The Honor of Spies

by W. E. B Griffin

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

  “The number is on the first page of that little phone book, Herr Obersturmbannführer,” Raschner said, helpfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Jesus Christ!” Raschner blurted. “Himmler didn’t know?”

  “Do you think he will find out?” Cranz asked.

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

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

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

  “Sorry.”

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

  The doorbell rang.

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

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

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

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

  “Isn’t she?” Raschner replied.

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

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

  Again, both shook their heads.

  Like schoolboys, he thought, who don’t have any idea how to spell “potassium.”

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

  “And then when Obergruppenführer Heydrich—I presume both of you know it was Reinhardt Heydrich’s idea that the confidential fund be set up—”

  This time Cranz nodded, and Raschner said, “I always thought it was Reichsführer Himmler.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You have taken care of von Tresmarck, Herr Brigadeführer?” Cranz asked.

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

  “I sincerely apologize, Señor Schenck,” Cranz said.

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

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

  “Excuse me, Señor Schenck,” Raschner interrupted. “‘Former confidential fund’?”

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

  “You’re going to tell them about this?” Cranz asked.

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

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

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

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

  “May I ask questions, Señor Schenck?” Raschner asked.

  “Of course, Erich.”

  “When will you be returning to the Fatherland?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “That thought has occurred to me,” Cranz said.

  “You were saying, Karl?”

  “The aircraft, which von Wachtstein says are magnificent . . .”

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

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

  “Where did you say they are?”

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

  “We have some SS troopers here, don’t we?”

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

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

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

  “Well, I’ll do my best, of course, to see that doesn’t happen.”

  “But if it does?”

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

  “What about Frau von Tresmarck?” Raschner asked.

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

  “How did she get to the Alvear Palace?”

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

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

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

  “What’s that all about?” Raschner blurted, quickly adding, “If I am permitted to ask.”

  “Are you curious about von Gradny-Sawz’s role in all this, or about my new wife?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And when that happens?” Cranz asked. “It’s none of my business, I realize . . .”

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

  “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  Von Deitzberg silenced him with a raised hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “That’s not going to be easy,” Raschner said.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion of the difficulty of the task, Erich, I told you to do it.”

  “Jawohl, Mein Herr.”

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

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

  “You’re a good man, Raschner. You’ll figure it out.”

  Von Deitzberg reached for another jelly-filled roll.

  [TWO]

  Río Hermoso Hotel

  San Martín de los Andes

  Neuquén Province, Argentina

  2035 5 October 1943

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

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

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