The Honor of Spies

XIV

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1930 2 October 1943

Inspector General Santiago Nervo and Don Cletus Frade were sitting in wicker chairs on the verandah of the big house. A wicker table between them held bottles of scotch and bourbon.

Frade was wearing khaki trousers, a polo shirt, and battered Western boots. Nervo was in uniform, save for his tunic, which he had shed before they had gone riding.

Nervo had expressed interest in the radar, and Clete had really had no choice but to offer to show it to him.

"It's not far," Frade had said. "I usually ride out there . . ."

It was a question, and Nervo had picked up on it.

"Whatever happened to that magnificent stallion of your father's? What was his name?"

"Julius Caesar. Would you like to ride him out to the radar?"

"No," Nervo had replied immediately. "I watched him throw your father before God and five thousand spectators at the Rural."

The Rural Exposition was the Argentine version of an American county or state fair--but a national affair. The bull, sow, stallion, hen, or whatever that earned a blue ribbon became the best of its breed in Argentina.

"I never heard that story."

"It was considered impolite--even dangerous--to remind el Coronel that he had landed on his ass in dress uniform before everybody he knew," Nervo said.

"Every time I get on that big beautiful bastard, he tries to throw me," Clete said. "After, of course, he tries very hard to bite me as I get on him."

Clete saw in Nervo's eyes that he was going to have to ride Julius Caesar to wipe out the disbelief in the policeman's eyes.

And he had done so. And had kept his seat without getting bitten.

They had ridden out to Casa Numero Cincuenta y Dos, where Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USNR--who of course had driven, not ridden, out there--had proudly shown Nervo how the radar functioned, and introduced the gendarme to the rest of the team.

And now Nervo and Frade were back at the big house, enjoying what Clete had described to Nervo as the sacred Texas tradition of "having a little sip to cut the dust of the trail."

After a short time, there was the sound of a vehicle approaching, and they watched Schultz drive up at the wheel of a Ford Model A pickup truck.

Nervo gestured toward Schultz, who wore full gaucho regalia.

"I'm having trouble believing that," Nervo said. "He never rides?"

"Never," Frade confirmed. "When he was a kid, he went on a pony ride, and when he got off, the pony stepped on his foot. He swore he would never get on anything with four legs again, and he hasn't."

"Hola, Jefe," Nervo called cheerfully, and waved.

Then he said: "That isn't the only thing I'm having trouble believing."

"Excuse me?"

"Wait until el Jefe 'dismounts,' " Nervo said, and reached for the bottle of scotch. "I want him to hear this."

Schultz climbed down from the pickup and came onto the verandah. He pulled up a wicker chair, reached for the bourbon, poured himself a steep drink, announced, "In my professional opinion as an officer of the Naval Service, the sun is over the yardarm," took a healthy sip, and then added, "Even down here in Gaucholand."

Clete chuckled and said, "You better tell General Nervo what you mean."

"Cletus, please, 'Santiago,' " Nervo said.

"Me too?" Schultz asked.

"Of course you too," Nervo said.

Why do I not think he's not just schmoozing us?

Why was I not surprised that Nervo and Schultz had immediately taken to each other?

We're the same kind of people?

I think deciding to come clean with Nervo and Martin was probably the smartest thing I've done in the last six months.

"Well, Santiago," Schultz began, "in the old days in the North Atlantic, on sailing ships, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, the sun would rise above the yardarm. That's that horizontal spar"--he demonstrated with his hands--"that's mounted on the mast."

Nervo nodded his understanding.

"Which meant," Schultz went on, "that the officers could go to the wardroom and have a little sip to give them the courage to face the rest of the day."

"Fascinating," Nervo said, chuckling. "May I say something about the way you're dressed, Jefe?"

"Of course," Schultz said, just a little warily.

"As one professional officer to another," Nervo said, "your gaucho costume is complete except for one small detail."

"What's that?"

"I was raised on an estancia in Patagonia," Nervo said. "And never can I remember a gaucho who did not have, very close by--"

"She's visiting her mother," Schultz interrupted, smiling knowingly. "She should be back sometime today."

Nervo literally convulsed; he stood up, spilled his drink, and then, laughing heartily, wrapped his arm around Schultz.

They're buddies, delighted with themselves!

When Nervo finally sat down and was pouring himself another drink, Frade said, "Santiago, tell Casanova what it is that you are also having a hard time believing."

Nervo pointed with his glass at one of the manager's houses, into which the Mollers and the Kortigs and their families had been taken. Clete knew that both Dorotea and Claudia were there "to help with the children" and also that there were enough peones discreetly watching the house to make sure everything remained under control.

"Something smells with those two," Nervo said.

Schultz met his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly.

That's interesting. What have I missed that these two see?

"Look, Cletus," Nervo said, as if he'd read his mind. "I'm a policeman. I'm not like you and Martin, into politics and espionage and all that. Just a simple policeman."

Like hell you're just a simple policeman. You didn't get to be Inspector General of the Gendarmeria by being simple.

What is he doing now? Schmoozing me?

"But . . . ?" Frade said.

"Like most old policemen, I have learned to know when people are lying. And those two are."

"About what?"

Nervo shrugged. "You tell me. What have they got to lie about?"

Clete shrugged.

"They're either not who they say they are," Schultz said, "or they're not telling you something, or both."

"What do you mean, they're not who they say they are?"

Now Schultz shrugged.

"Tell me about this Gehlen guy," Nervo said. "He must be pretty smart, would you say?"

Smart enough to run the Russian Intelligence branch of the Abwehr, and smart enough to deal with Allen Dulles.

Yeah, I'd say he has to be pretty smart.

"He'd have to be," Frade said, "wouldn't he?"

"And he knows about Valkyrie, right?"

Frade sipped his drink, then nodded. "Yeah. Knows about--and is involved in--Valkyrie."

"Which makes a simple policeman like me think Gehlen doesn't think Adolf Hitler is God's sword against the Antichrist, and believes the best thing for Germany is to kill the bastard. Or am I wrong?"

"I think you're absolutely right," Clete said.

"So why did he send Moller?"

"I don't know where you're going," Clete admitted.

"Moller was not lying when he told me I should understand that he considers himself a serving officer who has taken a personal oath of allegiance to Hitler," Nervo said.

"And he made a point of telling you that. And he made a point of telling me that earlier today when we first met," Clete thought aloud. "So what?"

"And this guy comes as a trusted assistant to Gehlen?" Nervo said. "That smells, Cletus."

"What are you suggesting?" Clete asked.

"Well, I'm just a simple policeman, Cletus. But that phone call I made when we first came here, right after we landed?"

