The Honor of Spies

XV

[ONE]

Calle Talcahuano 207

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1020 4 October 1943

When SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg had telephoned the German Embassy almost immediately after stepping ashore from the motor vessel Ciudad de Cadiz in Buenos Aires, he asked for "Commercial Counselor" Cranz.

"One moment, please, Senor."

A moment later, a voice announced somewhat arrogantly: "Herr Cranz is not available."

"With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?"

"This is Assistant Commercial Counselor Raschner."

"He's not available, Raschner, or he can't be troubled talking to ordinary people?" von Deitzberg snapped.

"Who is this?" Raschner had asked. Most of the arrogance was gone from his voice, telling von Deitzberg that Raschner had recognized his voice.

Von Deitzberg hadn't deigned to reply directly.

"I need to talk to you, and Cranz, somewhere where we won't be seen together, without the ambassador knowing, and right now. Do not use my name or rank when you reply."

There was only a moment's delay.

"At the rear of the Colon Opera House, Mein Herr, is the Cafe Colon. We can be there in thirty minutes, if that is satisfactory, Mein Herr."

"Weren't you listening when I said, 'somewhere where we won't be seen together'?"

"What I respectfully suggest, Mein Herr, is that when you see me come into the Cafe Colon and then leave, you leave yourself and follow me to a place where no one will see us together."

"Thirty minutes, Raschner," von Deitzberg said, and hung up.

It took nearly that long for von Deitzberg to find a taxi and then be driven to the Cafe Colon.

He had just been served a cafe con crema--which came with a little cup full of solid lumps of real cream, and a little spoon, which triggered the thoughts that Buenos Aires was really a beautiful city--indeed "The Paris of South America," as they said--and that the Colon Opera House was larger than the opera houses in Berlin, Paris, and Vienna; and that in 1939 Argentina was said to have the largest gold reserves in the world; and that all things considered--such as that Berlin was already half destroyed and the rest would certainly soon be--Buenos Aires was a pretty nice place in which to live--when Raschner walked through the door. He looked around the cafe long enough to spot and be spotted by von Deitzberg and then turned and left.

Von Deitzberg decided that appreciatively drinking his cafe con crema was more important than jumping up to join Raschner, and did so.

When he finally left the Cafe Colon, he saw Raschner standing near the corner but did not at first see Cranz. His temper flared until he spotted him standing on the corner of the street diagonally across from Raschner.

When he started to walk toward Raschner, Raschner crossed the street, walked toward Cranz and then past him, taking a gravel walk that ran diagonally through a small park.

Von Deitzberg saw that Cranz was now bringing up the rear. Raschner crossed another street and then entered the lobby of a building near the corner. As von Deitzberg approached the door, he saw that the Argentine version of a concierge was holding open an elevator door, obviously waiting for von Deitzberg. When he got on the elevator and turned, he saw that Cranz was about to get on.

Not a word or a look of recognition was exchanged as the elevator rode slowly upward, nor as Raschner opened it and stepped out to put a key into one of the two doors opening on the elevator landing.

Von Deitzberg and Cranz followed Raschner into the apartment.

Raschner popped to attention, his right arm shot out, and he barked "Heil Hitler!" After a moment, Cranz repeated the gesture.

Von Deitzberg returned the greeting casually without the "Heil Hitler!"

"What is this place?" he asked.

"It is the former Frogger apartment, Herr Brigadefuhrer," Cranz said.

"The name I am using is Jorge Schenck," von Deitzberg said. "Use that only, please."

"Jawohl, Herr Schenck," both Cranz and Raschner said, almost in unison.

"Senor Schenck," von Deitzberg corrected them.

"Jawohl, Senor Schenck," they said, together.

"I want to talk about those swine," von Deitzberg said. "But right now, I want a cup of coffee, with cream. And some sweet rolls. The voyage from Montevideo was tiring; I hardly slept, and my breakfast was inadequate."

"There's a cafe around the corner," Cranz said. "Actually, there's a cafe around every corner in Buenos Aires. But this one, the Cafe Flora, delivers."

"And the telephone is still operable?"

Cranz nodded.

"Then get on it, and have this Cafe Flora bring us some coffee with cream, real cream; make sure they bring enough, and some sweet rolls. Lots of both--what we have to discuss may take some time."

"Raschner," Cranz ordered, and pointed toward a telephone on the table.

"Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer," von Deitzberg said icily. "I told you to get on the phone."

Cranz's face flushed, but he walked quickly toward the telephone.

"The number is on the first page of that little phone book, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer," Raschner said, helpfully.

"So, Erich," von Deitzberg said. "What can you tell me about the Froggers?"

"So what you are telling me," von Deitzberg said, "is that the Froggers may be on Frade's estancia or they may be in the foothills of the Andes, on another of Frade's estancias--no one knows for sure?"

"Oberst Schmidt is working on an idea to see if they are in Mendoza," Raschner said.

"And how close is Oberst Schmidt to putting his idea into play?" von Deitzberg asked.

As Cranz opened his mouth, von Deitzberg went on: "Well, let me tell you why I am so interested in the Froggers: I am, of course, determined to comply with my orders from Reichsfuhrer-SS Himmler to eradicate them wherever and whenever found.

"But there is more to it than that. One of the things I did in Montevideo was to shut down the confidential fund operation. I can tell you now that the Reichsfuhrer never knew anything about it.

"Both of you know the Reichsfuhrer well enough to guess how he would react to learning that some of his closest subordinates were involved. . . ."

"Jesus Christ!" Raschner blurted. "Himmler didn't know?"

"Do you think he will find out?" Cranz asked.

"One of the ways to make that less likely is to comply with his orders that the Froggers be eliminated," von Deitzberg said. "Wouldn't you agree? Wouldn't you say that should be our highest priority?"

"Von Tresmarck!" Raschner said. "That queer sonofabitch has to go! And that whore of a wife of his! She has to know a lot about the confidential fund."

"If you will do me the courtesy of hearing me out, Erich, I was about to get to the von Tresmarcks."

"Sorry."

"If von Tresmarck were to be eliminated, our colleagues in Germany would wonder why that was necessary under the circumstances. They would also wonder what was going to happen to their share of their assets in the confidential fund. . . ."

The doorbell rang.

"Ah, that must be our Kaffee mit schlagobers!" von Deitzberg said. "Be so good as to answer the door, Erich."

"I was thinking just before," von Deitzberg said as he set his coffee cup down, "in the Cafe Colon, when I had one of these, that it will probably be a very long time before Kaffee mit schlagobers is again available in Demel in Vienna. There might not even be a Demel in Vienna after the war. Or, for that matter, a Vienna--or a Berlin--that any of us would recognize."

He picked up and took a healthy bite from a jelly-filled roll sprinkled with confectioners' sugar.

"Or one of these," he said. He paused. "Except, of course, here in Argentina." He took another bite of the roll, and when he had finished swallowing, said, "Erich, a moment before, you referred to Frau von Tresmarck as a whore."

"Isn't she?" Raschner replied.

"There are some things about her you didn't need to know. Until now. Were either of you aware that she is the widow of a distinguished brother officer of ours?"

He looked between them and, after both had shaken their heads, he said, "Obersturmbannfuhrer Erich Kolbermann, of the Waffen-SS, gave his life for the Fatherland in the east, shortly before von Paulus surrendered the Sixth Army at Stalingrad. You were not aware of this?"

Again, both shook their heads.

Like schoolboys, he thought, who don't have any idea how to spell "potassium."

