He showed me what you purport to be material from Oak Ridge," Graham said.

"The Russians have spies in Oak Ridge and elsewhere within your Manhattan Project. I am prepared to identify them to you."

"Come on, Captain. If you work for Canaris, you didn't get into the intelligence business last week."

"I don't know what you mean," von und zu Waching said.

"Okay, a couple of givens in here. Germany doesn't want the Russians to get their hands on the atomic bomb, or the details of how one makes an atom bomb."

"I would suggest, Colonel, that keeping the Russians from getting the atomic bomb is also in the interests of the United States."

"Well, we've found something to agree on," Graham said sarcastically. "Let's see if we can build on that. So you know there are Russian spies at Oak Ridge. Why didn't you just give their names to the FBI?"

Von und zu Waching did not reply.

Graham went off on a tangent: "As Admiral Canaris's Number Two, I presume that you are privy to most of his communications with others?"

The question surprised both Dulles and von und zu Waching.

"I would say that I am privy to just about all," von und zu Waching said, more than a little arrogantly.

"If I wasn't clear about this, Colonel Graham," Allen Dulles said, "I have it on good authority--from the admiral himself--that the fregattenkapitan is indeed Vice Admiral Canaris's deputy."

I don't really know, Graham thought, if that remark was intended for von und zu Waching or me.

Is he trying to convince von und zu Waching that he has a friend?

No!

What he's doing is more or less politely suggesting that he doesn't approve of the way I'm dealing with von und zu Waching.

Allen, you're wrong!

Von und zu Waching is a sailor, a navy officer, and I know how to deal with navy officers.

You think like a diplomat, Allen, and a diplomat is the last thing I need right now!

"I'm going to show you one of those communications, Captain," Graham said, "and ask you to explain what it means. If I like your answers, that means you have told me the truth. That will be another step in our blossoming relationship. Fair enough?"

Von und zu Waching nodded.

Graham went into his briefcase, pulled out a manila envelope, and took from it two photographs of a message--obviously pages one and two of the message--which he handed to von und zu Waching.

"May I ask what that is?" Dulles asked.

"You may, but I'm frankly shocked that you would ask. Have you forgotten what Secretary of State Stimson said?"

Dulles shook his head in disbelief.

"'Gentlemen do not read each other's mail,'" von und zu Waching said, smiling after he quoted Henry Stimson's 1931 justification for shutting down the government's small--and only--cryptographic office.

"Listen to the Captain, Allen," Graham said.

"Would that we were all still living in such an age of innocence," von und zu Waching said.

"Amen, brother!" Graham said.

"Actually, I wrote this," von und zu Waching said, holding up the message. "And frankly, I'm amazed . . ."

He stopped in midsentence.

"That it was compromised so quickly?" Graham finished for him.

Von und zu Waching nodded.

"Show it to Mr. Dulles, Captain. Curiosity is about to consume him." He gave him just enough time to do so before asking, "So who's the senior officer?"

Von und zu Waching looked into Graham's eyes for a long moment.

"SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg," von und zu Waching said. "He is de facto, if not de jure, Himmler's deputy."

"But he was just in Argentina--wearing the uniform of a Wehrmacht general."

Von und zu Waching knew it was more of a question than a statement. He began: "There are three reasons why he's going to Argentina--"

"On U-405?"

"You even know the number?"

"And the name of her skipper," Graham said. "Kapitanleutnant Wilhelm von Dattenberg."

"Yes, on the U-405. For three reasons. The Bavarian corporal inquired of Himmler if the 'mechanism for the transport of senior officers' to South America was in place. The admiral told me Hitler had a half-formed idea that Il Duce, once he's freed, might be the first senior officer to seek asylum under Operation Phoenix."

"My God! Really?" Dulles asked incredulously.

"According to the admiral, Himmler said he had disabused the Fuhrer of that notion. But Hitler wanted to know, as I said, if the mechanism is in place."

"I want to hear about freeing Mussolini," Graham said. "But first, let's get to the other two reasons von Deitzberg is being sent to Argentina."

Von und zu Waching looked at him, nodded, and went on: "Himmler told Hitler that he had turned over control of U-405 to Admiral Canaris--this was not true--and that Canaris was in the process of seeing if 'the mechanism was in place'; that von Deitzberg was en route to Argentina is the test of the mechanism."

"So von Deitzberg had to go," Graham said. "Reason Two?"

"Himmler wants your man there, Frade, eliminated. Apparently, Cranz has been unable to accomplish this. Von Deitzberg is very good at that sort of thing. And he's close to Colonel Peron."

"And Three?"

"That--his connection with Peron--may be Three. But it could be something else. I just know, and the admiral agrees, that there's more to Himmler's sending von Deitzberg to Argentina than checking to see if the 'transport mechanism' works and eliminating Frade."

"You said when Il Duce has been freed?" Dulles asked.

"By now the Carabinieri, in whose hands the king placed him, should have moved him to a ski resort--the Campo Imperatore Hotel on the Gran Sasso--" He paused and looked between Dulles and Graham to make sure they understood him, and after they nodded he went on: "From which, in the next few days, a task force of paratroops augmented by some special SS troops will try to rescue him."

"You're suggesting that you're not sure the operation will work?" Graham asked.

"The admiral isn't sure, either. On one hand, the paratroops are very good, and the SS are special troops. On the other, there's a battalion of Carabinieri who are also very good."

"Why is rescuing Mussolini so important?" Dulles wondered aloud. "There is no way he could resume power."

"Because the Bavarian corporal thinks it is," von und zu Waching said. "Case closed."

Dulles nodded a sad agreement.