"What about it?"

"I told Subinspector General Nolasco to send two of my people to Santa Rosa--that's just about in the middle of the pampas--with orders not to come back until they have the cattle robbers--"

"Rustlers," Clete corrected him without thinking.

Nervo gave him a dirty look, then went on: "--operating down there in handcuffs. They're good people, Cletus, but they like Nazis and don't like Americans, and I didn't want them around to be curious about you and Alejandro and me suddenly becoming good friends. And talking about it."

"You think Gehlen sent Moller here to get rid of him?"

"Maybe to do both things," Nervo said. "To set things up to bring the rest of the Abwehr Ost people here, and to get him out of the way while he works on Valkyrie. But you're the intelligence officer. What do I know?"

What do you know? You knew about Valkyrie, didn't you?

And you didn't have to search your memory very hard to come up with Abwehr Ost, did you?

"You said before that both Moller and Kortig were lying. What's Kortig lying about?"

Schultz now spoke up. "Well, for one thing, I don't think he's really a sergeant major."

Frade looked at him without replying.

Schultz went on: "Clete, I'm certainly no intelligence officer. I spent all my life, from the time I was sixteen until a couple of months ago, as an enlisted sailor. But a lot--most--of that time I was a chief petty officer, and I know another senior noncommissioned officer when I see one, and Kortig ain't one. I have the gut feeling he's the OIC."

"You'll recall, el Jefe," Frade challenged, "that I had to tell you that Jose Cortina, Martin's sergeant major, is really a lieutenant colonel."

Schultz didn't back down.

"I've never seen Cortina, Clete. All I did was talk to him on the telephone--and only a couple of times. If I'd have seen him, he wouldn't be able to pull that sergeant major bullshit on me."

" 'OIC'?" Nervo asked.

" 'Officer-in-Charge.' Or maybe 'Officer-in-Command,' " Clete furnished.

Nervo nodded his agreement and said: "That would make some sense."

"So you think Moller knows?" Clete asked.

"Sure he does," Nervo said.

Schultz nodded his agreement.

"What would all that be about?" Clete asked. "And spare me that I'm Just an Old Chief and Simple Policeman crap."

"If you're watching Moller, you're probably not going to be watching Kortig. Or at least as closely," Schultz said. "If Kortig has another mission, one you don't know about . . ."

"Do you think either one of them knows about Valkyrie?" Clete asked.

"I don't know about Moller," Nervo said. "But I'll bet Kortig does. Gehlen may have sent him here to make sure Moller--if he doesn't already know about Valkyrie--doesn't find out; or if he does, that he doesn't blow the whistle on Valkyrie to the German Embassy or von Deitzberg. You told me Kortig didn't seem all that surprised to hear that von Deitzberg is here."

Schultz was nodding. "Clete, I think you have to find out what the fuck these two Krauts are really up to."

"Yeah," Frade said. He pushed himself out of his chair. "And the sooner the better."

Nervo stood. Clete waited until he had drained his glass, then said, "Tell me, Simple Policeman. In the Gendarmeria, how would you do this? By pulling fingernails?"

Nervo looked at him stonefaced.

"Actually," the inspector general then said, "I've found the best method is to drag people across the pampas behind a horse for fifteen minutes before beginning the interrogation."

[TWO]

Approaching El Plumerillo Airfield

Mendoza, Mendoza Province, Argentina

1410 3 October 1943

Dona Dorotea Frade, in the copilot seat of the Lodestar, pushed the intercom button on her microphone and said, "Let me land it, Cletus, please."

Frade glanced at her, then returned his attention to outside the aircraft as he said, "No. You shouldn't even be sitting there."

"Nonsense. There's nothing an eight-months-and-some-days pregnant woman can't do except lead anything that comes close to a normal life."

"You all right, baby?"

"No woman eight months pregnant is all right, Clete. But I can land this, and I want to. This will be my last flight for a while."

He glanced at her again. "You just decide that?"

"No, I decided it on the plane on the way to Buenos Aires. Once I got back to Mendoza, that was it."

He saw the airfield ahead and started to make a shallow descent to the right.

"I gather that means you are not going to grant the humble request of the mother of your unborn child?"

"No, it means I want to make a low pass over Casa Montagna."

"Why?"

"It's known as terrifying the natives. Puts a little excitement into their lives."

"They know we're coming, Cletus."

"Let's make sure," he said as he headed for Estancia Don Guillermo.

He made two low-level passes over the house on the mountain side, one to the south and one to the north, and then raised the nose.

I could get a Piper Cub in there easily. I wonder if my father had that in mind?

It couldn't have been cheap to dynamite all that rock out of the way and then make everything level.

He climbed to twelve hundred feet, leveled off, then picked up his microphone and pressed the intercom button.

"First Officer, you have the aircraft." He pointed out the windscreen. "The airfield's over thataway."

She put her hands on the yoke and he took his off.

"Thank you, my darling," the first officer said.

"That was a good landing," Clete said.

"Well, thank you, darling."

"Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing."

"You bah-stud!"

He saw she was smiling.

If anything had gone wrong, I could have taken it away from her.

I think.

Looking out the windscreen, Clete Frade saw that a considerable number of vehicles were on hand to meet them. He was not surprised to see the four-door Lincoln Continental his Aunt Beatriz had rebodied or even the two dark green army-style trucks and two 1941 Ford sedans painted the same color that obviously went with the maybe a dozen members of the Gendarmeria Nacional standing near them. And he had expected the small bus parked beside the gendarmes. There were in all seven Mollers and Kortigs, plus the suitcases now holding the clothing Rodriguez and the nun had bought for everybody.

But he was surprised to see that the Little Sisters of Santa Maria del Pilar were also on hand, represented by their Mother Superior. She was standing by a small bus, much like the one the Little Sisters of the Poor had had at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

I wonder what that's all about?

"Don Cletus?" a male voice behind him at the cockpit door said.

Clete turned and saw Inspector Peralta, one of the two Gendarmeria Nacional officers who had been waiting for him at Jorge Frade when he'd "refueled." The other officer was Subinspector Navarro. The best that Clete could figure was that Peralta was roughly the equivalent of a lieutenant colonel and Navarro a major. Inspector General Nervo's orders to them had been simple: "Place yourself at Don Cletus's orders and keep me posted--twice a day--on what's going on."

Frade made the introduction between Dona Dorotea and Inspector Peralta.

Then Peralta said: "With your permission, Don Cletus, rather than go directly to Estancia Don Guillermo, I will go to the Mendoza headquarters of the Gendarmeria and have a talk with Subinspector Nowicki--he came to meet us; I see his car--and join you later. May I bring Subinspector Nowicki with me when I do?"

