Honor Bound 05 - The Honor of Spies

XVI

[ONE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

0430 16 October 1943

After failing to do so with several gentle nudges, Dona Dorotea Mallin de Frade awakened her husband by jabbing her elbow into his side.

Startled, he sat up and looked down at her.

"Why don't you go get Mother Superior?" Dorotea asked.

"Is something wrong?" Clete asked.

"No. I just want to start my catechism lessons a little early today. Right after that, I'm going to have a baby. Go get her, goddamn it, Cletus!"

"Oh, shit!"

He jumped out of bed, hastily pulled on his trousers, and ran out of the room.

"You're not needed in here, Cletus," Mother Superior said. "Go find something useful to do. Perhaps you can come back later."

Don Cletus Frade had been deep in thought as he watched Mother Superior and her crew--Sister Carolina, the huge nun whom Clete thought of as Mother Superior's sergeant major; Sister Monica; and two others whose names he didn't know--start turning his bedroom into what was obviously going to be the delivery room.

"Excuse me?"

"I said get out. Go find something useful to do."

"Like what?"

"Prayer comes to mind."

He looked at her for a moment, then left the room.

What the hell, why not?

God, if anything bad is going to happen, make it happen to me, not Dorotea or her baby. Our baby.

Thank you.

[TWO]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Moron, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

0835 16 October 1943

SAA Chief Pilot Gonzalo Delgano stepped outside the passenger terminal and watched SAA Flight 455, one-stop Lodestar service to San Carlos de Bariloche, take off, desperately--and futilely--hoping that a red warning flag would appear on the instrument panel, causing the pilot to return to the field.

When that didn't happen, he went into his office in the passenger terminal, picked up the telephone, and dialed a number he had been dialing at least once every five minutes since seven o'clock.

"Extension 7177," a male voice answered.

"Is he there? Or do you know--"

"He's here, Major," "Suboficial Mayor" Jose Cortina said. "Hold on."

Delgano heard, faintly: "It's Delgano, Coronel."

El Coronel Alejandro Martin came on the line: "What's so important, Gonzalo?"

"Coronel, von Deitzberg, that blond German woman from Uruguay, el Coronel Juan D. Peron, and some other blond woman by the name of Duarte just took off for Bariloche. I didn't know whether to stop them or not. I tried to--"

"Peron and von Deitzberg--all of them--were traveling together?" Martin interrupted.

"Yes, sir. I heard about Peron going when I came in this morning. He called last night and said he needed four seats even if that meant taking somebody off the plane."

"When's the next flight out there?"

"At half past one."

"Hold four seats on that. Six. Cancel the flight."

"That won't be hard. It may not go anyway."

"What?"

"It's undergoing maintenance. They may not be finished in time. If they can't leave at half past one, they get into San Martin de los Andes too late. The runways there are not lit. We're working on it, but . . ."

"Is there any other way to get there in a hurry?"

"No, sir."

"You're going to be at the airport?"

"Yes, sir."

"Stay there. I'll get back to you."

[THREE]

Circulo Militar

Santa Fe 750

Buenos Aires, Argentina

0915 16 October 1943

"I hope this is important," Capitan Roberto Lauffer said as he walked into the private dining room. "My boss is going to wonder where the hell I am."

"Maybe you'll have the chance to tell him, Bobby," el Coronel Edmundo Wattersly said.

"We have some problems," Martin said.

Inspector General Nervo said, "Schmidt has apparently decided to start the civil war we were talking about--"

"We don't know that, Santiago," Martin interrupted.

"--with the assistance of Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg," Nervo went on. "And that of el Coronel Juan D. Peron."

"I repeat, we don't know that," Martin said.

"What we do know," Nervo said firmly, "is that Peron and von Deitzberg are at this moment on their way to Bariloche by air. What we do know is that a ten-truck convoy of the 10th Mountain Regiment has departed its barracks in San Martin de los Andes on Route 151 in the direction of General Alvear--which is also in the direction of Mendoza.

"We also know that on the evening of the fifth of this month, el Coronel Schmidt gave a dinner for von Deitzberg, who is now running around as a dead man named Jorge Schenck, and Senora Schenck, who is almost certainly Frau von Tresmarck, the missing woman from the German Embassy in Uruguay. At this dinner, at which the Nazi flag was displayed, Schmidt toasted Adolf Hitler, and von Deitzberg slash Schenck announced he was going to take pleasure in killing the two traitors from the German Embassy--what's their name, Senor BIS?"

"Frogger," Martin furnished.

"Right. Thank you. And especially Don Cletus Frade, who, in addition to having the Froggers hidden at his Estancia Don Guillermo in Mendoza, is known to have ordered the murder of his father because el Coronel Frade was unwilling to betray Argentina and become an agent of international Jewry."

"Good God!" Wattersly exclaimed.

"Von Deitzberg actually said that?" Lauffer asked.

"And el Coronel Schmidt seemed to suggest he had suspected something like that all along," Nervo said. "A few days after this dinner party, von Deitzberg and the blond woman flew back here, then turned right around and went back, now with Peron and his lady friend.

"The good news is that Juan Domingo's new lady friend is not thirteen years old--I believe she's twenty-four--and el Coronel Peron's sexual perversions apparently will no longer embarrass you gentlemen of the Ejercito Argentino officer corps. She is in fact a, quote, radio actress, unquote, by the name of Eva Duarte, employed by Radio Belgrano."

"My God!" Wattersly said.

"That was very entertaining, Santiago," Martin said. "But I'll repeat again that we don't know what Schmidt is actually up to."

"Did I mention the fact that the Edificio Libertador is having trouble communicating with the 10th Mountain Regiment?" Nervo said. "And that as this little, not-authorized motor march exercise has gone up Route 151--did I mention that's the way to Mendoza?--telephone communication seems to have been lost. My people suspect that's because the wire has not only been cut but has been taken away. Telephone communication will not be restored until the wire is replaced. Not just spliced."

"What exactly is it you think Schmidt plans to do in Mendoza?" Wattersly asked. "Rescue those people Frade has there?"

"I think he plans to lay his hands on the arms cache, which is his excuse for going there in the first place," Martin said.

"And while he's there, since he's come all that way, maybe kill the Froggers," Nervo said. "And the Frades--did I mention that Frade's wife is very, very pregnant? Maybe they'll just let her go."

"You're saying Frade will fight Schmidt?" Wattersly asked.

"Well, Coronel, I'm just a simple policeman. You're the military man. What do you think he'll do?" Nervo said.

"We're going to have to go to the president," Lauffer said.

"You're pretty good, are you, Bobby, swimming with your hands tied behind you?" Wattersly asked softly.

"If it comes to that, sir," Lauffer said, "I guess I'll find out."

Lauffer walked to a telephone on a side table and dialed a number from memory.

"This is Capitan Lauffer," he said a moment later. "Put me through to the president, please."

There was a delay.

"He's not in his office," Lauffer said. "They're looking for him."

"Wattersly, you look as if you think we should have put going to the president to a vote," Nervo said.

"Actually, General, I was thinking that I should have been the one to get on the telephone."

Everyone looked at Lauffer for a very long ninety seconds, until he suddenly stood straight and spoke into the telephone again.

"Lauffer, sir. Mi general, something has come up. . . .

"I'm in the Circulo Militar, sir. . . .

"Yes, sir. With el General Nervo, el Coronel Wattersly, and . . ."

There was a brief pause, and then Lauffer said, "Yes, sir. We're in the private dining room at the end of the corridor, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He laid the phone in its cradle and turned to the others.

"The president was having breakfast in the main dining room. He saw everybody arrive. He's coming here."

Eyebrows were still being raised when el General de Division Arturo Rawson--a good-looking, silver-haired man in his fifties with a precisely trimmed mustache--walked into the room. The president of the Argentine Republic was in uniform.

Everyone stood up and came to attention, everyone more quickly than Inspector General Nervo.

"Relax, gentlemen," Rawson said. "Good morning." He smiled at each man individually. "If I didn't know you all so well, I'd think I'd come upon a meeting of conspirators. What's going on?"

No one replied.

Finally, Nervo broke the silence.

"Mi general," he said, "you have a crazy Nazi coronel who is about to start a civil war."

"And which crazy Nazi coronel would that be, General Nervo?" Wattersly answered for him.

"Schmidt, Senor Presidente. My cousin, el Coronel Erich Schmidt of the 10th Mountain Division."

"You agree with General Nervo, Edmundo?" Rawson asked.

"Yes, sir, I do."

Rawson looked at Martin.

"And what does General Obregon think about all this? And where, incidentally, is he? Why is he not here? And why are we all not in the Casa Rosada or the Edificio Libertador?"

El General de Division Manuel Frederico Obregon was director of the Bureau of Internal Security.

Martin came to attention.

"I haven't told General Obregon, Senor Presidente," Martin said.

"Why not?" Rawson said.

Nervo answered: "He doesn't swim too well with his hands tied, Senor Presidente. None of us do."

