The Honor of Spies

XIII

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

0945 2 October 1943

The Reverend Kurt Welner's 1940 Packard 160 convertible coupe, roof down, was parked in front of the big house when the convoy--a 1941 Ford station wagon, the Horch, and a second Ford station wagon bringing up the rear--arrived carrying Don Cletus Frade and his wife to their home.

"Oh, good!" Clete said, thickly sarcastic. "Now I can go to confession. I was getting a little worried. I haven't been to Mass in a week!"

"Cletus!" Dona Dorotea exclaimed.

"And maybe we can get Father Kurt to say Grace before I have my breakfast," Clete, unrepentant, went on.

"If you hadn't insisted on getting up in the middle of the night to come out here," Dorotea said, "you could have had your breakfast in Buenos Aires."

"It was in the hope that I would find peace in my humble home. Peace and breakfast."

"When we go inside, you behave!" Dorotea ordered.

Kurt Welner, S.J., and two other priests--both of whom Clete pegged as some kind of clerical bureaucrats--were in the sitting room when Clete and Dorotea, trailed by Enrico, walked in.

The two priests with Welner rose to their feet. Welner did not.

"Bless you, my children," Clete intoned sonorously as he raised his hand to shoulder level in a blessing gesture.

"Cletus!" Dorotea snapped furiously.

"Father," Enrico said, "Don Cletus is very, very tired. . . ."

Welner made a gesture that said I understand--or perhaps I understand he's crazy.

Dorotea went to Father Welner and kissed him, then shook the hands of the other two.

"I'm Dorotea Mallin de Frade. Welcome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."

"I absolutely have to have my breakfast," Clete said. "Anyone else hungry?"

"Actually, all we've had is coffee and a biscuit," Welner said, and stood. He pointed his finger at one of the other priests and, switching to German, added, "Cletus, this is Otto Niedermeyer."

Clete now remembered seeing SS-Hauptscharfuhrer Niedermeyer in Lisbon as he boarded the Ciudad de Rosario.

Niedermeyer snapped to attention and barked, "Herr Major!"

Clete had a sudden chilling series of thoughts:

Jesus Christ! When I so cleverly decided that I could get away with not telling Martin and Nervo about bringing these people to Argentina, I didn't think about them actually being here, and that Martin and Nervo will, as sure as Christ made little apples, find out that they are!

What the hell was I thinking?

Or not thinking?

When they find out I lied to them, there goes that "We're all in this together!"

What the hell am I going to do?

"Don't ever use my rank again!" Clete said unpleasantly in German, then asked, "And the other fellow?"

"If you don't know his name," Welner said, "then you could truthfully say you've never heard of him." He let that sink in. "He's going to arrange for National Identity booklets, et cetera."

And that's just one of the ways they'll find out they're here!

If somebody in the Interior Ministry is passing out National Identity booklets to people who shouldn't have them, Martin knows about it.

And so does Nervo.

And by now Martin's people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo--Good Ol' Carlos Aguirre, "my" airframe and power plant mechanic, who I know works for Martin, pops quickly to mind--are already wondering what Welner and the other two Jesuits are doing here. And does Nervo have his own people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, keeping an eye on Don Cletus Frade?

You bet your ass he does!

And are they wondering the same thing?

You bet your ass they are!

"If I don't know his name, how am I going to get in touch with him if I need him?" Clete asked.

"Through me."

"I don't like that," Clete said flatly.

They locked eyes for a moment.

"Cletus," Welner said finally, "this is Father Francisco Silva. Also of the Society of Jesus."

Clete went to Silva and shook his hand.

"Make sure I have your phone number before you leave, Father," he said. "But right now let's get some breakfast."

He walked to the door to the dining room, but before he reached the door, it opened.

Elisa Gomez--Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo's chief housekeeper, a plump female in her late forties who was wearing a severe black dress and had a large wooden cross hanging around her neck--stood there.

"Don Cletus?" she said.

But Clete saw that Elisa was looking at the priests, and with great curiosity.

"We're going to need breakfast," Clete said. "A lot of it." He looked at Welner and asked, "Where are the others?"

"They should be here soon," Welner said. "They're coming in a Little Sisters of the Poor bus."

And when Aguirre and whoever Nervo has watching me see a busload of priests, nuns, and orphan children showing up here in a Little Sisters of the Poor bus, then me flying everybody off in the Lodestar, they're going to say, "How nice! Don Cletus has found religion!"

In a pig's ass they are!

On a scale of one to ten, Major Frade, you have fucked up to at least twelve!

"For a dozen people, Elisa," Clete went on.

"Si, Don Cletus."

"And bring coffee and sweet rolls while we're waiting, please."

The first people to arrive--unexpectedly--were Lieutenant Oscar J. Schultz, USNR, in his gaucho clothing, and Staff Sergeant Jerry O'Sullivan of the United States Army, who was in uniform except that he was wearing neither a necktie nor any headgear. He had a Thompson submachine gun hanging from his shoulder.

Schultz took one look around the room and said, "Oops! Sorry."

Clete waved them into the dining room.

"Padre," Schultz said to Welner.

"Father," O'Sullivan said.

"Jefe," Welner replied. "Jerry."

Clete saw Niedermeyer looking at Schultz with interest bordering on in credulity.

"Say hello to Otto Niedermeyer," Clete said, pointing to him. "When he's not dressed up like a Jesuit priest, he's an SS sergeant major."

Schultz crossed to Niedermeyer and offered his hand.

"I never know when he's kidding," Schultz said in German.

"I kid you not," Frade said.

"And sometimes he even explains things to me," Schultz added, then glanced at Clete. "Is this one of those times?"

"In a minute," Clete said. "Had your breakfast?"

"Cup of coffee is all," Schultz said. "The Other Dorotea spent the night with her mother. The perimeter gauchos said you'd just driven onto the estancia. We thought we'd welcome you home." He looked at Niedermeyer. "Not one of those from the U-boat?"

"There was SS on the U-boat?" Frade asked.

"About a dozen of them, the best I could see," O'Sullivan said.

"Anybody see you while you were looking?" Clete asked.

O'Sullivan shook his head.

"No, sir," he said, and with a smile added, "And there was some kind of big shot. All dressed up. Complete to homburg hat and briefcase. His rubber boat struck something and sank like a rock. He got soaked."

Looking at Niedermeyer, Frade said, "That was probably SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg. You know who he is?"

Niedermeyer nodded, then blurted, "He's here? He came here by U-boat?"

Clete nodded.

"Which makes me wonder how he came here," Schultz said, nodding toward Niedermeyer.

"On my airplane," Clete said.

"You are going to tell us what's going on, right?" Schultz said.

Clete looked at Schultz.

Maybe, after I figure out how I'm going to explain everything to everybody.

Right now, I don't have a clue how to do that.

"I'm going to wait until everybody is here," Frade said, stalling. "I don't want to do it twice."

Someone else almost immediately appeared at the dining room door, but it wasn't whom Clete expected. It was a svelte, formidable woman in her mid-fifties who had gray-flecked, luxuriant black hair and wore a simple black dress with a triple strand of pearls.

Shit!