He's being polite as hell, but he's sure running the show.

"Of course."

"Subinspector Navarro will escort you now with the trucks and men you see. If you would be good enough to show him the weapons cache, that would be helpful."

Does that mean the weapons will then get loaded on the trucks, and bye-bye weapons cache?

Oh, stop it, for Christ's sake! The next thing, you'll be eyeing Mother Superior suspiciously.

What other choice do I have?

"I'll have Rodriguez show him the cache as soon as we arrive."

"Do you think four of my men will be sufficient to guard the aircraft, Don Cletus? Or shall I arrange for more?"

I never even thought about that. The Constellations in Buenos Aires, yeah. But not the Lodestar here.

You're really on top of things, Senor Superspy!

"I'm sure that will be enough."

"Then I'll see you shortly," Peralta said, saluted, and backed out of the cockpit door.

Clete looked at Dorotea.

"Good man," he began before being interrupted by the voice of Mother Superior at the cockpit door.

"What in the world are you doing up here and in there?" she asked of Dona Dorotea, then turned to Don Cletus. "You really can be, can't you, quite as stupid as your father?" She looked at Dorotea. "Well, come on!"

"Where am I going?" Dorotea said.

"To the convent. The original idea was to examine the German women and children. Now I'll have to see what damage this husband of yours has caused to you."

Dorotea nodded. "I told him that I didn't think I should be sitting up here in my delicate condition."

She waited until Mother Superior was glaring at Cletus and couldn't see her face. Then, looking very pleased with herself, she smiled warmly at him and stuck out her tongue.

And then, with great difficulty, she started to hoist herself out of the copilot's seat.

[THREE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1525 3 October 1943

Captain Madison R. Sawyer III had been playing polo--sort of--to pass the time when "Frade's Lodestar," as Sawyer thought of it, had buzzed the polo field.

He had found eight mallets--one of them broken, all of them old--hanging at various places on the walls of Casa Montagna, which had of course cut the number of players to three on each team, leaving one spare mallet.

Finding players and horses had posed no problem. When he had asked--at the morning formation of the former cavalry troopers of the Husares de Pueyrredon now guarding Casa Montagna--if anyone happened to know how to play polo, every hand had shot up. The horses were not, of course, the fine polo ponies he had grown used to at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. But even the worst of them seemed to have some idea what was expected of a polo pony.

The problem of no polo balls had been solved by purchasing at a very generous price three soccer balls--what the Argentines called footballs--from the children of peones who lived in the compound. He also promised to see that they would have replacement footballs just as soon as he could send someone into town to buy them.

The air-filled soccer balls of course behaved quite differently than a regulation solid-wood polo ball would have, but that just made the play more interesting.

One of the soccer balls had lasted about ten minutes in play and a second just a few minutes more. The third soccer ball--and the mallets, which surprised him--had endured the stress of play for two chukkers when the flaming red Lodestar had flashed over the field.

Sawyer had decided there was time for one--possibly two--more chukkers before Frade arrived from the aircraft, and they had played two more.

He had just had time to dismount and reclaim his Thompson submachine gun and his web belt holding his .45 Colt when the nose of the Lincoln Continental appeared at the end of the field.

He had not expected the brown vehicles of the Gendarmeria Nacional, and was a little worried until he saw Frade climb out from behind the wheel of the Lincoln.

"Subinspector Navarro, this is my deputy, Capitan Sawyer," Frade began the in troductions.

Sensing that he was expected to do so, Sawyer saluted.

"I'll explain this all later," Frade then said to Sawyer. "But right now, I want you to show Subinspector Navarro the weapons cache and explain the perimeter defense to him--"

"You make it sound as if we're going to be attacked," Sawyer interrupted.

"That's a strong possibility," Frade said, then went on: "These gentlemen are Senor Kortig and Senor Moller. They will be joined shortly by their wives and children. In the meantime, Enrico's going to--where's Stein?"

Sawyer looked around and then pointed. Stein was walking toward them from the house.

Clete waited until he had joined them, then, after introducing Kortig, Moller, and Subinspector Navarro to "Major" Stein, he asked where Senor Fischer was.

"With his father. You need him?"

"No. What I want you to do is ask him to stay with his father until I send for him."

Stein's raised eyebrows showed his surprise, but he didn't say anything.

"Then," Frade continued, "find the housekeeper and tell her (a) to prepare some of the rooms in one of the outbuildings for the Kortigs and the Mollers. That's two wives and three children--adolescents. They'll be staying here awhile. And (b) to prepare something to eat for everybody; we haven't had anything since breakfast."

"Where are the wives and children?" Stein said.

"With Mother Superior getting a physical; they should be here in forty-five minutes or an hour."

"Dona Dorotea didn't come with you?"

"She's with them. Captain Sawyer is going to show Subinspector Navarro the arms cache and the perimeter defense. He and another Gendarmeria officer will need rooms in the big house, and we'll need rooms for eight gendarmes in whatever outbuilding she wants to put the Mollers and the Kortigs. Enrico is going to take Senor Moller and Senor Kortig to the bar. As soon as you can, bring any messages from Mount Sinai to me there."

"No messages from Mount Sinai, Major," Stein said. "You expecting one?"

A very long one. When you don't know what the hell you are doing, ask somebody who presumably does.

And Graham has certainly had enough time to send me my orders.

Clete said: "The SIGABA's up at Vint Hill Farms?"

Stein nodded. "With a net check every hour."

"Well, in that case, there's nothing for Senor Moller and Senor Kortig and me to do but have a glass of wine while we wait for the ladies," Clete said. "Or hear from Mount Sinai. Or for the sky to fall. Whichever comes first."

[FOUR]

Office of the Deputy Director for Western Hemisphere

Operations

Office of Strategic Services

National Institutes of Health Building

Washington, D.C.

1715 3 October 1943

Allen W. Dulles entered Graham's office carrying a well-stuffed briefcase and a small, nearly square package wrapped in cheap gray paper and tied with frazzled string.

Whatever that is, he brought it from London. Among other things they don't have in Merry Old England these days is decent wrapping paper and string.

Dulles set the package on Graham's desk and then reached across the desk to shake his hand.

"How was the flight?" Graham asked.

"Long and uncomfortable. The daily courier left without me. I came on a standard Douglas C-54. Via Shannon, Ireland; Gander, Newfoundland; and Westover, in Massachusetts. That's a long way to ride sitting on unupholstered seats or trying to sleep on a pile of mail bags on the floor."