"Okay," Graham said. "What is it you want from me in Argentina? And what do you offer in return?"

"Money is the primary thing I want from you," von und zu Waching said.

"Money is usually the last thing mentioned," Graham said. "After you convince the other fellow that he really wants what you're selling, then you tell him how much it costs. What are you going to give me for my money?"

"Abwehr Ost," von und zu Waching said. "Files, dossiers, analyses, even agents in place. How much would you like to have that?"

"We have a saying, Captain, that when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is," Graham said. "The first thing that comes to mind is: 'How could he possibly deliver on that?' And the second is: 'Why would he want to?' "

"Oberstleutnant Gehlen . . . you know of whom I speak?"

Graham nodded. "He runs Abwehr Ost for Admiral Canaris. I've always wondered why he's only a lieutenant colonel."

"To keep him from Hitler's attention," von und zu Waching said. "He met the Fuhrer for the first time a week or so ago."

"Okay," Graham said. "I can understand that."

"Oberstleutnant Gehlen wants three things," von und zu Waching went on carefully. "In the following order: To protect the families of his officers and men. To protect, insofar as this may be possible, the lives of his officers and men and agents and assets in place in the Soviet Union."

Graham nodded, grunted, and said, "That's two things."

"You very possibly won't like his third."

"We won't know until you tell me, will we?"

"Gehlen feels it would be a shame--worse, criminal, even sinful--if all the knowledge of Abwehr Ost, acquired at such great effort and the cost of so many lives, should be flushed down the toilet when Soviet tanks roll down the Unter den Linden."

"What would he like to see happen to it?" Dulles asked softly.

"He believes that his intelligence would be useful, even the determining factor, in defeating the Soviet Union when, inevitably, there is war between the United States and the Soviet Union."

"And do you believe that war is inevitable between the United States and our Soviet allies?" Dulles pursued.

Von und zu Waching took a moment before replying: "I would say that it is inevitable unless the United States develops and produces atomic weapons before the Soviet Union does and demonstrates its willingness to use them."

"Even against Germany?" Graham asked.

Von und zu Waching didn't reply to the question. Graham decided not to push him.

"The Russians are, of course, aware of Gehlen," von und zu Waching said, "and almost certainly have the names of his important people on their Order of Battle charts. Probably, they have the names of everyone connected with Abwehr Ost down to the last obergefreiter and female civilian typist. It follows that if we have penetrated them, they have penetrated us."

"Yeah," Graham thought aloud.

"But they don't--self-evidently--know the identities of Gehlen's people in the Kremlin. They will want those names. We would, and I suggest you would, under the same circumstances. The difference being that we would not torture the wives and children of their officers to get that information."

"You think the Russians would torture women and children?" Dulles asked softly.

"Probably with about as much enthusiasm as the SS does when they have a Russian woman or child in their hands," von und zu Waching said.

"What do you want from me?" Graham asked. "I don't seem to be getting an answer."

"Gehlen wants to set up an operation something like Phoenix for his people," von und zu Waching said. "What he wants to do immediately is send one of his officers to Argentina to see what has to be done. That's why I said he needs--I suppose I mean we need--money. Abwehr doesn't have warehouses full of no-longer-needed gold wedding rings, dental prostheses, and eyeglass frames that can be turned into cash."

"You don't think that anyone would notice that one of Gehlen's officers--and he would have to be one of his senior officers--was suddenly no longer around?" Graham asked.

"The officer Gehlen has in mind--a major--will ostensibly give his life for the Fatherland on the Eastern Front. We can get him as far as here, or Madrid, one or the other, with identity credentials that should get him past the border guards."

"And from here, or Madrid, to Buenos Aires?"

"That you'd have to arrange," von und zu Waching said.

"And what do we get?" Graham asked.

"Eventually everything, and that includes Oberstleutnant Gehlen and myself. And possibly even the admiral. Immediately, we will give you the names of the people the Soviets have at Oak Ridge, Los Alamos, the University of California at Berkeley, and elsewhere. There are eleven names in all. More will be furnished when they turn up, as I'm sure they will. Stalin wants your bomb and is working hard to get it."

"And how much money are you asking?" Dulles asked.

"It will probably turn out to be several millions of dollars. Not all at once, of course. In the immediate future, probably not more than a hundred thousand dollars."

Neither Dulles nor Graham said anything.

After a long silence, von und zu Waching said: "And we will, of course, furnish you with whatever we learn about Operation Phoenix and what von Deitzberg is really doing."

"The idea, if I understand this correctly," Graham said, "is that once this officer gets himself established in Argentina, he will then arrange for other officers . . ."

"The admiral has told him he can have no more than two more officers. More than that would attract unwanted attention. The next people to be sent will be the families of those officers and soldiers in which we feel the Russians have the greatest interest. In other words, the selection will be on the basis of who the Russians think has the greatest knowledge, rather than on rank."

Dulles said, "But by those criteria, Captain, the first officer who would go to Argentina would be the admiral. And then Gehlen. And then you."

"I'm sure Colonel Graham will understand, Mr. Dulles. It's naval tradition. The admiral and Gehlen will stay on the bridges of their respective sinking ships until all the women and children are safely off and into lifeboats. And then the men. And, finally, the other officers."

There was a long moment of silence, which Allen Dulles finally broke: "Obviously, Captain, neither Colonel Graham nor I have the authority to accept or reject a proposal like this--"

"Or even to have been having this conversation," Graham interrupted. "There are those who would consider it trafficking with the enemy . . ."

"Even giving aid and comfort to the enemy," Dulles chimed in.