I should have realized that Claudia was likely to show up!

But why the hell couldn't she have invited herself for a late lunch? By then, I'd be out of here.

And how am I going to explain any of this to her?

He said: "Senora Claudia Carzino-Cormano! What an unexpected pleasure."

Claudia went to Dorotea and embraced her affectionately. Then she looked at Cletus: "I've got a message for you, Senor Sarcastic. Can I give it to you now?"

"Whisper it in my ear," Clete said.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

He nodded.

She went to him.

"I probably shouldn't kiss you," she said, "but I will. I missed you at the airport."

Then she kissed him and, covering her mouth with her hand, whispered in his ear.

He immediately parroted it out loud.

" 'Von Wachtstein's on his way in his Storch to meet von Deitzberg at the airport in Carrasco,'" he said, then added rhetorically: "I wonder what the hell that's about? Von Deitzberg went over there on the SAA flight yesterday afternoon. You'd think he would come back that way."

"Unless," Dorotea offered, "he wanted to take advantage of Peter's diplomatic immunity and have him fly something back here he didn't want to risk carrying through customs."

"Yeah," Clete said, accepting that immediately. He gave Dorotea a thumbs-up.

She smiled and shrugged as if to say, Well, what did you expect?

"That's all Peter said to tell you," Claudia said, then went to the priests, kissing Welner first.

"I passed a Little Sisters of the Poor bus on the way over here," Claudia said. "That yours, Father Kurt?"

He nodded.

"It's nice to see you again, Father," she said, offering her hand to the bona fide Jesuit. Then she turned to Niedermeyer. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, Father."

"His name is Niedermeyer," Clete said. "He's not a priest."

"What did you say?" Claudia asked, but before Clete could respond, she looked at Welner.

"What is going on here, Father Kurt?" she demanded.

"Claudia, I think Cletus would much prefer to answer that."

She looked at Cletus.

"What I would much prefer is not to answer at all," Clete said. "But pull up a chair, Claudia, and I'll think of something."

Why the hell didn't you think of a story to tell all these people, Senor Superspy?

You didn't think anybody would be curious?

Claudia sat at the table, looked at him, waited all of thirty seconds, and then asked, "Well?"

"I'm waiting for the others to arrive."

"What others?"

"They should be here any minute," Clete said.

"Why can't you tell me now?" she demanded.

Because I don't know what to say.

"They should be here any minute," Clete repeated.

"I think I just heard somebody drive up," Schultz said.

A minute later, one of the maids opened the door from the foyer.

"Sister Maria Isabel of the Little Sisters of the Poor asks to see you, Father," the maid announced to Welner.

Welner looked at Clete, who nodded.

"Ask the sister to come in, please," Welner said.

"There are nuns and a priest and children with her, Father," the maid said.

"The more the merrier," Clete said. "Bring them all in."

When the nun came into the room, she had with her a priest wearing a brown cassock with a rope belt, his bare feet in sandals--That has to be SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Alois Strubel; I remember him from the plane--two boys Clete decided were about ten, a girl he thought was probably a year or two younger, and three other nuns.

Two of those nuns clearly are the mothers of the children--and the wives of Strubel and Niedermeyer. But I don't have a clue as to who's who.

Sister Maria Isabel looks like the economy-size version of Mother Superior of the Little Sisters of Santa Maria del Pilar. She's a foot taller, probably sixty pounds heavier, but is also old, leathery-skinned, and has the same intelligent eyes and the same fuck with me at your peril aura of self-confidence.

For an important intelligence officer--especially an SS officer--Strubel is not very imposing in that monk's costume.

And what do the bona fide nuns think is going on?

Those kids are frightened.

Who wouldn't be?

They look like they need a bath, some new clothes, and something to eat. They look like they're starved.

"Elisa," he called loudly in Spanish. "Where the hell is breakfast?"

Clete saw the children flinch.

Nice work, Cletus--if they were scared before, now they're terrorized!

He stood up and walked to the children.

Is this smart, or am I making things even worse?

"Good morning," he said in German. "My name is Clete. I'm the headwaiter. In just a minute, we'll get you some breakfast."

They looked at him with sad eyes. No one responded.

The door to the kitchen opened. The odors of frying bacon and freshly baked sweet rolls came into the dining room. A line of maids came through the door carrying silver-dome-covered trays of food.

Thank God!

"See?" Clete said.

Now there was some interest in their eyes.

Another maid appeared, a large glass pitcher of milk in each hand.

"Milch?" the young girl asked softly.

"Enough for you to swim in, sweetheart," Clete said.

The young girl giggled.

Thank God again.

He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her toward the table. After a moment's hesitation, the girl allowed Clete to lead her to the table. The boys started to follow.

Thank God yet again.

No. I mean it. That's not just a figure of speech.

There's no reason for these kids to have to go through what they have and still be hungry, not quite able to believe they can have all the milk they want.

Thank you, God.

He saw Welner get up from where he was sitting and walk toward them. Jesus H. Christ . . . I've got it!

I know how to explain everything to everybody!

Where the hell did that come from?

Doesn't matter. It'll work!

The maids began uncovering the trays of food. There were fried and scrambled and soft-boiled eggs, bacon, ham, toast, rolls, two bowls jammed with butter curls, and half a dozen bowls of marmalade.

"My God," one of the nuns said softly, wonderingly. "So much food!"

That's somebody's mother.

Welner, now back at his place at the table, tapped his glass with his fork and, when he had everyone's attention, began, "Our Father: We offer our thanks for the safe conclusion of our hazardous journey, and for the bounty we are about to receive. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

Dorotea said, "Amen."

She then looked at her husband, who finally got the message and said, "Amen."

He saw tears rolling down the cheeks of one of the nuns-who-had-to-be-somebody's-mother as she generously buttered a roll and handed it to the girl. Clete had thought it over very carefully as everyone ate. He concluded that not only did he have no choice but to go with the explanation that had suddenly popped into his mind, but also that they very likely just might believe it.

"I suppose everyone is wondering what's going on," he said.

Everyone but the children looked at him.

"What I'm going to do is ask Father Welner if he will please interrupt me whenever I go wrong."

Welner's eyes were wary. But he said, "Of course."

"Do you want to burden Sister Maria Isabel with this, Father?" Clete asked politely.

In other words, am I supposed to trust her to keep her mouth shut?

"Well, I think Sister Maria Isabel should hear what you have to say," Welner said. "But if I might make a suggestion, Sister?"

She looked at him suspiciously, but nodded.

"I was thinking that it might save a good deal of time, Sister, if we sent Sister Maria Encarnacion into Dolores to get our guests some regular clothing."

Sister Maria Isabel nodded.

"And perhaps Enrico could go with her, to see about clothing for the boys and men?" Welner went on.

Rodriguez looked at Clete, who nodded.

"Enough for several days, Sister," Welner said. "Just ordinary clothing, until we can get our guests settled."

"You have money, Enrico?" Clete asked.

"I'll get him some from your desk," Dorotea said. "Don't start your explanation until I get back."

Father Welner looked at Clete and explained, "This way, the sisters can return with the bus to Buenos Aires more quickly. I'm sure it's needed there."