"That's the price of having to respond to the call of your master's voice," Graham said. "How did that go?"

"First, let me open this," Dulles said, nodding at the package and fishing in his pocket.

After a moment, Graham reached into a desk drawer, came up with a pair of scissors, and handed them to Dulles.

"What's in there that's so important?" Graham said.

"My original thought was to give it to you, but I now realize I need it more than you do. I wish that I was unwelcome at the White House."

He finally got the paper off the box, then pulled from it an odd-looking bottle--there were dimples in the glass.

The label read HAIG & HAIG FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD SCOTCH WHISKY.

"Where the hell did you get that? I thought it had all disappeared, like dinosaurs," Graham said, and then he pushed the lever on his intercom. "Alice, ice and glasses. You won't believe what Mr. Dulles has brought us!"

Alice Dulaney walked in a minute or so later--Dulles was still struggling to remove the champagne-bottle-like wire netting from the neck of the bottle--with three glasses, a bucket of ice, and a water pitcher on a tray.

Although she had resisted--for reasons Graham did not pretend to understand--a more impressive title than "secretary," she was far more important to Graham--and thus to the OSS--than her title suggested.

In Graham's absences--and he spent more time away from his office than in it--she spoke with his authority. This meant she had to be privy to all secrets, official and otherwise.

In certain circumstances, however--like this one, with only Allen Dulles in Graham's office--she dropped her "I'm nothing more than a simple secretary" masquerade and said, "Yes, thank you. Don't mind if I do. Where the hell did you get that? I haven't seen any of that for years."

She then took the bottle from Dulles and expertly got rid of the wire and pulled the cork. As if they had rehearsed the routine, Dulles put ice cubes in a glass, which Graham then held up so Alice could splash whisky into it. This was repeated three times. Finally, they tapped glasses.

After his first sip, Dulles said, "Nice. David Bruce told me he would tell me where I could buy two bottles if I promised he could have one of them. I naturally agreed."

Colonel David Bruce was the OSS station chief in London.

"And?" Graham said.

"I went to the store in the embassy, where they have cases of it stacked to the ceiling. They are willing to part with two bottles--only--per month for 'special friends of the embassy.' David had already had his ration."

"You should have pulled rank on Bruce," Alice said. "You're the deputy director for Europe; he works for you."

"That thought ran through my mind, but I decided in the end that if I did, the next time I was in London he wouldn't share his knowledge of important things with me."

"You know, I'll bet Frade has cases of this stacked up somewhere," Alice said.

"Remind me to ask him," Graham said. "And speaking of Senor Loose Cannon?"

"I called Vint Hill Farms Station a couple of minutes ago," she said. "All I got was a runaround. I was going to raise hell, but I realized that maybe the reason we don't have his after-action report is because he hasn't gotten around to sending his after-action report."

"Do we know if he made it back to Buenos Aires?" Dulles asked.

"Just that. And we got that from the Associated Press wire that said the first SAA flight from Lisbon had arrived."

Graham shook his head, took a sip from his glass, and said, "God, this is good whisky!"

"The President knew he'd made it to Lisbon," Dulles said. "He was pleased."

"Pleased because Frade managed to get there or because he knew Juan Trippe would be greatly annoyed?" Graham asked.

"Either or both," Dulles said.

"Who else was there?" Graham asked.

"You would know if you had been there. Weren't you invited?"

"I told the director he was at Vint Hill Farms," Alice said. "He didn't seem terribly disappointed."

"Wallace, Hoover, and Morgenthau," Dulles said. "Plus the First Lady."

"That explains why the director wasn't disappointed," Graham said. "Wouldn't you say?"

"You would have enjoyed it," Dulles said. "Hoover and Wallace got into it. J. Robert Oppenheimer had complained to Wallace that Hoover was 'harass ing' his atomic scientists. Hoover said that it was his responsibility to root out spies wherever they might be found. Morgenthau chimed in and said he was worried the Germans were going to spy on the Manhattan Project, and then Hoover blurted he was more worried about the Russians than the Germans, which annoyed Wallace and Eleanor. Eleanor pointedly reminded Hoover that the Russians were our allies and wouldn't do anything like that."

"What was the alleged purpose of this meeting of minds?" Graham asked.

"I really think Roosevelt wanted to know how South American Airlines was doing. He really knows how to hold a grudge."

"God save us if Wallace or Morgenthau finds out we're using it to move Nazis to South America," Alice said. "And why."

"Good God!" Graham exclaimed. "Don't say that aloud, even in here!"

"I didn't hear Alice say anything," Dulles said evenly, eyeing his drink. "Did you say anything, Alice?"

"Not that I can remember," she said.

"You're telling me Roosevelt ordered you from Bern just to ask about SAA?" Graham asked.

"That's all I can come up with. The only other question I was asked was about the ransoming of the Jews. Morgenthau asked me."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that all I knew was that it was still operating, but that I didn't have any details. I suggested you might."

"Thanks a lot," Graham said.

One of the telephones on Graham's desk rang. Alice walked to the desk and answered it.

"Colonel Graham's office. Mrs. Dulaney speaking." There was a brief pause, and then she added, "Send him up, please."

She put the phone down.

"Vint Hill Farms has been heard from," she said.

Then she quickly picked up her glass from the coffee table and walked out of the office.

"There is a Colonel Raymond from Vint Hill Farms for you, Colonel," Mrs. Alice Dulaney, now back in her secretary role, formally announced from the office door.

"Show him in," Graham said as he set down the glass he was holding and lowered his feet from where they had been resting on the open lower right-hand drawer of his desk.

Allen W. Dulles was now sitting on a couch facing a small coffee table, from which he lowered his feet. He set his glass down on the table.

This has to be Frade's after-action report, Graham thought. I guess it took him this long to get everything sorted out.

Lieutenant Colonel James Raymond, Signal Corps--a tall, ascetic-looking man in his late thirties--marched into Graham's office, stopped two feet from Graham's desk, and saluted. He wore a web belt from which dangled a holstered Colt Model 1911A1 pistol. His left wrist was handcuffed to a somewhat scruffy leather briefcase.

Graham returned the salute, although he wasn't in uniform, and he didn't think even the Army exchanged salutes unless both the saluter and the salutee were in uniform.

"Lieutenant Colonel Raymond, sir. From Vint Hill Farms Station." Raymond then looked at Dulles, then back at Graham, making it a question.

"Well, he may look like a Nazi," Graham said, "but actually, Mr. Dulles is the OSS deputy director for Europe and has all the appropriate security clearances. What have you got for me, Colonel?"

"I have a message from Tex for you, sir. I apologize for the delay."

