The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller

by Allan Topol

  Stiff from flying, Craig stood up and paced around the office, trying to decide how much Bryce knew about his activities with Gina. He had to assume the worst: that she had told Bryce, or Bryce had seen them together when they returned from the tango joint. Either way, Bryce would conclude that his honey pot had been invaded. If Bryce thought he was at risk of losing Gina, he’d fight hard; and he had plenty of resources at his disposal in the United States.

  “I guess we’ll find out how good the cover is,” Craig said. “Meantime, has Bryce gotten Treadwell to make any decisions on the Argentine issue?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’m on standby for a meeting with the president and some of the others about the South American crisis. That’s where Treadwell will decide what to do next. The White House will call me as soon as the president finishes a meeting with congressional leaders about the economy.”

  Craig pounced. “I’ll eliminate the suspense for you. Bryce will be trying to persuade Treadwell to agree that we do nothing if Brazil attacks again and Argentina pounds the hell out of them.”

  When she didn’t respond, Craig added, “Makes good sense if you assume Brazil already attacked once. That’s the story Estrada is pushing, but it’s total bullshit. The trip by Bryce and West wasn’t a fact-finding mission. They went along with whatever Estrada and Schiller said, and as for West,” Craig was raising his voice, “that bozo was totally duped by Estrada and Schiller with their slick presentation. Or maybe he was cowed by Bryce and his relationship to Treadwell.”

  Betty looked grim. “You have good instincts.” She stood up, walked over to her desk, and picked up a book.

  “Read pages 120 and121,” she said as she handed it to him.

  He glanced at the cover. Inside the Gestapo, by Jonathan Martin.

  He took it with him back to the table and began reading.

  “It was Kurt Schiller, head of special operations for the Gestapo, who fabricated an attack by Polish army units to justify Germany’s attack on Poland.”

  He recalled what Betty had told him in Sardinia. Kurt was Karl Schiller’s grandfather, a high level Gestapo official who escaped with Adolph Eichmann to Argentina after the war. He resumed reading.

  “The operation is described in testimony at the Nuremberg trials. On the 25th of August, 1939, Schiller ordered ten German prisoners who had lived near the Polish border and had been arrested for crimes against the State to dress up in Polish army uniforms. The ten were transported to a German lookout tower close to the Polish border. There, they were shot and killed. Their bodies were placed on the ground as if they had been attacking the tower. Polish weapons were placed near the bodies. Guns were fired at the tower, chipping away some of the concrete. Then foreign reporters were taken to the scene, shown the bodies as well as other evidence and told ‘Poland has attacked us. We should not have to tolerate this aggression.’ Six days later, Germany invaded Poland.”

  Craig tossed the book down on the table. “One’s a carbon copy of the other. Grandpa Kurt told his grandson, Karl, about some of his wonderful accomplishments for the Fatherland. How’d you dig this up?”

  “I recalled reading about it a long time ago. So I had somebody here do a little research. In testimony, several Nuremberg witnesses confirmed the facts of this faked border incident.”

  “This is just what we need,” Craig said, now excited. “You can take this into your meeting at the White House and blow Bryce out of the water.” He began speaking faster, his voice rising. “When Bryce starts talking about how Brazil attacked Argentina, you can stuff this book down his throat. Now we know for sure that Estrada’s planning a major attack on Brazil.” He was talking loud, the words pouring out with gusto. “The so-called incident that occurred was fabricated in order to justify the attack that Estrada has planned and to persuade the United States not to intervene. If Treadwell makes it clear that we’re not buying Estrada’s lies, and we’ll come to Brazil’s aid, there won’t be an attack. Estrada will back down. I’d give anything to be at the meeting and see the look on Bryce’s face when you spring it on him.”

  Carried away with his own enthusiasm, Craig hadn’t been watching his audience. When he finished talking, he stared across the table at the somber, stone-faced Betty.

  “I have to disagree with you, Craig. Something I’ve almost never done in the many years we’ve known each other.”