Frade turned to Sister Maria Isabel. "Why don't you give Rodriguez everyone's shoe and other sizes," he said.

Dorotea was back with a thick wad of currency before Enrico had finished writing down the sizes. She handed it to him, then turned to Welner.

"Do you think we should send the children down to the stables, Father? Have the grooms put them on a horse?"

"Dorotea, I think that's a very good idea," Welner said. "Sister?"

Sister Maria Isabel gave him a dirty look but motioned to one of the nuns.

"Be careful with them, Sister," she ordered.

"I'll send one of the girls to go with them," Dorotea said.

"That probably would be useful, Senora," Sister Maria Isabel said.

Dorotea went to the kitchen door, pushed it open, and said, "Elisa, I need someone to show Sister and the children the way to the stable."

One of the maids instantly appeared.

The nun said in German, "Come with me, children," and they immediately pushed themselves away from the table and walked to where she was waiting at the door.

Not with reluctance.

But not with excitement at the prospect of getting a ride on a horse.

Rather, just because somebody is telling them to; has issued an order.

And neither mother--I still can't tell which nun/wife belongs to which priest/SS man--has raised any questions, much less objections.

All of these people--and that includes Sister Maria Isabel and her nuns--are used to obeying, without question, any orders they get.

[TWO]

Clete waited until Enrico had followed Sister Maria Encarnacion out of the dining room and closed the door after them.

Well, let's see if I can get away with this.

"Actually, this is very simple," Clete began. "But for reasons you will understand, secrecy is of the utmost importance."

Sister Maria Isabel's face showed she was prepared to disbelieve everything Don Cletus had to say.

"The Germans have lost the war," Cletus announced. "They know it but won't admit it. We know it and have taken certain steps to make sure things go more easily for the German people when their leaders finally surrender."

"For the German people, Don Cletus, or the English and the Americans?" Sister Maria Isabel challenged.

So I'm wrong. This nun asks questions and expects an answer.

Clete met her eyes.

"For the German people," he said. "I think you would have to agree, Sister, without me getting into the details, that the Germans--the German leadership--are behaving quite badly."

"And the Soviets are not?" Sister Maria Isabel challenged.

"I am not about to defend the godless Communists, Sister," Clete said.

She looked at him and nodded.

She did not swallow that whole.

Well, I never thought I had it in me to become a really good used-car salesman.

"What Germany is going to need after the war is leaders," Clete went on. "What we are afraid of is that the Nazis realize that those we feel are the ones who should lead Germany after the war are the same people who oppose Hitler. Or whom they suspect oppose him. And we fear that they will be punished--executed--in the last days of the war. The very suspicion that someone does not fully support Hitler or Nazism--"

"Sister," Welner interrupted. "I know you've been to Rome. Did you perhaps have the chance to see the Ardeatine Caves, near Via Ardeatina?"

What the hell is this? Frade thought.

"Yes, I did," the nun said.

"To support what Don Cletus is saying, Sister, let me repeat what the Papal Nuncio to Portugal told me privately when I was in Lisbon," Welner said. "On March twenty-third, Italian partisans attacked a German formation on the Via Rasella, in the center of Rome. Thirty-three German soldiers were killed.

"When Hitler heard about this--and mind you, Sister, this is what the Papal Nuncio told me, not English or American propaganda--Hitler lost his temper and ordered that Rome--including Vatican City--be razed to the ground and that the entire population of the city be arrested and taken to Germany."

Sister Maria Isabel inhaled audibly.

Clete thought, Is Welner making this up?

Is Hitler actually that nuts?

He saw on Schultz's and O'Sullivan's faces that they were asking themselves the same thing.

No. Jesuits don't lie. They bend the truth a little, but they don't lie.

He looked at Strubel and Niedermeyer and the wives. Their faces were absolutely inscrutable.

As if they--all of them, wives, too--have trained themselves not to let their faces show anything.

"The order was actually issued," Welner went on. "The German commander in Rome--General Albert Kesselring, a Luftwaffe officer who fortunately is a devout Catholic--defied it as well as he could."

How the hell do you defy an order from Hitler "as well as you can"?

"I don't think I understand, Father," Sister Maria Isabel said. "'As well as he could'?"

Neither do I. Thank you, Sister Maria Isabel.

"What General Kesselring did was order the execution of ten Romans for each German soldier killed."

Sister Maria Isabel inhaled audibly again, and this time crossed herself.

"As unspeakable as that sounds, Sister, it was the lesser of two evils. Rome--the Vatican City--was not razed. The Holy Father was not arrested and taken to Germany . . ."

Would they actually have been crazy enough to do that?

Well, yeah. If Hitler was crazy enough to order Rome destroyed, why not arrest the Pope?

". . . but three hundred thirty-five innocent people, Sister," Welner went on, "were taken to the Ardeatine Cave, each shot in the back of the head, and then the mouth of the cave was dynamited."

Sister Maria Isabel again crossed herself and sucked in her breath.

After a moment, Welner went on: "I'm sorry to have interrupted you, Don Cletus, but I thought it was important that Sister Maria Isabel really understand what kind of evil people you're dealing with, and why secrecy is so important."

She nodded.

"As I was saying, Sister," Clete continued, "we decided to get these future leaders out of Germany while they're still alive. And their families. The Germans find nothing wrong with punishing--executing--entire families for what they consider the treason of a father, a brother, or a son."

I know that to be true.

And the sonsofbitches murdered my father and tried twice to kill me.

So why does it sound like a lie? Almost as unbelievable as Hitler ordering them to blow up Saint Peter's?

"And the Church is involved in helping these people, Father?" Sister Maria Isabel asked.

"Our guests have Vatican passports, Sister," Welner said.

She nodded.

I'm not the only liar here, you slick sonofabitch!

Sister Maria Isabel thinks you just told her the Vatican--maybe even the Pope--knows all about this.

Of course, you didn't lie. You just told her they have Vatican passports. That's not a lie.

But you and I know the only reason they have Vatican passports is that you--or maybe some cardinal--made some kind of a deal I haven't been told about with Allen Dulles or Colonel Graham or both to do I don't know what.

What was it General Nervo said about the Pope moving the larger diamonds from the Vatican's safe to here? "Nuns and Jesuit priests aren't often strip-searched by Customs"?

"Well," Claudia Carzino-Cormano said, "that explains those airplanes, doesn't it? I wondered what the real story was about them."

"Well, you'll understand why Cletus couldn't tell you before, Claudia," Welner said.

God, you are good!

That wasn't a lie either. It was just making a wholly decent woman believe something that's not true.

"Of course," Claudia said.

"And why this can't go any further than this room," Welner pursued.

"I understand," Claudia said. "Would you and Cletus like me to leave, Father?"

"As far as I'm concerned, Claudia, you're welcome to stay. But that decision is really Cletus's to make; he has the responsibility on his shoulders."

And again: You really are good!

What did Nervo say? "Holy Mother Church--and especially Jesuits like Welner--has been in our business much longer than we have and is much better at it than we are."

What Welner's saying indirectly is: "Since Cletus has the responsibility on his shoulders, that makes me nothing more than a simple priest trying to do God's work.