"Well, we didn't take advertisements in the newspapers, for obvious reasons, to remind people of this, but shortly after the death of her husband, the then Frau Kolbermann came to work for the Sicherheitsdienst. She mined the bars at the Hotel Adlon, the Hotel Am Zoo, and elsewhere, for matters of interest to us. She was quite good at it.

"And then when Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich--I presume both of you know it was Reinhardt Heydrich's idea that the confidential fund be set up--"

This time Cranz nodded, and Raschner said, "I always thought it was Reichsfuhrer Himmler."

"It was Heydrich," von Deitzberg said. "And he gave me the responsibility of administering the program. We eventually realized we needed someone trustworthy to handle things in Uruguay. The obergruppenfuhrer thought that von Tresmarck was a likely choice; he was intelligent, he spoke Spanish, and he didn't want to go to Sachsenhausen wearing a pink triangle.

"But who was to watch von Tresmarck? The obergruppenfuhrer was familiar with Frau Kolbermann's work for the Sicherheitsdienst and suggested that it might be appropriate duty for her. Von Tresmarck needed a wife--we didn't want his sexual proclivities drawing attention to him--and who could better remind him of that than a 'wife' he knew was working for the Sicherheitsdienst? She could also keep an eye on the ambassador, on Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster, and, frankly, on the people in the embassy here."

He paused, chuckled, and said, "I'm sure you will be delighted to hear that Frau von Tresmarck had only flattering things to tell me about your performance of duty."

He paused again, then went on: "So when I came here this time, I naturally went to Montevideo and looked up Frau von Tresmarck. Before I told her the confidential fund operation was to be shut down, I received her report on how it was going.

"She told me two interesting things: first, that von Tresmarck had a gentleman friend, a Uruguayan, and second, that at the recommendation of this friend, he had begun to invest the confidential fund's money in Paraguay. He--they--were then in fact in Paraguay doing just that. Von Tresmarck was under orders not to leave Uruguay without my specific permission.

"That was, of course, all the justification I needed to eliminate him, and his gentleman friend, and assume responsibility for the fund myself--I'll get into that in a moment.

"But then I realized that once our associates in the Fatherland heard about this, they would be worrying about their share of the fund's assets. And the more people who talked about the fund, especially in my absence, the greater the chance the talk would come to the attention of Reichsfuhrer-SS Himmler.

"But what if, I asked myself, what if von Tresmarck and his gentleman friend disappeared, a la the Froggers, taking with them just about all of the fund's assets?

"That would nip in the bud any questions about their share of the fund's assets on the part of our associates. The assets would have disappeared. They would know that I was hot on the trail of von Tresmarck to get them back. That would be the best they could hope for under the circumstances."

"You have taken care of von Tresmarck, Herr Brigadefuhrer?" Cranz asked.

"If you use my rank again, Cranz, or my name, I will be obliged to decide that you are unreliable and will have to be 'taken care of,' " von Deitzberg said.

"I sincerely apologize, Senor Schenck," Cranz said.

"To answer your question: Von Tresmarck, his gentleman friend, and about two hundred fifty thousand pounds sterling have disappeared. I wouldn't be surprised if they were in Paraguay. When I have time I will look into that. It is highly unlikely that either will ever return to Montevideo--or, frankly, that I will find them when I eventually go looking for them.

"I have assumed control of the former confidential fund and its assets. . . ."

"Excuse me, Senor Schenck," Raschner interrupted. "'Former confidential fund'?"

"It is now 'Operation Adler,' " von Deitzberg said. "The purpose of which is to provide a safe nest for SS officers here in South America should--God forbid!--the Final Victory not come as we all hope it will, and we have to protect our brother officers from the savage revenge of the godless Communists."

"You're going to tell them about this?" Cranz asked.

"I don't think so, Karl," von Deitzberg said. "They're all very busy defending the Fatherland. For example, according to the radio station in Montevideo, the SS was deeply involved in destroying the port and railroad facilities of Naples to deny their use to the American Fifth Army, which moved into the city on second October."

"And we are going to use the assets of Operation Adler for the benefit of our brother officers?" Cranz asked.

"Precisely," von Deitzberg said. "If that becomes necessary, and presuming that they can get out of Germany and make their way here. I've been thinking that it would only be fair if we were paid a compensation--say, twenty-five percent of all assets--for our management services. What we are going to do is essentially a smaller version of Operation Phoenix. Strictly for the SS."

"Twenty-five percent seems reasonable to me," Cranz agreed.

"May I ask questions, Senor Schenck?" Raschner asked.

"Of course, Erich."

"When will you be returning to the Fatherland?"

"Well, I just don't know. The Fuhrer--among other tasks he has assigned to me--wants to be sure that all parts of Operation Phoenix are in place. I can see where that will take a good deal of time.

"As will locating and eliminating the Froggers--which, as I'm sure you will agree, now is even more important, as those swine know much too much about the former confidential fund.

"And then there is the problem of destroying these new aircraft, which is compounded by the fact that I don't know where they are, what they look like, or have even seen a picture of one of them."

"They're actually quite impressive aircraft," Cranz said. "Von Wachtstein managed to arrange a tour through his mother-in-law, and he told me--"

"Ah, yes, Baron von Wachtstein," von Deitzberg interrupted. "The lucky fellow doesn't have to worry about what happens to him after the war, does he? As soon as he gets out of the POW cage, he just comes 'home' to his wife's Argentine estancia."

"That thought has occurred to me," Cranz said.

"You were saying, Karl?"

"The aircraft, which von Wachtstein says are magnificent . . ."

"I wonder if that language falls into the category of defeatism," von Deitzberg asked.

"I'd say it was a professional judgment," Cranz said. "Ambassador von Lutzenberger told him to find out as much as he could about the airplanes."

"Where did you say they are?"

"They're based outside Buenos Aires, on an airfield near Moron that Frade built and then named after the late Oberst Frade. They're under the guard of what I've come to think of as 'Frade's Private Army.' They're all former soldiers of the Oberst's cavalry regiment."

"We have some SS troopers here, don't we?"

"The last time we sent SS troopers to deal with Frade, they vanished from the face of the earth," Raschner said. "Leaving behind only a great deal of their blood in Frade's country house."

"Well, as I said, it may be necessary for me to remain here for some time."

"And what if either Raschner or I am ordered home?" Cranz asked.

"Well, I'll do my best, of course, to see that doesn't happen."

"But if it does?"

"If it does, then I wouldn't be surprised if we had to ask ourselves what was really more important. Returning to God only knows what--the Eastern Front, perhaps--or staying here to prepare Operation Adler. I would tend to think the latter."

"What about Frau von Tresmarck?" Raschner asked.

"She is at the moment in the Alvear Palace Hotel, where she tells me she is going to have a facial, a massage, and a hair-curling. Then she will go shopping--leaving a message to that effect with the hotel telephone operator. And then she will walk out onto Avenida Alvear and vanish from the face of the earth."

"How did she get to the Alvear Palace?"

"Von Gradny-Sawz was kind enough to meet the ship from Montevideo. He put her into a taxi."

"Von Gradny-Sawz?" Cranz asked. He was not able to mask his surprise.

Von Deitzberg nodded and said, "Von Gradny-Sawz will meet her somewhere on Avenida Alvear and take her to my flat in Belgrano, where she will become Senora Schenck."

"What's that all about?" Raschner blurted, quickly adding, "If I am permitted to ask."

"Are you curious about von Gradny-Sawz's role in all this, or about my new wife?"

"Both," Cranz answered for him. He tried to temper the immediacy of his answer with a smile.

