by Blood
"Maybe he wasn't asleep in church after all," Goltz said. "May I suggest you get your son's rank badges as soon as you can, and if you're going to send a letter, write it as soon as possible. Within the hour."
"You're very kind, Josef."
"Not at all. After all, since you served me the last of your African coffee, it is the least I can do."
"Please give my regards to the Admiral," Generalleutnant von Wachtstein said.
[FOUR]
Admiral Canaris was preoccupied. He did not acknowledge Goltz's salute, and although he looked up when Goltz entered, Goltz felt that his mind was far away.
But then, suddenly, he felt Canaris's eyes examining him coldly.
"This won't take long, Standartenf�hrer," Canaris said. "But I have a few things to say to you before you leave for Argentina."
"I will be grateful for any direction the Herr Admiral may wish to give me."
Canaris ignored that too.
"One. I agreed to the elimination of Oberst Frade with great reluctance. But in the end, I decided the risk that he would assume the presidency was unac-ceptable. It was entirely possible, in my judgment, that he might well have had sufficient influence to obtain a declaration of war against us-especially in the period immediately following the seizure of power by the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos. The implications of that should be obvious. Not only does Germany need Argentine food and wool, but as Argentina goes, so will go Uruguay, Paraguay, Chile, and probably Peru."
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"His elimination, Standartenf�hrer, was not without price. I know the Ar-gentine Officer Corps. While the great majority of Argentine Army officers are sympathetic to the National Socialist cause, they will deeply resent the elimi-nation of Oberst Frade. Not only was he a popular figure, but the Argentines are a nationalist people. They understandably resent an action like that occurring on their soil. Meanwhile, it is to be hoped that in time the necessity of our act will be understood, and later accepted. The goodwill of the Argentine Officer Corps is an asset we cannot afford to squander; and I admonish you, Standartenf�hrer, to do everything possible to avoid further antagonizing them."
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"For that reason alone, I did not sign your mission order until after the elimination had taken place. I did not want you suspected of any responsibility for it. That, in my judgment, would have been the case had you been in Buenos Aires at the time the elimination was carried out."
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"Two. Regarding the Reine de la Mer incident. The Portuguese government has protested-has von Ribbentrop gone into this with you?"
The Portuguese vessel Reine de la Mer (really a replacement, replenish-ment vessel for German U-boats) was sunk in Argentine waters-by Ameri-cans, everyone believed but could not directly prove.
"I received a Foreign Ministry briefing, Herr Admiral."
Canaris looked at him for a long moment.
"Well?"
"I was informed that the Portuguese government has in the strongest possi-ble terms protested the sinking to the United States government. I was further informed that the Americans deny any knowledge of this."
"The Portuguese have also protested strongly to the Argentine govern-ment," Admiral Canaris added. "More important, the Spanish Foreign Ministry called in the American ambassador to express their 'grave concerns' about the Reine de la Mer, and made it clear that there would be 'grave consequences' if anything like that happened in the future to a vessel flying the Spanish flag."
"So I was informed, Herr Admiral," Goltz said. "The Spanish said they would regard such an attack as 'an unpardonable act of war.'"
"Since the Americans do not wish to see the Spanish join the Axis, Standartenf�hrer, one would think that would be enough to make them think twice about attacking a Spanish-registered vessel in Argentine waters. Or even board-ing a Spanish vessel on the high seas to search for contraband. Were you briefed thoroughly on this by the Navy?"
"I was informed during my Navy briefing: That the replacement replenish-ment vessel will sail from Sweden, via the English channel, directly to Buenos Aires. That she will notify both the German and British authorities she is bound for Argentina. And that she will have the Spanish flag on her hull floodlighted at night, so there can be no mistake as to her nationality and neutral status."
"'And'?"
"That five other Spanish and Portuguese vessels will be crossing the At-lantic toward Argentina at the same time-"
"Not at the same time!" Canaris interrupted impatiently.
"I misspoke, Herr Admiral. Pardon me," Goltz said. "At twenty-four-hour and forty-eight-hour intervals ahead of the Comerciante del Oceano Pacifico!'
"The idea is that the Americans, who expect us, of course, to send a vessel to replace the Reine de la Mer, will board any suspicious vessel. We have taken steps to make sure their agents in Spain and Portugal believe the other ships are suspicious. The moment the Americans stop Ship One, the vessel will radio that it is being boarded. The Portuguese or Spanish will immediately summon the American ambassadors in Lisbon and Madrid to protest. If the Americans sight the Comerciante del Oceano Pacifico-who will be doing her very best to avoid being sighted (she'll sail far into the South Atlantic, and then approach Buenos Aires from the south)-perhaps they will not be so eager to stop her after this has happened two, three, or four times."
"I thought it was a clever plan, Herr Admiral," Goltz said.
"It is overly complicated, and enormously expensive, and I would not give it more than a fifty-fifty chance of succeeding," Canaris said coldly. "It was jus-tifiable only in that a replenishment vessel is essential for submarine operations in the South Atlantic."