"Smuggling people out of Europe and into Argentina is handled by people with dirty hands, like Cletus.

"Who, although pretty stupid by comparison, is smart enough to know he can't ask you to leave. That would hurt you, piss you off, and he knows he can't do that."

Well, Clete, it's back to "When in doubt, tell the truth."

Frade said: "Claudia, I would have preferred not to involve you in this. But the cow seems to have gotten out of the barn. However, if you leave now, everyone in this room will forget you were ever here."

"Are you telling me to leave?" Claudia challenged, then before he had a chance to reply, went on: "Like your father, you can at times be truly stupid. Of course I'm staying. I want to help."

"Thank you, Claudia," Father Welner said.

"You didn't really think I was going to leave, did you?" Claudia asked. "You know me better than that, Father!"

Frade said: "The fewer people who know about this, Claudia, the better."

"You didn't have to tell me that," she snapped. "My God!"

"Sorry," Clete said.

"So, what happens now?" Claudia asked. "How can I help?"

"Well, as soon as Sister Whatshername and Enrico get back with the clothes, we're going to fly to Casa Montagna."

"Sister Maria Encarnacion," Sister Maria Isabel corrected him icily.

Welner began: "Cletus, I'm certainly not trying to tell you what to do, or how to do it . . ."

"But?"

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until after we get your guests' papers in order?" He turned to Claudia and explained, "Father Pedro has an understanding and discreet friend in the Interior Ministry who's going to provide National Identity booklets for Cletus's guests."

"You better wait until that's done," Claudia agreed, "before you go to Mendoza."

Was that an order, Claudia? It sure sounded like one.

Claudia looked at Father Silva. "How long is that going to take, Father Pedro?"

"About twelve hours after I give my friend the photographs," the priest said. "I have a camera, but I think we should wait until we have the proper clothing."

"Clete?" Schultz asked.

He might as well have popped to attention and said, "Sir, permission to speak?"

Frade motioned for him to go on.

"What kind of photos do we need, Father?"

The priest answered by taking a National Identity booklet from his pocket and showed it to him.

"For women," the priest said, "there is the Libreta Civica. A little smaller, but you get the idea. My friend will provide both."

"In other words, all that's holding us up is the regular clothes?" Schultz asked.

"That and the names to go on the documents," Father Welner said.

"Dorotea," Schultz said, "we can come up with clothes--good enough for ID pictures--for the men. Can you get some clothing for the women and the kids?"

"Not a problem," Dorotea said.

"You have any preference for your new names, Strubel?" Frade asked.

"I think it would be best if we used the Spanish translation of the Christian names," Strubel replied immediately. "And Strubel, if you have no objection, could become Moller, and Niedermeyer, Kortig. Similarly, I would suggest retaining the dates of birth. I am presuming we will all have been born here in Argentina."

He just didn't pull that out of thin air. He's given it some thought.

Why not? He's a professional.

One who probably is looking down his professional nose at this American amateur.

I'm going to have to stay one step ahead of this guy.

And why didn't I think of that before?

"That's fine with me," Clete said.

"And we'll need a sheet for a background, Dorotea," Schultz said.

"And when the pictures have been taken," Clete said, "I'll fly Father Pedro to Buenos Aires in one of the Piper Cubs."

"Is that necessary?" Welner asked.

"The sooner we get the identifications, the sooner I can get everybody out of here," Frade replied.

"Yes, of course," Welner agreed. "Father, if Don Cletus flies you to Buenos Aires, when do you think you could have the identity cards ready?"

"Either late tonight, Father, or first thing in the morning."

"If you can bring the identity cards and meet me at Jorge Frade at, say, nine o'clock, I'll make a, quote, fuel stop, unquote, in the Lodestar on our way to Mendoza."

The priest nodded.

"I'll be there."

It took less time than Clete thought it would--about forty-five minutes--to complete the photography. Rodriguez and the nun had not returned from their clothes-buying expedition.

When the last picture had been taken, Clete motioned for O'Sullivan and Schultz to follow him from the temporary studio in the library out into the foyer.

He closed the door, then asked, "You know how to get in touch with Colonel Martin, right?"

"I know how to get in touch with his sergeant major, a guy named Jose Cortina."

"Good enough. Cortina's really a lieutenant colonel," Clete said. "And he's Martin's deputy. Call him and tell him I'm on my way to Jorge Frade and need to see Martin, really need to see him. Ask him to meet me at the airport. And if at all possible, have General Nervo there, too."

"Cortina's a light colonel?" Schultz asked rhetorically. "Who's General Nervo?"

"He runs the Gendarmeria Nacional."

"One of these days you are going to tell me what the hell's going on, right?"

"Just as soon as I get back from Buenos Aires."

The door from the library opened and Strubel--now Moller--came out. He was wearing a shirt and trousers Schultz had liberated from Rodriguez's wardrobe. They were much too large for him. Clothespins still in place at the back of the collar and on the rear of the suit jacket made them fit well enough for the camera.

"May I have a private word with you, Major Frade?" he asked politely.

"I already told Herr Kortig, Herr Moller, never to use my rank. Please don't do so again. And anything you have to say to me can be said before my men."

Moller considered that and nodded.

"Presumably, you have a means to communicate with either Colonel Graham or Herr Dulles?"

Clete nodded.

"I have a message that I would like to send to either, for transmission to Colonel Gehlen."

"We can arrange that," Clete said. "But Gehlen's another name I don't want used here. Any suggestions, Herr Moller?"

"I never gave that any thought," Moller confessed after a moment.

"Who's Colonel Gehlen?" Schultz asked.

"He runs Russian intelligence for the German General Staff; he's Herr Moller's boss. I'll tell you all about that, too, when I get back from Buenos Aires."

"The first Russian thing that comes to my mind is 'Samovar,'" O'Sullivan offered. "You know, that big tea kettle?"

"Too close," Clete said. "But there's nothing wrong with 'Teapot.' Make it 'Big Teapot' for Gehlen, 'Teapot' for Herr Moller."

"And the other one?" O'Sullivan asked.

"Teacup," Schultz said, smiling.

"Done," Clete said.

"Let's have your message, Herr Teapot," Clete said, smiling. "Just as soon as I get back from Buenos Aires, I'll be in touch with Washington; I'll include your message."

Moller was not amused.

He handed Clete a sheet of paper on which was written a series of characters in five-character blocks. It looked like gibberish, but Clete immediately recognized it for what it was: an encoded message.

"Three things, Herr Moller," Frade said coldly. "One, you are not going to send any messages in code to anybody. I don't want you reporting to Big Teapot anything that you or Teacup might hear or see here unless I know what it is. Two, you will give El Jefe your codebook just as soon as you can. Don't even think of trying to either hide or destroy it . . ."

"This was not my understanding of how things were to be done," Moller said.

"Three, if I learn that you or anyone else has tried to send a message to anyone without my knowledge, I'll have you shot."

Moller looked at him with cold eyes but didn't reply.

"Do we understand each other?" Clete asked.

Moller nodded. "But there is one thing I think you should understand, Herr Frade: Despite the circumstances, I consider myself and Kortig to be soldiers obeying the orders we have been given. Not traitors."