Rawson glared at him for a moment before softly asking: "And you think that would have happened?"

"I didn't want to take the chance," Nervo said.

Rawson exhaled, then looked at Martin.

"If you had taken the BIS and the promotion to general that went with it, Martin, when I offered it to you, you wouldn't have this problem now, would you?"

"With respect, sir, that wouldn't have worked," Martin said.

"I shouldn't be talking to any of you," Rawson said. "General Nervo, you should have taken these frankly incredible suspicions of yours to the interior minister. Martin, you know you should have taken these suspicions to General Obregon--"

"At this moment, Senor Presidente," Nervo interrupted him, "Schmidt is leading a ten-truck convoy toward Mendoza."

"Mendoza? What's going on in Mendoza?"

"Well, for one thing," Nervo said, "the arms cache that the late Coronel Frade established on Estancia Don Guillermo is there. And he wants that. And then I think he wants to watch the execution of Don Cletus Frade."

" 'The execution of Don Cletus Frade'? Did I hear you correctly, General Nervo?"

"Yes, sir, you did."

"That's preposterous! Why would Schmidt want to execute Cletus Frade?"

"Schmidt won't be the executioner, Senor Presidente. That honor has been reserved for SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer. But I think Schmidt would really like to watch."

"What the hell are you talking about, Nervo?" Rawson snapped.

"Well, what SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg told Schmidt was that Don Cletus had been sentenced to death by a summary court-martial for ordering the execution of his father, who had nobly refused to ally himself with international Jewry."

"I can't believe my ears. The only von Deitzberg I know is that German general who was here--who came here--to offer the condolences of the German officer corps on the death of Jorge Frade."

"Same chap, actually," Wattersly said. "But he's not really a German general, but in the SS. He's Himmler's chief adjutant. And this time when he came back here, he came by U-boat--by submarine."

"By submarine! That's preposterous!"

"I saw him come ashore at Samborombon Bay, Senor Presidente," Martin said.

"Why didn't you arrest him?"

"At the time, I wanted to see what he was up to, sir."

"And I agreed at the time," Nervo said.

"And when I learned of this, I agreed with Martin, Senor Presidente," Wattersly said.

"And so did I, sir," Lauffer said.

Rawson was silent for a long moment.

"When I walked in here just now, I jokingly said something to the effect that if I didn't know you all so well, I'd think you're conspirators. It's a damned good thing for you that I do know you all so well; otherwise I would call for the Policia Militar to haul you off to Campo de Mayo for confinement pending court-martial.

"But what we are going to do now is this: You are going to tell me everything. And I mean everything. I think we'll start with you, Martin, if you please."

"And Peron and von Deitzberg are now in San Martin de los Andes?" Rawson said fifteen minutes later.

"They are en route, sir," Martin said. "They and their lady friends."

"And what are they going to do when they get there?"

"I have no idea, sir," Martin said. "But I don't think they went there for the trout fishing."

"Is there some way you can put them under surveillance from the moment their airplane lands?"

"The Gendarmeria Nacional is taking care of that, Senor Presidente," Nervo said. "And it's not only keeping an eye on Schmidt's convoy but doing its best to slow it down."

"The Husares de Pueyrredon will take care of slowing el Coronel Schmidt down," Rawson said.

"Excuse me, Senor Presidente?" Nervo said.

"Just as soon as I can get to a military phone--" Rawson interrupted himself and turned to Lauffer. "Bobby, call down and have my car ready two minutes ago."

"Yes, sir," Lauffer said, and picked up the telephone.

"I'm going to order the Husares to saddle up immediately for Mendoza," Rawson finished.

He saw what he correctly interpreted to be something close to contempt on Nervo's face.

"Figuratively speaking, of course, General Nervo. I'm going to order the Husares to immediately begin to move to Mendoza by truck. They have enough trucks to move a troop with their mounts."

Nervo did not respond, and the look of near contempt remained.

"That was one of el Coronel Frade's innovations when he had the Husares de Pueyrredon," Rawson said. "He called it his Immediate Reaction Force."

When there was no response to that either, Rawson said, "Jorge Frade even got airplanes for his regiment. Piper Cubs. Cletus flew me into Buenos Aires in one of them during Operation Blue, and I was able to prevent two regiments from inadvertently engaging each other as they marched on the Casa Rosada."

Nervo was still silent.

"General, if you have something on your mind, please say it."

"You're sure, Senor Presidente?"

"Consider it an order, General!"

"When I joined the Gendarmeria, I was advised by a man I respected that I was never going to get anywhere in the Gendarmeria unless I learned to keep my mouth shut and never tell any of my superiors anything they didn't want to hear, or, more importantly, that they were wrong.

"I followed that advice, and it worked. Here I am, inspector general of the Gendarmeria Nacional. I don't have to worry about getting promoted anymore. What I have to worry about now is keeping stupid bastards like Schmidt from starting a civil war that will destroy Argentina. And, of course, from keeping General Obregon from sending me swimming with my hands tied behind me. . . ."

"If you have something to say to me, Inspector General, say it!" Rawson said angrily.

"Well, I'm just a simple policeman, Senor Presidente, but I see several things wrong with you sending the Husares charging down the highway in trucks to Mendoza to roadblock Schmidt and the 10th Mountain Troops."

"Is that so?"

"For one thing, the Husares wouldn't know where to find the Mountain Troops. The last word I had from my people who are following them is that they plan to halt for the night near General Alvear.

"That means in the morning they can do one of two things. They can turn right in San Rafael and take Highway 146 to San Luis, and then Highway 7 to Mendoza."

"I know the area," General Rawson said thoughtfully.

"Or," Nervo went on, "they can turn left at San Rafael and then about twenty kilometers down 146 get on the secondary roads to Mendoza. They're not paved and some of them are in bad shape, but it's only two-thirds--maybe half as far--going that way.

"We don't know which route Schmidt will take. So you won't know where to order the Husares to set up their roadblock. And you can't split the Husares and put half on one route and half on the other. How big is Frade's--el Coronel Frade's--Immediate Reaction Force? A troop? What's that, maybe fifty guys on horses?"

"About sixty-two, I think," Lauffer said.

"Okay. You split that many in half, you have thirty-one guys on horseback, armed with nothing heavier than Thompson submachine guns and Mauser carbines. On Schmidt's trucks are two hundred, give or take, men armed with everything up to .30- and .50-caliber machine guns, mortars, and God only knows what else.

"The Husares won't stand a chance against the Mountain Troops. All they'll be is a footnote in the history books: 'The first battle in the Argentine Civil War of 1943-53 was between the 10th Mountain Regiment and the Husares de Pueyrredon, who were wiped out near General Alvear.' "

He paused, then asked, "You want me to go on, Senor Presidente?"

"Please do so, Inspector General."

" 'When word reached Buenos Aires that the 10th Mountain Regiment troops--who were now calling themselves the National Socialist 10th Mountain Regiment--had executed Don Cletus Frade, prominent estanciero and son of the former commander of the Husares de Pueyrredon, for treason, troops of the 3rd Cavalry Regiment rushed from Campo de Mayo to the Casa Rosada to protect el Presidente Rawson, who was known to be a close friend of Don Cletus. They were met by the 2nd Regiment of Grenadiers--now the National Socialist Grenadiers--who wanted to execute Rawson. A battle ensued in the vicinity of the Retiro Railway Station.' "

He paused, met Rawson's eyes, and went on: "It won't matter who wins that battle, Senor Presidente. The civil war will have begun."

There was silence for a full sixty seconds.

Finally, Rawson said, "If you have any suggestions as to how your scenario might be averted, Inspector General, I'd like to hear them."

Nervo nodded. "You prepare three orders, Senor Presidente. The first one orders Schmidt to immediately return to San Martin de los Andes. El Coronel Wattersly and I personally hand this order to el Coronel Schmidt--"

"How are you going to do that? You're here, and he's . . . where exactly?"

"El Coronel Martin has ordered SAA to hold an SAA Lodestar for us, Senor Presidente. We would fly to Mendoza, find out where Schmidt is, and drive there."

Rawson nodded. "And if Colonel Schmidt chooses to ignore the order?"

"Then we hand him the second order, which relieves him of command of the 10th Mountain and orders him to consider himself under arrest pending court-martial for disobedience of a lawful order. The same order appoints Edmundo to assume command of the 10th Mountain, which he then orders to return to San Martin de los Andes."

"And if Schmidt refuses to acknowledge the second order?" Rawson asked.

"Then I will kill him," Nervo said.

"Whereupon el Coronel Schmidt's loyal--loyal to him--officers will kill you. Kill you and Wattersly. Have you considered that?"

"That possibility has run through my mind," Nervo said.

"You said three orders," Rawson said.

"The third order is to el Coronel Peron. It is for him to report to you immediately in person here in Buenos Aires."

"Two questions there, Inspector General," the president replied. "First, how would you get this order to Coronel Peron? And what makes you think he would obey it?"