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"Two of three members of the OSS team which took out the Reine de la Mer left Argentina immediately afterward. The team leader, Oberst Frade's son, and a man named Pelosi. Pelosi returned four days ago...."
"I had not heard that, Herr Admiral."
"There was a radio from Oberst Gr�ner. He's a good man. He has someone in the Foreign Ministry. Pelosi now has diplomatic status, as an assistant mili-tary Attach‚. My feeling is that he was returned to assist a follow-on OSS team which will probably be sent when the Americans learn we have replaced the Reine de la Mer."
"The third man of the OSS team? The Jew?"
"He is still in Argentina, working covertly. The Americans apparently feel he can garner information from the Jews in Buenos Aires. Shipping informa-tion, that sort of thing. The head of their FBI in Buenos Aires is also a Jew. I have the feeling Ettinger, the Jew, may be working for him, and no longer is connected with the OSS. In my judgment, that OSS team-they are of course known to the Argentines-has ceased to exist as an operational unit. Thus I be-lieve we can count on the OSS sending an entirely new team down there when the Americans learn the Oceano Pacifico is on station. When that happens, it may be necessary to eliminate them. This of course has to be done very care-fully-referring to my earlier remarks about not antagonizing the Argentine sense of nationalism. The first OSS team down there was eliminated with great skill by Gr�ner-there was not even notice of it in the newspapers. Please tell him I expect the same sort of first-class work when the time comes to deal with the next OSS team to show its face."
"Of course, Herr Admiral," Goltz said with a smile.
Canaris looked at him curiously, as if surprised that his words could have been interpreted in any way as amusing.
"May I ask a question, Herr Admiral?"
Canaris waited for him to go on.
"The third member of the former OSS team. You say he is working with the Jews in Buenos Aires? Is there a possibility-"
"That he will put his nose into the source of our special funds?" Canaris in-terrupted. "Yes, of course there is. If that happens, you have permission to elim-inate him, taking the same great care I've been talking about."
"And not before, as a precautionary mea
sure?"
"I'm getting the idea I am not making my point about Argentine sensitivity, Standartenf�hrer. Let me make it again. You will do nothing that might even re-motely annoy the Argentines unless there is absolutely no other option. We want them to think of us as allies in the war against communism, not, for ex-ample, as the kind of people who come to their country and blow up ships or eliminate people. Now, is that clear?"
"Perfectly, Herr Admiral."
Canaris looked at him coldly, as if wondering why someone with such vis-ibly limited mental powers could be entrusted with the mission he had been given.
"Three, Standartenf�hrer," Canaris went on after a long moment. "I have supported from the beginning the idea of acquiring property in Argentina for operational purposes. As a matter of fact, the concept was originally mine. If my recommendations had been listened to as far back as 1937, we would al-ready have property in place. Not only for the immediate operation planned, but for other purposes. I repeated these recommendations at the time the Graf Spee (On December 13, 1939, in what became known as "The Battle of the River Plate." the battle-damaged German pocket battleship Graf Spee was driven into the harbor of Montevideo in neutral Uruguay by the British and New Zealand cruisers HMS Ajax and HMNZS Achilles. Intense diplomatic pressure from England and the United States forced the Uruguayan government to order the Graf Spee to leave the har-bor within the seventy-two-hour period called for by the Geneva Convention, or be interned. On De-cember 17, 1939, at the personal order of Adolf Hitler, the Graf Spee was scuttled just outside Montevideo to keep her from falling into British hands. The German community in Buenos Aires, 125 miles across the river Plate, chartered a fleet of small boats and took her crew to Argentina, where they were interned.) was scuttled, and again nothing was done. The result of that inactivity is now obvious. Here we are embarked on an operation far more important than anything else I can think of-important to the very existence of the Thousand Year Reich. And we're starting from scratch so far as acquiring property is con-cerned. Not to mention that we have been unable until now to even seriously plan to repatriate the Graf Spee officers, something that should have been done three years ago."
Goltz could think of no tactful way to respond, and said nothing.
"I want you to clearly understand, Standartenf�hrer," Canaris went on, "that I view the property you will acquire as a long-term asset, not something which can be, so to speak, expended in the course of the repatriation operation. Do you understand that?"
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"Good," Canaris said. He extended his hand. "That's all I have. Thank you for coming to see me. Good luck."
Goltz saw in Canaris's eyes that he had already been dismissed.
Chapter Two
[ONE]
Cafe Lafitte
Bourbon Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
1535 5 April 1943
The bar was crowded, smoke-filled, hot, noisy, and reeked of sweat and urine. Most of the patrons were servicemen, and most of these were sailors, sweating in their blue woolen winter uniforms. A pair of Shore Patrolmen stood just in-side the door, each holding a billy club in one hand and a paper cup of soft drink in the other.