"Consider yourself anything you want to," Clete said. "Just as long as you don't endanger in any way anything I'm doing here."

Again Moller didn't reply.

"But now you've made me curious," Clete went on. "I don't know what Colonel Gehlen has told you about my . . . friends . . . in the German Embassy, but in any event, you'll soon figure out by yourself that I have people in there. What about them? Are they traitors, in your opinion?"

"If they swore the same oath of personal allegiance to Adolf Hitler that I did, the answer is self-evident."

"Then we seem to be agreed to disagree; I consider them to be the opposite: patriots. The bottom line is--"

"Excuse me? 'The bottom line'?"

"What matters," said Clete, "is that when you and I have a disagreement, I win. And if you're unwilling to go along with my winning, I'll have you shot. Now, go get the codebook for El Jefe. We'll talk some more later." He motioned to O'Sullivan with his finger. "Go with him, Jerry. Don't let him out of your sight. And don't hesitate to shoot him if you think that's called for."

"Yes, sir," O'Sullivan said, and motioned for Moller to go back into the library.

When the door was closed, Schultz said thoughtfully, "You meant that about shooting him. It wasn't a bullshit threat."

"I don't know how much . . . what name did we give him? . . . Kortig picked up from what was said when Claudia arrived, or how much he'll tell Moller, but we have to assume the worst. And if the choice is between Peter's life and this Nazi sonofabitch's . . ."

"There is no choice," Schultz agreed. "Well, there's one good thing."

"What?"

"That guy is smart, Clete. But he doesn't have any balls. He's not going to call your bluff."

"You don't think so?"

"It doesn't come out often like it did just now, but when it does, it's really impressive."

"What doesn't come out often?"

"With all possible respect, Major, sir, the major is a stainless-steel hard-ass. And that really got through to Moller. Hell, it even got to me; I was already wondering: What happens to the wives and kids when Clete blows this sonofabitch away? "

"Let's see if we can keep that from happening," Clete said. "Okay, go get Father Pedro. And then call Cortina and tell him about having Martin and Nervo at the airport."

[THREE]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Moron, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1325 2 October 1943

As he landed in the Piper Cub, Cletus Frade saw that there were four Lodestars and two Constellations on the field.

He also saw that the extra security he had ordered after learning that Hitler had ordered von Deitzberg to destroy the Constellations was in place.

He was still having trouble really accepting that Adolf Hitler himself even knew about the Connies, much less had ordered their destruction, but all the cliches from "Be Prepared" to "Better Safe Than Sorry" seemed to apply.

He was not surprised that the extra protection was in place. He'd told Enrico to set it up, and that the old soldier knew all about what the military called "perimeter defense."

There were more peones than he could easily count--at least twenty--on horseback, every one of them a former trooper of the Husares de Pueyrredon, moving slowly and warily around the field, with either a Mauser rifle or a Thompson submachine gun resting vertically on his saddle.

As he taxied past the Constellations, it seemed as unreal to consider that he had just flown the Ciudad de Rosario back and forth across the Atlantic as it was to consider that they personally annoyed Adolf Hitler.

He looked at his passenger to see how he had survived the flight. Father Francisco Silva's smile was nowhere near as strained as it had been when Clete had strapped him into the Piper Cub at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

Then the priest had confessed a bit shyly that their flight to Buenos Aires was going to be his first flight in an airplane.

Hearing this, Clete had made a decision. Instead of flying to Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade as he usually did--that is, direct cross-country to Moron at about three hundred feet off the ground, which afforded him the opportunity to look at his own fields and cattle and those of his neighbors--he had climbed to fifteen hundred, flown to Dolores, picked up Ruta Nacional No. 2 there, and flown up it to Buenos Aires, where he flew over the Casa Rosada and the National Cathedral, and from there to the airport outside Moron.

For some reason, he liked the young Jesuit and suspected that, whatever other satisfactions the priest found in his vocation, he didn't have much personal fun or any little luxuries. Fun and luxuries, for example, like Father Kurt Welner S.J.'s Packard convertible, bejeweled gold cuff links, luxury apartment in Recoleta, and box for the season at the Colon Opera House.

And Frade had thought that they had plenty of time for the aerial tour. While there was no question in his mind that Martin would eventually show up at Jorge Frade in response to Schultz's call, he was equally convinced that Martin would not be there when the Cub landed, if for no other reason than to impress on Cletus that the head of the Bureau of Internal Security did not dance to Don Cletus Frade's whistle.

This assumption proved to be wrong.

As he got closer to the passenger terminal building, he saw that el Coronel Martin indeed was waiting for him, and in uniform. Martin was standing beside another uniformed officer, whom Clete recognized after a moment as General Nervo. His military-style uniform was brown. They were standing beside a black 1941 Buick Roadmaster.

"That's General Nervo, Don Cletus," Father Pedro said.

"We've met," Clete replied. "Well, what we'll do now is get you a ride into town."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Clete said at the passenger terminal building.

Martin and then Nervo embraced Clete cordially.

For the moment, I am a good guy. That may change in the next two or three minutes.

"Not a problem," Martin said. "The general and I were here anyway. Your friend had a reservation on the eleven-thirty flight from Montevideo. Santiago had never seen him, and I thought this would give him the chance."

"What did you think?" Clete asked.

"He missed the flight," Martin said. "And changed his reservation until tomorrow."

"This is Father Silva, General," Clete said.

"I know the Father," Nervo said. "And aren't you lucky to have Don Cletus fly you to Buenos Aires, Father? And spare you the return trip with Father Kurt at the wheel?"

Okay. As if I needed proof, Nervo, as well as Martin, knows just about everything that happens on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

"Yes, it was very kind of Don Cletus," Father Silva said.

"Cletus, in the Gendarmeria," Nervo said, "they say that if Father Kurt wasn't the president's confessor, he would have lost his driving license years ago. Have you ever ridden with him?"

Frade shook his head.

"Don't! He thinks that Packard of his has two speeds, fast and faster. And they know that the more he's had to drink, the faster he drives. The Gendarmes along Route Two call him 'Padre Loco.'"

"Oh, I can't believe that's true!" Father Silva said loyally.

"Would I lie to a priest?" Nervo asked righteously.

Martin took pity on the priest.

"He's pulling your leg, Father," he said. "Can we give you a lift into town? We're headed for Plaza San Martin."

"That would be very kind," Silva said. "I'm going to the cathedral."

"Right on our way," Martin said.

"I need ten, fifteen minutes of your time, maybe a little more," Clete said. "Father, would you mind waiting?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why don't you go in the passenger terminal and have a cup of coffee while the general, the colonel, and I take a little walk?"

They walked across the tarmac toward one of the Constellations, the Ciudad de Buenos Aires. It was being prepared for its flight to Lisbon the next day; mechanics and technicians swarmed all over it.

About halfway, Cletus touched Martin's arm, a signal for him to stop.

Martin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to tell us why you're flying a Jesuit priest around?" Nervo asked.

"Well, he's getting me National Identity booklets for two SS men and their wives and children, and the sooner he can do that, the better."