"But you have been honest and forthcoming with us," Graham said. "And we'll try to be the same with you. What I think Mr. Dulles and I are going to have to do is decide, first, if we should--if we dare--bring Admiral Canaris's offer to the attention of our respective superiors . . ."

"Which might well carry the risk of seeing one or both of us relieved of our posts," Dulles chimed in again.

"So, if you will be so good, Captain, to give Mr. Dulles and myself a little time--say, thirty minutes--to decide between us whether we can take the next step, bringing this to the attention of our respective superiors or not. And if not, what other--"

"I understand," von und zu Waching said. "I will await your call, your decision."

Von und zu Waching walked to the door, unlocked it, opened it, turned to look at Graham and Dulles, bobbed his head, and then went through the door.

Dulles waited a full thirty seconds--which seemed longer--before breaking the silence: "The basic question, of course, is whether or not he's telling us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."

"I think that we have to presume he is not, Allen. And further, that he has an agenda we can't even guess at."

"And insofar as telling Colonel Donovan about this, can you imagine his reaction if he knew about this meeting?"

"Or that I flew over here to participate?"

"Or what the President would do if he heard about this?"

"Well, he would certainly tell the Vice President, and Uncle Joe Stalin would know within twenty-fours that we know he has spies all over the Manhattan Project. Do you know General Graves, Allen? Know him well?"

Dulles nodded.

"He told me that he thinks at least six of Dr. Oppenheimer's geniuses are--how did he put it? 'Far to the left of Vice President Wallace.' "

"Graves told me that when he went to J. Edgar Hoover, Hoover told him that when he tried to bring up the subject of Soviet spies in the Manhattan Project to the President, Roosevelt flashed his famous smile at him and said since the Russians knew nothing of the Manhattan Project, how could they have spies trying to penetrate it?"

They lapsed into silence for another long moment.

Finally, Dulles again broke it.

"I would say then that we are agreed we don't mention this to Donovan?"

Graham nodded.

"What about Hoover?" Graham asked.

"Hoover already knows about the Russian spies. I suspect J. Edgar has some of his best people keeping their eyes on them."

"Nevertheless, when von und zu gives us the names of his spies, I think we should pass them on to J. Edgar; his spies may not be the same as Canaris's spies." Dulles nodded, and Graham went on: "Slip them under J. Edgar's door in the dead of night; I don't think he should know they came from us."

"That leaves only two minor problems to be resolved," Dulles said. "Where do we get the one hundred thousand dollars immediately, and the million we will need later? Probably more than a million dollars. Estimates for this sort of thing are invariably far short of what is actually required."

"I don't see that as a problem. What's the other thing?"

"How do we get this officer of Gehlen's from here to South America? And the families von und zu is talking about? And subquestion a: What do we do with him--with, ultimately, all of Gehlen's women and children--once they are there? And why isn't a million dollars a problem?"

"I've been giving that some thought. If you and I suddenly spent even the hundred thousand from our nonvouchered funds, Donovan would be all over us wanting to know what we spent it on."

"Leaving us where?"

"With Cletus Marcus Howell."

"Who?" Dulles said.

"Cletus Frade's grandfather, a.k.a. Howell Petroleum. He's got that kind of money--more important, he's got it in Venezuela, out of sight of the Internal Revenue Service--and I'm sure that all I'll have to tell him is that his grandson needs to borrow it for the duration plus six months."

"And moving all these people to Argentina?"

Graham nodded and said, "Donovan told me the President is really happy that Juan Trippe is really unhappy that South American Airways has established--or is in the process of establishing--regularly scheduled service between Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, Santiago, Montevideo, and other places in South America. All I have to do is figure a way to make the President think of how utterly miserable Juan Trippe would be to learn that this upstart airline is offering . . . oh, say, twice-weekly service between Buenos Aires and Madrid? Or Lisbon? Or Casablanca? Or all three?"

"Which they could do if they had a 'surplus' Constellation?"

"I was thinking more on the lines of three Constellations," Graham said.

"Why am I getting the feeling that this Constellation idea didn't suddenly pop into your head in the last fifteen minutes or so?"

"Because you know how devious--some might say Machiavellian--I am beneath this polished veneer of refined Texas gentleman."

Dulles chuckled. "I have to say this, Alex: You realize that we are giving aid and comfort to the enemy, betraying our Russian ally, and agreeing to deceive not only our boss but the President?"

Graham's face was sober as he nodded his understanding.

But then he smiled.

"It's in a good cause, Allen. Now get on the phone and get von und zu back in here so we can tell him he's got a deal."

[THREE]

Aboard MV Ciudad de Cadiz

South Latitude 26.318

West Longitude 22.092

0625 11 September 1943

Kapitanleutnant Wilhelm von Dattenberg paused at the interior door to the bridge, waited to be noticed, and when that didn't happen, asked, "Permission to come onto the bridge, Kapitan?"

Von Dattenberg, a slim, somewhat hawk-faced thirty-two-year-old, was wearing navy blue trousers, a black knit sweater, and a battered, greasy Kriegsmarine officer's cap, which was sort of the proud symbol of a submarine officer.

Capitan Jose Francisco de Banderano, master of the Ciudad de Cadiz, who had been standing on the port flying bridge holding binoculars to his eyes, turned to look at von Dattenberg. Jose de Banderano looked very much like Wilhelm von Dattenberg--in other words, more Teutonic than Latin--but was a few years older. He was wearing blue trousers and a stiffly starched white shirt with four-stripe shoulder boards.

"You have the freedom of this bridge, Capitan," de Banderano said. "I thought I told you that. Four or five times."

"I must have forgotten."