"Von Gradny-Sawz has been wondering for some time about where he will go should the unthinkable happen. He knows the Russians will seize his estates, either before or after hanging him. Or perhaps skinning him alive; they like aristocrats only a bit less than they like SS officers.

"He managed to get quite a bit of money and jewels out of Austria--e xcuse me, Ostmark--and has, so to speak, set up his own small, personal, Operation Phoenix. This, of course, came to my attention. I decided his knowledge of the culture and geography--and the people he has cultivated--here would be of great value to Operation Adler, and have conferred on him sort of an honorary membership in the SS.

"So far as Frau von Tresmarck is concerned: She knows all about the investments of the former confidential fund, both those von Tresmarck told us about and those that he didn't.

"Since she has nothing to go back to in Germany, family or property, I thought perhaps she might consider helping herself to some of Operation Adler's assets and disappearing. Obviously, I can't take the risk of that happening. A man and a good-looking blonde traveling around together, buying property, that sort of thing, causes curiosity and talk. A man and his wife doing the same thing causes less.

"God only knows when I can get my wife and children out of Germany, but until I can arrange that--and it might not be until after the war--I will not have the problem of having two wives."

"And when that happens?" Cranz asked. "It's none of my business, I realize . . ."

"No, Karl. It is none of your business. All I can tell you is that Frau von Tresmarck fully understands that this is a temporary charade, and that I am a happily married man and an honorable SS officer not at all interested in her physical charms."

"I didn't mean to suggest--"

Von Deitzberg silenced him with a raised hand.

"Sometime late this afternoon, Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster is going to seek an audience with Ambassador Schulker in Montevideo. He will tell the ambassador he's very afraid something is very wrong: Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck had told him that he and his wife were going to take a week's vacation at someplace called Punta del Este. Forster will report that that is not the case; they are not in the hotel where they said they were going to stay. Frau von Tresmarck booked passage on the overnight steamer last night--

"Actually," von Deitzberg interrupted himself, "that's a rather nice trip. You board, have a very nice dinner, go to bed, and when you waken, the ship is docking in Buenos Aires--"

Von Deitzberg took a sip of his Kaffee mit schlagobers and then went on. "Frau von Tresmarck did not tell him she was doing so. Inquiry of their neighbors revealed that von Tresmarck himself has not been seen for a week or more.

"Forster will ask the ambassador for direction. Schulker, being Schulker, will almost certainly decide on patience and calm. Which means it will probably be tomorrow, or even the day after, before he informs the local police and of course our own Ambassador von Lutzenberger.

"Your slow and careful investigation will then begin. You will after some time--two days, perhaps three--learn from von Gradny-Sawz that he received a telephone call from Frau von Tresmarck asking him to make reservations at the Alvear Palace for her--alone--for a week, and to meet her at the pier when the ship arrived. He will tell you he did so, took her by taxi to the hotel, saw her inside, and has not seen or heard from her again. She offered no explanation for her being in Buenos Aires. You will believe him.

"Your investigation will continue, but when you can spare a few minutes from your relentless search for the missing Frau von Tresmarck, I want you to get me maps--detailed maps--of Frade's estancia near here, the airfield where these airplanes are parked, and of his estancia in Mendoza."

"That's not going to be easy," Raschner said.

"I didn't ask for your opinion of the difficulty of the task, Erich, I told you to do it."

"Jawohl, Mein Herr."

"Perhaps von Wachtstein could be of assistance," von Deitzberg said. "Ae - rial photos of the airfields and the estancias?"

"With respect, Mein Herr. The airfield at Moron, certainly. The estancia near here, Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, is as large as Berlin or Munich. What should I photograph? And at this moment, I don't have any idea where Frade's estancia in Mendoza is."

"You're a good man, Raschner. You'll figure it out."

Von Deitzberg reached for another jelly-filled roll.

[TWO]

Rio Hermoso Hotel

San Martin de los Andes

Neuquen Province, Argentina

2035 5 October 1943

SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg was frankly astonished--pleased but astonished--that he had any energy left for that sort of thing after that incredibly long drive from Buenos Aires, but when he came out of the bathroom, Inge, waiting to have a shower herself, had stripped down to her underwear and one thing had quickly--very quickly--led to another.

They could have come by train. Von Gradny-Sawz had told him that while the Argentine rail system was nothing like the Deutsche Reichsbahn--the prewar Deutsche Reichsbahn--the British-built system here left little to be desired. The trouble was that San Martin de los Andes was literally in the middle of nowhere, and he would have had to change trains and then take a bus.

That ended the pleasing notion of rolling across Argentina in a first-class railway compartment with Inge. He didn't want to get on a bus, and he thought an automobile would probably turn out to be useful.

Von Gradny-Sawz had bought a car for him, paying an outrageous price for a two-year-old American Ford "station wagon"--von Deitzberg had no idea what that meant--with not very many miles on the odometer. The Automobile Club of Argentina had provided excellent road maps free of charge when he went to their headquarters to personally buy the required insurance. Von Gradny-Sawz said that the Automobile Club was a law unto itself, and that they demanded to see in person the individual the Caja Nacional de Ahorro Postal was about to insure.

On the map, San Martin de los Andes did not look to be very far from Buenos Aires until he looked at the scale of the map, then checked the chart of distances on the reverse.

It was about fifteen hundred kilometers from Buenos Aires to San Martin de los Andes. He remembered that a little more than five hundred kilometers was all that separated Berlin and Vienna.

There was no way, he decided, that he was going to be able to drive a distance three times that between Berlin and Vienna in the "fairly easy two days" von Gradny-Sawz estimated it would take.

The silver lining to that dark cloud was the prospect of spending three nights--perhaps even four--in some of the bucolic roadside inns the ACA recommended on their maps. He was in no particular hurry, and after that gottverdammt submarine, he was entitled to a little rest and relaxation.

It didn't turn out that way. Once they were fifty kilometers or so from Belgrano, they were into the pampas. The road stretched in a straight line to the horizon. There was very little traffic, and the American Ford V-8 engine propelled the station wagon easily at eighty miles per hour, which translated to about 130 kph.

That first day, they reached an idyllic roadside inn near Santa Rosa in time for cocktails and dinner, during which he checked the map and saw they were halfway to San Martin de los Andes.

The next day, although they came out of the pampas and had to travel winding roads through what he supposed were the foothills of the Andes Mountains, they made just about as good time.

He was pleased that he had decided to bring Inge with him for several reasons, in addition to the carnal. He had decided, telling himself he had to be honest about it, that her enthusiasm was probably because she was both afraid of him and needed him, rather than because of his masculine charm and good looks.

It didn't matter why she was willing to do all sorts of things the instant he ordered them--or even suggested them--only that she was.

But aside from that, Inge proved to be a fountain of information regarding the investments of both the Operation Phoenix funds and those of the confidential fund. She had spent a good deal of the trip explaining details to him, often taking the appropriate documents from those he'd liberated from von Tresmarck's safe, as well as the ones he had ordered Cranz to bring him from the embassy in Buenos Aires.

He had learned that Oberst Schmidt had been very useful in locating and dealing with the middlemen necessary to the acquisition process. Until Inge had uncovered this, he had thought Schmidt had been useful only in the military matters, providing security at Samborombon Bay and putting up the SS men Himmler had insisted on sending to guard the special shipments.

Von Deitzberg had come to San Martin de los Andes primarily to avail himself of Schmidt's military assets; eliminating the Froggers had to be accomplished as quickly as possible. But what he had learned driving across the pampas made him think very seriously about the whole operation.

What had been done from the beginning of Operation Phoenix, when Oberst Gruner, the military attache, had been running things, was first to hide the cash and gemstones and gold in the safety-deposit boxes of reliable ethnic Germans who held Argentine citizenship.