"My deputy, Subinspector General Nolasco, will be on the Lodestar, Senor Presidente. After it drops Edmundo and me off in Mendoza, it will take him to San Martin de los Andes, where Peron will already be under surveillance. He will give the order to Peron and then offer to fly him to Buenos Aires in the Lodestar, which will leave for Buenos Aires just as soon as Nolasco concludes the business--unspecified--he has in San Martin. If Peron gives him any trouble, or makes any effort to contact Schmidt, he will be arrested."

"And then what?"

"That's as far as I got, Senor Presidente," Nervo said.

"Anyone else have anything to say?" Rawson asked.

"Senor Presidente . . . ," Wattersly began.

"Hold it a second, Edmundo. Let's follow the practice of asking the junior officers first. Bobby? What have you got to say?"

"Mi general, I'm your aide-de-camp, a capitan . . ."

"Who is in this mess up to his nostrils. Tell me what you think of the inspector general's proposal."

"The only thing I was thinking, sir, was two things. The first was that if we had the Piper Cubs you say the Husares de Pueyrredon has sent to Mendoza, they would be useful to find el Coronel Schmidt."

"Good idea!" Rawson said. "And?"

"If the president would give me permission to accompany Inspector General Nervo and el Coronel Wattersly when they go to meet el Coronel Schmidt, I think it would lend weight to their position. If I was there, your aide-de-camp, el Coronel Schmidt . . ."

"If I sent you with these two, Bobby, what would happen would be that all three of you would be shot to death," Rawson said. He turned to Martin. "Okay, Martin, what have you got to say?"

For fifteen seconds Martin almost visibly formed his reply.

"I was thinking--I realize this might be construed the wrong way; that I'm trying not to go out there--I would be of more use staying here in Buenos Aires with you, Senor Presidente. If things go bad when Edmundo and Santiago meet Schmidt, or with el Coronel Peron when Subinspector General Nolasco goes to San Martin to deal with him, I think it would be useful for you, sir, to have at your side at least one man whose loyalty to you is known."

"In other words, you would prefer to be shot against a wall here with me than on some country road with Edmundo and the inspector general. Is that what you're saying?"

Nervo laughed. Rawson gave him a dirty look.

"Well, you'll be with me, Martin, but in Mendoza, not here," Rawson said. "Now, here's what's going to happen: just about everything Nervo proposed, with one major exception. Edmundo is going to stay here at the Edificio Libertador, and I'm going to meet with Schmidt wherever the Husares de Pueyrredon's Piper Cubs find him.

"I am going from here to the Edificio Libertador, where I am going to get on the military telephone to el Coronel Pereitra of the Husares de Pueyrredon. I am going to order him to move--immediately, in secrecy--his regiment to Mendoza, in three stages. First the observation aircraft, second the Immediate Reaction Force, and then the balance of the regiment.

"I am then going to dictate and have typed the orders Inspector General Nervo suggested that I issue. Then I am going to Aeropuerto Jorge Frade and get on the airplane Martin ordered them to hold for him and fly to Mendoza."

"Senor Presidente, everyone will know you've left Buenos Aires," Martin protested.

"Possible, even probably," Rawson agreed. "But so what? Bobby, let's go. The car should be at the door by now."

[FOUR]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Moron, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1120 16 October 1943

When the president of the Argentine Republic stepped out of the official presidential limousine in front of the passenger terminal, a familiar face was there to greet him.

"Well, Father Kurt," El Presidente said. "What an unexpected pleasure! Whatever are you doing here?"

"I would think I'm here for the same reason you are, Arturo."

"And what would that be?"

"To try to keep some smoldering embers in Mendoza from turning into a conflagration."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, of course."

"Lying to a priest--especially to the priest who is your confessor--is a sin, Arturo. I've told you that before."

Rawson didn't reply.

"I think I might be of some help, Arturo."

Rawson gestured toward the Lodestar sitting on the tarmac.

"Why don't we take a little ride, Father? And, on the way, perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me how you found out about this."

"I'd love to, Arturo, really I would. But that would violate a priestly confidence, and that, too, would be a sin. I'm sure you understand."

[FIVE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1210 16 October 1943

Don Cletus Frade opened his eyes and saw Mother Superior's face very close to his.

"Try not to move," she said. "This will sting a little."

He tried to raise his head.

"Hold him," Mother Superior ordered.

A massive hand pushed his head back against the floor.

He saw Mother Superior's hands approaching his head. One hand held a pad of surgical gauze, the other a curved needle laced with a black thread.

He felt his forehead being mopped, then saw the needle getting close.

"Jesus H. Christ!" he exclaimed as the needle penetrated the skin on his fo rehead.

"Is he all right?" Dona Dorotea asked.

"I told you bringing him in here would be a mistake," Mother Superior replied.

The needle penetrated his skin again.

"What the hell happened?" Clete asked.

Dorotea groaned in pain and took the Lord's name in vain.

Clete tried to rise. The massive hand again pushed him back against the floor.

That has to be the hand of Sister Suboficial Mayor.

What the hell is going on?

The needle struck again.

"That should hold it for the time being," Mother Superior said. "Stay there until I say you can get up." She added, "Don't let him move."

"Yes, Mother Superior," Sister Suboficial Mayor said.

"Oh, God!" Dorotea groaned loudly.

"Push," Mother Superior said. "I can see the head."

Clete tried and failed to raise his head.

"Dorotea? Are you all right, baby?"

"No, goddamn it, I'm not. . . . Oh, God!"

"Stop blaspheming and push, Dorotea," Mother Superior said.

"Well, that's a shame," Mother Superior said.

"What's a shame?" Clete asked in horror from the floor.

"I was sort of hoping for a future postulant for the Order of the Little Sisters of Santa Maria del Pilar. But what we have here is what looks like a healthy male."

"May I let him up, Mother Superior?" Sister Suboficial Mayor asked.

"Give me a minute to clean up the baby," Mother Superior said.

[SIX]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1240 16 October 1943

Subinspector Estanislao Nowicki found Don Cletus Frade and Enrico Rodriguez in the bar. Frade was holding a brandy snifter in his hand. There was a bandage on his head, and his shirt was bloody. Nowicki looked at Enrico for an explanation and Enrico shook his head: Don't ask.

Frade looked at Nowicki.

"Go ahead, ask," Clete said.

"What happened?"

"Ten minutes ago, my wife was delivered of a healthy baby boy."

"That's wonderful, Don Cletus!"

"I was at the time on the floor. Estanislao, never be present when your wife is having a baby."

"You passed out," Nowicki said. "That happened to me."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that," Clete said. "Maybe that will wipe the smirk off Enrico's face. Enrico doesn't have any children."

"Having a baby, Enrico," Nowicki said, "is something a woman should do alone. Or at least with other women. Or with a doctor. But not with her husband anywhere around. When my wife had her first child, she swore at me with words I didn't even know she knew."

"So what's up, Estanislao?" Clete asked.

"You heard that that Nazi bastard Schmidt and ten 10th Mountain Regiment trucks are moving toward General Alvear?"

Frade nodded. "Segundo Comandante Garcia told me."

"Garcia just told me there's been a message from General Nervo. An important person will arrive at El Plumerillo around two-thirty or three and suggests you be there."

"He say what important person?" Clete asked.

Nowicki shrugged.

"Maybe the general. And/or somebody else."

Clete looked at his watch.

"Well, I guess I better go change my shirt. Never meet an important person at an airport in a bloody shirt. Enrico, I can really change my shirt without help. Go get the Lincoln."

The Lincoln, two Gendarmeria Nacional Fords, and a truck were lined up in front of the house when Clete came out ten minutes later. Enrico was standing beside the Lincoln, holding the door open for Clete.

"With your permission, Don Cletus, I will not go. I want to have a look around the perimeter. You will not be alone." He gestured at the gendarmes. "And you will have more room in case there is more than one important person at the airport."

"Try not to fall down the mountain, Enrico," Clete said, and got behind the wheel.

[SEVEN]

Edelweiss Hotel

San Martin 202

San Carlos de Bariloche

1505 16 October 1943

"It is a great honor to have you in our hotel, Coronel Peron," the manager said, "and a pleasure to see you back so soon, Senor Schenck."

"I'm here privately," Peron said.

"We're thinking very seriously of buying a small estancia here," Evita said.

"Now, as I'm sure you can understand, we don't want that getting out," Peron said.

"I understand completely. You may trust my discretion and that of everybody in the Edelweiss."

"Thank you."

"How much trouble will it be to get my car from the garage?" Senor Schenck asked.

"I can have it at the door in five minutes," the manager said.

"Oh, good!" Evita said. "I'm so anxious to see this place!"

"I'd like to clean up a little . . . ," Peron said.

"Me too," Evita said happily. "My back teeth are floating, as they say."

Peron looked as if he wanted to choke her.

And she's not talking in that stilted language anymore. I suppose she figures she doesn't have to impress me with her culture now that we're all such good friends.

When Senor and Senora Schenck got to their room, she beat him into the bathroom and he waited impatiently for her to come out.