Von Dattenberg walked onto the flying bridge and looked over the side. His vessel--U-405, a type VIIC submarine--lay alongside, the German naval battle flag hanging limply from a staff on her conning tower.

Her diesels were idling; if necessary, she could be under way in a minute or two and submerged a few minutes after that. It was unlikely that she would have to do that. They were just about equidistant from Africa and South America, in the middle of the Atlantic, and off the usual shipping lanes.

The chief of the boat was in the conning tower, resting on his elbows. Two seamen were manning a machine gun.

"Morgen!" von Dattenberg called. He had "the voice of command"; it carried.

The seamen popped to attention. The chief of the boat looked up and waved his right arm in a gesture that was far more a friendly wave than a salute.

A white-jacketed steward touched von Dattenberg's arm and, when he looked, handed him a steaming china mug.

"The capitan asks that you join him for breakfast, Capitan."

"Thank you," von Dattenberg said, and walked off the flying bridge into the wheelhouse, then through it to the chart room, and from there to the door to the master's cabin.

De Banderano waved him in. A table had been set with a crisp white tablecloth and silver. A steward--not the one who had given von Dattenberg the coffee--immediately began to deliver breakfast.

It was an impressive display of food. They were served a basket of breads and rolls, thin slices of ham rolled into tubes, a plate of curled butter, and another of jams and marmalades.

De Banderano poked at the ham tubes with his fork, then announced: "A ham steak, please, Ricardo. Two eggs, up."

"Yes, sir," the steward said, and looked at von Dattenberg. "Capitan?"

"Not for me, thank you," von Dattenberg said, then immediately changed his mind. "Yes, please. Same thing." He met de Banderano's eyes. "God only knows when I'll eat this well again."

"Yes, sir."

The steward had just poured von Dattenberg another cup of coffee--this time into a delicate Meissen cup sitting on a saucer--when the third mate, serving as officer of the deck, appeared at the door.

"Excuse me, Capitan. There is a submarine dead ahead at maybe three kilometers."

"Can you read her flag?"

"No, sir. The submarine could be anything."

"Perhaps it's Swiss," de Banderano said. "Have the Oerlikons manned just in case. I have never trusted the Swiss navy."

Von Dattenberg chuckled.

The odds against any submarine but a U-boat not immediately submerging when spotting a ship were enormous. And there was no Swiss navy.

The Ciudad de Cadiz had a half-dozen Oerlikon 20mm machine guns mounted in various places in her superstructure, all but two of them behind false bulkheads that could be swung quickly out of the way.

"Yes, sir."

The third mate returned before von Dattenberg and de Banderano had finished their coffee.

"The Oerlikons are manned, sir, and we have notified the U-405."

"Very well," de Banderano said. "Capitan von Dattenberg and I will be on the bridge shortly."

"Send, Lie along our port side," Capitan de Banderano ordered the seaman standing beside him with a signaling lamp.

"Lie alongside our port side. Aye, aye, sir," the signalman said, and began tapping his key.

"That's the U-409," von Dattenberg said.

"You know her? Her master?"

"I don't know if I do or not," von Dattenberg said.

"Submarine sends, Will lie along your port," the signalman reported.

"Very well," de Banderano said. "Make all preparations to take passengers and cargo aboard, with refueling and replenishment of food supplies to follow. Have the galley prepared to feed her crew. Have the table set in the wardroom to feed officers. Alert the laundry."

"Aye, aye, sir," the third mate responded.

"Take the helm, Senor Sanchez."

"I have the helm, sir," Third Mate Sanchez said.

"Why don't we go below, Capitan, and greet our visitors?" Capitan de Banderano suggested.

By the time de Banderano and von Dattenberg had made their way from the bridge to the just-above-the-waterline Seventh Deck, enormous watertight doors in the Ciudad de Cadiz's hull had been slid upward and a huge cushion--lashed-together truck tires--was being lowered into place.

Lines were tossed aboard by sailors on the submarine, and hawsers then fed to the submarine from the ship. The U-409 was pulled carefully against the cushion.

A gangway was slid from the deck of the ship onto the submarine. Two men walked toward it as it was lashed into place. One was dressed, as was von Dattenberg, in a sweater and trousers topped off by an equally battered hat. Despite his neatly trimmed full beard, the captain of the U-409 looked very young.

The man with him was in a black SS uniform, its insignia identifying him as an SS-brigadefuhrer. He was pale-faced, and the uniform was mussed.

And probably dirty, von Dattenberg thought.

The captain of the U-409 walked up the gangway, stopped, raised his arm in a salute, and said, "Permission to board, Kapitan?"

The SS-brigadefuhrer pushed past him onto the ship.

De Banderano returned the salute. "Granted. Welcome."

The SS-brigadefuhrer threw his arm straight out in the Nazi salute and barked, "Heil, Hitler!"

Von Dattenberg returned the salute more than a little sloppily.

De Banderano just looked at him.

"Take me to the kapitan, please."

"I'm the master of the Ciudad de Cadiz."

"Kapitan, I am SS-Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg. I have your orders."

"You have my orders?" de Banderano said as if surprised.

Von Deitzberg handed him an envelope. As de Banderano tore it open, the submarine captain walked to them, gave a military salute--as opposed to the Nazi salute--and said, "Kapitanleutnant Wertz, Kapitan. I have the honor to command U-409."

De Banderano returned that salute and offered his hand.

"Von Dattenberg, U-405," von Dattenberg said.

"Aside from this gentleman," de Banderano said, nodding at von Deitzberg, "what have you got for us?"

"One more SS officer, an obersturmfuhrer; ten SS of other ranks; and one wooden crate."

"I was thinking more of mail," de Banderano said.

"And a packet of mail."