Step two was to systematically turn the gemstones and gold into cash and then, slowly, so as not to attract attention, get the cash out of the safety-deposit boxes and into the bank accounts of the ethnic Germans.

Step three, using the money now in the ethnic Germans' bank accounts, was to purchase the businesses and real estate that were the rock upon which Operation Phoenix would stand. The deeds to all the property were held by the same reliable ethnic Germans.

The ethnic Germans could be trusted for two reasons. First, it was jokingly said that the Auslandischer Deutsch tended to be better Nazis than, say, Goring or Goebbels, if not the Fuhrer himself.

Second, perhaps of equal importance, the Auslandischer Deutsch knew that Oberst Gruner, in addition to his military attache duties, had been secretly the highest-ranking member of the Sicherheitsdienst in South America. That meant they knew that anything less than total honesty when dealing with the assets of Operation Phoenix would be rewarded with the painful death of everybody in the family in Argentina, and with the even more painful deaths of any relatives of the Auslandischer Deutsch who happened to be fortunate enough to be still living in the Fatherland.

Gruner's death on the beach at Samborombon Bay had of course taken some of the glitter from the notion of German invincibility, and with that the certainty of punishment. Cranz was good, but not nearly as menacing a figure as Gruner had been.

The current situation would prevail, of course, but only until it looked to the Auslandischer Deutsch that the Germans were about to lose the war--or, God forbid, had actually lost it--when they would begin to consider that the property and money placed into their care was now theirs.

The honesty of people depends in large part on their judgment of whether or not they will be caught stealing.

The next step in that line of thinking, should the unthinkable happen, would be for them to ask themselves, "How likely is it that Hermann Goring will show up at my door and ask for directions to, and the keys to, the estancia I bought for him? Bought for him in my name."

I have already transferred all of the Operation Adler property in Uruguay to Herr Jorge Schenck--in other words, to me. It doesn't matter that I did so because I frankly didn't know what else to do with it. I had to take it away from von Tresmarck, and obviously I couldn't, even as fond as I am growing of Inge, risk putting it in her name.

What I will do here, right now, is take a look at the various real-estate properties owned by the former confidential fund and transfer one of them--perhaps two, but I don't want to move too quickly and draw attention to Herr Schenck--to me.

Von Deitzberg finished dressing, examined himself admiringly in the mirror, and decided the tailors in Buenos Aires were every bit as good as the ones in Berlin, the main difference being that here the tailors' shops were full of fine woolens and the ones in Berlin had either been destroyed in the bombing or were out of material, even to those with the special SS clothing ration coupons.

His mind turned back to the present: If I report to Himmler that I am taking the appropriate steps not only to recover the Operation Phoenix assets von Tresmarck stole, but to protect our assets in Argentina from disappearing by putting them in my name, he will understand. And that will give me an excuse--"It's not going as quickly as one would wish"--to stay here.

It might also serve as the reason to keep Cranz and Raschner here, so that some of the properties can be transferred to them. I am going to have to give them something, enough to keep them happy. Two birds with one stone.

He walked to the bathroom door and pushed it open. Inge, drying herself, had one foot resting on the water closet.

"Hurry it up," he said. "Schmidt's due any minute."

She smiled and wiggled her buttocks at him.

He turned and went to the window and looked down at the street.

San Martin de los Andes was really nothing more than a small village. There was hardly any vehicular traffic on the street he could see at all.

And then he saw an olive-drab Mercedes touring car coming down the road. The canvas top was down. There was a soldier driving, and two men in the backseat. The younger of them was in civilian clothing; the other was wearing an Argentine army uniform.

That has to be Oberst Schmidt.

"They're almost here," he called. "I'm going to meet them in the lobby. Get rid of your underwear before you come down."

Inge appeared in the bathroom door. Naked.

"You want me to come down without my underwear? Or do you mean get that out of sight?"

She pointed to her underwear on a chair.

"If you came down without your underwear, it would give Oberst Schmidt a heart attack," he said. "And we need him."

Von Deitzberg reached the lobby of the hotel just as el Coronel Erich Franz Schmidt of the 10th Mountain Regiment walked in from the street. The young man in civilian clothing with him, who looked like a recruiting poster for the SS, was SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer of the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler.

I shall have to be very careful with that young man; not say anything at all that might be construed as defeatism.

Oberst Schmidt did not cut a very military figure. He was portly and rather short.

He looks more like a Bavarian party official--and don't those bureaucrats and clerks love to wear uniforms and boots?--than a soldier.

"El Coronel Schmidt?" von Deitzberg asked, advancing on him.

"At your service, senor," Schmidt said.

Schafer popped to attention and clicked his heels.

"I don't think clicking your heels in these circumstances is wise, Schafer," von Deitzberg said coldly.

"I beg pardon."

"We are waiting for one of my agents," von Deitzberg said. "The one thing a distinguished career in the SS-SD has not taught this agent is to be on time, probably because this SS-SD agent is a female."

He got the expected chuckles.

"I don't want to get into anything specific in public, of course, but to clear the air, you may feel free in Senora Schenk's presence to say anything you would say to me."

"Excuse me, sir. 'Senora Schenck'?" Schafer asked.

"I generally give junior officers one opportunity to ask an inappropriate question of me," von Deitzberg said icily. "That was yours."

"I beg your pardon, Herr Schenck."

"Men traveling with good-looking females to whom they are not married cause gossip. Men traveling with their wives do not. You might try to remember that, Schafer."

"Yes, sir."

Inge came tripping down the stairs.

From their faces, it was clear that she was not what Schmidt or Schafer expected to see.

"I apologize, sir, for keeping you waiting," Inge said.

"Don't make a habit of it," von Deitzberg said coldly. "Gentlemen, my wife. She knows your names."

Inge nodded at both of them.

"I thought, Herr Schenck, that if it meets with your approval, we could have dinner at my quarters at the base."

"You are very hospitable, Herr Oberst," von Deitzberg said.

Schmidt waved them toward the door.

[THREE]

Quarters of the Commanding Officer

10th Mountain Regiment

San Martin de los Andes

Neuquen Province, Argentina

2100 5 October 1943

There were five Argentine officers waiting for them in el Coronel Schmidt's dining room. The dining room was much larger than von Deitzberg expected it to be, as the house itself was much smaller than he expected it to be.

It was hardly more than a cottage, sitting in a group of cottages across a road from the barracks, stables, and other buildings of the regiment. Von Deitzberg couldn't see much; nothing was brightly illuminated.

Against one wall of the dining room were three flags: the Argentina colors, a red Nazi flag, and an elaborately embroidered flag, the 10th Mountain Regiment's colors.

As the officers were introduced to Senor and Senora Schenck, young enlisted men in starched white jackets immediately began passing champagne glasses. When everyone held one, Colonel Schmidt said, "Gentlemen, I give you el Presidente Rawson."

Champagne was sipped.

Schmidt toasted again: "Gentlemen, I give you the Fuhrer of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, and his Final Victory over the godless Communists."

This time the glasses were drained.

"Well, gentlemen, since my wife and I were never here, I don't suppose it much matters what I say," von Deitzberg said.

He got the expected chuckles and took another sip of the ritual postdinner brandy before going on. It was Argentine, and surprisingly good.

"But let me say it's good to again be with my fellow sailor, Sepp Schafer--who, come to think of it, is also not here."

That caused applause and laughter.

And reminded everybody that I am important enough, what I'm doing here is important enough, to justify sending us by submarine.