  He was incredulous. “What do you mean?”

  “Unfortunately, while you were off racing cars, I’ve gotten to know Bryce and Treadwell. Trying to surprise Bryce won’t accomplish a thing. The smooth double-talking barrister is too nimble on his feet. He’ll insist that this doesn’t prove a thing. He’ll say that he’s a lawyer, and this isn’t real evidence of anything. We’ll have a big argument. In the end, Treadwell will side with his good buddy, Bryce. All I will have done is tip my hand that I don’t believe Estrada. Word of what happened in the White House meeting will reach the general via Gina. From now on, Estrada will be super careful to make sure you and I never get the evidence we need. So I have no intention of mentioning this Gestapo incident at any White House meeting.”

  Furious, Craig shot to his feet. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” His voice was loud and surly.

  Betty stood up and stared at him. “Look, Craig, I can understand why you’re emotional about this. You want to destroy Bryce for what he did to you. And you’ve taken a pounding from Schiller, but …”

  Red in the face, he shook his head, making no effort to lower his voice. “It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It makes no sense at all.”

  Betty let him rant on.

  “I’m not prepared to believe,” he shouted, “that Treadwell will follow Bryce with what we have here.” He charged over to the table, picked up the book about the Gestapo and waved it at her. “It’s so stupid.”

  “That’s the hand we’ve been dealt with Treadwell in the Oval Office and Bryce in his lap.”

  “Then let me go with you to the meeting at the White House,” he pleaded. “I’ll convince them.”

  “No way. I sympathize with you. Really I do. And I’m your friend. Not the enemy. I know you’re right, but if I take you to the White House, they’ll end up hauling you out of there in handcuffs.”

  “It’s all so damn frustrating,” he cried out. For emphasis, he slammed the book to the floor.

  As she opened her mouth to respond, the phone rang. Then the intercom. It was Betty’s secretary. “They want you at the White House for the meeting.”

  She turned to Craig. “You want to wait here until I return? I’ll give you a report.”

  “I’m so angry I want to go down to the exercise room and run on the treadmill so fast that I either break the machine or have a heart attack.”

  “After that, you can stick your head under a cold shower. Then we’ll be able to deal with this rationally.”

  Bryce entered the Situation Room two steps behind President Treadwell and looked around. In addition to the usual suspects seated around the table, Kent, West, the Secretary of Defense, and General Forbes, he saw Vice President Doug Worth.

  The president had told Bryce on his return from Buenos Aires that he wanted to involve Worth in more of his day-to-day activities without any explanation.

  Bryce deduced that Treadwell was now worried about his health. Treadwell must have realized he was playing a game of Russian Roulette with his heart condition. If he lost, he didn’t want to leave the country in too much of a mess.

  When they were seated, the president turned to Bryce. “It’s your show, Edward.”

  Bryce had assigned the factual report on the South American mission to West, who was ready with another PowerPoint presentation, giving a summary of what they saw, which was precisely what Estrada and Schiller had told them. At the end of that, Bryce took over and said, “Our recommendation is that if the Brazilians attack again, the United States should stay out of it.”

  “Suppose the Argentines ask for our help
?” General Forbes asked.

  “They won’t,” Bryce said emphatically. “Estrada and Garcia both emphasized to us that the situation can only be stabilized if they’re free to exercise their own deterrence.”

  “But isn’t there a risk of this conflict between Argentina and Brazil developing into a broader war?” Betty asked.

  “I don’t see how,” Bryce responded. “Chile and Paraguay are the other two countries in the region with powerful armies. We’ve seen no indication that either of them would become involved.”

  Glancing at the president, Bryce observed how wan and pale, almost ashen, he looked, a sheen of sweat across his brow. He is not a well man, Bryce decided. Treadwell winced and sat up straight in his seat, as if he had experienced a sudden pain. Irritably, he said, “I’ve had a long day. Let’s wrap this up. I like Edward’s recommendation. That’s what we’ll do.”