As the young man in a tieless white button-down collar shirt and a seer-sucker jacket elbowed his way toward the bar, he was aware that he was getting dirty looks from some of the sailors. He thought he knew why: Hey, what the hell are you doing out of uniform, when here I am, three weeks out of Great Lakes Naval Training Center and about to go out and save the world for democ-racy ?
The last thing in the world the young man-who was twenty-three years old, and whose name was Cletus Howell Frade-wanted to do was find himself in a confrontation with a half-plastered nineteen-year-old swab jockey. It seemed to be the final proof that coming in here for a Sazerac cocktail was not the smartest thing he had done today.
He knew for a fact that the Cafe Lafitte made lousy Sazerac cocktails. But ten minutes before, when he first got the idea to have a symbolic farewell Saz-erac, and in the Cafe Lafitte, which was supposed to have been in business since Christ was a corporal, it seemed a good idea.
The bartender, a corpulent forty-year old with a stained white apron around his waist, looked at him, his eyebrows signaling he was ready to accept an or-der.
"Sazerac, please."
"I got to see your draft card," the bartender said in what Clete recognized to be a New Orleans accent.
"What?"
"We're cooperating with the authorities," the bartender said. "Gotta see your draft card."
Clete took out his wallet and removed a plastic identification card-not a draft card-and handed it to the bartender. The bartender examined it carefully and compared the face on the photograph with the face of the young man stand-ing before him.
He did not seem wholly satisfied, but he handed the card back, said, "I thought you had to wear your uniform," and turned to make a Sazerac.
Clete was about to put the card back in his wallet when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned and saw one of the Shore Patrolmen standing beside him, and the second SP standing behind the first.
"Could I have a look at that, please?" the SP said politely, but it was a de-mand, not a request.
Clete nodded and handed it to him. The SP went through the business of comparing the photograph on the card with Clete's face, then held the card over his shoulder so the other SP could have a look.
"It looks, Sir," the SP said, "like you're out of uniform. Could I have a look at your orders, please, Sir?"
Clete reached into the inside pocket of the seersucker jacket and came out with a single sheet of mimeograph paper, folded twice. He handed this to the SP, who unfolded it.
"Paragraph seven authorizes me to wear civvies," he said.
The SP found Paragraph 7, read it, and then showed the orders to the SP standing behind him and stuck out his lower lip, registering surprise.
"I never saw orders like that, Sir," the SP said. "But I guess it's all right. Sorry to have troubled you, Sir."
Clete smiled and nodded, and put the orders back in his pocket. Then he turned back to the bar as his Sazerac was served.
He laid a five-dollar bill on the bar, then picked up his Sazerac and took a sip. It was a lousy Sazerac, as he was afraid it would be. When he was a student at Tulane he'd had enough of them to become a judge. And had painfully learned that the second would taste better than the first, the third better than the second, and the fourth would strike one treacherously in the back of the head, causing one so stupid as to drink that many to lose not only inhibitions but of-ten consciousness and all memory of what happened subsequently.
Sazerac drinking had another facet, he thought, as he took a second sip. When fed to a well-bred young woman, taking care to administer the proper dosage-an overdose usually produced a number of unpleasant side effects, ranging from nausea to unconsciousness-quite often produced both a diminishment of inhibitions and a concomitant urge to couple.
Get thee behind me, Satan! he thought, when he realized the direction his mental processes were taking him. That sort of thing is in your past. You are no longer free to nail any female you can entice into a horizontal position. Your watchword, like that of the goddamn U.S. Marine Crotch itself is now Semper Fidelis, always faithful.
He drained his glass, and felt the alcohol warm his veins. He picked up his change, shouldered his way back out of the Cafe Lafitte onto Bourbon Street, and headed toward Canal Street, where, he thought, with a little bit of luck he would find a taxi.
[TWO]
3470 St. Charles Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
1905 5 April 1943
The taxi dropped Major Cletus Howell Frade off at the curb before a very large, very white, turn-of-the-century ornate, three-story frame mansion on St. Charles Avenue, the tree-lined main boundary of the section of New Orleans known as the Garden District.
He crossed the sidewalk, opened a gate in the cast-
iron fence that separated an immaculate lawn from the street, and walked up the brick path onto the porch, fishing for keys in his pocket. Before he could put them in the lock, the leaded-window door swung inward.
A silver-haired, very light-skinned Negro butler wearing a gray linen jacket smiled at him.
"What were you doing, Jean-Jacques? Peeking through the curtains, wait-ing for me?"
"I just happened to be looking out the window, Mr. Cletus," Jean-Jacques replied. "Miss Martha's here, Mr. Cletus."
"Miss Martha," the former Martha Reed Williamson, was Clete's aunt and the widow of the late James Fitzhugh Howell. Her husband had died instanta-neously of a cerebral hemorrhage en route from the bar to the men's room of the Midland Petroleum Club shortly after Clete had flown his Wildcat off the escort carrier USS Long Island onto Guadalcanal's Henderson Field.