"Let me say something about the current situation," von Deitzberg said. "I'm sure you have all heard that it was necessary for the Wehrmacht to withdraw from Africa, and also that our forces suffered a terrible defeat at Stalingrad. And, of course, that our Italian allies betrayed us, and as a result of that, the Americans are now in Italy.

"Those are facts. Not pleasant facts, but facts. A professional soldier must deal with the facts, not with things as he wishes they were.

"But there is another fact here that applies: The great military philosopher Carl von Clausewitz wrote, 'There is only one decisive victory: the last.' "

More applause.

"What went wrong? Von Clausewitz also wrote, 'The most insidious enemy of all is time.' "

Von Clausewitz didn't actually say that, but it sounds like something he would have said if he had thought of it. And I don't think there are any really serious students of von Clausewitz in this room to challenge me.

"Time has been against us," von Deitzberg went on. "The rocket scientists at Peenemunde, while their work has been brilliant, just haven't had the time to develop rockets that not only are more accurate than the ones currently landing in England, but will have the range to strike the United States.

"But it's just a matter of time until they do.

"Luftwaffe engineers have developed a new fighter, the Messerschmitt Me- 262, which uses a revolutionary new type of propulsion, the jet engine. It is faster than any other fighter aircraft in the world, and it is armed with 40mm cannon. It can fire at American and British bombers from a distance greater than their .50-caliber machine guns can return fire. Once it goes into action, it will cause unacceptable losses to British and American bombers.

"There is already a squadron of these aircraft flying in Augsburg. But there has been time enough to manufacture only twenty or thirty of them.

"But it's just a matter of time until they do.

"Time has been working for our enemies.

"So now we make it work for us.

"How do we protect our rocket engineers from being killed by the Soviet Communists if they should temporarily overrun our rocket facilities? More important, how do we prevent our rocket scientists from being forced to work for the Soviet Communists?

"The same thing for our aeronautical engineers.

"The same thing for our physicists, who are close to developing a bomb more powerful than the imagination can accept.

"If the Soviets came into possession of German technology, it would mean the end of the Christian world.

"I'm sure the answer has already occurred to many of you.

"We bring them to Argentina, secretly, by submarine. Germany has the largest fleet of submarines in the world.

"And we set them up, with new laboratories, perhaps even manufacturing facilities. If things go even worse for us, with time working against us, certainly with manufacturing facilities.

"Where?

"I'm sure that answer has already occurred to many of you, perhaps all of you. I know that it has occurred to el Coronel Schmidt.

"Right here, in this remote corner of Argentina."

There was a burst of applause.

"As you can well understand, this has to be accomplished with the greatest secrecy. The Communists are everywhere. And the Jews. The Antichrist.

"El Coronel Schmidt and others have been working on establishing these refuges for German scientists--and their families--for some time, and will continue to do so.

"But there is another problem, the real reason I am here. This is always distasteful for professional officers, but again, we must deal with things as they are rather than with things as we may wish them to be.

"I am speaking of treason, which von Clausewitz described--I forget the exact quote . . ."

Probably because I just made this one up. But it does sound like something he would say.

". . . but it was to the effect that treason is simply another way of showing cowardice in the face of the enemy. On the battlefield, there is a simple way of dealing with those who throw down their arms and refuse to fight. One conducts a summary court-martial to establish that those are the facts. And if they are, the traitors, the cowards--whatever they are called--are tied to a post, stripped of their military insignia, offered a blindfold, and shot, with as many of their former comrades in arms as can be gathered watching.

"In the First World War, when soldiers of regiments refused to fight, every tenth soldier in the regiment was shot. We Germans believe in honor and justice, and we don't shoot people we don't know for sure have run from the enemy. But we do execute those we know have shown their treason, their cowardice.

"I am ashamed to tell you that a trusted officer of the German Embassy in Buenos Aires, Wilhelm Frogger, and his wife--who, like my wife, was an agent of the Sicherheitsdienst, the secret police branch of the SS--have deserted their post and gone over to the enemy.

"They were assisted in running by an American, a slimy Jew by the name of Milton Leibermann, who works for the American FBI. Leibermann thought that--probably with the assistance of the head of the OSS in Argentina, a man named Frade--he could hide the Froggers from us, save them from the execution they so rightly deserve.

"He was wrong. I am almost positive that some excellent detective work on the part of the Sicherheitsdienst agents in the embassy has located them. In Mendoza. Once we are sure of this, SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer and I will carry out the unpleasant duty of executing these swine.

"It gets worse. I have to tell you that an officer of the SS, Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, has deserted his post in Montevideo, Uruguay. He went--initial investigation indicates this happened within the last week--to Paraguay, taking with him a substantial amount of money he stole from the embassy. There hasn't been time for a summary court-martial, of course--it may have to take place in Germany, as he is entitled to be judged by officers of equal or superior rank and there are not three officers like that available here--but when it takes place, and if it finds this swine guilty, SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer and I will run him down, recover what he stole, and carry out his execution."

I don't think, judging by the looks on the faces of these people, that I would have any trouble at all finding volunteers for a firing squad for either the Froggers or von Tresmarck, or both.

"There is only one thing worse than a traitor," von Deitzberg said solemnly. "And that is someone who encourages--by argument, or by payment--another to betray the duties and obligations which he has sworn an oath to God Almighty to carry out.

"So the silver lining in this despicable black cloud for me will be the opportunity to kill Milton Leibermann of the FBI for doing this to the Froggers, and especially, especially, Don Cletus Frade of the OSS, who tried and failed to turn his father into a traitor, and when that distinguished officer refused, murdered his own father--or had him murdered, which is the same thing--so that he could place the Frade assets in the service of Roosevelt and international Jewry."

Von Deitzberg saw the look on el Coronel Schmidt's face.

Didn't know that before, did you, my friend?

Why the hell didn't I think of that until just now?

Goebbels is absolutely right: The bigger the lie, the more people who'll believe it.

[FOUR]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1300 7 October 1943

Don Cletus Frade, who with his wife was sitting on the verandah of Casa Montagna sipping wine as they watched the fifth chukker of the game between the Ramapo Valley Aces and the Mountain Husares, did not pay much attention to the dark green 1939 Ford Tudor when it first appeared.

For one thing, the appearance of Gendarmeria vehicles--he had come to think of their color as "Gendarmeria Green"--was routine, and for another, it was a good match. A dozen new mallets, two dozen new wooden polo balls, and a supply of red-and-blue polo shirts--real polo shirts, with the players' position numbers on their chests and backs--had arrived on a training flight of an SAA Lodestar, and there were now four players properly identified on each side.

And everybody on the field knew how to play the game. Captain Sawyer had once told Major Frade, with pride, that he'd been rated as a four-goal player. Captain Sawyer was by no means the best player on the field today.

Frade didn't even pay much attention to the Ford until it drove up to the verandah. There was a sort of motor pool beside one of the outbuildings, and he expected the Ford would go there. And then the driver of the Ford jumped out, ran around the front of the car, and opened the rear door. Two men in civilian clothing got out. One was Inspector General Santiago Nervo of the Gendarmeria and the other was el Coronel Alejandro Bernardo Martin of the Bureau of Internal Security.

Both officers walked directly to Dona Dorotea and kissed her, and then--Nervo first--turned to Don Cletus, who stood up and then asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Our duty, Major," Nervo said as he wrapped his arm around Frade's shoulders. "I hope we're not too late for lunch."

"How the hell did you get here?"

El Coronel Martin first embraced Frade, then answered the question.