"Why don't you send for that?" de Banderano said. "And then we'll see about feeding you and getting you a bath and some clean clothing."

"The crate, the special shipment, and my men are more important than the mail," von Deitzberg said. "Get them on here first."

"After you've gotten the mail, Capitan, you can bring aboard everything else that comes aboard," de Banderano said calmly.

He handed the orders von Deitzberg had given him to von Dattenberg.

"I didn't give you permission to show him those orders!" von Deitzberg flared.

"There's one thing you should understand, Senor von Deitzberg. I am the master of this vessel. I don't need anyone's permission to do anything, and no one tells me what to do."

Von Deitzberg colored, but he didn't say anything.

"Capitan von Dattenberg," de Banderano said. "Why don't you take Capitan Wertz to your cabin, get him a bath and some clean clothing, and order him breakfast."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And then, when the crate and the SS personnel who are so important to him are safely aboard, we'll see about getting this fellow a bath and something to eat."

"Aye, aye, sir," von Dattenberg said, and turned to Wertz. "If you'll come with me, Kapitan?"

Kapitanleutnant Wertz waited until von Dattenberg had closed his cabin door before he announced, "I think I like this Spanish kapitan."

"He's a good man."

"And he's not impressed with SS-Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg."

"He doesn't seem to be."

"Everybody at Saint-Nazaire was. I wanted to throw up."

"Why am I getting the idea you don't like the brigadefuhrer?"

"The only nice thing I can say about that SS bastard is that he got seasick the moment we hit the deep water outside Saint-Nazaire, and stayed that way whenever we were on the surface--and we were on the surface most of the way."

Von Dattenberg smiled but said nothing.

Wertz warmed to his subject as he began pulling off his clothing.

"He showed up at the pens like royalty. And all of our never-leave-the-port superiors fell all over each other trying to kiss his ass. He has four fucking suitcases, big ones."

"Where did you stow them?"

"We took off four torpedoes to make room for them. And the crap those storm troopers had with them."

"Well, there are torpedoes aboard the Cadiz. This is a floating warehouse."

Von Dattenberg, as Wertz went on, realized that the cork was out of the bottle: "When I showed the SS sonofabitch my cabin, and graciously, in the tradition of the naval service, showed him the fold-down bunk and told him I would sleep there, and that he could use my bunk, he said, 'I really think you should find some other accommodation.' "

"Jesus!"

"So I moved in with my Number One, and we played hot sheets all across the Atlantic."

"Well, he is an SS-brigadefuhrer."

"Who showered at least twice a day, usually throwing up in the stall--which was sort of funny--and then complained about how long it took my men to clean up after him. He used up more fresh water taking showers than my crew got to drink."

Kapitanleutnant Wertz was now down to his shorts, which were once white but now gray and oil-stained.

"If he hadn't been seasick all the time, I'd have thrown the sonofabitch over the side--or shot him out of a tube and reported he had died gloriously for the Fuhrer."

"Take it easy, Wertz," von Dattenberg said seriously. "You don't want anyone hearing you talk like that."

Now there was concern on Wertz's face.

"Except another U-boat skipper, of course," von Dattenberg added to ease his mind. "And now that you've told me the brigadefuhrer suffers terribly from mal de mer, I'll do my best to stay on the surface until we're nearly where we're going with him."

"Where are you going?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"No, and sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"I'd love to tell you, just to piss him off, but that would be dangerous for both of us."

Wertz nodded his understanding.

"Go have your shower," von Dattenberg said. "There's fresh clothing on the bunk, and while you're doing that, I'll order your breakfast. Ham and eggs?"

[FOUR]

Wardroom

MV Ciudad de Cadiz

0915 11 September 1943

SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg, now attired in an ordinary seaman's blue shirt and trousers, was eating--wolfing down--his breakfast of ham steak and eggs and fried potatoes at the master's table in the wardroom.

"You were hungry, weren't you?" Capitan de Banderano asked, smiling.

Von Deitzberg, obviously making an attempt to pour some oil on what he recognized as troubled waters, smiled at both von Dattenberg--who was sitting across from him at the table--and de Banderano, who was tilted back in his chair at the head of the table.

"Obviously, I am not cut out to be a mariner," he said. "I haven't had much to eat but crackers and tea for days."

"So Capitan Wertz said," de Banderano said. "Well, you can make up for that now."

"You have a dry cleaning facility on here? The steward said something . . ."

"There is a dry cleaning machine aboard," de Banderano said. "And a laundry. And stocks of uniforms for the men from the Unterseebooten. Unfortunately, no SS uniforms. We don't see many SS men."

"And the food! This is marvelous ham! And fresh eggs! Where do you get all this?"

"Either in Montevideo or Buenos Aires. We enter those ports, usually alternately, every two weeks or so. We top off our fuel tanks and take on stocks of fresh food."

"With which you replenish the Unterseebooten," von Deitzberg said.

"We do."

"And you have no trouble getting into and out of those ports?"

De Banderano shook his head.

"Let me ask you this, Kapitan. Could I leave your ship in either port without being noticed?"

"My orders--you gave them to me, didn't you read them?--say that I am to land you and your men and that crate at Samborombon Bay in the River Plate estuary."

"I'm not talking about the SS men. I meant just me."

"I'm not saying it would be impossible, but I don't think I want to take that risk. The authorities watch me pretty close in both places. They suspect--know--what we're doing. But so long as I don't violate their neutrality, they leave me alone. If I was caught smuggling something ashore--you, for example--they wouldn't let me into their ports again. That would mean there would be no fresh food, and, more importantly, no diesel fuel for the Unterseebooten."