  Bryce was convinced that all Treadwell wanted was to get out of this damn meeting to take a nitroglycerine tablet.

  Craig was sitting in the outer office of Betty’s suite where Monica was typing away, waiting for the director of the CIA to return from the White House. As soon as he saw her, he stood up. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You have strong convictions. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

  Betty led him into her office and kicked the door shut. “Let’s talk about where we go from here.”

  “Somewhere in the middle of a forty-five minute run on the treadmill, I came up with a game plan to beat Estrada.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Sure. But first, can I assume that Bryce got what he wanted for Estrada at your White House meeting.”

  “That’s right. Treadwell agreed not to intervene.”

  “So we now need hard evidence that Estrada fabricated the initial, so-called Brazilian attack like Schiller’s grandfather. We also have to find out precisely when Estrada is planning to mount his major attack. That’s what it will take to turn Treadwell around.”

  She nodded. “Agreed. But how can we obtain that information?”

  “I have a plan.” His self-confidence had returned and he was sounding rational. “But you have to supply a key component.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have your people in research dig back through the archives of our documents from the years of the Dirty War. There must be cables and reports from CIA agents in Argentina as well as original Argentine documents. I want them to put together a complete dossier on Estrada with particular emphasis on his involvement in kidnapping babies. And …” he hesitated. Hell, there was no other way. “Have them prepare a second dossier. This one on Gina’s father, General Miguel Galindo. Call me on my cell phone the minute you have the information.”

  He didn’t know what he’d find in the file about Gina’s father, but his instincts, coupled with what he had learned about Estrada and the general’s behavior during the Dirty War, persuaded him that Miguel Galindo could not have been the white knight Gina thought her father was.

  Craig needed every possible weapon to turn Gina away from Estrada and to convince her to help him.

  “That was a wonderful dinner,” Bryce said to Gina as they returned to her apartment from dinner at the Capital Grille on Pennsylvania Avenue where people had repeatedly stopped by to say hello to Bryce.

  Successful was how Gina thought of the evening so far. As Bryce was finishing his large sirloin and the last of the Chateau Haut Brion, following two glasses of scotch before dinner, he had told her what she wanted to know. They had a meeting that afternoon at the White House and President Treadwell had agreed to what Estrada was seeking: a commitment by the United States not to intervene if warfare erupted between Argentina and Brazil. She couldn’t wait for Bryce to leave so she could call Estrada and give him the news he was so anxious to hear.

  “The emerald earrings are exquisite on you,” Bryce said.

  She was sure Rosie would like them. “They are special. Thank you.”

  Bryce would be pressing her now for sex, but she had no intention of submitting tonight. Never again. She was in love with Barry.

  “Would you like a Remy Martin?” she asked.

  Bryce smiled lasciviously. “Perhaps later. Now I have something else in mind.” He took off his tie and jacket; and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I can’t tonight,” she said awkwardly.

  He scowled. “Why not?”

  “It’s that time of the month. You know. I’m really sorry.” She tried to sound sincere so he wouldn’t suspect she had told him a complete lie.

  “That doesn’t bother me.”

  “Well it does me,” she said with a tone of finality. “You’ll just have to wait a couple of days.”

  He persisted. “We could do other things.”

  “Please, Edward. Just the cognac.”

  He sighed in resignation. “Okay. A Remy Martin then.”

  As they sipped the cognac, he said, “Listen, honey, have you ever been to an American football game?”

  She shook her head.

  “One of my clients has a box for the Redskins. He invited me to attend tomorrow afternoon, provided that I bring you. What do you think?”

  Since Estrada wanted her to string Bryce along for a little while longer, she was pleased to do something that didn’t involve sex. “I’d love to,” she said, faking an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.