"With the polo mallets," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"We were on hand to meet the Ciudad de Buenos Aires when it returned from Lisbon," Martin said. "I asked your chief pilot, Gonzalo Delgano, if there was any way at all he could think of to get us to San Martin de los Andes in a hurry, and he was kind enough to say he would look into it . . ."

"That was nice of him," Clete said dryly.

". . . and he asked a few questions, and learned that a training flight was scheduled for one of your Lodestars; that, among other things, it was dropping off polo mallets and some other equipment for you at Mendoza; and he could see no reason why it couldn't drop us off at San Martin on the way back."

"Why not?" Clete said. "SAA always tries to cooperate with the BIS."

"So Capitan Delgano . . ."

"I thought he was a major," Clete said.

Nervo chuckled.

"He was a major," Martin said. "Now he's retired."

"Oh," Clete said. "I didn't know that."

Nervo, smiling, shook his head.

"So he not only arranged for us to go along with the Polo Mallets Training Flight--until just now, when we drove in, I wondered about those mallets--but flew the plane himself."

"Right after he came back from Lisbon? How obliging of him."

"He said something about there not being much to do but watch the needles on the fuel gauges drop. Anyway, he flew us to San Martin, and now here we are. By a fortunate coincidence, another training flight is scheduled to land here about four, and Major--excuse me, Capitan--Delgano has been kind enough to arrange it for us to go back to Buenos Aires on that."

"How nice of him!"

The doorbell at the door behind them sounded loudly.

"Well, that's the chukker," Dorotea announced. "One to go. If my husband will pull me out of this chair, I'll forgo that and see about lunch."

"Subinspector Nowicki may drop by, Dona Dorotea," Nervo said.

"I'll set a place for him," she said, and raised both arms toward Clete.

He gently pulled her out of the chair.

"Thank you," she said. "But don't think I'm ever going to forgive you for putting me into this condition."

Nervo laughed.

Dorotea walked into the house as Wilhelm Fischer came out with a wineglass. She returned a few minutes later.

"So how were things in San Martin de los Andes?" Clete asked Nervo.

"Why don't we wait until Nowicki and Sawyer are with us?" Martin asked. He pointed at Sawyer.

"I've never met him," Nervo said. "But he's not too bad a polo player--for an American--is he?"

"You were about to tell us, mi general," Clete said, "why your duty took you in such a hurry to San Martin de los Andes." He paused, and raised a bottle. "Another little sip of our humble Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon, mi general?"

"Don't mind if I do," Nervo said. He turned to Fischer. "Before you came here, Senor Fischer, to improve the quality of the grapes, I've been told this stuff was practically undrinkable."

"I'm so glad I've been able to helpful, mi general," Fischer said.

"Then you won't be taking a couple of cases back to Buenos Aires with you?" Frade asked.

"The hell I won't. I accept your gracious offer. But I must say that if I didn't know better, Don Cletus, I might think you're trying to get me to tell you things I shouldn't."

"You bet your ass I am, mi general," Clete said. "What's going on in San Martin de los Andes?"

"Well, among other things, the murderer of your father has finally been identified," Nervo said.

"Really?" Clete asked very softly.

"You did it. Or at least ordered it."

"What?" Dorotea exclaimed.

"Or so Senor Schenck told at dinner to a group of el Coronel Schmidt's officers--one of whom just happens to work for Bernardo."

Clete just looked at him.

"Would you like me to go on, or would you prefer me to start at the beginning?"

"Try the beginning," Clete said.

"If you'd prefer. Well, the first interesting thing that happened was that we now have a beautiful blonde in the picture. Von Gradny-Sawz's friend in the Interior Ministry got her a National Identity booklet identifying her as Senora Griselda Schenck, who you will recall died several years ago in an auto crash that also killed her loving husband, Jorge.

"The second interesting thing that happened was that the Uruguayan authorities asked the Policia Nacional to contact a woman by the name of Inge von Tresmarck. They wanted to know if she could shed any light on the whereabouts of her husband, Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, the security officer of the German Embassy in Montevideo whom the Germans had reported to be missing. The Uruguayans said they knew Senora von Tresmarck had taken the overnight steamer to Buenos Aires.

"Diligent police work revealed that Senora von Tresmarck had taken a room at the Alvear Palace Hotel. She then went shopping, leaving a message to that effect with the hotel switchboard. She never returned to the Alvear Palace."

"Von Tresmarck is missing?" Clete asked. "What the hell is that all about?"

Nervo did not reply.

"Then we learned that the ever-obliging von Gradny-Sawz purchased a car--a 1941 Ford station wagon--for Senor Schenck. The Automobile Club requires people who want insurance to appear in person. Senor Schenck did so, and while he was there availed himself of the ACA's free travel services. They provided him with road maps, on which the route to San Martin de los Andes was marked, and made a reservation for him and Senora Schenck at the Rio Hermoso Hotel in San Martin."

"Which is where Schmidt is, right?"

Again, Nervo did not reply.

"By the time all these details came to my attention, and Alejandro's--sometimes the Policia Nacional is a little slow--Senor and Senora Schenck were well on their way to San Martin de los Andes.

"By the time we got there, the Schencks had already been entertained at dinner in el Coronel Schmidt's quarters and, the morning following, had departed for San Carlos de Bariloche--"

"That's where Kortig is," Frade interrupted. "Or at least where he's headed."

"Tell me about that," Martin said.

"Welner 'just happened to hear' . . ."

"Father Kurt Welner, S.J.? That Welner?" Nervo asked.

"That Welner."

"And you can't bring yourself to call him 'Father'? Out of simple respect for the cloth?"

"I don't call you 'General' all the time, either, mi general."

"Perhaps you should. A little proper respect goes a long way with me. So tell me, Senor Heathen, what did the Reverend Father Kurt Welner of the Society of Jesus 'just happen to hear'?"

"The other Jesuit, the one who gets National Identity documents . . ."

"The Reverend Father Francisco Silva, S.J.? That Jesuit?"

"That's the one. He showed up here and said that Welner had 'just happened to hear' that a small country hotel in Bariloche was up for sale, and he thought it just might be what we were looking for to put up the Gehlen people."

"Beware of Jesuits bearing gifts," Nervo said.

"And that, since he just happened to be driving that way anyway, he thought I might want to take a look at it."

"Could be one of two things," Nervo said. "Holy Mother Church might want to dump a hotel they own that's not making them enough money--or is termite-infested--on a gringo with money, or our wily Jesuit is being accommodating to this Gehlen fellow, for good reasons of his own that I can't even guess at."

"Well, since real-estate appraisal is not among my many other skills, I gave Kortig a pistol and sent Pablo Alvarez . . ."

"The estancia manager?" Martin asked. "Apparently, he knows what's going on and can be trusted?"

Frade nodded, and picked up the rest: ". . . with him to have a look at the hotel in Bariloche, and at other properties on the way. Pablo has friends all over this part of Argentina."

"Who wouldn't be surprised if he was quietly buying property for a friend of yours?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Clete said.

"You gave Kortig a pistol?" Nervo asked.

"He asked for one, and I gave him one," Frade replied. "There are people who don't like people who like Valkyries. He wanted to be able to defend himself. That sounded reasonable to me."

"He gave me one, too, General," Fischer said. "For the same reason."

Nervo's eyebrow rose, but he didn't say anything.

"Where's the other German?" Martin asked.

"Well, I didn't give that Nazi sonofabitch a pistol," Frade replied. "If I did, once he finds out--if he doesn't already know--how my grape expert rides around with the Valkyries, he would be duty bound to use it on him. I've got him under sort of house arrest; I don't know what the hell else to do with him."

"Just don't let him get loose," Nervo said.