"Somehow, I don't think that's your odd sense of humor at work," Martin said.

"So that's who was in that Little Sisters of the Poor bus," Nervo said. "What's this all about? Who are these people? Where did they come from?"

I can't--I don't want to, and I can't--play any more games with these two. It is now truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth time.

"They were on the plane from Lisbon," Clete said.

"And you knew about that?" Martin said.

"I knew they were probably going to be on the plane. I didn't know for sure, and I didn't know who they were, until Father Welner brought them to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."

"Who are they?" Nervo asked.

"One of them is an SS major, the other an SS sergeant major. . . ."

"Traveling as priests, nuns, and orphans on Vatican passports," Nervo said bitterly. "Sonofabitch! I knew something smelled when I saw the Papal Nuncio at the airport!"

"What's this all about, Cletus?" Martin asked.

Clete had a clear mental image of himself and Colonel A. F. Graham in the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel the day he met Graham and heard for the first time of the United States Office of Strategic Services.

Graham, whom he had never seen before, came to Clete's room in civilian clothing, showed him his Marine Corps identification, and came right to the point: "Are you willing to undertake a mission involving great personal risk outside the continental limits of the United States?"

When, after thinking it all over for perhaps twenty seconds, Clete--who was literally willing to do anything to get off what he was doing, which was a Heroes on Display War Bond Tour to be followed by a tour as a basic flying instructor--said that he would, Graham handed him a sheet of paper and said, "Read it and then sign it."

He had signed it, and only then asked, "What's the 'Office of Strategic Services'?"

Clete looked between Martin and Nervo, and began: "The OSS has made a deal with a German intelligence officer named Gehlen . . ."

"And the goddamn Vatican is involved in this up to the Pope's eyeballs," Nervo said when Clete had finished.

"What are you supposed to do with these people, Cletus?" Martin asked.

"Nobody told me this," Clete replied, "but I have the feeling that this is step one."

"What is 'this'?" Martin asked.

"Getting the officers out of Russia and their families out of Germany, then into Italy, then to Portugal, and finally established here. . . ."

"Established here?" Nervo repeated.

"I am supposed to set them up to disappear in Argentina."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I don't know. We have agreed to provide money. I suppose Welner will help. . . ."

"Let me give you a little friendly advice, my OSS friend," Nervo said. "Never put yourself in debt to Holy Mother Church, especially when it's being represented by a Jesuit, and especially, especially when that Jesuit is the beloved Father Kurt Welner, S.J."

"Finish what you were saying, Cletus, about this being step one," Martin said.

"Well--and I'm just guessing--when Gehlen hears that these two made it here and that I've set them up--"

"They have names?" Nervo interrupted.

"The major is Alois Strubel. The sergeant major is Otto Niedermeyer. I went along with Strubel's idea for new names. He's now Moller and Niedermeyer's Kortig. The Mollers have two children, a boy and a girl, ten or eleven, and the Kortigs have a boy about the same age. I've been told the women and children were killed in air raids; that German records show that they were. The men were supposedly killed on the Eastern Front."

"Well," Nervo said, "this Gehlen fellow could have arranged for the men to die that way. But the women and children . . . no one would question a Catholic hospital reporting the death of a mother and her child any more than Alejandro here would suspect that a nun had a kilo of flawless diamonds in her underwear. Holy Mother Church was involved in that, and in getting the women and children out of Germany."

"Let Cletus finish what he was saying, Santiago," Martin said.

Nervo gestured for Clete to go on.

"What I'm guessing is that when Gehlen learns everything went as promised--"

"How's he going to learn that?" Nervo said.

"Moller had a coded message all prepared to do that."

"And you sent this coded message?"

"No, I didn't. I told him to give me his codebook, and that if I heard he'd sent any messages to anybody, I'd have him shot."

Nervo glanced at Martin and said, "Our OSS friend really is a lot smarter than he looks, isn't he, Alejandro? And I'll bet he doesn't get any friend of his involved in something that'll probably get him shot."

Martin looked at Frade. "Go on, Cletus."

"Well, after we prove we did what we promised to do, it's Gehlen's turn to give us something of value. Presuming he does that, we get some more wives and children of Gehlen's people out of Germany and over here."

"Just the wives and children?"

"For now. The officers will come later."

"What's that all about?" Nervo asked.

"Again, I don't know what I'm talking about here. Just guessing."

"So guess," General Nervo said.

"Most of these people are dedicated Nazis. I know for sure that Moller is. They are going to keep on fighting godless Communism and keeping their oath of personal loyalty to the Fuhrer until the Russians are in Berlin."

"Gehlen, too?" Martin asked.

"No. Not Gehlen. But please don't ask me any more about that, Alejandro."

"If I did, would you tell me?" Martin asked.

Nervo said: "Apropos of nothing whatever, Cletus, what comes to your mind when you hear the term 'Valkyrie'?"

Jesus Christ, they know about that?

Well, Martin did tell me he had a BIS guy in the Argentine Embassy in Berlin he really wanted to keep there.

Sure they know.

"Blond, large-breasted Aryan women who fool around with the braver soldiers? Carry them off for carnal adventures on their horses?"

"Yeah, right," Nervo said, chuckling. "The SS guy at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo doesn't like Valkyries?"

"I know he thinks that anyone who is not going to keep his vow of personal loyalty to Hitler is a traitor."

"Like Galahad, for example?" Martin said.

"Like who?" Frade said.

"You did hear that he flew his little airplane to Montevideo this morning, and came back about an hour ago?"

"Who did what?"

"He brought back with him a package for Senor Gradny-Sawz," Martin said.

He demonstrated with his hands the size of the package; about that of a shoe box.

"Cletus," Nervo said. "Would you be shocked to hear that I don't think fighting godless Communism is such a bad idea?"

"I'd say you sound like my boss and my grandfather," Clete said.

Nervo chuckled. He patted Clete on the arm and then turned to Martin.

"Alejandro, decision time. You have thirty seconds to decide what we're going to do about all these people violating the sacred neutrality of Argentina."

Martin shook his head.

"Twenty-five seconds," Nervo said, looking at his wristwatch. "Do you want to report to General Obregon that we have reason to believe that the American OSS with the connivance of the Papal Nuncio has just smuggled into Argentina two SS people and their wives and children? And plans to smuggle in more?"

Martin stared icily at him.

"Or that you watched, but did not arrest, an SS general as he was smuggled into Argentina from a German submarine?"

"Christ, Santiago!" Martin protested.

"Or that we have reason to believe that Don Cletus Frade has been concealing two Germans who either ran from their embassy--or who he might have kidnapped--at his Estancia Don Guillermo in Mendoza?"

"I didn't kidnap the Froggers," Clete said.

"Does Father Kurt know about you and the Froggers?" Nervo asked.

Clete nodded.

"Or, Alejandro, do you wish to join with Don Cletus and me in this noble--and I might add, endorsed by Holy Mother Church--battle against godless Communism?"

Nervo glanced at his wristwatch. "Fifteen seconds."

"Goddamn you, Santiago!"