"Teeth no longer floating?" he asked sarcastically as he brushed past her.

"What does he see in her?" Inge said, ignoring it.

"I don't know, but I'm glad he sees whatever it is. With a little luck, I'll have his signature on that deed this afternoon--because of her."

When he came out of the bathroom, he went directly to the telephone and, consulting a business card, asked the hotel operator to get him a number.

"Senor Suarez, this is Jorge Schenck," von Deitzberg said. "I managed to convince el Coronel Peron to have a look at the property. I have reason to believe he'll like it. I'd like to strike, so to speak, when the iron is hot, by which I mean later today.

"What do you mean it'll take longer than that?"

Senor Suarez took forever to explain the bothersome details of completing such a transaction, the Argentine bureaucracy being what it was.

"Bribe somebody," von Deitzberg snapped. "Now, this is what I want done. I want you to be having a drink in the Edelweiss Hotel bar from five o'clock--make that half past four--until I get there.

"I will express surprise at seeing you, and I will tell you that I have been showing Peron Estancia Puesta de Sol, and one thing will lead to another and you will ultimately say something to the effect that there's no reason the deed can't be transferred right there in the bar if that's what he wishes to do."

Senor Suarez asked how sure could Senor Schenck be that Peron would want to do that.

"Trust me, he'll want to do that," von Deitzberg said. "You just be in the bar when we walk in."

[EIGHT]

El Plumerillo Airfield

Mendoza, Mendoza Province, Argentina

1505 16 October 1943

The first person to stand in the open door of SAA's Ciudad de San Miguel was Inspector General Santiago Nervo of the Gendarmeria Nacional. He took a quick look around, which caused the dozen gendarmes from the truck to pop to attention, then got off the airplane.

Next to get off, surprising Clete, was Capitan Roberto Lauffer, and then, surprising Clete even more, the president of the Argentine Republic appeared in the door and got off. He was followed by Subinspector General Nolasco, el Coronel Martin, and the Reverend Kurt Welner, S.J.

What the hell is he doing here?

Finally, two men in the powder blue uniforms of SAA pilots came through the door. One of them was Capitan Gonzalo Delgano. The other--obviously Delgano's copilot--he recognized but could not remember his name.

"Cletus, what did you do to your head?" Rawson asked, even before saying "hello" or embracing him.

"Like President George Washington, Senor Presidente, I cannot tell a lie. I passed out as Dorotea was giving birth to our son, and cracked my head on the floor."

He realized that was the first time he had ever used the term "our son," and the sound of it produced a strong and unexpected reaction: His eyes watered and his throat tightened.

"When did that happen?" Rawson asked. "The baby. Not your head."

"Just after noon, sir," Clete said.

"Well, then, I will be able to say I was among the first to be able to offer my congratulations. How is Dorotea?"

"Very well, sir. Thank you."

"And I will have the happy privilege of baptizing your son," Father Welner said.

First things first, right? Sprinkle my son with water before some heathen Episcopalian can get to him?

"I see the Pipers have yet to arrive," Rawson said.

"Pipers"? What Pipers?

"Excuse me, sir?"

"They should be here by now," Rawson said. "I ordered el Coronel Pereitra to send them immediately."

Rawson saw the confusion on Clete's face and explained to him what had happened, what orders he had issued, and what he hoped would happen.

The Pipers had not arrived when he had finished.

"Well, I don't intend to stand around here waiting for them; they'll arrive sooner or later," Rawson said. "What I think we should do now is send Subinspector General Nolasco to San Martin to deal with el Coronel Peron . . ." He stopped when he saw the look on Nervo's face.

"If, of course," Rawson said, more than a little sarcastically, "this meets with General Nervo's approval. Cletus, you would be surprised at how helpful General Nervo has been. One would think he went to the Military Academy and into the army instead of becoming a simple policeman."

"Actually, mi general," Nervo said. "I thought about going to the Military Academy, but I couldn't. My parents were married."

Father Welner, Subinspector General Nolasco, Capitans Lauffer and Delgano, and the copilot whose name--Garcia--Clete suddenly remembered looked horrified.

There was a hushed silence, broken only when Cletus chuckled and then laughed out loud.

"You think that's funny, Cletus?" Rawson asked, as if torn between indignation and curiosity.

"General, it's what reserve Marine Corps officers, like me, who didn't go to the Naval Academy, say to regular Marine Corps officers, who did."

"Mi general," Nervo said, "I should not have said that. It just slipped out. Apparently, I cannot handle my newfound freedom to say what I'm thinking without considering the consequences."

"General Nervo believes he is about to be thrown into the River Plate with his hands tied behind him," Rawson said. "And if he ever says something like that again to me, I'll throw him into the River Plate myself."

"And I will help, mi general," Capitan Lauffer said.

"Bobby," Frade said. "We call people like you 'ring knockers.' "

"A reference, no doubt, to a wedding ring?" Rawson asked.

"No. Naval Academy graduates wear Naval Academy rings. When someone who is not 'Regular Navy' says something they don't like, they knock their rings on a table, or whatever, to remind us amateurs that we are challenging regulars who went to the Academy and therefore know everything about everything and are never wrong."

"How interesting," Rawson said. "'People like you' would obviously include me. Your father, Cletus, had the odd notion that the Ejercito Argentino was making a serious mistake in restricting the officer corps to graduates of the Military Academy."

"Well, I have to agree with that, sir," Cletus said.

"Perhaps we are," Rawson said, his tone suggesting he didn't believe that for a moment. "So tell me, General Nervo, what--as an amateur--it is that you find wrong with my idea of sending Subinspector General Nolasco to San Martin to deal with Peron?"

"Sir, I don't think we should arrest Peron until we know more about his involvement in this," Nervo said. "Send Nolasco to San Martin to locate Peron and keep an eye on him, but not arrest him until he hears from you."

Rawson nodded but did not reply.

"General," Clete said. "We don't know if the Pipers will arrive--"

"I ordered el Coronel Pereitra to send them," Rawson said impatiently, then heard what he had said. "And if they don't?"

Clete said, "Even if the Husares de Pueyrredon's Pipers do arrive, we won't know if they'll work until I have a look at them. And without the Pipers, we're just pissing in the wind. Which means we're going to have to think of something else, like commandeering a couple of those."

He pointed across the airfield to hangars in which at least four privately owned Piper Cubs were parked.

"And what is your suggestion in that regard, Cletus?" Rawson asked.

"Send the general over there with me to commandeer those airplanes."

"And what would you suggest regarding el Coronel Peron?"

"I agree with the general, sir. Don't arrest my beloved Tio Juan until we know more than we do."

"All right," Rawson said. "Here's what we are going to do: Subinspector General Nolasco, get back on the airplane. Find and keep your eye on el Coronel Peron in San Martin, but take no action until you hear from either General Nervo or me."

"Yes, sir."

"Capitan Lauffer, you, General Nervo, Coronel Martin, and I are going to walk over there with Don Cletus to select which of those airplanes are to be commandeered into the service of the Argentine Republic."

"Yes, sir."

[NINE]

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1525 16 October 1943

Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer--on detached service from the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler--had his Schmeisser at the ready as he moved as rapidly and as quietly as he could down the area between long rows of grapevines.

He and the five men following him were wearing brown coveralls over their black SS uniforms. It was Hauptsturmfuhrer Schafer's intention, should anything go wrong--and it looked at this moment as if that had happened--to shed the coveralls, which would permit him and his men to claim the protection of the Geneva Convention and POW status.

He wasn't sure if that was the case.

How did the Geneva Convention feel about armed soldiers of a belligerent power being discovered--possibly after having taken some lives--roaming around a neutral country?

At the very least, Schafer had decided, it would buy them some time until SS-Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg and the Argentine oberst, Schmidt, found out they had been arrested and could start working on getting them freed.

He could now see the end of the row of grapevines. There was nothing in it. He held up his hand for the men behind him to stop, then gestured for them to move to the left and right, into the spaces between adjacent rows of vines.

A minute later, he heard the soft chirp of a whistle, telling him that one of his men had found something.

Reminding himself that stealth was still of great importance, he moved quietly through two rows to the left.

One of his troopers pointed to the end of that row.

Another of his men was standing there holding what looked like an American Thompson submachine gun. His legs straddled a body on the ground.

Schafer ran down the path to him.

The man came to attention when Schafer got close.

"Report!" Schafer snapped.

"I had no choice, sir. He was coming through the vines toward me. When he came into this one, I shot him."

Something will have to be done with the body. I can't just leave it here.

It will fit in the trunk of one of the cars.

But what if one of the gendarmes at one of their checkpoints doesn't just wave us through in the belief that a sedan belonging to the 10th Mountain Regiment poses no threat to anything?

How the hell would I explain a body?

He pointed to one of his men. "In the back of one of the cars is a shovel," Schafer ordered. "Go to it, get the shovel, and come back here. The rest of you move the body farther away from the road. Move quickly!"