"I hope he doesn't try to get away. I told him if he or his wife tried, I'd shoot both of them. I don't want him calling my bluff."

Nervo looked as if he was about to reply, then stopped and said: "I was telling you about the dinner party Schmidt gave for some of his officers and the Schencks. According to Martin's guy, they toasted El Presidente, and then the Fuhrer, as Schmidt stood before the Argentine flag and a swastika. . . ."

"What did you say about von Deitzberg accusing me of ordering my father's murder?"

"Senor Schenck gave a little speech, winding it up with saying what great pleasure it was going to give him to do his duty executing not only the Froggers and Sturmbannfuhrer von Tresmarck for treason, but also the even more despicable Milton Leibermann for encouraging the Froggers to desert, and the most despicable of all, the evil Don Cletus Frade, who, when he failed to turn his father into a traitor, ordered his murder and promptly placed all Frade assets in the hands of international Jewry."

"That's absolutely disgusting!" Dona Dorotea exclaimed. "They believed that?"

"Everybody but Martin's guy," Nervo said.

"Are you going to warn Leibermann?" Clete asked.

"For the foreseeable future, Milton is going to be under close BIS surveillance to make sure he does nothing against the interests of the Argentine Republic," Martin said, and chuckled, and added, "And just as soon as I get back to Buenos Aires, I'll explain to him what it's all about."

"Tell him what you told me," Nervo said, and then went on without giving Martin a chance to reply: "He said it would be good training for his agents; that Senor Milton is better at escaping from surveillance than anyone he's ever known."

"You think von Deitzberg will try to assassinate Leibermann?" Clete asked.

"Actually, no. He'd have to do it in Buenos Aires, either himself or using some German from the embassy. I really don't think our assassination professionals would be available. Both Martin and I have gotten the word to them that the season on Americans is closed. And you and Enrico removed three of the best of them from their rolls.

"But is von Deitzberg going to try to assassinate you and the Froggers? Oh, yes. Even if he has to do it himself. When he went to Bariloche, he took with him the SS officer in charge of the SS people who were on the submarine. In private conversation after the dinner, Martin's guy said von Deitzberg was talking about the similarities between 'rescuing' someone from Casa Montagna and the rescue of Mussolini from that mountain in Italy. He said the SS officer--his name is Schafer, Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer--had gleams of glory in his eyes. He sees a chance for him to become the Otto Skorzeny of South America. What I think Schafer is going to do is reconnoiter this place."

"If he does, can I shoot him?"

"I'm just a simple . . ."

"Yeah, I know. Senor Simple Policeman. Answer the question."

"They would just send somebody else. If you don't shoot him, then they will think they will have the element of surprise."

"And they won't?"

"It's about fifteen hundred kilometers from San Martin to here," Nervo said. "The rule of thumb for a motor convoy is an average of thirty-five kilometers per hour. That's about forty-three hours. Even pushing--say they try to drive fourteen hours a day--that's three days . . ."

"Gee, I didn't know simple policemen could do that kind of figuring in their heads," Clete said.

Nervo smiled and shook his head. ". . . and what Martin and I have been doing is arranging to stretch that time a little. The convoy is going to have to take detours along primitive roads; they will have to wait while bridge repairs are accomplished. They may even find that twenty-kilo barrels of nails have been spilled onto the roads at various places by careless carpenters, requiring the time-consuming repair of truck tires. . . ."

"Oh, mi general, you're evil!" Clete said.

"Thank you. Coming from a patricidal assassin such as yourself, I consider that a great compliment."

"I can't believe you two!" Martin said.

"Neither can I," Dona Dorotea said.

"I estimate," General Nervo said, "that from the time they leave San Martin--and we will learn that the moment they do--you will have at least four days, and possibly five, before they come knocking at your gate.

"At the very least, that should give us time to get el Coronel Wattersly from Buenos Aires to (a) best, Bariloche, or (b) last-ditch defense, here, where he can step into the road and ask el Coronel Schmidt where the hell does he think he's going without the permission of the General Staff of the Ejercito."

"Which may get him shot," Clete said.

"Indeed. But that's the best I can do right now. I have to repeat what I told you a while ago, Cletus. If there is to be a civil war, the first battle will not be between the 10th Mountain Regiment and the Gendarmeria Nacional."

"Understood," Clete said. "Thank you, Santiago."

General Nervo made a Don't be silly gesture.

"What time did you say the plane will be here?" Clete asked.

"It should be here now," Martin said. "Delgano said that the earlier we get on it, the better we'll be."

"Go pack your bags, darling," Clete said to Dorotea.

"I beg pardon?"

"You are going with the nice policeman . . ."

"I am not."

". . . who is going to take you from Aeropuerto Jorge Frade in that Buick of his to the Hospital Britanico, where your condition will be evaluated. Depending on that evaluation, you will either stay in what will be the best-guarded room in the Hospital Britanico, or go to the house on Libertador, or your mother's house--your choice--which will look like the site of a Gendarmeria convention."

"I am not," Dorotea said.

"Dona Dorotea, I am old enough to be your father," Nervo said. "Listen to your husband. Listen to me."

"Dorotea--" Martin began.

"Listen to me," Dorotea interrupted him. "I'm the one about to have this child. I don't know exactly when that will happen. But I do know that if I got in a car and rode down the hill on that bumpy road toward the airport, you would have to take me directly to the Convent Hospital instead. And if that didn't happen and I were insane enough to get onto an airplane, I would have this baby at ten thousand feet over the pampas. I don't want to try that, thank you just the same. Thank you all for your kind interest. Discussion closed."

With a great effort, Dona Dorotea hoisted herself out of her chair.

"Have a nice flight," she said. "Give my regards to Capitan Delgano."

Then she walked back into the house.

[FIVE]

Departamento 5B

Arenales 1623

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1835 15 October 1943

El Coronel Juan Domingo Peron crossed the apartment and opened the door to the elevator landing. He was wearing his uniform. But his tie was pulled down and the tunic unbuttoned, revealing worn baggy braces that had seen long service. He obviously had been drinking.

SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg stood there.

As Peron offered his hand, he said, "A pleasant surprise, Manfred. I wondered why I hadn't heard from you."

"But you knew I was here?"

Peron closed the door to the apartment.

"Cranz told me you were coming, and how," Peron said. "And also that von Gradny-Sawz had told him he'd bought you a car and that you had driven out to San Martin de los Andes to see our friend Schmidt. What was that all about?"

"You're always one step ahead of me, aren't you, Juan Domingo?"

"I try to stay that way."

"Never travel by submarine, Juan Domingo. I am still recovering."

"What was that all about?" Peron asked. "Why didn't you fly on the Condor? Why all the secrecy?"

"So far as the submarine is concerned, the Fuhrer himself wanted to know if that transport system will actually work if needed. . . ."

"Things don't seem to be going very well in the war, do they?"

"As a senior officer, I cannot agree with you. That would constitute defeatist talk. As a friend, in confidence between us, that's an understatement. You heard the Americans are in Naples?"

Peron nodded.

"And things aren't going too well in the east either," von Deitzberg said. "Anyway, I was the guinea pig to check out transportation by submarine. It was a long, long voyage."

"And driving all the way to San Martin de los Andes to see Schmidt?"

"Well, there were two reasons for that. The first was that I wanted to check on our Operation Phoenix properties out there. . . ."

"And the second?"

"Reichsfuhrer-SS Himmler himself told me to do something nice for you, and Schmidt has been working on that for me."

"What would doing something nice for me entail, exactly?" Peron asked suspiciously.