When von Deitzberg didn't reply, de Banderano went on: "And then we have our orders. You and your men are to be put ashore on Samborombon Bay."

"Orders are subject to change," von Deitzberg said. "Presumably you are in radio contact with Berlin?"

"Let me explain how that works," de Banderano said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "With rare exceptions, we do not communicate with the station. It's in Spain, by the way. It used to be in North Africa, but now the Americans are there. There was such a transmission today. One word. The code word for 'shipment received; proceeding.'

"We don't want anyone finding us out by triangulation, which they would most likely do if we sent long messages. We receive our orders, which are encrypted by an Enigma machine, from the station in Spain. The enemy cannot locate a radio receiver by triangulation.

"Tomorrow, when you and your men are aboard U-405, and she has sailed for Samborombon Bay, and U-409 resumes patrol, I will transmit a two-word message. One will be the code word for U-405 proceeding according to orders, and the second the code word for U-409 resuming patrol.

"En route to Argentina, the station will transmit specific orders to Capitan von Dattenberg giving him the details regarding where you and your men are to be put ashore in the rubber boats.

"I don't intend to jeopardize this system by transmitting a long message in which you will attempt to justify to Admiral Canaris putting you ashore in Montevideo or Buenos Aires despite the risks that would pose to not only your mission, but also mine. Do you understand, Senor von Deitzberg?"

After a long moment, von Deitzberg smiled. "Of course. I simply didn't understand. As I said before, I am not a mariner."

[FIVE]

ABC Restaurant

Lavalle 545

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1320 18 September 1943

"There it is, on the left," Anton von Gradny-Sawz said, pointing as he leaned forward in the rear seat of the embassy's Mercedes.

"Jawohl, Herr von Gradny-Sawz," Gunther Loche said crisply.

"Pick me up in an hour and a half, Gunther," von Gradny-Sawz ordered as Loche pulled into the curb. "At ten minutes before three."

"Jawohl, Herr von Gradny-Sawz."

"Get yourself some lunch during that time, but before, before you eat, find a public telephone--there's a booth at the intersection of Lavalle and Carlos Pellegrini--and call the embassy and tell Ambassador von Lutzenberger or Fraulein Hassell--no one else; keep trying until you get one or the other--that I am taking lunch with el Coronel Martin and possibly someone on his staff at the ABC; that I expect to be finished before three and will then go to the embassy."

"Jawohl, Herr von Gradny-Sawz."

"Now, Gunther, who are you going to call, and when, and what are you going to say?"

"Before I eat, Herr von Gradny-Sawz, I am to find a public telephone, and call the ambassador or Fraulein Hassell and tell them you're having lunch with el Coronel Martin at the ABC restaurant, and expect to be finished before three, and after that will go to the embassy."

"And, Gunther, and?"

"Excuse me, Herr von Gradny-Sawz?"

"And who are you going to give that message to if neither Ambassador von Lutzenberger nor Fraulein Hassell is available?"

Gunther was visibly confused for a moment, but then said, "Herr von Gradny-Sawz, you said I was to keep trying until I got one of them; not give the message to someone else."

"Correct," von Gradny-Sawz said, and got out of the car.

As he crossed the sidewalk and pushed open the door to the restaurant, von Gradny-Sawz thought, somewhat smugly: What that zealous but none-too-bright would-be Sicherheitsdienst agent is going to do is go to the pay phone, call Commercial Counselor Karl Cranz or, failing to get him on the phone, Deputy Commercial Counselor Erich Raschner--

"Deputy Commercial Counselor" Raschner, my left foot's big toe!

Does SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Cranz really think people don't know SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Raschner's not a diplomat? Raschner is crude, ignorant, and a peasant!

--and tell one or the other of them that I'm having lunch in the ABC with Martin.

Only then--or perhaps even after he has his lunch--will he try to call Ambassador von Lutzenberger and tell him what I'm doing.

Which is exactly what I want him to do.

Cranz and Raschner will think both that (a) Gunther is keeping a close eye on me and (b) that I don't even suspect that he is.

Von Gradny-Sawz felt a little light-headed.

He was, he realized, about to cross the Rubicon.

There was something surreal about it, even though this would not be the first time he had realized that he had had to, so to speak, cross the Rubicon.

From the moment Ambassador von Lutzenberger had shown him the message from Canaris about the "senior officer to be later identified" and told him to set up the identity card, driver's license, and the rest of it, von Gradny-Sawz had known he was going to have to do whatever was necessary to keep himself from being identified as the traitor everyone--certainly including the "senior officer to be later identified"--knew was in the embassy.

That he wasn't the traitor was irrelevant.

They were going to find a traitor, he well knew, even if they had to invent one.

Actually, von Gradny-Sawz wasn't sure who "they" were, only that the senior officers of the embassy--Ambassador von Lutzenberger, "Commercial Attache" Cranz, and Naval Attache Boltitz--who were all, of course, under suspicion themselves, were understandably not going to find themselves and their families in Sachsenhausen or Dachau as long as they could throw someone else to the Sicherheitsdienst.

But von Gradny-Sawz recognized that First Secretary Anton von Gradny-Sawz could easily be that sacrificial lamb.

When Wilhelm Frogger, the commercial attache of the embassy, had gone missing with his wife, there had been a brief moment's hope that they had been the traitors. Yet that hope had been shattered when "they" had decided the Froggers had been kidnapped by the American OSS.

Von Gradny-Sawz thought what had happened was that Frogger--or, for that matter, his wife, who was sub rosa working for the Sicherheitsdienst--had decided that he was going to be the sacrificial lamb and had gone to the Americans to save his life.