Graham wagged his fingers in a Let's have it gesture, then asked, "What caused the delay?"

"It came in last night, sir, but neither the colonel nor I, sir, was immediately available to decrypt it."

"And only you or the colonel is able to do that?"

"Plus, of course, Lieutenant Fischer," Lieutenant Colonel Raymond said. "And he isn't available."

Graham realized his temper was about to flare.

You could have sent the still-encrypted message over here, rather than wait hours until they found you, Colonel. Believe it or not, we could have decrypted it here.

"Well, Fischer's on his way back, Colonel," Graham said, finally and calmly. "The last word I had was that he'll probably be here tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Raymond said.

Graham watched as Raymond first freed himself from his handcuff, then unlocked the briefcase, took from it a large manila envelope--stamped TOP SECRET--and then took from that a business-size envelope--also stamped TOP SECRET--and handed that to Graham.

"Thank you," Graham said. "Please have a seat, Colonel. There will probably be a reply. Can I offer you a little something?"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Coffee, maybe?"

"Yes, sir. If it wouldn't be a problem," Raymond said as he sat in one of the armchairs.

Graham raised his voice. "Alice, it's Maxwell House time in here."

"Coming right up!"

Graham opened the envelope and removed the contents. He read it as far as the first paragraph before he knew he wasn't going to like it.

"Alice," he called. "Belay the coffee in here! The colonel will take it in your office." He looked at Raymond. "This is not quite what I expected. Would you mind . . ."

Raymond was already on his feet.

"Yes, sir," Raymond said. "I understand, sir. I did the decryption myself. That message is a bit unusual, isn't it, sir?"

Again Graham felt his temper flare. This time he had an even harder time keeping it contained.

What Raymond had said he shouldn't have said, although it was true. "A bit unusual" was something of an understatement. But what had ignited Graham's anger was that Raymond acknowledged that he had read the message during the decryption process.

The only way to avoid that was for the individual actually writing the message to encrypt it, and then transmit it, himself, and for the recipient to personally receive and then decrypt it.

Otherwise, any number of people who had no business being familiar with the message at all--secretaries, cryptographers, radio operators, typists--had a valid reason to read the message and thus become familiar with it.

This system made necessary the use of code names for people and places and operations within the encrypted message itself. The theory being that if only the author and the recipient knew that "Tex" was Major Cletus Frade and

"Aggie" was Colonel A. F. Graham, et cetera, the clerks, et cetera, involved in the transmission and receipt of the message who had read it would not know what they had read.

"Yes, it is," Graham replied, his temper under control. "This shouldn't take long, Colonel. Thank you for your patience."

"Not at all, sir."

Lieutenant Colonel Raymond left the office, closing the door after himself.

Dulles got up and walked to Graham's desk and looked over his shoulder at the message.

Graham knew what all the code names meant, but Dulles had to ask about some of them:

"Pinocchio? Who's that?"

"He said 'new Kraut buddy.' Probably Gehlen."

"Pinocchio because his nose grows when he's lying?"

"What else, Allen?" Graham said.

"Polo?"

"Captain Madison R. Sawyer III, formerly Number Three on the Ramapo Valley polo team."

"The Brewery is where Frade has the Froggers?"

"It's his house in the vineyards of his Estancia Don Guillermo in the foothills of the Andes Mountains near Mendoza. He told me the entire Marine Raider Battalion couldn't get up the mountain to take it."

Dulles chuckled, then asked, "Big-Z?"

"SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg."

"Bagman?"

"Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, who runs that obscene confidential fund operation; he's light on his feet and does exactly what von Deitzberg tells him because otherwise he goes to Sachsenhausen with a pink triangle on his chest."

"That would tend to make him behave, I suppose. Sausage?"

"Anton von Gradny-Sawz, first secretary of the German Embassy."

"Cavalry?"

"Major Frade has declined to give me his name," Graham said dryly. "But I suspect he's Colonel Alejandro Martin of the BIS. I don't think Frade has turned him, but I think it's safe to say that Martin has decided that the gringos are less of a danger to Argentina than the Nazis. He's been helpful. Very helpful."

"I presume 'Bigtoys' means the Constellations?" Dulles said.

"What else could it mean? But what's that about von Deitzberg being ordered to destroy them? Ordered by who?"

"The only thing that comes to mind is that Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels is unhappy--for his propaganda purposes--with Argentina having better transport aircraft than Lufthansa," Dulles said. "But I rather doubt that he has that much influence over Himmler, who would have to issue that order."

"Maybe it came from Hitler; Goebbels has influence with him."

"I just don't know," Dulles said.

"Now, that's worrisome," Dulles said.

"Yes, it is."

"The question is who turned whom."

"My God, Allen! He's a Marine with the Navy Cross! What I meant was that he told him 'just about everything.' "

Dulles looked as if he was about to reply but then had changed his mind.

"Well, I can make a good guess who he means by 'Princeton,' " Allen W. Dulles, BA Princeton '14, MA Princeton '16, said, smiling. "But the Valkyrie business is worrisome."

"You did get that message? That Martin has someone in the Argentine Embassy in Berlin?"

"And I have been working on it, so far unsuccessfully."

Graham nodded thoughtfully, then said, "Are you going to pass around that the Argentines know about Valkyrie?"

"I'll have to think, very carefully, about that. All of those involved do not have von Stauffenberg's courage and determination; if they heard this they'd be likely to pull back. I wish there was some way I could get to Argentina and discuss the players with Colonel Frogger, but I don't see how I could arrange that."

"We can ask Frade to ask him, Allen."

"Let's put that on the back burner for the moment."

Graham nodded.

"Why Renfrew?" Dulles said.

"After the movie."

Renfrew of the Royal Mounted had been a surprisingly successful B movie of 1937 starring James Newill as Sergeant Renfrew, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who pursued the evildoers, assisted by his dog, a German shepherd named Lightning.

"Why not Dick Tracy?" Dulles said. "Renfrew must've meant something to Frade."

"Who," Graham replied, "was (a) still not much more than a boy when that movie came out, and (b) was almost certainly fairly well lubricated when he wrote this message."

"Is there an Argentine equivalent of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?" Dulles pursued.

After a moment, Graham said, "Yeah. The Gendarmeria Nacional."

"Would you care to wager a small amount that Renfrew has something to do with the Gendarmeria Nacional?"

"If he's a pal of Cavalry, he probably runs the Gendarmeria Nacional," Graham said. "Don't let this go to your head, but for a Princetonian you're pretty clever."

"And are you going to reward me with another taste from our Pinch bottle?"