"The Reichsfuhrer wants you to know how much we appreciate all that you have done for us," von Deitzberg said.

"And?"

"How about a nine-room villa on two hundred and fifty hectares on the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi in Bariloche? Does that sound nice to you?"

"It sounds like something I would have a hard time explaining."

"We'll talk about it. Believe me, Juan Domingo, it can all be handled with the greatest discretion."

"Discretion is very important," Peron said. "And speaking of which, there's someone I want you to meet. And here discretion is really the watchword."

Peron put his index finger below his left eye, closed the right eye, and then pulled down the loose flesh below his left eye.

He pulled the door open and waved von Deitzberg into the apartment.

Von Deitzberg thought: What's this? I am about to be introduced to his latest conquest from the cradle?

Peron gestured at a line of liquor bottles.

"A little of that Johnnie Walker would go down nicely, thank you very much," von Deitzberg said.

Peron made the drinks, and as he was handing one to von Deitzberg a not-unattractive blond woman walked into the room and smiled a little uneasily at them.

This one's not thirteen! She has to be at least eighteen.

Eighteen, hell! She's twenty-four, twenty-five, trying to look like she's eighteen.

Who the hell is she?

"Evita," Peron said, "say hello to my good friend Manfred."

"It is always a pleasure to meet any acquaintance of el Coronel," the young blonde said.

"I am enchanted, senorita," von Deitzberg said.

"I didn't catch the name, senor," Evita said.

"My name is Jorge Schenck, senorita."

"I thought el Coronel just said your name is Manfred," Evita said.

"What this is, my dear," Peron explained, "is state business. That's not his real name, and you've never seen him."

"Oh!" Evita said. "It's like that, is it?"

Peron repeated the earlier gesture, this time closing his left eye and pulling the skin below the right eye down with his finger.

"Might one guess that you're not a Porteno, Senor Schenck?"

"Only if you call me Jorge," von Deitzberg said. "Actually, I live in Rio Negro. Outside Bariloche. I'm what they call an 'ethnic German.' I'm a German who now calls Argentina his home."

"And what, if one may inquire, do you do in Bariloche?"

She talks very strangely, stiltedly formal. What the hell is that all about?

"Well, I have a number of business interests--May I call you Evita, senorita?"

"Of course you may, Jorge."

"I'm glad you raised the question, Evita. Among my interests is real estate. I've come to see Juan Domingo about a property in which I think he will be interested."

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

"Well, as I'm sure you can appreciate, Evita, a man in Juan Domingo's position here in Buenos Aires is always in the public eye. Sometimes that's bothersome."

"Absolutely," Peron agreed. "Just between us and the wallpaper, just before you came, Manfred, I was explaining to Evita . . . again, I have to say . . . why we have to be careful where we are seen together. I have a number of enemies."

"You also have a lot of friends, including this one, Juan Domingo," von Deitzberg said. "And all of us are sympathetic to your problem."

"You see, Evita?" Peron said. "That's just what I was telling you."

"Sometimes I get the idea you're ashamed of me," she said more than a little petulantly.

"Don't be silly," Peron said. "What you should know, Man . . . Jorge, is that Evita herself is in the public eye. She is a radio actress on Radio Belgrano."

"Oh, really?" von Deitzberg said. "I should have guessed. You have a lovely voice, Evita."

"Why, thank you."

"So when we go out to dinner, there is usually someone who sees us and says to their friends, 'Oh, look, there's Evita Duarte, the radio actress, out with some officer.' Or: 'Oh, look at the beautiful blonde with el Coronel Peron.' Or, worst of all: 'Oh, look, there's that beautiful blond radio actress Evita Duarte out with the Secretary of Labor, el Coronel Peron.' "

"It's really not that bad, sweetheart," Evita said. "And it's the price you just have to pay for being prominent."

"Sweetheart"? Suspicion confirmed.

Maybe it's finally occurred to him that there would be objections to a president known to have an affinity for adolescent girls.

This may go easier than I thought it would.

"Well, all I know is that it's a problem even for someone like me," von Deitzberg said. "Who is not in the public eye. Just between us and the wallpaper, I have a lady friend, and we have the same problem."

"You're married, Jorge, is that what you're saying?" Evita asked.

"We haven't lived together for some time," von Deitzberg said. "It just didn't work out, and then it turned nasty. We can't go to dinner anywhere in Buenos Aires. My lady friend and I, I mean. If we do, my wife hears about it by breakfast and--Well, you can imagine."

"I understand," Evita said sympathetically. "So what do you do?"

"We do what I came here to suggest to Juan Domingo--and this was, of course, before I had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Evita--that he seriously consider doing himself."

"Which is?" Peron asked.

"Have a vacation retreat in Bariloche," von Deitzberg said. "And I think I have found just the place for you. For you both."

"Oh, really?" Evita said.

"I left my briefcase by the door," von Deitzberg said. "Let me go get it."

"Well, there it is," von Deitzberg said, pointing to a dozen or more large photographs laid out on Peron's dining room table. "Estancia Puesta de Sol, two hundred and fifty hectares on the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi. A nine-room villa, plus servants' quarters, with most of the land in forest. Harvestable forest. What do you think, Juan Domingo?"

"I love it," Evita said. "Oh, sweetheart!"

I should have been a real-estate salesman.

"Again between us and the wallpaper, I'm a little strapped for cash," Peron said.

"That's not a problem," Von Deitzberg said. "I took title to this place when it came on the market, and your credit is good enough with me."

Peron obviously was trying to come up with the words to squirm out of it.

"But this is something you would want to consider at your leisure," von Deitzberg said. "Not just jump into."

"Yes, I would agree with that," Peron said. "Haste does make waste."

"So what I would suggest you and Evita do is go have a look at it."

"I'd love to," Evita said.

"How would we do that?" Peron quickly objected. "It's three days by train out there. If we only spent a day there, we'd be gone a week. I don't have the time for that."

"And eight hours by air," von Deitzberg said. "I know because I just came back to Buenos Aires by air."

"Really?" Evita asked.

"South American Airways now flies there twice a day, with a stop at San Martin de los Andes," von Deitzberg said. "The morning flight leaves Aeropuerto Jorge Frade at eight-thirty."

"You're not suggesting we do this tomorrow?" Peron asked, incredulous.

"Oh, darling, why not?" Evita said. "I'm so sick of this dreadful little apartment. And I've never flown. Please?"

"I'm not sure we could get seats on such short notice," Peron said.

Evita said what von Deitzberg was thinking: "Of course you can. You're on the board of directors of SAA. They'll find seats for us. Will your lady friend be going, too, Jorge?"

"Yes, of course. I think you'll like each other."

Inge will be a little surprised, and probably not pleased to hear we're going back to Bariloche. She really got airsick on the way here.

Too bad. This is all I could ask for, and more.

We came back to Buenos Aires so that I wouldn't be anywhere near that fool Schmidt when he goes to Mendoza. Better safe than sorry.

Casanova Peron will be out of Buenos Aires and in no position to do anything about stopping what's going to happen to his beloved godson, Don Cletus, in case he should hear about it--and if he was here, that would possibly, even likely, happen.

And once Juan Domingo takes possession of Estancia Puesta de Sol--which he will if Evita has anything to say about it, and she will--I'll have him in my pocket. There's no way he could satisfactorily explain how, on his army pay, he came into possession of an estancia worth half a million pesos from a man who died years ago in a car crash.

"I'll look in the book for the number, darling," Evita said. "And then you can call about the tickets."

"Can I make anybody another drink?" von Deitzberg asked.

"Oh, yes, please," Evita said. "It's a celebration, isn't it?"