That scenario had not sat well with Cranz--and with his superiors in Berlin--because it would have meant that one of their own, Frau Frogger, had been a traitor. That would have damaged the image of the Sicherheitsdienst, and that couldn't be tolerated.

The arrow was again pointing at Anton von Gradny-Sawz, and, having come to that conclusion, he had understood he really had no choice in the matter; he had to do what he was about to do.

El Coronel Alejandro Martin, chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security, was sitting in a booth halfway down the right side of the ABC, buttering a chunk of rye bread.

He was wearing a tweed suit that von Gradny-Sawz thought was "cut on the English style" and didn't look much like what came to mind when thinking of someone who was Argentina's senior intelligence--and, for that matter, counterintelligence--officer.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting, el Coronel?"

Martin rose and offered von Gradny-Sawz his hand.

"Actually, I came a bit early. How are you, Mister Secretary?"

"I thought we'd agreed you weren't to call me that?"

"At the time, we agreed you wouldn't call me 'Coronel.' "

"Touche, Alejandro," von Gradny-Sawz said. "Shall I go out and come back in and do it right?"

"Sit down, Anton, and as soon as we decide which of our governments is paying for our lunch, we'll have a look at the wine list."

Von Gradny-Sawz managed to slide onto the opposing bench, and he reached for the red-leather-bound wine list.

"Before we allow the subject to get in the way of our lunch, Anton," Martin said, "I regret that I have been unable to turn up any trace of Senor Frogger. Or Senora Frogger."

"They seem to have simply fallen off the edge of the earth, haven't they?" von Gradny-Sawz said. "But now that we have talked business, diplomatic protocol gives me no choice in the matter. Our luncheon is on the Foreign Ministry of the German Reich."

"I will not argue with diplomatic protocol," Martin said. "And since I know nothing of German wines, I'm happy to bow to your expertise."

"Have you thought of what you would like to eat?"

"They do a marvelous sauerbraten here."

"Yes, they do," von Gradny-Sawz agreed cheerfully. "And that would call for a red." He looked up from the wine list, smiled happily at Martin, and announced, "And here it is!"

He pointed. Martin looked.

"That's Argentine," Martin said.

"Yes, I know," von Gradny-Sawz said. "And since, with all modesty, I am something of an expert on German wines--which range from the tolerable to the undrinkable--I will confess--trusting in your discretion--that I never drink them unless it is my diplomatic duty to do so."

Martin smiled at him but didn't reply.

"Hungarian wines are marvelous," von Gradny-Sawz began, interrupting himself when a waiter appeared. Then, switching to German, he ordered: "Be so good, Herr Ober, as to bring us a bottle of the Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon 1939 if you have it. If not, 1941."

"Jawohl, Exzellenz."

"And then make sure there is another; I suspect it may be necessary."

"Jawohl, Exzellenz."

The waiter bowed and backed away from the table.

"An ethnic German, I would suppose," von Gradny-Sawz said, switching back to Spanish. "What is it they say about converts to Roman Catholicism? 'They become more Papist than the Pope.' I suspect we are being served by a devout follower of the Fuhrer."

Martin chuckled.

"Where was I? Oh. Hungarian wines. They really are wonderful. Something else the Bolsheviks are going to wind up with. Including a vineyard that's been in my family since the Romans."

"That sounds as if you think the Allies are going to win the war," Martin said carefully.

"As a loyal German, I of course have absolute faith in the ultimate Final Victory."

Martin smiled and shook his head. Von Gradny-Sawz smiled back.

"Changing the subject," Martin said, "I know something about that Don Guillermo Cabernet I suspect you don't."

"The initial pressing is by the bare feet of nubile virgins?"

"The 'Don Guillermo' makes reference to Don Guillermo Frade, granduncle of the present owner, Don Cletus Frade. He established the vineyard in Mendoza."

"And now it's in the hands of an American! War is really hell, isn't it, Alejandro?"

"Yes, I think it is," Martin said seriously. "But speaking of the war, may I ask you a question, friend to friend?"

"Certainly."

"What's going on with Mussolini? What was that all about?"

"You saw the story in La Nacion?"

"And we heard from our embassy in Berlin that the newspapers there reported that after his brilliant rescue he's on his way to see Hitler."

"King Victor Emmanuel had him confined in a ski resort not far from Rome in the Gran Sasso. Lovely place; I often skied there. The Campo Imperatore Hotel. He was in the hands of the Carabinieri. The only way to get to the hotel is by cable car. It was therefore believed his rescue was impossible. Even if his rescuers parachuted onto the mountaintop, or landed there in gliders, which is what they ultimately did, Mussolini could be shot by the Carabinieri rather than waiting for the trial the king planned for him after the Americans take Italy. The king was determined that Il Duce should not be freed to attempt to resume control of the government."

"I saw that the Allies have landed . . ."

"At Anzio," von Gradny-Sawz confirmed. "And Italy has surrendered unconditionally to the Allies. The Wehrmacht is in the process of disarming the Italian army."

The waiter appeared with two bottles of Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon, apologized for not having the 1939, but reported that he had a bottle of both 1938 and 1937, and hoped His Excellency would approve.

They went through the opening, tasting, and pouring ritual.

They ordered sauerbraten mit Kartoffelknodel und sauerkraut.

They raised their glasses.

"To good friends, good food, and good wine," Martin offered.

"In the best of all possible worlds, a Hungarian Bikaver, as red as the blood of a bull, but failing that, this magnificent Don Guillermo," von Gradny-Sawz responded.

They sipped, swallowed, and smiled.

"So what was the purpose of rescuing Il Duce?" Martin asked.