"That's deep enough," Schafer announced. "It only has to serve for a short time. Put him in it, and then start spreading the earth around."

"Tamp it down. I don't want anybody looking down the row and wondering why it's not level."

Schafer handed the Thompson, which he had decided was not nearly as good a submachine gun as the Schmeisser, to one of his men and then stepped gingerly onto the tamped-down dirt on the grave.

"Hande hoch!" a voice barked.

This was immediately followed by a very loud burst of automatic weapons fire. The man holding the Thompson fell backward, still holding the Thompson.

Schafer now saw that a very large man was pointing a Thompson at him.

And then a smaller man who appeared to be wearing an American uniform--there were chevrons on the sleeve of his shirt that looked American--pushed down the barrel of the larger man's submachine gun.

"Enrico," the smaller man flared, "you stupid sonofabitch!"

Then he turned to Schafer and repeated, "Hande hoch!" and then added, in fluent German, "My friend would like nothing better than to shoot all of you."

Schafer now saw there were half a dozen men, in addition to the big one who had fired the Thompson and the little one, the sergeant obviously in charge, in the passage between the rows of vines, three on each side of the grave.

They were all in civilian clothing. Three of them held Thompsons and the rest had Mauser cavalry carbines.

Schafer raised his hands over his shoulders.

"I surrender. I am an officer of the Waffen-SS--" Schafer began, then paused when he saw that the large man had trained the muzzle of the Thompson back at him.

"Enrico, we need to question them," Staff Sergeant Stein said in Spanish.

The big man nodded. "I was wrong," he said.

Schafer went on: "--under the protection of Oberst Sch--"

"Shut your mouth, you sonofabitch, before I shoot you," Stein barked in perfect German. He pointed to one of the SS troopers. "Start digging him out of there."

Then Enrico gave an order of his own. "Rafael, send someone for the horses."

"Si, Suboficial Mayor," one of the natives said.

[TEN]

El Plumerillo Airfield

Mendoza, Mendoza Province, Argentina

1635 16 October 1943

Clete had just finished his inspection of the fourth Piper Cub in the hangar when he heard the familiar sound that the Continental A-65-8 flathead, four-cylinder, 65-horsepower engine made.

He looked at his hands, which were covered with grease.

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked.

"Is that them, Cletus?" General Rawson asked.

"It's either them," Clete said as he walked to the hangar door, "or somebody else has two Cubs."

A Piper painted in Ejercito Argentino olive drab touched down on the runway. A second was a thousand meters behind it.

Clete ran across the tarmac and made the appropriate arm signals, telling the pilot to come to where he was standing. The pilot ignored him and taxied toward the passenger terminal. And so did the pilot of the second Cub when he landed.

The president of the Argentine Republic, the senior officer of the Gendarmeria Nacional, the chief of the Ethical Standards Office, and the aide-de-camp to the president followed Don Cletus Frade as he walked across the airfield toward the passenger terminal, trailed by six gendarmes.

By the time they got there, Father Kurt Welner, S.J., who had been left with the cars and trucks, had told the pilots who was who, and the pilots--both young tenientes--were now standing, visibly uncomfortable, waiting for the sword of presidential wrath to fall.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Rawson said courteously, returning their salute. "Please stand at ease."

"Where the hell have you been?" General Nervo inquired, far less courteously.

"Mi general, we had to stop at Cordoba to refuel," one of the pilots said.

A civilian wearing a bloody bandage on his forehead and in a grease-stained polo shirt and khaki trousers, went to one of the Cubs and with grease-stained hands opened the engine compartment. Neither pilot thought this was the appropriate time to ask questions.

The civilian turned from the engine.

"I don't think I have ever seen such a clean engine," he said.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Don Cletus Frade, who is an experienced Piper pilot. He is the son of the late Coronel Jorge Frade, whose last active duty command was of the Husares de Pueyrredon."

Neither lieutenant seemed to know quite how to deal with that revelation. An indelicate sophistry from Major Frade's own military experience popped into his mind: Those poor bastards don't know whether to shit or go blind.

He took pity on them.

"Tenientes," he said, "are these aircraft in as good shape as they appear to be?"

One of them found his voice.

"Sir, so far as I know, they are in perfect shape."

"May I ask how much experience you have in short-field landing?"

"Sir, we practice that technique regularly."

"In other words, you would have no trouble with putting one of these down on a field a little longer than a polo field?"

After a moment's thought, one of the lieutenants said, "No, sir."

Clete unkindly suspected that their practice had been trying to put a Piper down as close to the end of a runway as they could, then trying to see how short they could make the landing roll.

Well, there's nothing that can be done about that.

"What we're going to do now is: I am going to take one of these and fly it to my house. One of you will take the other one and follow me. All I can tell you is to suggest you make your approach as slowly and carefully as you know how."

"Yes, sir."

Frade turned to Rawson.

"Well, sir, I'll see everybody at Casa Montagna," he said, and then made a little joke. "Unless, of course, you want to ride up there with me and save yourself an hour's drive."

"I'll go with you," Rawson announced. "General Nervo can go in the other airplane."

"Sir, I was kidding."

"I wasn't," President Rawson said. "Father Kurt tells me you have a radio there capable of talking to Buenos Aires."

"To Jorge Frade, sir. The airfield and Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. Only."

"Whatever its limitations, we'll have more communication than we have now standing around here. How soon can we leave?"

"Just as soon as I top off the fuel tanks," Clete said, and motioned for General Nervo to get into one of the Cubs. "I'm sure you will find this interesting, Simple Policeman. In Texas, they use these airplanes to catch speeders on the highways."

[ELEVEN]

Edelweiss Hotel

San Martin 202

San Carlos de Bariloche

1635 16 October 1943

Although Senor Jorge Schenck and Senor Otto Kortig arrived at the Edelweiss within minutes of each other, they didn't see each other for some time.

When Schenck, his wife, el Coronel Juan D. Peron, and Senorita Evita Duarte returned from their visit to Estancia Puesta de Sol Schenck, they had parked the Ford station wagon in front of the hotel on Calle San Martin. Then they had gone to the bar via the lobby.

As they were being shown to a table, Schenck saw Senor Suarez, the real-estate man, sitting with another man he correctly guessed to be the bureaucrat who was going to be necessary to witness Peron's signature on the deed. Schenck made a simple series of gestures telling Senor Suarez not to recognize him and to stay where he was until summoned.

Then he followed the others to a table, where he announced he needed a drink, a real drink.

Senorita Duarte thought that was a splendid idea, and said so. El Coronel Peron said that he would have a little taste of Johnnie Walker Black himself. When the waiter came, Senor Schenck ordered Johnnie Walker Black, doubles, all around.

Two or three rounds like that and Casanova, if encouraged by Senorita Evita, will happily sign the menu or anything else she puts in front of him.

When Senor Pablo Alvarez, the Reverend Francisco Silva, S.J., and Senor Otto Kortig arrived at the hotel about fifteen minutes later, after a full and exhausting day of examining the Hotel Lago Vista in detail, they parked the 1940 Ford Fordor from Casa Montagna in the parking lot behind the hotel, as they would have no further need for it until the morning.

Then they started to enter the hotel from the parking lot. But as they did, they came to sort of an adjunct of the hotel bar, a glass-roofed area outside the more formal inside bar. It had a dozen or so cast-iron tables with umbrellas, six or seven of which were occupied by people having a drink and munching on cheese and salami.

"Am I the only one who's tempted?" Senor Alvarez asked.

"How's the beer in Argentina?" Senor Kortig inquired. "I haven't had a decent glass of beer in months."

"I think you will be pleased, Otto," Father Silva said.

"Are you a beer drinker, Father?"

"On occasion," the priest confessed.

Three liters of Quilmes lager later, Senor Kortig excused himself to visit the gentlemen's rest facility.

"It's right inside the lobby to the right, Otto," Father Silva said.

"Thank you. Order another liter of the Quilmes while I'm gone, will you?"

"It will be my pleasure," Senor Alvarez said.

In the main bar, Senor Schenck looked up from stuffing his copy of the just executed change-of-owner documentation for Estancia Puesta de Sol into his briefcase.

That Johnnie Walker is getting to me. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I just saw Oberstleutnant Otto Niedermeyer walk past.

Ridiculous!

He works for Canaris in Abwehr Ost. What could he possibly be doing here in the Andes mountains of Argentina?

And if you do something foolish, like chase some strange man into a men's room and . . .

"Excuse me, please," Schenck said, and got up from the table and followed a strange man toward the men's room.

Rather than porcelain urinals mounted to a wall, the urinal in the Hotel Edelweiss lobby men's room was the wall itself. Below waist height, the wall was tiled. A copper pipe just above the tiles fed a never-ending stream of water gently down the white tiles toward a sort of trough at the bottom.

When Senor Schenck entered the men's room, the strange man was facing the wall.

Schenck waited until the man turned, and he had a chance for a good look.

"Wie geht's, Otto?" he asked cordially, smiling.