"I would ask if you want to join with Don Cletus and me in the equally--as far as I am concerned--noble battle against more-or-less godless Nazism, but I'm not sure how you and Holy Mother Church really feel about the Nazis."

"You sonofabitch!" Martin said, but he could not restrain a chuckle.

"May I interpret that to mean you're with us?"

"What other choice do I have?"

"Suicide would be an option, but I seem to recall that's a mortal sin."

"What are we going to do?" Martin asked.

"What I'm going to do is get in Don Cletus's airplane . . . the little one . . . and fly to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo with him to have a word with el Senor . . . what's his name, Cletus?"

"Moller. Alois Moller. We kept their real Christian names."

". . . with Senor Alois Moller."

"About what?"

"I'll decide that after I talk with him," Nervo said. "But right now I'm thinking along the lines of suggesting to him that his only option--presuming he wants to stay alive--is to do nothing that might in any way annoy Don Cletus or myself."

"What about Edmundo Wattersly?" Martin asked.

"Tell him we need a daily report on el Coronel Schmidt's activities. We can't have that Nazi sonofabitch going to Casa Montagna looking for the weapons cache. . . . Or, now that I think of it, for the Froggers."

"Okay. But what I meant is: Do we tell him about this?"

Nervo didn't reply for a long moment, before finally asking, "We don't have to make that decision right now, do we?"

"No," Martin said. "But sooner or later. Him and Lauffer."

"Not now," Nervo said.

Martin nodded.

Nervo asked: "Do you want me to send Pedro out to the estancia with your car?"

"How about this?" Clete interrupted. "Father Silva is going to bring the National Identity booklets out here at nine tomorrow morning. I'm going to make a fuel stop at the same time on my way to Mendoza. Santiago, if you want to spend the night at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo . . ."

"I accept your gracious offer," Nervo said. "Alejandro, have Pedro bring the car here in the morning. Wait . . ." He turned to Cletus. "I'd like Subinspector General Nolasco to see Casa Montagna for himself. Would there be room for him on your airplane?"

Clete nodded. "Plenty of room. You want to send somebody else?"

"Tell Nolasco to pick two other people, who will stay there for a few days, a week. Don't tell them where they are going. Got that?"

"Si, mi general," Martin said sarcastically.

"Good man," Nervo said.

[FOUR]

Calle Martin 404

Carrasco, Uruguay

1615 2 October 1943

Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck--a somewhat portly man in his forties who wore a full, neatly manicured mustache, a la Adolf Hitler--rang the doorbell of his home a second time.

It was literally a door bell, a five-inch brass bell hanging on a chain from the roof of the house. A woven leather cord was attached to the clapper.

When there was again no answer, he turned to the person standing with him, a tall, trim, olive-skinned man in his thirties.

"Dare I hope not only that my beloved wife is still in Punta del Este, but that the maid has taken advantage of this and given herself the day off?"

"Your wife's car is not here," the man with him said.

"Cross your fingers," von Tresmarck said as he took the door key from his pocket.

He pushed the door open and called, "Maria?"

There was no answer.

Von Tresmarck waved the man with him into the house, then closed the door.

He held up his hand, fingers crossed, and then called, "Inge!"

When there was no answer, he called again.

And when there was still no answer, he called loudly, "Inge, you blond slut! Answer me!"

When there was again no answer, he turned to the man with him and kissed him on each cheek and then on the mouth.

"Now, let us have a drink," he said. "And then a bath."

"I'm up here, Werner," Inge von Tresmarck said.

He looked up and saw her standing in her bathrobe on the landing beside the stairwell.

"Scheisse!" von Tresmarck muttered.

"Wait for me in the sitting," Inge said.

"What?" von Tresmarck asked incredulously. He looked at the man with him.

"Your wife said to wait for us in the sitting," a male voice then said unpleasantly.

She's got a man up there? She's never done that before!

"It would seem your wife has a guest," the man said. He obviously found this amusing.

Von Tresmarck looked up at the second floor. There was a man--also wearing a bathrobe--standing beside his wife.

Is that my bathrobe?

He recognized the man, who was indeed wearing his bathrobe.

"Oh, my God!"

"And don't let your friend get away until I have a word with him," the man said.

"Wernie, who is that man?" the man asked.

Von Tresmarck grabbed the man's elbow and propelled him into the sitting room.

"What's going on here, Wernie?" the man quickly asked, his tone now one of concern.

"Just sit there and be quiet," von Tresmarck ordered. He went to the bookcase, removed four books, put his hand in the space where they had been, and rummaged around.

"What are you doing?" the man asked.

"For the love of God, be quiet!"

When his now frantic search in the space behind the books proved fruitless, von Tresmarck went to the desk and started pulling open drawers.

"Is this what you're looking for?" SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg asked.

Von Tresmarck looked up. Von Deitzberg was lowering himself onto a small couch. He held von Tresmarck's 9mm Luger P08 pistol in his left hand. Not threateningly; he wasn't holding it by the grip, ready to fire, but in his palm, as if it were a pocket watch or a handful of coins he wished to examine.

Von Tresmarck did not reply.

Von Deitzberg turned to the man who was now standing beside von Tresmarck, visibly uncomfortable with the introduction of the pistol.

"You must be Ramon," von Deitzberg said. "Did you two have a pleasant time in Paraguay, Ramon?"

"Who are you?" Ramon asked.

"You may call me senor," von Deitzberg said. "Both of you may call me senor. Answer my question, Ramon!"

"Tell him," von Tresmarck said softly.

"We had quite a nice time, thank you," Ramon said.

"Did Sturmbannfuhrer von Tresmarck tell you that he was under orders not to leave Uruguay--not even to go to Argentina, much less to Paraguay--without specific permission?"

Inge von Tresmarck came into the sitting room. It was evident to her husband that she was wearing nothing under her bathrobe. She walked to von Deitzberg and sat beside him on the couch.

She's obviously fucking von Deitzberg.

Well, why not? She was one of the whores in the Hotel Am Zoo and the Adlon. She'd fuck an elephant to save her skin!

"No, he didn't."

Von Tresmarck began: "Herr Brigadefuhrer, I went to Paraguay--"

With a sudden swift motion, von Deitzberg tossed the pistol from his left hand to his right, grabbed the grip, and fired a round into the bookcase beside von Tresmarck and Ramon.

The noise in the confined area was deafening, as von Deitzberg knew it would be. He had also fired enough pistols to know that a 9mm bullet would not go far through a line of books on a shelf. And he knew that when most people hear a gunshot, they decide it is the sound of an automobile engine backfiring.

This time, Inge said, "Scheisse!"

"I would really prefer not to shoot you, Werner," von Deitzberg said. "But the next time you use my rank or my name, or try to lie to me, I will."

Everyone--Inge included--was now looking at von Deitzberg with terror in their eyes.

"And if I have to shoot you, it will be necessary for me to shoot Ramon, too. Many times, especially in the face, so that it will look like a lovers' quarrel, something both the German Embassy and the Uruguayan government will want to quickly cover up."

He let that sink in.

"You were about to tell me what you were doing in Paraguay, Werner," he went on finally.