  “Good. Even though it’s Sunday, I have to be at the office for a while in the morning. Catching up from being away in Argentina. I’ll send a car around to pick you up at noon. Now let me tell you a little about the game. It’s much different than your football. To start with, the ball isn’t round, it’s …”

  She interrupted. “How can a ball not be round? Balls are always round. That’s what a ball is.”

  He laughed. “Well, I guess that’s right, but …”

  He was interrupted by her cell phone that was ringing where it rested on an end table. She had constantly left it on and close at hand since returning from Buenos Aires, where she had given Barry the number.

  “Don’t answer,” Bryce said.

  She glanced at the screen on the phone. The caller’s number wasn’t one she recognized. “I have to,” she responded. “My friend, Rosie, could be in trouble. Don’t worry. I’ll talk fast and call her back later.”

  “Hello,” she said.

  “This is Barry.”

  “Hold on for a minute,” she said into the phone. Then she dashed with it into her bedroom and closed the door.

  “Is this a good time for you to talk?” Craig asked.

  “When you call, it’s always a good time.”

  “I have to be in Southern California. How would you like to fly out tomorrow and spend a couple of days with me? You can bring a bathing suit. We’ll have a good time.”

  “Really. I’d love it,” she said impulsively, without thinking about Bryce and how she’d justify it to him.

  “That’s great. American Airlines has a three o’clock plane from Dulles Airport to Los Angeles. I’ll arrange for your ticket. All you have to do is show some ID at the ticket counter. When you arrive, I’ll be waiting in the baggage claim area. We’ll have a fabulous time.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Ciao.”

  After he hung up, she stared blankly at the phone. What had she done? She had to find some way to handle this with Bryce. Otherwise, Estrada would be furious. Still, she rationalized, he liked Barry. So by seeing Barry, she was advancing Estrada’s agenda. Not certain whether Estrada would see it that way, she decided not to tell him when she called later that night.

  As for Bryce, right now, she wouldn’t say a word to him. She put a grim look on her face.

  “It’s horrible,” she said when she returned to the living room.

  Bryce had been leaning back in a comfortable leather chair, his eyes closed. “What’s horrible?”

  “You know I tol
d you that Rosie’s boss has been coming on to her, and she’s been trying to avoid him and not lose her job.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bryce said, sounding bored. She was convinced he didn’t have the least bit of interest in Rosie’s travail.

  “Well, anyhow, when she was in the supply room he snuck up behind her and stuck his hand up under her skirt.” Gina was getting carried away with the story she was creating. “I mean like before she had a chance to react, he was inside her pants with one hand and grabbing her breast with the other. He stuck two fingers inside of her … yuck … then she managed to slip away and run out of the supply room.”

  “That is horrible.”

  “I told her you were here, and I’d call her back when you went home.”

  “But what can you do about it in Washington?”

  That stopped her for a minute. “Well, I can listen and maybe give her some ideas. That’s what friends are for.”

  “She’s lucky to have you for a friend,” he said, as he gathered up his jacket and tie.

  When Bryce left, she was feeling quite pleased with herself. That was a good story and fun making it up. Maybe she should try her hand at writing a romance novel when this was over. If Rosie wasn’t involved, Gina could have made up a much juicier ending. “And then her boss forced her back against the boxes of copying paper. As they tumbled to the floor, she felt his hard member jutting out …”

  What’s happening to me, she wondered. She had sex on her brain all the time. Barry. It must be Barry. She couldn’t wait for California.

  Northern Argentina

  General Estrada’s northern headquarters, from which he was directing the Brazilian operation, was in an old castle built by the Spanish overlooking the Falls at Iguazu. The stone structure had two floors. On the first, Estrada and Schiller each had a large office. Upstairs were bedrooms for Estrada and Schiller in one wing. The other held half a dozen prison cells the Spanish had constructed, knowing that in all of their activities in South America there were always people to kill—others to incarcerate and torture. A barbed-wire-topped chain-link fence surrounded the property on three sides. On the fourth was the river. Armed soldiers manned the gatehouse at the end of the only access road in front.