Victory and Honor

[ONE]

Casa Montagna Estancia Don Guillermo Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60 Mendoza Province, Argentina 1550 14 May 1945

Casa Montagna had been built by Clete’s Granduncle Guillermo after he returned from a tour of Tuscany and had had an out-of-character very good year at both the Hipódromo and the poker tables at the Jockey Club.

“In other words, damn the expense!”

Casa Montagna had been built on a natural plateau two thousand feet above the vineyards of the estancia. Carving a road up to it out of the granite of the foothills of the Andes had taken two years. The last—upper—kilometer of the road was so steep it had to be taken in a vehicle’s lowest gear.

The plateau was perhaps three hundred meters wide and two hundred meters long. A low stone wall on three sides kept people and animals from falling off the mountain.

The main house was built of natural stone and stood three stories tall. The third floor had dormer windows, and the red tile roof extended over a verandah whose pillars were covered with roses. From the front of the house, there was an unobstructed view of the Andes Mountains. The rear of the house was against what anywhere else would be called “the mountain” but here was referred to as “the hill.”

Enrico Rodríguez had told Clete that Clete’s mother had loved Casa Montagna, and also that it had been her last home in Argentina. It was from Casa Montagna that his parents had left to catch the train in Mendoza for Buenos Aires, and from there the ship that took them to New Orleans, where she had died in childbirth.

El Coronel Frade had never set foot in Casa Montagna again.

Clete Frade led Peter and Alicia von Wachtstein, Karl Boltitz, Beth Howell, and Enrico Rodríguez into the bar.

They found—sitting around tables holding a collection of bottles of various intoxicants and plates of cheese and sausage—Major Madison R. Sawyer III, Master Sergeant Siggie Stein, the Reverend Francisco Silva, S.J., Wilhelm Fischer, Otto Körtig, Ludwig Stoll, and el Subinspector General Pedro Nolasco. Pouring wine at the bar was the estancia’s manager, el Señor Pablo Alvarez.

“I was under the impression that cocktail hour began at seventeen hundred,” Cletus Frade announced sternly, hoping he sounded like an indignant lieutenant colonel who had just caught his subordinates at the sauce when they should have been about their duties.

Except for a few smiles and chuckles, he was ignored.

Sawyer, Stein, and Fischer quickly rose and, their hands extended, went to von Wachtstein and Boltitz. That civilized gesture quickly degenerated into hugs and embraces.

“I now believe it,” Körtig said. “I never thought you’d get away with getting them. Clete, you are truly an amazing man.”

“Please tell that to my wife, Otto,” Clete said.

Frade sat down beside Körtig, offered his hand to Pedro Nolasco and then to Stoll.

“If you would be so good, Ludwig,” he said. “Hand me that bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon before Pedro gets into it again.”

When the hugs and back-patting were over—as if suddenly remembering their manners—Boltitz and von Wachtstein, with their women following them, came to the table where Clete sat with Körtig.

Körtig and Stoll stood up.

“I know who you are, of course,” Körtig said. “But not which is who.”

Peter came to attention, clicked his heels, nodded, and said, “Peter von Wachtstein, Herr Oberstleutnant.”

Pedro Nolasco’s eyebrows rose.

Clete thought: I wonder how long it’s going to take to get Peter to get that Pavlovian reaction out of his system.

Körtig put out his hand. “I was privileged to be a friend of both your father and Claus von Stauffenberg, von Wachtstein. I’m very glad to see you here.” He paused and added, “Where we rarely come to attention and click our heels.”

Otto, Clete thought, you’re reading my mind.

“And where I am known as el Señor Körtig,” Niedermeyer finished.

“That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?” von Wachtstein asked after a moment’s reflection.

After pausing long enough to make it clear that he agreed with von Wachtstein’s assessment of his own behavior, Körtig then gestured at Stoll. “My deputy at Abwehr Ost, the former Hauptmann Ludwig Wertz, now known as el Señor Stoll.” Körtig paused, then asked, “And by what name are you now known?”

God, Clete thought admiringly, you’re a good officer!

“His own,” Clete answered for him. “When he and Boltitz got off the plane from the United States, Father Silva’s boss—the Black Pope’s nuncio to Argentina, otherwise known as Father Welner—”

Subinspector General Nolasco laughed. He had told Clete the head of the Society of Jesus was known as “The Black Pope.”

“—handed them libretas de enrolamiento in their own names, stating they’d immigrated here before the war,” Clete finished.

“How do you do, Señor Körtig?” Boltitz asked.

“And I knew your father, too. I presume this charming young woman is la Señora Boltitz?”

“The charming young woman is the Baroness von Wachtstein,” Clete said, then pointed. “That one is my sister, Beth, who has high hopes that Boltitz will eventually make an honest woman of her.”

“I can’t believe you said that!” Beth said. And then added, “You sonofabitch!”

Nolasco laughed again.

All the Germans—especially Boltitz—looked uncomfortable.

“She loves me unconditionally, as you may have just heard,” Clete said. “Beth, see if you can say ‘hello’ nicely to the gentlemen.”

“Before we get down to serious drinking,” Frade announced when the handshaking was over, “I think we have to get into how the surrender in Europe is going to affect things here. There have been some interesting developments, some concerning U-boats that may or may not be headed here. Karl and Peter have already heard all this; there’s no reason for them to hear it again. Enrico, why don’t you give them a tour of the place and show them what’s changed while they were in Fort Hunt? Give us two hours or so.”

Frade exchanged glances with Boltitz.

That should be enough time for you and Beth to figure out how to be alone.

[TWO]

Casa Montagna Estancia Don Guillermo Mendoza Province, Argentina 1810 14 May 1945

It had taken all of the two hours that Frade had guessed it would, but the conclusion drawn by all was essentially that nothing, for the moment, was really changed by the unconditional surrender of the Thousand-Year Reich. Until they heard from Colonel Gehlen and learned what was going to happen to what they now called the “Gehlen organization,” they would have to wait and see what happened next. And the U-boats were a wild card that they could do nothing about—even if they did exist—until more intel could be collected.

For now at Casa Montagna, the Gehlen Nazis would remain in their comfortable imprisonment. Father Silva would continue his efforts to see that the wives and their children who didn’t wish to be eventually returned to Germany were absorbed into the society of Argentina. And Subinspector General Nolasco would continue to ensure that the Gehlen Nazis didn’t try to vanish into Argentine society.

Clete found himself at the bar with a glass of Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon in hand, wondering about the moral implications of his having arranged for Beth to finally jump into bed with Karl Boltitz. And wondering what was going to happen to them.

It’s a given that they will get married, probably as soon as Cletus Marcus Howell can get down here from the States.

But then what?

Unlike Peter von Wachtstein, who had a marketable skill—he would go to work for SAA as a pilot—and had successfully moved to Argentina most of his family’s portable assets, Karl Boltitz had neither marketable skills nor a nest egg. Karl was a naval intelligence officer, and not only were the vessels of the Kriegsmarine—what was left of them—almost certainly going to be scuttled, but the Kriegsmarine no longer would need an intelligence officer.

Clete knew that, while Boltitz didn’t have a dime, money itself wasn’t a problem. Beth was independently wealthy, although he didn’t think her mother had told her just how wealthy.

The problem was Karl’s honor. He was a proud man. It had never entered Clete’s mind that Karl had considered Beth’s finances when making his first pass at her—or, perhaps more correctly, when she, which seemed entirely likely, had made her first pass at him. But he was entirely capable of being able to refuse to enter a marriage in his penniless status. And even if Beth could get him to the altar, Karl would feel ashamed.

While Boltitz was a very good intelligence officer, the only places where he could use those skills now would be in something like the Gehlen organization or the OSS. But the OSS was going down the toilet, very possibly taking the Gehlen organization with it.

Especially if Secretary of the Treasury Morgenthau hears about the Gehlen organization.

Frade had just decided that about the only thing that could be done was for him to talk to Otto Körtig and see if he had any ideas when he became aware that Siggie Stein had joined him at the bar.

Stein came right to the point.

“Colonel, can I go to Germany with you?”

“Why the hell would you want to do that?” Frade said.

“I’ll tell you, sir. But it doesn’t make much sense, even to me.”

“Give it a shot, Siggie.”

“I started to think about Germany a couple of weeks ago, after I saw that picture of General Patton taking a leak in the Rhine.”

And now you want to take a piss in the Rhine?

Well, why the hell not?

You’re certainly entitled to a little revenge.

“And then Mother Superior told me a story about Nazis in Chile,” Stein said.

“Go over that again, Siggie?”

“Truth being stranger than fiction, we’ve become pretty close. She comes up here a couple of nights a week and we kill a couple of bottles of wine.”

“A couple of bottles of wine? In here?”

“Yeah, Colonel, a couple of bottles of wine. But not here in the bar; we go to the radio room. I moved in there . . .”

The radio room was a small apartment on the upper floor of the Big House.

Frade raised an eyebrow and said, “I didn’t know that you moved out of the BOQ.”

“I think the officers were glad when I did.”

“Polo included?”

Frade sipped his wine and thought, If he’s been looking down his commissioned officer’s nose at Stein, I’ll ream him a new asshole.

“No. Not Major Sawyer. When I moved out of the BOQ, he even asked me if I had a problem. I told him no, that I moved out because I wanted to.”

“Any Kraut officer in particular?”

“It’s not what you’re suggesting, Colonel. Nothing overt. They were just as uncomfortable as officers having me in there as I was at a sergeant being in the BOQ.”

Stein saw the angry look on Frade’s face.

“Let it go, Colonel, please,” he said.

“You were telling me about Mother Superior’s drinking problem,” Frade said.

Stein laughed. “Her problem is that she thinks it sets a bad example for the nuns if they see her having a couple of glasses of wine. So she’s been doing it alone in her room at the convent. Drinking alone is no fun.”

“The officers didn’t like drinking with you, either? Is that where you’re going, Siggie?”

“I didn’t like drinking with the officers, so I did most of my drinking in the radio room. Then, one time she came to see me and I was having a little sip. Nice polite Jewish boy that I am, I offered her one. She took it, then took another one. The next time she came to the radio room, she brought some cheese and salami. We had another couple of belts together. That’s the way it started.”

“You said she said something about Nazis in Chile?”

“According to her, she was working at the Little Sisters’ Hospital in Santiago when this happened.”

“When what happened?”

“They call it the Seguro Obrero Massacre,” Stein said. “That’s the building that houses the health insurance ministry, or something like that.”

“What kind of a massacre?” Frade asked as he pulled the cork from another bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Nazis.”

“Who did the Nazis massacre?”

“The Nazis got massacred. She said what happened was that a Chilean Nazi—they called themselves ‘Nazistas’—named Jorge González von Marées got a bunch of college kids, and people that age, all fired up about National Socialism and Adolf Hitler, and they tried to stage a putsch.”

“When did this happen?”

“In 1938. Mother Superior was there filling in as a doctor in the emergency room at the Little Sisters’ Hospital in Santiago. Same order of nuns as here.”

Frade nodded as he topped off his glass and then slid the bottle to Stein.

“So,” Siggie said as he poured himself a glass, “what happened when this Nazi zealot did that . . . Wait. ‘Zealot’ is a really bad choice of word. The Zealots were Jewish warriors in Judea trying to throw the Romans out in the first century; they killed a lot of Romans because they just wouldn’t give up.”

They tapped glasses and took sips.

“Really nice wine,” Stein said, and went on: “Anyway, what this Chilean Nazi idiot did was convince about sixty of these young guys that all they had to do was take over a building at the university and the Seguro Obrero building and the people would rush to support them and National Socialism would come to Chile.

“According to Mother Superior, they could have caused real trouble, but while they probably didn’t stand a chance of taking over the country, they would have become heroic martyrs.”

“Exactly what did these Chilean Nazi lunatics do?”

“About half of them took over a building at the university, and the other half took over the health insurance building. The cops—they call them ‘carabineros’; they carry carbines—surrounded both buildings. Then the army sent a couple of cannons to the university building and fired a couple of rounds.

“The lunatics at the university surrendered. The cops—or maybe the army—then told them that what was going to happen now was that the lunatics were going to go to the health insurance building and convince the lunatics there that what they should do is surrender before anybody else got hurt.

“This made sense to the lunatics—they could see themselves being marched off to the slam while people cheered them, where they would be tried, jailed for a couple of months, and then be remembered all their lives as the heroes who brought Nazism to Chile with their bravery.

“So off they went to the health insurance building, where they talked the other lunatics into surrendering. When the others put down their weapons, the lunatics from the university were marched into the building, chased up the stairways, and then shot and/or bayoneted.”

“All of them?”

“Mother Superior was there with the ambulances from the hospital. She saw officers going around making sure they were all dead.” Stein mimed someone holding a pistol. “Pop. You’re dead.”

“After they surrendered, they were killed?” Frade said.

“Somebody with power—I’d like to think it was a Jew, but there’s no telling—thought, ‘Now, wait a minute. If we just arrest these people, they’ll be back. On the other hand, if they resist and they all die, that would be unfortunate, but that would mean they won’t be causing any more trouble.’”

“Mother Superior agrees with that theory?”

“She knows that’s what happened. What she can’t understand is why I think it was a good idea.”

“Neither can I. That sounds like cold-blooded murder.”

“Colonel, what were you thinking when you turned your Thompson on Colonel—whatsisname? Schmidt?—and his officers?”

“I was thinking if any one of them managed to get their pistols out, they were going to shoot me.”

“That’s all?”

“Look, later, when I was trying to justify to myself shooting Schmidt, I managed to convince myself that I had also saved General Farrell’s life, and Pedro Nolasco’s.”

“And that’s all?” Stein pursued.

It took Frade a moment to reply.

“Okay, Siggie. I’m apparently very good when it comes to justifying what I’ve done that I’m not especially proud of. I told myself that I was responsible for turning the Tenth Mountain Regiment around, which meant they would not get into a firefight with the Húsares de Pueyrredón and that meant a lot of Schmidt’s troops and a lot of Húsares would not get killed. And that—I just said I’m really good at coming up with justifications—there wouldn’t be a civil war where a lot of innocent people would get killed. By the time I was finished, I had just about convinced myself that I was really Saint George and Schmidt was the evil dragon.”

Stein nodded. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Colonel. You did the right thing, and so did whoever ordered that the Chilean Nazis be killed. That stopped the Nazi movement in its tracks in Chile. God knows how many people would have been killed if the Nazis had taken over the country.”

“Why does this massacre make you want to go to Germany?”

“I told you, Colonel, I don’t understand it, but it does.”

“You’re not thinking of doing something more than pissing in the Rhine?”

“Say, shooting Nazis so they can’t rise Phoenix-like from the ashes?”

“That thought did run through my mind, Siggie.”

“No, sir,” Stein said, then went on: “Don’t look for some nice explanation why I can’t go with you, Colonel. All you have to say is ‘No way.’”

“Whatever happened to that Leica camera you used at Tandil?”

“I’ve still got it. You want it?”

“I don’t know who Perón is sending to Germany with me, and I don’t know who I’m going to bring back from Germany. And he’s not going to tell me. But if I had photographs I could show Nolasco, Martín, and as far as that goes, Körtig . . .”

“I’ll go get the camera.”

“No. You can just bring it with you when we go to Germany. You’ll go as the radio operator. In an SAA uniform.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

“When we finish this bottle of wine, Sergeant, get on the radio to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. Tell Schultz what’s going on. Tell him to get blank OSS ID cards out of the safe and have them made out for von Wachtstein and Boltitz by the time we get there tomorrow. You still have yours, right?”

“Yes, sir. But you told me those IDs are not real . . .”

“They’re not. But people don’t know that. And in our business, Sergeant Stein, what people don’t know usually hurts them.”

[THREE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 1305 15 May 1945

As the Red Lodestar, with Peter von Wachtstein at the controls, made its approach to the airfield, then smoothly touched down, Clete thought, There are some people born to be pilots, and ol’ Hansel is one of them.

“Don’t worry,” Clete said, “with a little practice—four, five hours shooting touch-and-gos, you’ll eventually get the hang of it. I’ll show you the tricks.”

It went right over von Wachtstein’s head.

His face showed he thought he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Just kidding, Hansel.”

“Alicia and I are going to Doña Claudia’s,” von Wachtstein then said. “What about Karl and Beth?”

“That depends on where Beth’s mother is,” Clete said. “That’s where they’ll go.”

One of the drivers of the cars waiting for them told them that “las señoras” were all at Estancia Santa Catalina.

“Karl,” Frade said, “your call. When we get there, you and Beth can try to look innocent, or hang your heads in shame. Doesn’t matter. Martha Howell will see through it and make you both pay for your lewd and lascivious behavior.”

“Screw you!” Beth said.

There was a 1942 Chevrolet Master Deluxe sedan with diplomatic license plates parked in front of the Big House when Clete and Siggie Stein rolled up in one of the estancia’s station wagons.

Probably Tony Pelosi and/or Max Ashton, Clete decided, just before he decided, I guess Doña Alicia has been dropped from the roll of las señoras.

His wife was sitting on the side verandah with the U.S. Embassy “military attachés” Pelosi and Ashton, and someone he was surprised to see—Milton Leibermann, the “legal attaché” of the embassy. Their children were nowhere in sight.

“I thought you’d be with las señoras,” Clete said to his wife when all the handshaking and kissing were done.

“I didn’t think Milt came all the way out here from Buenos Aires just for the hell of it,” Dorotea said matter-of-factly.

Leibermann laughed.

“She’s good, Clete,” he said. “I didn’t. And neither did these two.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I asked Tony if I could borrow his embassy car to come out here, he said he’d drive me. And then Max sniffed something was up and found the time in his busy schedule to join us.”

“So, what’s up, Milt?”

“I got a letter from an old pal, a fellow Gangbuster, that I thought might be of interest to you.”

“A fellow Gangbuster?” Clete asked.

“That’s what we called ourselves when we were going through the FBI Academy,” Leibermann said. “There was a radio program at the time called Gangbusters. Allegedly based on the exploits of the New Jersey State Police under Colonel H. Norman Schwarzkopf.”

“I don’t understand,” Clete confessed.

“Read this,” Leibermann said, handing Frade a sheaf of typewriter paper. “I will then entertain questions.” Dear Milt:

For reasons which will become apparent as you read this, I really wish that instead of writing this in some haste, we were sitting—two old friends—across a table from one another. But that’s simply not possible under the circumstances.Let me start with the good news: You will shortly learn through normal channels that the Bureau’s Operation in Buenos Aires has been upgraded by Director Hoover from Foreign Station to Overseas Division, and that the Director has named you Chief thereof.That appointment comes with a substantial pay increase, of course, but this has all happened so suddenly that I just don’t know the details. When I have them, I will get them to you as soon as I can.The appointment also carries with it both much greater responsibility and authority than you were charged with as Special Agent in Charge Buenos Aires Station. The Section Chief, South America, is being informed today that effective immediately, Overseas Division, Argentina, will report directly to the Assistant Director for South America. Who just happens to be yours truly.While your outstanding performance of your duties certainly merits a promotion like this for you, I must in candor tell you that another reason for it was the Director’s realization that for you to be able to deal with the responsibilities you will now have you will require both more authority than you had as Special Agent in Charge and the appropriate senior title to go with them.

“Well, congratulations, Chief Leibermann,” Clete said when he had read the first page. “Who’s this from?”

“Clyde Holmes, the deputy director of FBI Operations,” Leibermann answered. “He’s probably number four in the Bureau hierarchy.”

“I’m impressed, and I think I may say, without fear of objection, that your promotion merits a celebratory libation. What would please you in that connection, Chief Leibermann?”

“A Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks, thank you, Colonel. But you better hold off on the congratulations until you have read the whole thing.”

Clete signaled for a maid and ordered her to bring the rolling bar onto the verandah.

“I presume, Chief, that I have your permission to share this bulletin of good fortune with my wife?”

“I think you all better read it,” Leibermann said matter-of-factly.

Clete handed the page he had read to Dorotea and started on the second page: In the conversation with the Director that set all this in motion, he said, “The end of the war in Germany means not that our work will be lessened, but rather increased, especially with regard to Soviet espionage in the United States.” Or words to that effect.Much of this centers around the past, present, and future operations of the Office of Strategic Services, which, the Director feels, will shortly be disbanded.The Director also stated that when the OSS is disbanded, he feels there will be an attempt by the Army, the Navy, and the State Department to absorb the OSS and its assets, and that doing so would be inimical to the Bureau’s ability to carry out its responsibilities, especially with regard to Soviet espionage.If you’ll give this a moment’s thought, Milt, you will see that the Director is again right on the money. The Army and the Navy are rightly concentrated on taking the war to Japan. In that connection, the Soviets are regarded as our allies. The State Department is trying very hard to get the Soviets to declare war on the Japanese.But the Director understands that the Bureau, in the discharge of its responsibilities, must look beyond the obvious and consider the realities.The Director feels that the most unpleasant of these realities is that the most dangerous enemy the United States is facing is the Soviet Union, closely followed by very senior officers in the government who are unable, or unwilling, to face this fact and act accordingly.The Bureau knows that our “Soviet allies” have been conducting intensive espionage activities with regard to the Manhattan Project. The reason we know is twofold. First, we have of course for some time been conducting our own counterintelligence efforts. Secondly, parties unknown passed to us, quite literally under the door, an envelope containing the names of Soviet agents within the Manhattan Project.Some of these spies and traitors were already known to us, but six others were not. Further investigation by the Bureau revealed the six others are in fact Soviet espionage agents.Who slipped the envelope under the door?The Director believes the envelope came from Allen W. Dulles, the Assistant Director of the OSS for European Operations. Why the anonymous, surreptitious delivery?

“This guy seems to know what he’s talking about,” Clete said as he handed the second page to Dorotea.

“He generally does,” Leibermann said. “He’s a Mormon.”

“Excuse me?”

“A priest of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Leibermann explained. “They don’t drink or smoke, and while they bend the truth sometimes, they never lie. There’s a lot of them around J. Edgar Hoover.”

“I never heard that,” Clete said, and resumed reading the third page: The Director’s—and my—scenario here is that if Dulles had followed normal channels for the dissemination of intelligence such as this—in other words, if it had gone to OSS Director Donovan, who would then have made President Roosevelt privy to it—the results would have almost certainly been disastrous.It is impossible to say exactly what President Roosevelt would have done with the intelligence, or what President Truman would do with it now, except that once either had become privy to it, word would certainly have immediately reached the KGB First Directorate, via one or more of their subordinates, in a matter of days, even hours, and the Soviets would learn we were aware of their espionage activities and take the appropriate steps.Director Donovan would have been fully aware of this, but would have been duty bound to pass this intelligence to the President.It is entirely possible that Dulles decided that since passing the intelligence to Donovan would result in Donovan’s passing it to the President, the thing for him to do was simply not pass it to Donovan.But what to do with it?Slip it under the FBI’s door and place the burden of deciding whether or not to pass it to the President on the Director’s shoulders.This brings us to the point of this.The Director is not about to pass to the President any intelligence as significant as this without knowing both how accurate it is and where it came from. What he has done is to go unofficially to President Roosevelt and, now, President Truman and tell them he has unconfirmed intelligence he believes is accurate that the KGB First Directorate has successfully penetrated the Manhattan Project.President Roosevelt’s reaction was disbelief that our Soviet allies would do something like that.I’m sure, Milt, that you have heard how ill President Roosevelt was in the last months of his life.The Director informed President Truman of the strong possibility that the Manhattan Project has been penetrated by the KGB First Directorate immediately after General Groves informed the President of the purpose of the Manhattan Project, that is, the day after President Roosevelt expired. The President responded by saying the Director should confirm what intelligence he has.Obviously, therefore the Bureau has to determine the source of the intelligence slipped under the door.One strong possibility is that it came from German sources; Mr. Dulles is strongly suspected to have been in contact with enemy officials and officers before the surrender. If this is true, and if it became known to senior officials of the administration, Secretary Morgenthau in particular, they would have demanded to know the details of the meetings. If Director Donovan was not informed of all, or some of these meetings, he could not answer such questions.

“This guy really does know what he’s talking about,” Clete said as he handed Dorotea that page. He saw that Dorotea had handed what she had read to Siggie Stein, and that Tony Pelosi was anxiously waiting for his turn.

“He usually does,” Leibermann said.

“Why did you say he was a priest?” Clete asked as he took his first look at the next page.

“All adult male saints are priests,” Leibermann said.

Clete nodded, then looked at the next sheet. “And here I am!” This brings us back to Mr. Dulles and more particularly to Lieutenant Colonel Frade of the OSS. Although OSS Director Donovan has more than once referred to Frade in unofficial conversations with the Director and yours truly as “my loose cannon in Argentina” and other similarly derogatory terms, both the Director and I feel he’s more important than this; that General Donovan may have been indulging in a little disinformation.

“J. Edgar Hoover and your priest buddy,” Clete said, “seem to feel I’m more than a loose cannon. Should I be flattered or worried?”

“Both,” Leibermann said with a chuckle. The Director and I began to connect the dots. The process intensified when we heard that the President had ordered the sale of a fleet of Constellation aircraft to South American Airways, and that Frade was Managing Director of SAA.We learned further that the business arrangements for the financing of this sale were handled by the New York law firm of Sullivan & Cromwell, specifically by John Foster Dulles, whose brother is OSS Deputy Director Allen W. Dulles.The Bureau’s learning that Lieutenant Colonel Frade’s SAA had established commercial air service between Buenos Aires and Lisbon roughly coincided with an informal request by Treasury Secretary Morgenthau that the Director look into what he described as “credible rumors” that large numbers of Nazis were already leaving Germany for sanctuary in Argentina, in some cases with the assistance of the Vatican.From other sources, the Director has learned that in the last months of the war, a number of officers of Abwehr Ost, the section of German intelligence dealing with the Soviet Union, had mysteriously disappeared from their posts and were rumored to be, together with their families, headed for sanctuary in Argentina. There has been no report—and the Army’s CounterIntelligence Corps has been on special alert to look for anyone connected with Abwehr Ost—of anyone so connected being taken as a POW or found, including the Abwehr Ost commander General Reinhard Gehlen.

Jesus H. Christ! Frade thought. Has Morgenthau actually sniffed out the Gehlen Op? If so, it’s our worst nightmare come true.

How soon before his sword falls on our necks?

He said, “I wonder who these ‘other sources’ who told him about Abwehr Ost are.”

“Write this down, Clete,” Leibermann said. “Never underestimate the FBI. Where is Gehlen, Clete?”

This is not the time to wonder whose side Leibermann is on.

“I don’t know. I suppose the OSS has him somewhere in Germany. If Dulles knows, he didn’t tell me. I guess I’ll find out when I get to Germany.”

“Which will be when?”

“We leave tomorrow. The Argentine Foreign Ministry has chartered an SAA plane to take a replacement diplomatic crew over there and to bring the diplomats there back. I think that’s bullshit, and there is another purpose, probably including sneaking some more Nazis back here.”

“And what about the rumor that some of this General Gehlen’s people are already here in Argentina?”

“I’ve got about twenty of the Nazi element thereof comfortably locked up at Casa Montagna.”

“And the non-Nazi element?”

“Some of them want to stay; they’re being integrated into Argentine society. The ones that want to go back—or go somewhere else—are in hotels and ski lodges.”

“How do you tell the difference between the Nazis and the others?”

“The good Gehlen Germans shoot the Nazis on sight.”

“Is that what happened to von Deitzberg?”

Clete nodded. Niedermeyer, carrying an identity document in the name of Otto Körtig, had shot SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg in the men’s room of the Edelweiss Hotel in San Carlos de Bariloche—an act that both removed a severe threat to the OSS and proved whose side Niedermeyer/Körtig was on.

Leibermann said: “I was about to ask why the OSS is being so good to General Gehlen, but why don’t I hold off until you’ve read some more?”

Clete’s eyes went back to the message: And finally there is the May tenth “escape” from the Fort Hunt Senior POW Interrogation Center of two German officers who had been attached to the German embassy in Buenos Aires. When informally approached by the Director, who had learned that the two had been taken from the facility by a Marine Lieutenant Colonel named Frade, General Donovan replied that while the OSS had nothing to do with it, he was not surprised or even especially upset by what had happened. He said that both officers had not only been “turned” by Frade, but that both had been closely associated with the bomb plot to kill Hitler. He said that the father of one of them, a German general, had been hung with piano wire from a butcher’s hook for his role in the failed assassination plot.General Donovan also told the Director that he doubted Colonel Frade would obey an order to come to the United States to answer for his actions. Donovan told the Director that Frade has had some “unfortunate experiences,” which he did specify, with officers of the OSS and trusts “only Colonel Graham.” Donovan said, “It is much harder to get a young bull back into the barn than it is a cow.”Donovan says Frade enjoys dual citizenship, and under Argentine law, its citizens may not be extradited. And General Donovan suggested there would probably be reluctance to court-martial Frade on any charge but murder, as he’s been awarded the Navy Cross and became an ace on Guadalcanal.The Director found it interesting that Donovan included neither Mr. Dulles nor himself with regard to those whom Frade trusts, and feels this suggests Donovan is not aware of the close relationship between Mr. Dulles and Frade.General Donovan also told the Director he knows of no OSS activities by anyone involving the Gehlen organization. The Director often says that while he and General Donovan often disagree, they never lie to one another.

“Your Gangbuster pal is right about that, too, Milt. Donovan does not know about the deal Dulles struck with Gehlen,” Clete said.

“Which is?”

“Gehlen turns over everything Abwehr Ost has—including agents in place in the Kremlin—to the OSS in exchange for keeping his people, and their families, out of the hands of the Russians.”

“Read on, Clete,” Leibermann said, and nodded once at the sheets of paper. I’m sure I don’t have to connect the dots for you, Milt, but let me tell you the scenario the Director has reached, with these very important caveats. First, the patriotism of Mr. Dulles and Lieutenant Colonel Frade is beyond question. Second, the interest of the Bureau is solely to protect the United States from Soviet espionage, with the emphasis here on absolutely ensuring the Soviets do not gain access to the secrets of the Manhattan Project.The Director believes we can proceed on the following premises:That for the reason given—that any information General Donovan passed to President Roosevelt or President Truman now would soon be known to the Soviets—both Colonel Graham and Mr. Dulles (most likely together) decided that their oath to protect the Constitution from all enemies, foreign and domestic, gave them the authority to not give to General Donovan certain information.The Director believes this was a very difficult decision for them to make, as he knows both of them hold General Donovan in the highest possible personal and professional regard. The Director personally feels that if General Donovan were in the shoes of either Dulles or Graham, he would have done as they did.The damage to the OSS and to Mr. Dulles and Colonel Graham if any of this came out would be cataclysmic and would spill over to the Bureau and the Director personally. There are powerful figures in the government who would hold that if the Bureau or the Director personally even suspected anything like this, it would be the FBI’s duty to bring it to the attention of the President.The Director believes there is a strong possibility that Mr. Dulles has established a relationship with General Gehlen. This would neatly explain where he got the names of the Soviet agents who have infiltrated the Manhattan Project, and why they were “slipped under the door” to the Bureau. It would also explain the disappearance of Gehlen’s officers in the latter months of the war. The rumor that they have found sanctuary in Argentina becomes a credible scenario if one considers they may have been flown there from Lisbon on Frade’s SAA aircraft.The question then becomes, “Why would Dulles do something like that?”Gehlen had something Dulles wanted, and offered to exchange it for Dulles arranging to have his officers and their families taken to sanctuary FROM THE SOVIETS in Argentina. That has to be intelligence, possibly even assets, German agents in place in the Soviet Union. Gehlen knew the war was lost and that when inevitably Abwehr Ost fell into the hands of the Soviets he and his people—including their families—would be interrogated under torture and then eliminated.He knew that somewhere in the United States there was a person or persons who regarded the Soviet Union as a serious threat to the United States, and who would accordingly place a high value on Gehlen’s intelligence assets, and who could arrange the sanctuary he was after in exchange for them.It is also possible, of course, and an equally credible scenario that Mr. Dulles went to Gehlen and made the advance himself. If this was the case, he was the man Gehlen was looking for.The Director, who is fully aware of the furor that would erupt in the United States if such a deal became known, nevertheless feels that Mr. Dulles has acted in a courageous, patriotic manner.

“At the risk of repeating myself, Milt, this Mormon pal of yours is very good,” Clete said as he handed another page of the letter to Dorotea.

“At the risk of repeating myself, never underestimate the FBI. Read on—you’re almost through.” The question now becomes, “What’s going to happen to the Gehlen assets?” Compounding this question, “Especially since the OSS is about to go out of existence?”This brings us to your mission, Milt, my old friend, something we would have considered a fantasy, if we ever considered it at all, in our days at the Academy.You are to get to Mr. Dulles, obviously through Frade, and convince him first that if we know what he’s been up to, eventually, sooner or later, probably later, but inevitably, so will the Army Intelligence, Naval Intelligence, and the State Department.And when that happens—and/or when the OSS is incorporated into one of the above on its dissolution—the Gehlen data and personnel will be compromised.This doesn’t even get into what will happen to Mr. Dulles or Lieutenant Colonel Frade when their activities become known. The Director is sure they have considered at length all the many unpleasant scenarios of what will happen to them.The obvious place to put the Gehlen assets is with the Bureau.For that matter, the obvious thing to do with the OSS on its dissolution is to incorporate it into the Bureau, but that’s a subject that can be dealt with later.The Director would like Mr. Dulles to consider that the Director is far better equipped to refuse to divulge the sources of his information than Mr. Dulles is. And more importantly, the Director is better equipped than anyone else to keep them from falling into the hands of the Soviets.The Director is willing—more precisely, eager—to meet with Mr. Dulles or Lieutenant Colonel Frade at any place of their choosing to discuss this personally.Obviously, the less about this matter committed to paper, the better. Your reports on this matter will be relayed verbally to Bureau special agents visiting the Embassy in Buenos Aires covertly as diplomatic couriers, et cetera, who will identify themselves to you by introducing the phrase “loose cannon” into their conversation.In consideration of the above, old buddy, when you’ve read this several times, you’d better put a match to it.Looking forward to seeing you soon, Fellow Gangbuster.Best,

Frade looked at Leibermann, sighed audibly, then said, “Milt, you didn’t have to show us this letter; you could have just come out here and told me Donovan wants to meet with Dulles. So far as that goes, there must be a ‘legal attaché’ in Bern who could have gone to Dulles directly. What’s going on?”

“Multiple question,” Leibermann said. “Where to start? Let me start by saying that Clyde Holmes and I are not old buddies. And that I think he thinks I’m even more stupid than is the case. Which sort of annoys me. That promotion is bullshit. I don’t suppose you know how the FBI works?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Well, for one thing, they don’t pay a hell of a lot of attention to civil service rules.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, just about everybody is a special agent, except for a favored few like inspectors and the directors. Special Agents in Charge are what it sounds like. But that’s a position title, not a rank. They get extra money—how much depending on the circumstances, which are determined by the assistant directors. A SAC in charge of an office with fifty agents gets paid more than a SAC in an office with five—as long as they hold that office. If they screw up, they are reassigned to another office as a special agent and get paid as a special agent with so many years of service.”

“And if they don’t screw up?

“Then they’re transferred from being a SAC of a five-man office to being SAC of one with, say, fifteen agents. That raises their pay. Knowing that they can get transferred at the whim of a deputy director upward, or downward, tends to keep people in line. You getting the picture?”

“I always thought the FBI was like the post office, cradle-to-grave security under civil service rules. How does the FBI get out from under the civil service?”

“First of all, no one complains. In large measure, the FBI system is basically fair; it rewards good work and punishes bad. Second, if some special agent decides he has been treated unfairly and goes to the Civil Service Commission, the investigator is shown pictures of him with some hooker and the suggestion is made that they will not be shown to his wife because he is known to be a friend of the FBI. Getting the picture?”

“I’m shocked. Really shocked. I’ve always thought of the FBI as Boy Scouts with guns.”

“A great many of them fit that description, Clete.”

“What you’re saying is that if your buddy found out you didn’t tell them the whole truth, you would have stopped being the SAC here and become . . .”

“A special agent in the Bullfrog Falls, Kansas, office, with a corresponding reduction in pay. Which would also have happened if my old buddy even knew I had been talking to you. And which will happen, I strongly suspect, however this thing turns out. I will be transferred to the Bullfrog, Kansas, office and encouraged to take my well-earned retirement. Retired special agents, like dead men, tell no tales.”

“Jesus, Milt!” Stein said.

“So, why are you here?” Frade asked.

Leibermann held up his hand and moved it back and forth.

Frade looked at him curiously.

“I’m waving the flag,” Leibermann said. “The last refuge of the scoundrel.”

“Explain that.”

“There’s a lot in Holmes’s letter that I agree with. Especially the threat the Russians pose. I don’t like them any more than I like the Germans. Even with what we hear about German concentration camps, the Russians have probably killed more Jews over the years.”

“My father used to say that,” Stein said softly. “When the Germans started in on the Jews, he said, ‘Germany is getting to be no better than Russia.’”

“I think the Russians have to be stopped, and it looks to me as if the only people who understand that, and are in a position to do anything about it, are J. Edgar Hoover and Allen Dulles.”

He waved his hand again.

“So, Clete, that explains why I’m here. Questions for you. Are you willing to go to Dulles with this?”

“Of course.”

“The first thing Dulles is going to think—correctly—is that Hoover, in addition to wanting everything Dulles has gotten, or is going to get from Gehlen, wants to take over the OSS. How’s he going to react to that?”

“I dunno,” Clete said. “Why doesn’t Hoover just make a play to take over the OSS himself? If they’re going to shut it down, the FBI would seem to me a logical place to put it.”

“I don’t think you understand that the reason the Army and the Navy want to take over the OSS is because that when it’s in their tent, they can really kill it. They don’t want it ever to come back. The OSS, running loose, has been a nightmare for them.”

“But Hoover doesn’t think it would be?”

“Hoover, rightly or wrongly, believes he could control it. And he thinks it would be useful. The Army and the Navy believe—I think they’re wrong—that they could have done whatever the OSS has done, and done it more efficiently, and under the wise thumb of the chief of staff and/or the chief of naval operations.”

“I don’t know when I’ll see Dulles again,” Clete said. “And I can’t go to Washington—he’s in Washington—because I have to go to Germany tomorrow. When I get there, I’ll get word to him that I’d like to see him. That’s the best I can do right now.”

“Well, if that’s it, that’s it,” Leibermann said.

“What are you going to tell this Holmes guy?” Clete asked.

“That when I went to see you tomorrow, I just missed you. That I was told you were flying to Lisbon and would be back in a week or ten days.”

“Okay,” Clete said.

“Max, are you about through doing that?” Leibermann asked.

Ashton was making a nice stack of all the pages of the letter from Deputy Director Holmes. After he had tapped it a final time on the arm of his chair, he carefully handed the stack to Leibermann.

Leibermann took one page, held it up, and then set it on fire with a Zippo lighter. When it was almost consumed, he took a second page from the stack and lit it from the first.

He continued this process until all the pages had been burned. No one on the verandah said a word while this was going on.

Then Leibermann turned to Frade.

“I will now have that Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks that you offered a while ago,” he said.