Von Tresmarck, visibly nervous, launched into an elaborate explanation of the trip, saying that he had grown afraid that questions would be asked about all the property he'd already bought in Uruguay, and that Ramon, a business-man, had suggested that they begin making investments in Paraguay.

Von Deitzberg let him finish.

"Ramon," von Deitzberg then said, "I'm afraid that Werner also forgot that he was under orders not to share any detail of the confidential special fund with anyone. You understand, of course, how your acquiring that knowledge has reduced your chances of staying alive?"

"I have to go to the toilet," Ramon stammered.

"Certainly," von Deitzberg said. "But hurry back. And don't think of running away. Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster is sitting in his car outside. Werner, tell Ramon who Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster is."

"He's with the Geheime Staatspolizei," von Tresmarck said.

"Do you know what the Geheime Staatspolizei is, Ramon?" von Deitzberg asked.

"Please, I have to go to the toilet right now," Ramon said.

"The Secret State Police. He is under orders to shoot anyone he sees leaving this house without my permission."

"I understand," Ramon said. "May I go?"

"Hurry back," von Deitzberg said.

Ramon hurriedly--and walking unnaturally--left the sitting room.

"I wonder if he's going to make it?" von Deitzberg asked rhetorically. "I tend to think not."

"May I sit down?" von Tresmarck asked.

"I think that would be a very good idea," von Deitzberg said. "What I think I'm going to do, Werner, is tell you what's going to happen and have you explain it to Ramon."

Von Tresmarck nodded.

"The operation is shut down," von Deitzberg began. "There have been reverses in the war, as I'm sure you know, which have resulted in the unexpected transfers of some of the people involved. Others have fallen for the Fatherland. It doesn't really matter why. Intelligent people, Werner, know when to quit.

"I have been sent here under an assumed identity--by U-boat, incidentally, to give you an idea of how important this is considered--to make sure the shutdown is conducted as efficiently and as quickly as possible. And, of course, to make sure that our investments are secure and will be available if--perhaps I should in honesty say 'when'--they are needed.

"You are going to have to disappear from Uruguay. There are a number of reasons for this, including the very real possibility that some of the Jews are liable to make trouble when it becomes apparent to them that their relatives are not going to be coming.

"It would be best for you to disappear, rather than return to the Fatherland. One of the ways for you to disappear would be to die in tragic if sordid circumstances. As I'm sure you are aware, Werner, it is not uncommon for homosexuals to have a falling-out, resulting in the death of both. And this was before I knew about Ramon.

"Frankly, that seemed at first to be the simplest solution to the problem. And even more so when I got here and learned that you had confided all the details of the operation not only to Frau von Tresmarck but--"

"I never told her a thing!" von Tresmarck blurted. "She's a lying whore. . . ."

Von Deitzberg fired another round from the Luger into the bookcase.

"Inge, that may have frightened Ramon," von Deitzberg said. "Make sure he doesn't try to do anything foolish."

Inge jumped quickly to her feet and almost ran out of the sitting room.

"As I was saying, Werner, removing you permanently from the scene seemed a quite logical and simple solution to the problem, especially after I learned you had told both Frau von Tresmarck and Ramon about the confidential special fund and its assets. That was not only very disloyal of you--after all, I'm the fellow who kept you out of Sachsenhausen by sending you here--but stupid.

"But another idea had occurred to me when I learned that--like rats leaving a sinking ship--the Froggers had deserted their post in Buenos Aires.

"I asked myself, What if Werner disappeared? What if he disappeared as soon as he learned I was back in South America? If you hadn't been off with Ramon in Paraguay, I'm sure that someone in Buenos Aires would have told you I was here. And I wondered, What if Werner disappeared, taking all the confidential special fund assets with him?

"The downside to that would be that when I made that report, there are those who would say--in the presence of the Reichsfuhrer-SS if they could arrange that--that they knew something like that would happen. 'You simply cannot trust a homosexual; they think like women.'

"The upside to that would be--since you had absconded with them--no confidential special fund assets for me to account for."

Von Tresmarck looked at von Deitzberg in utter confusion.

"You take my point, Werner?" von Deitzberg asked.

"I . . . uh . . . don't think I quite understand, Herr Brig . . . Mein Herr."

"It took Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster about five seconds to appreciate the benefits of your disappearance in these circumstances: We not only need no longer to transfer large amounts of cash to Germany, but since you and the assets have disappeared, no one will be clamoring for their share of the real estate, et cetera, here. And that's presuming any of them actually manage to get out of Germany and to South America. Are you beginning to understand, Werner?"

Von Tresmarck nodded.

"The plan hinges on your disappearance," von Deitzberg said. "And the problem with that . . ."

"I can be out of here in a matter of hours," von Tresmarck said.

". . . is that I no longer trust you. And I should tell you that Forster suggests I am a fool for even considering letting you live. But I find myself doing just that. With the caveat that if I even suspect you are not doing exactly what I tell you to do, or that you again have, so to speak, decided to make decisions for yourself, I will have you and, of course, Ramon killed--then there is a way for you to stay alive."

"Ramon had a little accident," Inge announced sarcastically from the doorway.

"Been incontinent, have you, Ramon?" von Deitzberg asked sympathetically. "That sometimes happens to people when they realize they're close to death. Come in and sit down. On the floor. We wouldn't want to soil Frau von Tresmarck's furniture, would we?"

He waited until Ramon had done so before going on.

"Now, let me explain what's going to happen: Frau von Tresmarck has been good enough to turn over to me the material in your safe. Including, of course, the unspent funds. The money is already in Buenos Aires, where I will invest it. Now, where are the deeds to whatever you have purchased in Paraguay? If you lie to me, I will shoot Ramon right now to show you how serious I am about this."

"Ramon has them in his safe," von Tresmarck said. "In his home."

"And they are in whose name?"

Von Tresmarck hesitated before replying, "In Ramon's name. We thought of that as an extra precaution . . ."

"Yes, I'm sure you did," von Deitzberg said. "And how much did you invest in Ramon's name as an extra precaution? How much is it worth in dollars, or pounds?"

Von Tresmarck exhaled audibly.

"A little under a million pounds sterling," he said finally. "They use the British pound."

"How much is a little under a million pounds sterling?"

"Perhaps it was a little over a million pounds sterling," von Tresmarck said.

"That's four million American dollars," von Deitzberg said. "Tell me, Werner, do you think you and Ramon could disappear and find happiness together on, say, one million American dollars?"

"What does he mean, 'disappear'?" Ramon asked.

"Werner will explain that to you later, Ramon," von Deitzberg said. "What's going to happen now is that you're going to go home--Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster will drive you--and after you change your trousers, you're going to bring all the deeds here.

"We will then select between us which properties you will sign over to Senor Jorge Schenck--all but, say, two hundred fifty thousand pounds' worth.

I will then give you ten thousand American dollars for your immediate expenses as you and Werner set forth on your new lives."

"Who's Senor Jorge Schenck?" von Tresmarck blurted.

"He's the man who will hunt you down and kill you as slowly and painfully as possible if I ever hear of either of you again," von Deitzberg said. "Get going, Ramon. Not only does the sight of you make me ill, but you're starting to smell badly."