"Ach, Gott!" Oberstleutnant Otto Niedermeyer, visibly surprised, said.

"What in the world are you doing here?"

Niedermeyer put his index finger before his lips and looked quickly at the water closet stalls--all of which were empty.

He threw out his arm in the Nazi salute.

"Heil Hitler!" he said, and then, "May the oberstleutnant respectfully suggest that the SS-brigadefuhrer attend to his personal business first?"

Von Deitzberg smiled.

"Good idea," he said.

He stepped to the urinal wall, unzipped his trousers, and started to attend to his personal business.

SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg turned his head to look at Oberstleutnant Niedermeyer just in time to see the muzzle of the barrel of Niedermeyer's Ballester-Molina Pistola Automatica Calibre .45 before it fired.

Von Deitzberg slumped to the floor, leaving a tracing of brain tissue and blood on the urinal's tiles. The stream of water caused first the blood to start sliding down the tiles, and then the smaller pieces of brain tissue.

Niedermeyer quickly examined his clothing to see if he had been splattered with either. He had not been. He looked down at von Deitzberg, said, "God forgive me," returned the pistol to the small of his back, and calmly walked out of the men's room.

My ears are ringing from the noise of that gun firing in there. My hearing has been impaired.

I will have to remember to speak softly. Deaf people speak loudly.

He walked to the table and sat down.

"I heard what sounded like a shot," Alvarez said.

"Father," Kortig said softly, "if it looks as if I am about to be arrested, I will have to take my own life; otherwise many good men and their families will die."

[TWELVE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1705 16 October 1943

Clete set the Cub down with landing roll to spare on the first try. The pilot of the Cub following him decided to go around twice before finally coming in for a landing.

"He's not as skilled as you are," President Rawson said.

"What he is is smarter than I am," Clete replied. "He didn't bring it in until he was sure he could."

Captain Madison R. Sawyer III walked up to them. He was wearing an olive-drab shirt with the silver railroad tracks of his rank and the crossed sabers of cavalry pinned to the collar points. He had a Thompson slung from his shoulder.

"Well, look what you brought home," he said, and only then recognized the president of the Argentine Republic. He saluted.

"General Rawson, this is Captain Sawyer," Clete said.

"How do you do, Capitan?"

"Sir," Sawyer said, then: "Major, may I have a word in private?"

"Anything you have to say to me, Captain, you may say in the presence of the president."

"Yes, sir. Sir, maybe you better come with me."

The body had been laid on and under a blanket outside one of the small outbuildings.

"Please tell me this is not one of ours," Clete said.

"There is one of ours, sir, but he's inside on the bed."

Sawyer pulled off the blanket.

The eyes of the corpse were open. His face showed what could have been surprise. His coveralls had been unbuttoned, exposing the blood-soaked black SS uniform underneath. On his chest were his identity tags and his identity card.

"Close his eyes, for Christ's sake," Clete snapped.

Sawyer looked at him in horror.

Clete leaned and closed the corpse's eyelids, then pulled the blanket over the body.

"Okay, what happened?" Frade asked.

"There were about six of them running around the vineyard. One of them shot one of our guys. Stein and Enrico were running around down there, heard the shot, and went looking.

"Before Stein could stop him, Rodriguez blew this one away with his Thompson. We have the rest of them, including a hauptsturmfuhrer who says he's under the protection of Colonel Schmidt."

"Now, that's interesting," Rawson said. "Where is he? Are they?"

"Over there, sir. In the woodshed," Sawyer said, and pointed.

General Nervo came walking quickly to them.

"What's this?"

Clete said, "It's a dead SS trooper, who killed one of my men. There're six more--"

"Including an officer, General Nervo," Rawson interrupted, "who says he is under the protection of el Coronel Schmidt."

"--over there in the woodshed," Clete finished.

"Who killed this one?"

"Rodriguez," Clete said.

Nervo leaned over the body and pulled down the blanket.

"Why is the ID on his chest?" he asked.

"That was Rodriguez's idea. He said that when they killed the ones at Tandil, they took their pictures with their IDs before they buried them."

"Would you mind going over that again for me, please, Capitan?" the president asked courteously.

"Yes, sir. Well, when Peron and Schmidt and the SS guys tried to kill the Froggers at Don Cletus's house in Tandil--"

"You knew of this, General Nervo?" Rawson interrupted.

"Yes, sir."

"Odd, don't you think, that no one thought I would be interested?" the president asked. "Please continue, Capitan."

"Yes, sir. Well, when Rodriguez and the guys from Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo killed the SS guys in Tandil, Stein took their pictures so we could prove they were there. So we did the same thing with this guy."

"Cletus, I think it would be a very good idea if we had those pictures when we go talk to el Coronel Schmidt. Or el Coronel Peron."

"There's a set in the safe in the house, sir," Clete said.

"And the Froggers are where?"

"They're also in the house, sir. Frau Frogger is out of her mind."

"And you have what? Chained her to a wall?"

"No, sir. She is under the care of the Little Sisters of Pilar, or whatever the hell they're called."

"You'd better get the name of the order straight in your mind before Father Welner gets here. And when will that be?"

"I would estimate twenty minutes to half an hour, sir."

"Before he gets here, I want to hear what this SS officer has to say," the president said.

"From behind a sheet, and Colonel Frogger asks the questions. Right, Don Cletus? I don't think we want to let this SS officer know the president is here."

[THIRTEEN]

1725 16 October 1943

"I wondered," Dona Dorotea said to her husband, "if you were going to be able to find time in your busy schedule one of these days to drop in and say a few words to your wife and son."

He walked to the bed and looked down at his son, who was being nursed.

"A lot has happened, and is going on," Clete said.

"Who was in the airplanes? That was you, right? Who else would be crazy enough to fly in here?"

"How about the president of the Argentine Republic?" Clete asked, then: "Doesn't he hurt you doing that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he does. Mother Superior says it will hurt less over time. What about the president of the Argentine Republic? You're not telling me Arturo Rawson's here? That you flew him in here? Up here?"

"Yeah, I am. And just as soon as he finishes talking to some people, he's going to come in the house and watch Father Welner baptize the baby."

"He's here, too?"

"And General Nervo."

"I don't want our son to be a Roman Catholic. Do you?"

"No, but between Father Kurt and Mother Superior, I don't think we have a choice."

"Tell me the truth about you and Arturo Rawson and the airplanes," she said. "And look me in the eye when you tell me."

"Okay. First thing tomorrow morning, we're going to go looking for Colonel Schmidt, who is somewhere around General Alvear and out of contact. . . ."

"I should have known that wouldn't work," Dorotea said ninety seconds later. "But it's useful to know."

"What are you talking about?"

"That you can look right into my eyes and lie through your teeth," she said. "That man Schmidt--who thinks God is on his side, which makes it worse--is not going to tuck his tail between his legs and go back to San Martin, even if Arturo Rawson personally tells him to. And you know it. So then what happens?"

"I just don't know, sweetheart."

"Who's the 'some people' Rawson is talking to?"

"Enrico and Stein caught some SS people in the vineyard. They're being interrogated. Colonel Frogger is telling Stein what questions to ask and when he thinks the lieutenant we caught is lying. They're doing it behind a sheet so the SS guy won't know Rawson is here."

"How many SS people did Enrico and Stein catch in the vineyards?"

"Five."

"That means there were seven, all told, including the two they killed?"

He didn't reply.

"There's a window in here, Cletus. I saw them bring the bodies in on horses."

"They killed one of ours and we killed one of theirs."

"And how many more are still out there?"

"I don't think there are any still out there," he said.

"And when do you think Schmidt and his men are going to get here?"

The door opened and Father Kurt Welner, S.J., trailed by Mother Superior, came into the room.

"Well, you two, are you about ready to have that beautiful baby of yours baptized?"

"Would it matter?" Dorotea asked. "We're outnumbered."

"Dorotea!" Mother Superior said. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"And when we have that out of the way, Dorotea," Welner said, "Mother Superior and I have been talking about moving you to the hospital. You'd be more comfortable there."

"What is that, what they call a double standard?" Dorotea challenged. "We can't lie to you, but you can lie to us? You don't give a tinker's damn about my comfort. You think I'd be safer in the convent when Schmidt comes here."

"Baby, you would," Clete said.

"Call me Ruth, Cletus."

"What?"

" 'Whither thou goest, I will go,' and I'm not going anywhere without you. This house is where we live. I'm going to be here when my husband leaves to do what he has to do about this Coronel Schmidt, and I'm going to be right here when my husband comes back."

There was a long silence.

"You don't deserve her, Cletus," Mother Superior then said.

"I know," he said.

[FOURTEEN]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1905 16 October 1943

Don Cletus Frade, having been run out of his bedroom by Mother Superior, went to the bar, wondering if he should feel guilty that this was going to give him the opportunity to have a stiff drink.

"Gentlemen," the president of the Argentine Republic called, "I give you Don Cletus Frade, proud papa of Jorge Howell Frade."

There was applause.

"Sleepless nights and diaper changing will come later," the president added.

Not knowing how to respond, Clete walked to the bar, reached for a bottle of Jack Daniel's, poured, had a healthy sip, and then turned to face the men in the bar. He raised the glass to them.

The bar was crowded. Everybody but General Nervo seemed to be there, even the two Husares de Pueyrredon Cub pilots and Siggie Stein.

The president reached over and patted the seat of an armchair next to where he was sitting with el Coronel Martin, Roberto Lauffer, and the Reverend Kurt Welner, S.J.

I'll be damned--they saved a seat for me.

He took it.

"Where's General Nervo?" he asked.

"Right there," Father Kurt said, pointing to the door. Nervo was walking through it.

Nervo started toward them, changed his mind, went to the bar, made himself a drink, and then came to them, taking the last empty armchair.

"Tell me, Don Cletus, what kind of a pistol did you give Senor Kortig when he went real-estate shopping?"

"One of the Ballester-Molinas from the arms cache. Why?"

"And you did remember to give him ammunition?"

"Of course I did. Actually, what I did was give him a couple of my magazines. The 1911 and the Ballester-Molina are almost identical, and I didn't want to have to root around in the arms cache for first magazines and then ammo."

"In other words, you would say that Kortig's pistol was loaded with ammunition from your Springfield Arsenal?"

"Either Springfield or Rock Island Arsenal. Why the curiosity?"

"Because a .45 ACP shell casing marked Springfield Arsenal was found on the floor of the men's room of the Hotel Edelweiss in Barlioche. Also in the men's room was the corpse of a man carrying the National Identity booklet of Jorge Schenck.

"Someone blew his brains all over the wall."

"My God!" Father Welner exclaimed.

"When did you learn this?" President Rawson asked.

"I just talked to Subinspector General Nolasco. He tells me that he was sitting outside the hotel keeping an eye on el Coronel Peron when a shot was heard. He went inside, where patrons pointed him toward the men's room. On his way there, he saw Father Silva, Senor Alvarez, and Senor Kortig sitting at a table in a sort of outside bar. In the men's room, he found Senor Schenck sitting in the urinal, his back against the wall with a small entrance wound--surrounded by powder burns--in his forehead, and a much larger exit hole in the rear of his skull. And the cartridge case I mentioned.

"Now, I'm just a simple policeman, but I'm wondering how many other people besides Senor Kortig and armed with a pistol firing cartridges made in the United States were likely to have also been in the Hotel Edelweiss at the time."

"Nolasco has arrested this man?"

"Your orders, Mr. President, were for Nolasco to keep an eye on Coronel Peron but to take no action unless directed by you or me."

"Did this man know Schenck, Cletus? Von Deitzberg?"

"After hearing this, I'd said they had at least a casual acquaintance," Clete said. "Kortig was trying to protect Valkyrie."

"Kortig is involved in Valkyrie?" the president asked. When he saw the look on Frade's face, he added, "Yes, I know about Valkyrie. Unlike some other senior officials of my government, the foreign minister keeps me abreast of things in which he thinks I might be interested."

Clete nodded.

"What I'm wondering now is whether my Tio Juan knows who blew von Deitzberg away," he said.

"I'm still wondering what Peron is doing in Bariloche," Martin said. "It seems to me that if he knows what Schmidt is up to, he would be in Buenos Aires."

"Yeah," Nervo said thoughtfully. "He told the local police he was on a little holiday."

"Nolasco hasn't spoken to Coronel Peron?" President Rawson asked.

Nervo shook his head.

"Well, what do we do?"

"Arturo, before you make any decision," Father Welner said, "I am compelled to tell you that Senor Kortig is of special interest to the church."

"What the hell does that mean?" Clete asked. "That the Vatican, the Pope, knows about Valkyrie? Are they for it, against it?"

"My orders, Arturo," Welner said, "are to assist Senor Kortig in any way possible. If you feel it necessary, I'm sure the Papal Nuncio will confirm this."

"My God!" Rawson said.

"I'm sure you will make any decision you do only after careful, prayerful thought," Welner said.

"Senor President," Martin said. "If el Coronel Peron is involved with Schmidt--and I think he is--he wouldn't admit it, and it would be very hard to prove."

"Cat got your tongue, Nervo?" the president said. "Usually, you're bubbling over with helpful suggestions."

"First thing in the morning, Mr. President, instead of Cletus taking you flying in one of those little airplanes looking for Schmidt, he flies you to Buenos Aires. You can do that, right, Cletus, in your red airplane?"

Clete nodded. "I can do that."

"And Martin and I go looking for Schmidt in those little airplanes. And stop him."

"Which would see you both lying in a pool of blood on a country road," President Rawson said.

"But you would be in the Casa Rosada, Mr. President," Martin argued.

"Unless I am in a position to look my senior officers--some of whom doubtless know what Schmidt plans--in the eye and tell them I have personally placed el Coronel Schmidt under arrest pending court-martial, my being in the Casa Rosada would be like--what was that phrase Cletus used?--'pissing into the wind.'

"What we're going to do is what we originally decided. We will search for Colonel Schmidt and, when we find him, order him to return to San Martin, and when that's done, Cletus can fly me to Buenos Aires."

"And what if shortly after you find Schmidt, you find yourself under arrest?" Nervo challenged. "Or in that pool of blood on a country road that you mentioned?"

"Well, if that happens, General, there won't be anything else we can do to stop this country from having a civil war, will there?"

[FIFTEEN]

The Wansee Suite

Edelweiss Hotel

San Martin 202

San Carlos de Bariloche

19555 16 October 1943

"Sweetheart, I'd really like to go down to the bar," Senorita Evita Duarte said to el Coronel Peron.

"Out of the question," Peron snapped. "And we're going to have dinner and breakfast up here, not in the dining room."

She looked at him with hurt eyes.

"Evita," Inge Schenck said, "going into the lobby or the restaurant is not a very good idea. The press is down there. They already know Juan Domingo is here, which means that Juan Domingo's name is going to be in every newspaper in the country tomorrow."

"Listen to her, Evita," Peron said.

"It would be a lot worse if his picture, with you, was in the newspapers," Inge said.

"What about you, Inge?" Evita asked. "What would happen to you if your picture was all over La Nacion?"

"I don't intend to let that happen. That's why I'm not going down to the bar."

"But what if it did?" Evita pursued. "How would that affect what happens to you next? And while we're on that subject, what happens to you next?"

"I haven't given that much thought," Inge said.

"Oh, the hell you haven't," Evita said. "You've not had one little itty-bitty thought about who now owns all the property of the late SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg--excuse me, Jorge Schenck?"

Inge didn't reply.

"How long do you think it's going to take the Gendarmeria to find out Senor Schenck was already dead when somebody shot him?" Evita asked.

"I wonder who shot him," Peron said. "Maybe it was just a simple robbery. Manfred resisted and was shot."

"Oh, come on, Juan Domingo, you know better than that," Evita said. She let that sink in for a moment. "And that you are, too, Inge. Dead, I mean."

"Well, I still have my diplomatic passport as Frau von Tresmarck," Inge said.

"You should have thought of that when the gendarmes asked for your papers," Evita said. "You handed them Inge Schenck's Argentine National Identity booklet."

"I didn't even know Manfred had been shot when they came in," Inge protested.

"And did you notice that the gendarmes were in the hotel after the shooting before the local police were?" Evita asked. "Maybe they were sitting outside in a car."

"Why would they be doing that?" Peron asked.

Evita shrugged.

"It could be they were protecting the secretary of labor. Or wondering what he was doing in Bariloche," Evita said. "Did they ask you that, what you are doing here?"

"No."

"They will. And what are you going to tell them?"

"I don't know. That I was having a little holiday. People do that--come to Bariloche for a little holiday."

"They're questioning everybody," Evita said. "That real-estate man and the notary are going to tell them you bought Estancia Puesta de Sol from Schenck."

"So that's what I'll tell them. There's nothing illegal about that."

"Well, that brings us back to what happens to the rest of Senor Schenck's properties," Evita said, and turned to Inge. "There's a lot of property, right?"

Inge nodded.

"There's a lot of property. Hundreds of millions of pesos' worth of property. Here and in Uruguay."

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

"Very briefly, Evita," Inge explained. "The money came from the German Embassy. The real estate is to provide someplace for senior officials of the German Reich to go if they lose the war."

"You knew about this, Juan Domingo?" Evita asked.

After a moment, he nodded.

"You're going to have to learn to trust me. Tell me about things like this."

And, again, after a moment, he nodded.

"What happens to the property of a dead man? It goes to his wife, right?"

"Right."

"That would be fine, but the wife is already dead. Then what?"

Peron thought about that a moment, then said, "They would look for other relatives, who would have the right of inheritance."

"But not back to the German Embassy, right?"

"No, of course not. The Germans don't want anything about this program to come out."

"So what happens to you, Inge," Evita asked, "when the Germans find out their hundreds of millions of pesos' worth of property is now going to the Argentine relatives of a dead man they never heard of?"

"I would either be taken back to Germany and, after they tortured me enough to convince themselves I was telling the truth, executed. I know too much. Or they might just execute me here."

"Which means that the relatives get the properties," Evita said. "What about this? We go back to Buenos Aires. We find some notary we can trust and Inge transfers all the properties to someone else. Tomorrow. As soon as we get back to Buenos Aires. And then Inge Schenck disappears. You've got some cash?"

Inge nodded. "There was a lot of cash in Manfred's briefcase. It's now in my luggage."

"Perhaps it would be wise to let me keep it for you," Peron suggested.

Inge did not reply.

"So the whole thing depends on us getting to Buenos Aires before the Gendarmeria finds out Inge is dead. Can we do that, Juan Domingo?"

He took a long moment to consider the question.

"They told me that 'senior officials' will be here in the morning," he replied, "and as soon as they are here, we'll be free to go. I will suggest that Senora Schenck be allowed to fly the body to Buenos Aires for burial; that will serve to avoid the questions of a funeral service and interment here." He paused. "Yes, it can be done. Will be done."

"You know someone who can be trusted to hold this property for us?"

"Oh, yes."

"Inge," Evita asked. "Would you say that sharing half of these properties with us would be a fair price for getting you out of your predicament?"

After a moment, Inge nodded.

[SIXTEEN]

Altitude 500 meters

Above Highway 146

Five Kilometers West of Highway 146/143 Intersection

Mendoza Province, Argentina

17 October 1943

Don Cletus Frade pointed out the front window of the olive-drab Piper Cub.

Two kilometers ahead, and five hundred or so meters above, an identical Piper was flying in wide circles to the right of Highway 146.

Two minutes after that, Clete pointed out the window again, this time downward to a large cloud of dust raised by a vehicular convoy of ten large Ejercito Argentino trucks, preceded by a Mercedes sedan and followed by two pickup trucks, the bed of one filled with cans of gasoline and the other with spare tires on wheels.

The president of the Argentine Republic looked where Frade was pointing and then, cupping his hands around his mouth, shouted, "So far, so good."

Clete had taken off shortly after 0500--as soon as he had enough visibility to do so--and flown cross-country toward a guesstimate position eighty kilometers southeast from San Luis on Highway 146.

An hour and thirty minutes later, just about the time he had decided that putting a twenty-liter can of avgas in the lap of the president of the republic just before takeoff had been the right thing to do, dark smoke rising from gas-and oil-filled cans told him that gendarmes from San Luis had come through.

The smoke pots on the highway had the "runway" marked out to Clete's specifications: "No rocks and twice the length of a polo field."

He landed, took the gas can from the lap of General Rawson, and then topped off the Cub's fuel by pouring the avgas the gendarmes had brought from a can through a chamois cloth filter.

Fifteen minutes after landing, he was airborne again.

The second Husares de Pueyrredon Piper, the one he saw now, had taken off immediately after he had and flown the dirt road from Mendoza, carrying General Nervo, to its refueling point. Then it had taken off and continued down the dirt road until it intersected Highway 146, onto which it had turned to the northeast.

It came upon the convoy first--which wasn't surprising, as it had less a distance to fly--and had then followed orders by flying wide circles to the right of the road.

Clete flew his Cub to intercept the other one, and signaled to the pilot that he was going to fly low over the road to make sure it wasn't full of large rocks and then land. The Husares de Pueyrredon pilot nodded his understanding.

Clete pushed the nose down and headed for the road. At probably three hundred feet, using the cloud of dust as a wind sock, he decided that he had gotten lucky. By flying into the prevailing wind, which was the way you were supposed to do it, he would end his landing roll right in front of the Mercedes.

He could see nothing on the road that would keep him from landing, and also that the passengers in the Mercedes were looking up at him incredulously.

He went around, came in low and slow--and touched down.

The Mercedes was two hundred meters down the road. General Rawson got out, tugged on the skirt of his tunic, and then, with his back to the Mercedes, checked his pistol.

He had shown it to Clete just before they had taken off. It was a pretty little Colt short-barreled revolver chambered for the .32 Police cartridge. Clete thought it would probably be about as lethal as the Red Ryder Daisy BB gun he had been given for his fifth birthday.

He reached onto the floor of the Cub and picked up his Model 1911A1 .45 semiautomatic pistol and slipped that into the pocket of his JACKET. LEATHER, NAVAL AVIATORS W/FUR COLLAR, and then, to be sure he wasn't going to be out-gunned, took a Thompson .45 ACP submachine gun from where he had propped it between the fuselage skin and the instrument panel.

By then the other Cub was down, and General Nervo and the pilot--who looked more than a little nervous--had walked up to them.

Colonel Schmidt and several officers were standing in front of the Mercedes. They were wearing Wehrmacht steel helmets. Clete remembered that the first time he'd ever seen a picture of his father--Colonel Graham had shown it to him in the hotel in Hollywood--his father had been dressed just like this.

"Do we go there, or what?" Nervo asked.

"I'm the president of the Argentine Republic," Rawson said softly. "People come to me."

A very long sixty seconds later, the officers with Colonel Schmidt came to attention and marched toward the people standing by the airplanes.

"Do you think they've spotted the president?" Nervo asked quietly.

"We'll soon find out," Rawson himself answered.

The expression on el Coronel Schmidt's face didn't change even when he was so close to Rawson that it would have been impossible not to recognize him.

Schmidt saluted. Rawson returned it.

"All right, Colonel," Rawson said. "If you have an explanation, I'm ready to hear it."

"Mi general," Schmidt said, "I very much regret that I must ask you to consider yourself under arrest pending court-martial."

Clete saw that one of the officers with Schmidt--there were four of them--had his hand in his overcoat pocket.

That sonofabitch has one of those toy Colt revolvers in there!

"Arrest? Court-martial? I'll remind you, Colonel, that I am the president of the Argentine Republic."

"You are a traitor to the Argentine Republic, Gen--"

He did not get to finish the sentence. Seven 230-grain, solid-point bullets from Don Cletus Frade's Thompson struck him in his midsection, from just above his crotch on his right side to just below his shoulder joint on his left.

Schmidt fell backward.

Clete turned the Thompson on the officer he thought might have a little Colt revolver and, just as the pistol cleared the officer's pocket, put four rounds of .45 in him.

"Cletus! My God!" President Rawson exclaimed. "What have you done?"

"He kept us alive is what he did," Nervo said.

Nervo now had his pistol drawn.

"On the ground, the rest of you, or you're dead!" Cletus ordered, gesturing with the muzzle of the Thompson.

The others dropped to the ground, one of them trying without success to keep away from the blood now leaking from the bodies of el Coronel Schmidt and the man who had tried to use his little Colt revolver.

Clete turned to the pilot of the second Cub, who was ashen-faced.

"What you're going to do, Lieutenant, is first get yourself together, then go halfway to that convoy, put your hands on your hips, and bellow 'Senior noncommissioned officer, front and center,' or words to that effect. And when he presents himself, bring him to me."

The lieutenant didn't move.

"Lieutenant, do what Don Cletus has ordered," President Rawson said.

The lieutenant straightened, then walked around the bodies on the ground and toward the convoy.

Three minutes later, the lieutenant returned, following a large, middle-aged man who had a Thompson hanging from his shoulder.

Next time, Lieutenant, you might think of taking his fucking weapon away from him!

The man saluted. "Mi general, Suboficial Mayor Martinez of the 10th Mountain Regiment reporting as ordered."

Rawson returned the salute and then looked at Cletus with an Okay, now what? look on his face.

"Sergeant Major," Clete said, "I am Major Cletus--"

"I know who you are, Don Cletus," Suboficial Mayor Martinez said. "Enrico has been my lifelong friend. It was I who called him to warn him that el Coronel Schmidt was coming to your house in Tandil."

"With God as your witness, you are loyal to General Rawson?" Clete asked.

"With God as my witness, mi general."

"Suboficial Mayor," General Rawson said, "if I ordered you to take the regiment back to San Martin de los Andes, with these officers under arrest, what would you do?"

"I would have the regiment turned and moving in five minutes, mi general."

"Do it, Suboficial Mayor," General Rawson ordered.

As they watched Suboficial Mayor Martinez march away, Nervo said, "What do we do about Peron, Mr. President?"

"You go to Bariloche in the other Cub and place him in protective custody. Suggest to him that he return to Buenos Aires as soon as possible. Arrange things so that 'as soon is possible' is tomorrow. Not before. By that time, I should have things straightened out, at least to the point where I can make an intelligent decision about how to deal with el Coronel Peron."

He turned to Cletus. "Let's go, Cletus. Now that you've saved my life, the sooner I can get to Buenos Aires, the better."

Clete looked at Nervo.

"Have a good time in Bariloche, General."

Nervo smiled. "And you in Buenos Aires. Don't think you're going to be able to relax, Don Cletus. I have a feeling we're all going to be very busy very soon."