"I thought you would never ask," Graham said, and rose from his desk and went to the coffee table where he poured scotch whisky in glasses for both of them.

Dulles sat in Graham's chair and resumed reading.

Graham returned with their drinks, set them on the desk, and then went to take one of the chairs in front of his desk to move it next to Dulles.

"That makes sense," Dulles said. "On both counts. The one thing Argentina doesn't need is a Spanish-type civil war, and all the ingredients for one are there, just waiting for someone to strike a match."

"Yeah. And wouldn't the Chileans and the Brazilians like that?"

Dulles raised his eyes to Graham's and answered the unspoken question in them:

"I really didn't think Frade would find out," Dulles said.

"But you didn't tell me."

"I planned to."

"He said, lamely."

"Honest to God, Alex, I forgot."

" 'Tomorrow morning,' " Dulles said. "That means this morning, right?"

"Western Union service has been a little slow," Graham said sarcastically. "If he left Buenos Aires--probably, almost certainly, in his Lodestar--at, say, oh nine hundred, he's been there for hours. It's about a four-hour flight."

"His Lodestar? A prerogative of being managing director of South American Airways? Very nice."

"No. It is his personal Lodestar. His father had a Staggerwing Beechcraft. Our Cletus borrowed it, then got shot down in it dropping flares out of it to illuminate the Reine de la Mer so the USS Devil-Fish could put a torpedo into her.

"Our commander in chief was so delighted that he made our Cletus a captain, gave him another Distinguished Flying Cross--which he deserved--and then ordered the Air Corps to immediately replace the lost Beechcraft. Not just via some flunky: Roosevelt ordered General Hap Arnold, the Chief of Staff of the Air Corps, to personally see to it.

"The Air Corps didn't happen to have any Staggerwing Beechcrafts in stock--I think they stopped making them in 1940--but they had an order from the President, relayed through General Arnold, to replace the aircraft lost in South America. So they took a Lodestar intended as a VIP transport and sent that to Brazil, where it was painted with the same identification numbers of the Staggerwing--and in Staggerwing Red--and notified me that the 'plane' was ready. I told our Cletus to go get what I thought would be another Staggerwing.

"He did. And when he got to Brazil, he saw the Lodestar as a good way to get the radar and its crew into Argentina. So, with about two hours of instruction in how to fly it, he did just that. Without a copilot.

"And made it. When I heard about it, I caught the next Panagra Clipper and went down there and reamed him a new anal orifice for being so stupidly arrogant as to think he was that good a pilot.

"Frankly, my heart wasn't in that. What I was hoping was that the ass-chewing would make him think twice the next time he wanted to do something so off the wall."

"And did that work?"

"You've met him, Allen, what would you say?"

Dulles looked at Marine Corps Colonel A. F. Graham and with a straight face said, "I would say that Major Frade is a typical Marine officer," then returned his attention to the message.

"Man from the Delta?" Dulles asked.

"Oberstleutnant Frogger," Graham replied. "Frogger's son. We got him out of the VIP POW camp in the Mississippi Delta."

"And he's at the Brewery?"

Graham nodded.

"So what are we going to tell Frade to do?"

"We are not going to tell him anything, Allen. You blew your right to tell him anything when you didn't tell him--or me, so that I could tell him--about the phony sergeant major. And, on that subject, is there anything else you think Frade or I should know?"

"No, Alex, there isn't."

"Until about five minutes ago, that would have been good enough. Now I'm not sure."

Dulles's face tightened.

Graham didn't back down. "Goddamn it, we had an agreement--no secrets, nothing that could be misunderstood between us."

"Yes, we did. And I broke it. By oversight, not intention, but I broke it and I said I was sorry."

Graham didn't reply.

"What would you like me to do, Alex? Get on my knees and beg forgiveness? Commit suicide?"

"Good thoughts," Graham said. "How about getting on your knees and committing hara-kiri on the White House lawn?"

"As reluctant as I am to correct an always correct military man such as yourself, I have to tell you--presuming you are talking about self-disembowelment--the proper term for it is seppuku."

"They taught you that at Princeton, did they?"

"Indeed they did."

"In that case, go seppuku yourself, Allen."

They smiled at each other.

"So what are you going to tell Frade to do?" Dulles asked.

"Watch and listen, Allen. But first get out of my chair."

Dulles got up and Graham sat down.

He pushed the lever on his desk intercom device.

"Alice, would you ask Colonel Raymond to come in, please?"

Graham rummaged in his desk drawer and came up with a book of matches.

Raymond appeared almost instantly at the door. Alice stood behind him.

"Sir?"

"Colonel, can you assure me that there are no copies of this message in some file cabinet--or anywhere else--at Vint Hill Farms Station?"

"Yes, sir, I can."

"There will be a brief reply to this one. Alice, please write this down--not in shorthand--so that Colonel Raymond can take it back to Vint Hill, send it, and then burn it--repeat burn it."

"Yes, sir," Alice said.

" 'Pinocchio did not lie. Princeton didn't think you are as smart as you are. Use your best judgment. Keep me advised. Graham, Colonel, USMCR.' Read it back, please, Alice."

She did so.

"Now give it to Colonel Raymond to make sure he can read your writing."

"Yes, sir."

"I can read it fine, sir," Raymond said a moment later.

"Get that out immediately when you get back to Vint Hill Station, please."

"Yes, sir."

"That will be all, then, Colonel. Thank you."

"Yes, sir," Raymond said, came to attention, and saluted. Graham returned it. Raymond did a crisp about-face and marched out of the office.

When he was gone, Graham said, "Now that it's a done deed, I will listen to your comments."

"I don't think you had any other choice," Dulles said. "At the moment, we have absolutely no control over what Frade will do or won't do, even if we knew what to tell him to do."

"Great minds take similar paths," Graham said. Then he struck a match and, holding Frade's message to him over his wastebasket, set the message on fire.

[FIVE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1650 3 October 1943

Mother Superior had made it plain that she regarded Clete Frade's treatment of the mother of his unborn child as the despicable behavior to be expected of someone who had obviously inherited his father's insanity. But, aside from that, Mother Superior had been so cooperative that Clete suspected she had been given her marching orders from whoever in the hierarchy of Holy Mother Church had the authority to order a Mother Superior around.

One of the most important things she had done was to calm Senora Moller and Senora Kortig--and, as important, the children. She spoke fluent German, which made things easier.

"The first thing we have to do," Mother Superior told them, "is get you to speak Spanish, and the best way to do that, of course, is to get you in school. We run a bus up here every morning to take the children who live here to our school. It's inside the convent. And then, of course, it brings them home after school. Is there any reason, Don Cletus, they couldn't do that tomorrow?"