"I'm sure the Fuhrer had his reasons. Our Fuhrer doesn't always explain his decisions, but we are all agreed that he is virtually incapable of making a mistake."

Martin did not reply.

"According to the story our commercial counselor, Senor Cranz, got from some friends of his in Germany," von Gradny-Sawz went on, "what the SS did--and I think this was brilliant--was kidnap a senior Carabinieri officer, a colonel or a general, I didn't get his name. They loaded him on one of the gliders and took him to the hotel. Under a flag of truce, the senior SS officer present--most of the attackers were parachutists, but this was an SS captain named Skorzeny--went to the senior Carabinieri officer and told him he had a choice. Either release Mussolini and no one would be hurt, or shoot Mussolini, whereupon the SS would shoot the Carabinieri colonel and then all the Carabinieri.

"Il Duce was released. Not a shot was fired. A Storch and a pilot were waiting nearby . . ." He waited to see on Martin's face that he knew what a Storch was, then went on: "Then Captain Skorzeny squeezed Il Duce and himself into the plane and flew to Rome."

Martin said: "I thought the Storch--you have one at the embassy, right?"

Von Gradny-Sawz nodded.

"--was a two-place airplane?"

"I wondered about that, too," von Gradny-Sawz said. "But I have found it wise never to question Herr Cranz about any detail of an SS operation."

"I understand," Martin said.

"Herr Cranz was inspired by the kidnapping," von Gradny-Sawz said.

"Excuse me?"

The waiter appeared with their sauerbraten mit Kartoffelknodel und sauerkraut.

"In Germany, you understand, Alejandro, where they don't have your magnificent Argentine beef, the meat sometimes has the consistency of shoe leather. I don't find that a problem. I love the sauce. If I were facing execution, I think I would request for my last meal the Kartoffelknodel and the sauce, hold the sauerbraten. And, of course, a bottle of Bikaver and some hard-crusted bread."

Martin chuckled.

"You were saying something about Senor Cranz being inspired by the ki dnapping?"

By the time he asked the question, von Gradny-Sawz had a mouthful of the sauerbraten. When he finally had it all chewed and swallowed, he said:

"If I was guaranteed Argentine beef like this, I would add sauerbraten to my last meal." And then, without a perceptible pause, he continued, "What SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Cranz plans to do is kidnap Senora Pamela Holworth-Talley de Mallin, Dona Dorotea Mallin de Frade's mother. He also plans to kidnap Dona Dorotea's fifteen-year-old brother Enrique--and possibly Senor Mallin himself. And then he plans to exchange them all for the Froggers."

He then sawed off a piece of the Kartoffelknodel, moved it around his plate to coat it with the sauce, and put it into his mouth.

Martin laid down his knife and fork, then took a swallow of his wine before asking, "Anton, why are you telling me this?"

Von Gradny-Sawz finished chewing the Kartoffelknodel, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and took a swallow of his wine. He refilled his glass before continuing.

"Two reasons, Alejandro, one of them being that I like to think of myself as a Christian gentleman, and as such am morally offended at the involvement of an innocent woman and her fifteen-year-old son in this sordid business, let alone Senor Mallin."

Martin considered that for a moment before asking, "And the other?"

"The other reason is quite selfish," von Gradny-Sawz said. "The possibility exists that I might find it necessary at some time in the future to . . . how do I say this? . . . seek asylum in this beautiful country of yours, and I would like a highly placed friend should that become necessary."

Martin looked at him intently. Von Gradny-Sawz met his eyes for a very long moment, then picked up his wineglass again.

"Anton," Martin said carefully, "if you are serious about seeking asylum, it will take me a couple of days to . . ."

"I don't think--operative word think--that such action will be immediately necessary. I would like to think of myself as a loyal German, a loyal diplomat, who would not take such action unless it was absolutely necessary. I am not a traitor. What I would like to do is have the asylum ready should I need it. In the meantime, I will carry out my duties at the embassy and, while doing so, make what might be considered deposits in my account with you."

"For example?" Martin asked.

"What I just gave you, for example. A violation of the generally accepted standards of decency, which I don't consider are covered by questions of lo yalty."

Martin nodded his understanding or agreement, or maybe both.

I've got him, von Gradny-Sawz decided. El Coronel Martin not only took the bait but swallowed it whole.

Kidnapping Don Cletus Frade's mother-in-law and brother-in-law to exchange them for the Froggers would be a clever thing to do, the sort of thing Cranz--if he were considerably more intelligent than he believes himself to be--would dream up.

"Do you have any idea when this kidnapping is supposed to take place?"

Since it exists only in my imagination, Alejandro, I know it will never be attempted.

Von Gradny-Sawz shook his head.

"If I am able to learn more, Alejandro, I'll let you know."

I have just given him several problems.

What is he to do?

Put guards on Senora de Mallin and the boy, which would carry with it the risk that questions would be asked that he wouldn't want to answer? Such as who told him?

Tell Don Cletus Frade, which could pose all sorts of problems?

Tell his superiors, who might decide to have a quiet word with von Lutzenberger, pointing out the risks of kidnapping a very prominent Argentine woman?

Would von Lutzenberger decide that Cranz, who was capable of such a scheme, was again acting behind his back?

Would any of these scenarios raise questions about Anton von Gradny-Sawz in von Lutzenberger's mind? Or in Cranz's or Boltitz's?

I think not.

This is the second time I have crossed the Rubicon. It becomes easier if one has done it before.

Von Gradny-Sawz raised his hand over his shoulder, snapped his fingers, and called, "Herr Ober!"

The waiter appeared and von Gradny-Sawz mimed for him to open the second bottle of Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon.