They went through it and found themselves in the passenger terminal.
There was no one in it except for two policemen sitting together, their legs crossed and extended, in a row of passenger waiting chairs.
There was a currency-exchange booth, closed, and even a new South American Airways ticket counter—the paint was fresh—but it, too, was closed. There was a brass bell on the counter—beneath a sign in Portuguese, Spanish, and English reading RING FOR SERVICE—yet banging on it proved fruitless.
Outside, there were three taxis, a Citroën and two Fiats, all small. Fitting twelve men—ten of them large—and their luggage into and on top of them was time-consuming. And then there was the problem of paying for the cabs when they arrived at the hotel.
Frade was reasonably certain that either Dulles or someone working for Dulles would be waiting at the hotel. He didn’t think Dulles would have wanted to be seen in public with the “Argentines.”
The hotel expected them. An assistant manager was summoned and he paid the cabdrivers. Then he bowed them into the hotel, where they went through the registry process. The desk clerk kept their passports, explaining that they would be returned when they checked out.
Frade didn’t like that much, but there was nothing he could do about it. Finally, he was handed a room key and two bellboys—and they were actually boys; they looked to be no older than twelve—bowed him onto an open elevator and took him to the third floor and down a corridor.
They bowed him into the room. He gestured for them to go first, then followed them.
“May I offer my most profound congratulations, Capitán,” Colonel A. F. Graham, USMCR, called in Spanish, “on your transatlantic flight, and also comment on how handsome you are in that splendiferous uniform?”
“Hear, hear,” Allen W. Dulles said.
Graham, in civilian clothing, was sitting with Dulles at a dining table. There were two bottles of wine on the table and a cooler held a bottle of champagne.
Frade was surprised to find the both of them. He wondered idly how Graham had traveled to Portugal.
“Handsome doesn’t have any money to tip the bellboys,” Frade said in Spanish, then walked to the table.
Dulles took a wad of currency from behind the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his somewhat baggy gray suit, peeled off several bills, and handed them to one of the bellboys. Then he extended about half of the money he had left to Frade.
“That should hold you for a little while,” Dulles said.
“Thank you,” Frade said, and picked up one of the wine bottles.
“That’s Monte do Maio,” Dulles offered. “Something like a Merlot. Very nice. Baron de Rothschild owns the vineyard.”
Frade poured wine into a glass, took a healthy sip, and then another.
Dulles asked, “How was the flight?”
“We made it,” Frade said.
Graham stood up and began to unwind the wire-bound cork of the champagne bottle.
“Did you actually, just before you took off, tell your passengers to put their heads between their knees and kiss their asses good-bye?” Graham asked.
“Who told you about that?”
“A Jesuit priest,” Dulles said. “And, as you should know, Cletus, while they have mastered the art of obfuscation, Jesuit priests never lie.”
“How the hell do you know Welner?” Clete blurted.
“That’s one of the things we need to talk about,” Dulles said. “But let’s wait until the colonel opens the champagne.”
“We have a lot to talk about,” Frade said.
At that moment, the cork came loudly out of the bottle and sailed across the room. Graham filled three glasses and passed two of them around.
“What are we celebrating?” Clete asked as they clinked glasses.
“You’ve been selected for the Naval Command and General Staff College,” Graham said. “How about that?”
“With respect, Colonel, I’m not in the mood.”
“To Cletus,” Dulles said.
“Cletus,” Graham said, and raised his glass.
“And to us,” Dulles said, looking at Graham.
Graham touched Dulles’s glass with his.
“Oh, how sweet it is to be proven right,” he said.
“Amen,” Dulles said.
They took a sip of the champagne.
“Do you think he’ll apologize?” Graham asked.
“I am not going to hold my breath,” Dulles replied.
Clete thought: What the hell?
Who’s not going to apologize?
And for what?
Dulles turned to Frade and said, “For your general fund of knowledge, Major Frade, in the opinion of our beloved chief, Wild Bill Donovan, the chances of your being able to pull off this trip ranged from negligible to zero.”
“Don’t let this go to your head, Major Frade,” Graham added, “but Allen and I are ever so grateful to you for proving Donovan wrong. That rarely happens.”
Graham and Dulles took another sip of the champagne.
“Semper Fidelis, Major,” Graham said. “Which reminds me: I have something from our beloved Corps for you.”
He handed Frade an envelope. Frade opened it and found a U.S. government check and a complicated form.
“Your back pay, Major. If you’ll endorse it, I’ll take it back to Washington and deposit it for you. It is suggested that you purchase War Bonds with twenty percent of the total as your personal contribution to the war effort.”
Clete shook his head and took a closer look at the form.
“Surprising me not at all, this is fucked up,” he said.
“How so?”
“No flight pay.”
“But you weren’t flying, were you? Not Marine aircraft . . .”
“Jesus! You’re kidding!”
“Not at all. But I checked that form. You did receive that munificent two-dollars-a-month payment that comes with your Distinguished Service Cross. Don’t be greedy, Major.”
Frade shook his head.
“And you are being paid six dollars per diem in lieu of rations and quarters from the day you volunteered for the OSS. That’s a nice chunk of change.”
“From which the sonsofbitches deducted the price of my watch,” Frade said, holding up his wrist, to which was strapped what the U.S. Navy described as Watch, Hamilton, Chronometer, Naval Aviators, w/strap, leather.
“The Corps didn’t give you that watch, Major,” Graham said. “They issued it to you for use while flying their airplanes. When you stopped doing that, the Corps naturally wanted it back, and when that didn’t happen, they presumed you had ‘lost’ it and deducted the price from your pay.”
Frade tossed the check and the accompanying forms on the table and then picked up one of the wine bottles. He grunted derisively as he expertly pulled the cork.
“And as I mentioned, Major Frade,” Graham said, “just as soon as you can be spared from your present duties, you have been selected to attend the Naval Command and General Staff College.”
Frade looked at him warily. “What is this? ‘Remind Frade he’s a serving officer’?”
“That’s part of it. It started out when the Marine Corps liaison officer—from Eighth and Eye; he keeps track of Marines in the OSS—came to me and asked when you could be expected to return from Brisbane.”
“From where?”
“Brisbane. It’s in Australia. Some people say ‘Down Under.’ This chap somehow got the idea that you are in Brisbane evaluating Marine fighter pilots’ after-action debriefings so that we may learn more about Japanese capabilities.”
“‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,’” Dulles quoted cheerily. “Sir Walter Scott, 1771 to 1832.”
“What the hell is that Brisbane nonsense all about?” Clete asked.
Graham ignored the question and went on:
“He told me about your selection for C&GSC, and that he was concerned that you hadn’t been paid since
September 1942. So I told him to have a pay-check cut and I would get it to you. And then, frankly, it did occur to me, Major Frade, that it was about time to remind you again that you are indeed a serving officer of the Marine Corps.”
“That wasn’t likely to slip my mind,” Frade said.
“Really? I’ve noticed that you haven’t used the word ‘sir’ very much—as a matter of fact, not once.”
“You’re giving the orders and I’m obeying them, but if you’re waiting for me to stand at attention and salute, don’t hold your breath.” He paused, chuckled, then added, “Sir.”
Dulles laughed.
Graham, after a pregnant pause, said, “Under the circumstances, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Okay, now that I’m here, now what?” Frade asked. “I think it’s time you finally tell me what the hell this is all about.”
“You haven’t guessed?” Dulles asked.
“I spent eight or nine hours just now watching the needles on the fuel gauges drop and guessing. The only answer I came up with is that it’s about time somebody told me.”
“That’s all?” Graham asked.
“When I saw the both of you, I guessed it was important. How did you get here, anyway?”
“Howard flew me to Sidi Slimane—an Air Force base in Morocco—in a Constellation.”
“Howard’s here?”
“He’s in Sidi Slimane. We brought some Lockheed people with us. Howard’s passing on some techniques to extend the range of the P-38 he got from Colonel Lindbergh. And we brought some Collins people with us to maintain the radio-direction-finding equipment.”
“Why is the U.S. government being so helpful to South American Airways? I seem to remember you telling me SAA wasn’t going to be connected with the OSS.”
“Maybe I should have said ‘directly connected,’ ” Graham said.
“I want to know what’s going on, Colonel,” Frade said. “That’s a statement, not a question.”
“Two things, Major Frade,” Graham said. “One, you’re not in a position to make statements; and, two, you don’t have the Need to Know.”
“Oh, hell,” Allen Dulles said. “Tell him, Alex.”
“Excuse me?” Graham asked icily.
“He does have the Need to Know, and you know it,” Dulles said.
“I don’t think so,” Graham said. “He already knows far more than he should.”
“That’s why, in my judgment, he has the Need to Know about what’s going on here.”
“I disagree,” Graham said.
“If you don’t tell him, I will,” Dulles said softly.
“The hell you will!” Graham exploded. “I forbid it!”
“It would be better if you told him,” Dulles said. “But if you don’t, I will. If I have to say this, I’m not subject to your orders.”
“Leave us alone for a moment, please, Major Frade,” Graham said.
“It would save time, Major Frade, if you stayed where you are,” Dulles said. “Because there is nothing Colonel Graham can say to me in private that would keep me from telling you what’s happening—and your role in it—when you came back.”
Graham’s face went white.
“Goddamn you, Allen!” he said.
“Your call, Colonel,” Frade said. “Do I leave or not?”
After a long moment, Graham said, “Put the cork back in that wine bottle and sit down.”
Frade did so.
“This is your call, Allen,” Graham said. “So tell him.”
“I would rather you did, Alex. But if you insist . . .”
“What specifically do you want to know, Major Frade?” Graham asked.
“Tell me what’s going on with SAA. Start there, please.”
Graham began: “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely—”
“John Edward Dalberg-Acton, First Baron Acton, 1834 to 1902,” Dulles offered.
Graham glowered at him for a moment, then chuckled.
“Princetonians, Major Frade,” Graham said, “among other obnoxious habits, never lose an opportunity to show off their erudition. You may want to write that down.”
Dulles chuckled.
Graham went on: “The case at hand being that of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Not only does he believe himself incapable of making a mistake in judgment, but considers anyone who dares challenge him to be disloyal and therefore to be punished.
“You’ve heard this before, I’m sure, but let me quickly recap it. Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh made the mistake of challenging FDR in several ways. First, he was active in the America First movement, which organization—headed by Senator Robert A. Taft—held that our involvement in a war in Europe would be disastrous.
“Next, while in Europe, prewar, he made the mistake of accepting an award for his contributions to aviation from fellow aviator—the former commander of the Richthofen Squadron, now commander of the Luftwaffe—Hermann Göring. Lindbergh compounded this grievous error by saying that in his judgment—and he was, after all, an Air Corps reserve colonel—the Luftwaffe was the best air force in the world, and not only because it was the largest.
“Such behavior, such disloyalty, could not be tolerated, of course. The first thing FDR did was tell the Air Corps they were not to call Colonel Lindbergh to active duty under any circumstances. Lindbergh then continued to work for Juan Trippe at Pan American Airways.
“This directed Roosevelt’s anger to Trippe. ‘How dare someone give employment to a scoundrel like Lucky Lindy?’ Trippe was told to fire him. He objected, and I understand there was a nasty scene before Trippe finally gave in to FDR’s wrath.
“Lindbergh then went to work for Lockheed.
“But Roosevelt was not finished with Trippe. How to punish the owner of an airline? By starting up another airline to compete with him. Where? What about Argentina? We have—that’s the regal ‘we,’ of course—the OSS down there, right? So FDR summons Wild Bill Donovan and tells him to have the OSS start up an airline; he will see the aircraft are provided.
“Donovan thought the idea was insane. And so did I when I heard about it. But Donovan knew better than to make an issue of it. Both of us are aware of the dangers of arguing with Roosevelt—which, incidentally, since we are making you privy to things you shouldn’t know, have grown more dangerous since FDR’s health is failing—so we arranged to have airplanes sent to Argentina and told you to set up an airline.
“At that time—as I didn’t want what I considered to be the airline nonsense to interfere with the other things you are doing down there—I told you there would be no OSS connection to your airline. But then . . .”
Graham paused and gestured for Dulles to pick up the narrative.
Dulles nodded and said, “Alex and I had rather urgent matters to discuss; we arranged to meet at an airfield in Newfoundland. Alex showed up in a Constellation flown by our mutual friend Howard. I had never seen one, nor knew anything of its capabilities. Once they had been explained to me, we decided that Constellations could be very useful to us.”
Graham picked up the narrative again: “If I had gone to General Arnold and asked for Constellations for the OSS, he probably would have laughed at me. But Donovan could see their potential value. So he went to FDR and very skillfully suggested that the way to really stick it to Juan Trippe was to provide the airline we already had in Argentina with aircraft with which they could fly all over South America—Constellations—and possibly even establish service across the Atlantic.
“Roosevelt was enchanted with the idea. So you got your Constellations.”
“And what am I supposed to do with them?” Frade asked.
“So far as Donovan and Roosevelt are concerned, all you are doing, so to speak, is rubbing Juan Trippe’s nose in the mud. SAA is flying scheduled service between South America and Europe; Pan American is not. When the war is over, SAA will have a tremendous advantage over Pan American.”
“And as far as you two are concerned?”
Frade asked.
“That’s what Colonel Graham has wisely changed his mind about telling you,” Dulles said. “Recognizing not only that you do, in fact, have the Need to Know, but that it would not be wise to keep you in the dark.”
“About what? You’re implying that Donovan doesn’t know.”
“Unfortunately,” Dulles said, “we simply can’t take the risk of having what you’re going to do get out. And it would get out if Donovan were privy to it.”
“Which is?” Frade asked.
“Immediately, what we’re going to do . . . ,” Graham said, then stopped. “This is the business to which I didn’t think you should be privy. It was my intention that you would know nothing about this. But Mr. Dulles disagreed . . .”
Dulles nodded.
“. . . and,” Graham went on, “I have deferred to what I really hope is his superior wisdom; we are ‘agreed’ to tell you. The German officer in charge of Abwehr Ost—Russian—intelligence is a lieutenant colonel by the name of Reinhard Gehlen. He is far more powerful than his rank suggests. He is vouched for by Admiral Canaris, and, like Canaris, is involved in Operation Valkyrie.”
Frade considered that, then nodded.
“A delegate of Canaris,” Dulles carried on, “came to us—right here in this hotel, as a matter of fact—with an interesting offer. Gehlen recognizes the war is lost; that it’s just a matter of time. And a relatively short one, if Valkyrie succeeds and Hitler is removed. God only knows how long if Valkyrie fails and Hitler fights to the last member of the Hitler Youth, which he is entirely capable of doing.
“Anyway, Gehlen is willing to turn over to us all his assets, data, and—very important—agents-in-place. He has two reasons. He personally doesn’t want to fall into Russian hands. More important, he doesn’t want his family to fall into Russian hands.”
“In other words,” Frade said, “he’s covering his ass and wants to set up his own private Operation Phoenix?”
“You could put it that way, I suppose,” Dulles said. “But it’s not black and white. In our way of life, things are seldom simple.”
“His second reason,” Graham went on, “is that he believes the United States will ultimately, inevitably, go to war with the Soviet Union—”
The Honor of Spies Page 33