Frade thought, Translation: Would it be safe to do that?

Clete had looked at Inspector Peralta and saw that he was looking at Subinspector Nowicki, who after a thoughtful moment made a subtle thumbs-up gesture, which caused Inspector Peralta to nod in Clete's direction.

Translation: The Gendarmeria Nacional can and will protect the bus.

"I can't think of one," Clete said. "It sounds like a very good idea."

"And for the first few days," Mother Superior said, "I suggest that it would be a very good idea if Senora Moller and Senora Kortig came to school, too. Would that be all right?"

As long as I've got their husbands under my thumb here, why not?

"I think that would be a very good idea," Clete said.

"And now, so as to leave you gentlemen to your wine, I suggest that I take the ladies and the children to their apartments. I'll see what things they'll need for school, and answer any questions they might have."

"I think the fathers would like to be in on that," Clete said. "Would that be all right?"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Mother Superior said.

"Would you like to come along, Dorotea?" Mother Superior asked.

"What I think I am going to do is have a little lie-down," Dorotea said. "I'm tired from the flight."

Translation: I am now going to stand behind a partially open door and listen to what the men will say that they probably wouldn't say if I was in the room.

"Well, I can certainly understand why you're tired," Mother Superior said, flashing Clete an icy smile.

A minute later, Clete saw that the bar held men only. Stein was missing.

He's sitting on the SIGABA and waiting--probably in vain--for the graven-on-stone messages from Mount Sinai.

What was it Graham said about the more people knowing about a secret the less chance there is that it will remain a secret?

I trust Nervo and Martin. I trust Inspector Peralta because Nervo trusts him. And I suppose I can trust Subinspector Navarro because he works for Peralta.

That's a hell of a lot of people being told a hell of a lot of secrets.

Not to mention the local Gendarmeria boss, Subinspector Nowicki. I don't know him, or where he comes from.

"Don Cletus, did Inspector General Nervo tell you I can read faces?" Inspector Peralta asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I can look at a face and tell what that person is thinking," Peralta said seriously.

What the hell is this?

"Really?"

"Would you like me to tell you what you're thinking?" Peralta said, and then went on without giving Clete a chance to reply. "Who the hell are all these people? How the hell do I know I can trust them? Am I close?"

"That thought has run through my mind, now that you mention it," Clete said.

"Don't be embarrassed, Don Cletus. I would have been worried if you were not worried. So let's deal with it: Me, you can trust, because the inspector general said you can, and you trust the inspector general. Subinspector Navarro can be trusted because I tell you he can. That leaves Subinspector Nowicki, whom you keep looking at through the corner of your eye. Despite his shifty eyes, I have learned he is trustworthy. But let him speak for himself. Estanislao?"

Subinspector Nowicki--a burly, totally bald, muscular man in his early forties, who had been sitting slumped in an armchair while sipping steadily at a glass of wine--stood.

"Don Cletus, I am a Pole. I hate Nazis and Communists. I know what they have done to Poland and I don't want either taking over in Argentina. Before I came here, I commanded the Gendarmeria squadron in Pila. I was privileged to call your father my friend. When the Nazi bastards murdered him and nearly killed my old friend Enrico, I prayed to God for the chance to avenge el Coronel's murder. I swear before God and on my mother's grave that you can trust me."

He nodded once, then sat down.

"Enrico, why didn't you tell me you were friends?" Clete challenged, more in wonder than anger or even annoyance.

"You didn't ask, Don Cletus," the old soldier said matter-of-factly.

"Well, Don Cletus?" Peralta said. "Now that you're a little less worried about Estanislao . . ."

"I apologize, Inspector," Clete said.

"No need," Nowicki said simply.

". . . where shall we start?" Peralta finished his question.

"The arms cache?" Clete replied. "The perimeter defense of this place?"

"There are more arms, heavier arms, than I expected," Peralta said. "Fifty-caliber machine guns, mortars. And a great deal of ammunition. Which makes me wonder whether el Coronel Schmidt is really after that, rather than using the weapons cache as an excuse to look for the Froggers."

"Why would he want the weapons? He's got a regiment."

"Doesn't the U.S. Corps of Marines teach its officers that guns are like sex? You can never have too much."

"Point taken, Inspector," Clete said.

"But now that we're on the subject of el Coronel Schmidt, let's get that clear between us, Don Cletus. My orders from Inspector General Nervo are to assist you in any way I can, short of helping you start, or involving the Gendarmeria in, a civil war."

"I have no intention of starting a civil war," Clete replied. "Is that what Inspector General Nervo thinks?"

"It's not you he's worried about," Nowicki said. "It's that Nazi bastard Schmidt."

"Schmidt wants to start a civil war? What the hell for?"

"To put in the Casa Rosada someone who understands that the Nazis--and until last week, the Italians--were fighting the good fight against godless Communism," Peralta said. "And what makes him especially dangerous is that the bastard really believes he's on God's side."

"Who does he want to put in the Casa Rosada? A colonel named Schmidt?"

"Maybe a colonel named Peron," Peralta said. "But probably Obregon."

"The head of the Bureau of Internal Security?"

"I've known for some time--as have Nervo, Martin, and some others--that el General de Division Manuel Frederico Obregon likes to think of himself as the Heinrich Himmler of Argentina," Peralta said. "Not the concentration camp Himmler, of course, but as the patriot rooting out godless Communists and other opponents of National Socialism wherever found. Rawson--and others; el Coronel Wattersly, for example--keep him on a pretty tight leash, which Schmidt would love to remove.

"Rawson is a good man, but not very strong. He could be talked into resigning if he thought the alternative was civil war."

"And Obregon would move into the Casa Rosada?"

"More likely Pepe Ramirez--el General Pedro Pablo Ramirez--with Peron as his vice president. They get along pretty well, and nobody really likes Obregon."

"Jesus Christ!" Clete said bitterly. "So, what do you want to do with the weapons to keep them out of Schmidt's hands?"

"I think the best place for them is probably here. The Gendarmeria doesn't have any place to store them more securely than they are here. Inspector General Nervo left the decision to me, based on what I found here. And I can't fault your defense of Casa Montagna. What I have to try--try very hard--to do is keep you from having to defend it."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Well, Schmidt can't get here without using the roads, and the Gendarmeria owns the roads. We'll know immediately if--I think I should say when--he starts in this direction. You'll probably have two days'--maybe three or four--warning. And Inspector General Nervo will tell Wattersly and the others.

"In the meantime, today we're going to spread the word that the Gendarmeria came here, found a small cache of weapons, and took them off your hands. So there's no reason for Schmidt to come looking for them. Maybe that will stop Schmidt. Maybe it won't."

"And if it doesn't?"

"The only thing I can tell you for sure, Don Cletus, is that if there is a civil war, the first battle will not be between Schmidt's Mountain Troops and the Gendarmeria."

"But between Schmidt's Mountain Troops and Don Cletus Frade's ragtag little private army?"

"I don't want that to happen either," Peralta said. "But--and this is not a recommendation or even a suggestion--if you could somehow stall Schmidt outside your gates, perhaps there would be time for Ejercito Argentino officers senior to Colonel Schmidt to come here and ask him what the hell he was doing. I think that maybe even hearing that this was about to happen would send Schmidt back to San Martin de los Andes."

"Unless, of course," Nowicki said, "the Nazi bastard has decided--or been told--that now is the time to start the civil war."

"Unless, of course, the Nazi bastard, on orders or on his own, wants to start a civil war," Peralta said.

"How am I supposed to stall him at the gates?" Clete said.

When he looked at Peralta, he saw that Stein was standing in the door waiting for permission to enter.

"A mortar round or two, or several bursts from a .50-caliber machine gun, might do the trick," Peralta said. "I did not say that."

Stein's eyebrows rose.

"What have you got, Stein?" Clete asked.

"We have just heard from Moses, Major. A graven message fresh from Mount Sinai."

I suppose late is better than never.

"Let's have it," Frade said.

Stein walked to him and handed him Graham's message.

"Oh, shit!" Clete said when he had read it.

He looked around the room.

Peralta looked at him curiously.

"Let me ask a dumb question," Clete said. "Where is it that dead heroes go in the afterlife?"

"Valhalla," Peralta said. "They are taken there by Valkyries."

Okay, so you know.

Captain Madison R. Sawyer III does not know, nor does Staff Sergeant/Major Sigfried Stein.

What about Subinspector Estanislao Nowicki and Subinspector Navarro?

From the looks on everybody's faces, nobody except Peralta has a clue.

Dead heroes in the afterlife? Valkyries? What the hell?

Who am I fooling?

I'm going to have to tell Sawyer and Stein; I really should have told them before. I promised everybody on Team Turtle there would be no secrets between us.

And Subinspectors Navarro and Nowicki are going to ask Inspector Peralta what the hell is going on, and he's going to tell them.

And what are my detailed orders from Mount Sinai?

"Use your best judgment."

"I would appreciate it if you listen carefully to this," Clete said.

Everyone looked at him.

"Senor Kortig and Senor Moller are German officers," Clete began. "Moller is an SS major who told me he believes any officer who violates his oath of personal allegiance to Adolf Hitler is a traitor--"

"You brought a goddamn Nazi into Argentina?" Nowicki exploded.

"Easy, Estanislao," Peralta said.

Frade was nodding. "For reasons--good reasons--known to Inspector Peralta. He can explain them to you if he wishes later, but let me continue.

"Kortig is a lieutenant colonel. He tells me that he is privy to a very important secret with the code name Valkyrie. He also told me that he was sent on this duty--ostensibly as a suboficial mayor--to keep an eye on Moller, who was sent here because he was getting too close to the Valkyrie secret." He paused, then asked, "Have I succeeded in confusing everybody?"

"I will tell you what I can of this later," Peralta said to the Gendarmeria officers, then gestured to Frade. "Go on, please, Don Cletus."

"What we know now is that Moller cannot be trusted."

"If he can't be trusted, kill him," Nowicki said.

"You and Enrico think alike," Clete said. "But right now that wouldn't be smart. There is another German officer here, another lieutenant colonel, who is privy to Valkyrie. I know about this man. If he recognizes Kortig, then Kortig can be trusted."

"That's the South African?" Peralta asked. "The wine expert?"

"Uh-huh."

"I wondered about him."

"How did you hear about him?" Frade said.

"Subinspector Nowicki heard he was here. He asked me what to do. I asked Subinspector Nervo, who asked Colonel Martin, who asked Inspector General Nervo to back off. We backed off."

"I'm glad you did."

"Before I get them in here, I want to make it clear that I don't want Moller to know that the wine expert is anything but a wine expert, or that I put him--he's using the name Fischer; his real name is Frogger--together with Kortig."

"That's presuming your man knows Kortig, right?" Peralta asked.

"What if your man, the one you trust, knows Kortig as a goddamn Nazi?" Nowicki asked.

"That's a possibility," Frade admitted. "If that happens, I'll turn both Moller and Kortig over to you and Rodriguez."

"Clete, you better make sure they understand that was a joke," Madison R. Sawyer III said. It was the first time he'd opened his mouth.

Frade met Sawyer's eyes. "It wasn't a joke, Captain Sawyer."

"But they have their wives and children . . ."

"Nothing will happen to the wives and children."

"Jesus Christ, Clete!"

"Enrico, go get Kortig. And, Stein, you go get Fischer."

"Clete, I can't believe you're serious," Sawyer said.

"I have heard your comments, Captain Sawyer. Don't question any decision I make, or order I give, ever again."

Sawyer looked at him incredulously.

"The answer I anticipate, Captain, is, 'Yes, sir. I understand, sir.' "

After a long moment, Sawyer exhaled audibly, then said, "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

Fischer came into the bar first.

He looked curious but not concerned.

"Gentlemen, this is Senor Fischer," Clete said, "who came all the way from South Africa to help us improve our grapes."

The handshaking took about a minute.

"A little grape for the grape expert?" Clete asked, holding up a bottle.

"I could use one," Fischer said. "I have had a hard day."

Rodriguez led Kortig into the room a minute later.

Neither German could conceal his surprise.

"Ach, du lieber Gott!" Fischer said softly.

"Willi," Kortig said, "we heard you were captured in North Africa!"

"I gather introductions are not necessary," Clete said.

Both Germans turned to look at Frade.

"Colonel Frogger, I presume you are prepared to vouch for Colonel Niedermeyer?"

"Absolutely! Absolutely!"

"And you would say that Colonel Niedermeyer knows that Valkyrie means more than some oversexed woman on a horse?"

"Major Frade," Niedermeyer said, "Colonel Frogger has been part of Valkyrie from the beginning."

"Sorry, Nowicki," Frade said. "It doesn't look as if you're going to get to shoot him."

Peralta chuckled.

"From this moment, Captain Sawyer," Clete said, "while he has the freedom of the compound, I want someone watching Moller twenty-four hours a day. If he tries to escape, kill him. And tell him if his wife tries to escape, we'll kill both of them."

"Yes, sir," Sawyer said.