‘‘—to be revealed to anyone who did not have a need to know?’’ Peter interrupted.
‘‘Yes, Herr Baron Major.’’
‘‘Herr Steuben does not have the need to know,’’ Peter said. ‘‘Which is why I brought you over here with me, so that he cannot see where you will point at the map. And your diligence is appreciated, Herr Loche, and I will mention it to Standartenführer Goltz. But did you really think that I was not privy to this information? That the Herr Standartenf ührer would send me down here not knowing where I am to meet you and the truck? What I am doing here, Loche, is making sure there is no confusion in your mind about where you are to be.’’
‘‘Excuse me, Herr Baron Major,’’ Loche said. ‘‘I was not thinking. You will have to understand that I am . . .’’
‘‘Where, Loche?’’ Peter demanded impatiently.
Loche pointed to a small inlet on the shoreline of Samboromb ón Bay. There were no villages near it, but the coastal highway was no more than half a mile away.
‘‘There, Herr Baron Major. Right there.’’
‘‘There is no question in your mind?’’
Loche considered that.
‘‘None, Herr Baron Major.’’
‘‘Very well,’’ Peter said.
He folded the map and put it in his pocket and walked back across the room to Günther.
‘‘You, Günther . . .’’
‘‘Yes, Herr Baron Major?’’
‘‘You and I will take the Coronel Gasparo on our mission. ’’
‘‘Jawohl, Herr Baron Major!’’
‘‘I have some other business in Magdalena,’’ Peter announced. ‘‘If you will be so good, Herr Steuben, you will wait for me to return in case I need you. Günther, you may go to bed.’’
‘‘Of course, Herr Baron Major,’’ Steuben said.
‘‘Thank you, Herr Baron Major,’’ Günther said.
‘‘Presumably, Herr Loche, you have a car here to take you to the rendezvous site?’’
‘‘Yes, of course, Herr Baron Major. Actually a small truck.’’
‘‘You can take me partway to my destination, then,’’ Peter said.
‘‘It will be my pleasure, Herr Baron Major.’’
‘‘If by chance, Herr Steuben, either the Herr Standartenf ührer or the Herr Oberst calls, you will tell them I am about our business, and will return their call on my return.’’
‘‘Jawohl, Herr Baron Major.’’
‘‘Let’s go, Herr Loche,’’ Peter said.
No questions will be asked. These are good Germans. Authority—me—has spoken, and good Germans do not question authority.
Now all I have to do is figure out where I’m going.
Two kilometers from Steuben’s house, they came to a truck stop.
Truck stops have telephones.
‘‘You can drop me there, Loche,’’ he ordered.
With a great deal of difficulty, he reached Buenos Aires three times.
The butler at the Frade mansion on Avenida Coronel Díaz told him that Señor Frade was not at home, and politely refused to say any more than that.
The housekeeper at the house on Libertador told him that Señor Frade had been there earlier but had left, and suggested he try to call the mansion on Avenida Coronel Díaz.
Señor Humberto Valdez Duarte told him that he had no idea where Cletus was, but if he wasn’t at the house on Coronel Díaz or the Libertador house, the only thing he could think of was that he might be at the estancia. He added that he knew Cletus was back from Brazil, because there was a telephone call from Capitán Lauffer, General Arturo Rawson’s aide-de-camp, telling him privately, and not for publication, that Cletus had been a hero of the revolution.
Although it was only sixty or seventy kilometers from Magdalena, he got through to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo with much greater trouble. Señor Frade was not at home, but there was a possibility he might be at home later.
‘‘You might try again in an hour or two, Señor, or perhaps in the morning.’’
Does that mean Clete is going to be there, or not?
If Standartenführer Goltz arrives at Steuben’s house and I’m not there . . .
What if, somehow, I can get to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo and Cletus is not there?
I know his men are there, probably at the radio station. If that is the case, and Cletus is not there, I could give this information to his deputy, if his deputy is there. But where is there? I have no idea where on the estancia Cletus has placed his radio station—and I doubt very much that anyone will tell me. Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo is about as big as Pomerania, and I can’t just wander around looking for it.
What is left?
Getting to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo somehow. If Cletus is not there, I’ll write down the position where the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico will drop anchor, and the place on the shoreline where I will unload the Coronel Gasparo, and leave it for him. If he’s not there, they will probably deny knowing where he is; but after I leave—and I will have to leave, praying that I can get back to Magdalena before the good Standartenführer shows up—they will very likely make an effort to reach him or his deputy. Getting in touch with the deputy would be just about as good as getting my message into Cletus’s hand.
That suggests the very real possibility that an American submarine, having been provided with Océano Pacífico’s location by Kapitänmajor Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, will arrive at the scene at just about the moment Kapitänmajor Hans-Peter von Wachtstein sails the good ship Coronel Gasparo up to the Océano Pacífico, and that she will fire her torpedoes just as the master of the Océano Pacífico, Standartenführer Goltz, and I are exchanging pleasantries.
Maybe that would be appropriate.
How do I reach Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo from here?
He made one more telephone call, getting through on the fourth attempt.
‘‘Estancia Santa Catalina.’’
‘‘Señorita Alicia Carzino-Cormano, please. Señor Cóndor is calling.’’
‘‘One moment, por favor, Señor. I will see if the lady is at home.’’
‘‘Oh, my God, Peter, where are you?’’
‘‘Magdalena.’’
‘‘Magdalena?’’ she parroted incredulously.
‘‘I need some help, Liebchen. If there was any other—’’
‘‘What do you need?’’
‘‘I need you to come here and pick me up, take me to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, and then bring me back here.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘I can’t tell you.’’
‘‘Where are you in Magdalena? The Hotel San Martín?’’
‘‘I’m at the truck stop on the highway.’’
‘‘I know it,’’ Alicia said. ‘‘It will take me an hour. Is that all you have to say to me?’’
‘‘Liebchen, if I knew any other way . . .’’
‘‘I was thinking along the lines, of ‘Te amo, Alicia.’ ’’
‘‘Te amo, Alicia,’’ he said, and for some reason his voice broke.
‘‘An hour, mi vida,’’ she said, and hung up.
[TWO] Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 2245 18 April 1943
When el Patrón arrived at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo in the rear seat of the ancient Rolls-Royce, he was in a state of sexual excitement and frustration. He also felt somewhat ashamed of himself.
After they drove away from her father’s house, their several minutes of tender embraces quickly turned passionate. And Señorita Dorotéa Mallín realized that unless she took immediate action, there was going to be activity on the leather seats that would not only be improper but that could not escape the attention of Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodr íguez, who was driving.
‘‘Stop, Cletus!’’ she firmly ordered. ‘‘Not here!’’
They broke apart and took up positions at opposite ends of the wide, dark-red leather seat. Dorotéa place
d her hand in the space between them, and Clete took it.
They rode along that way for perhaps half an hour. Then Clete became aware that Dorotéa had dozed off. He thought this was very sweet but quickly changed his mind. The way she was sitting, every time her head dropped below a certain position it clearly caused her discomfort, and she would suddenly snap her head erect.
With absolutely innocent motivation, Clete gently pulled the dozing Dorotéa to him and let her head rest in his lap. He gently and lovingly stroked her hair for several minutes, marveling that this sweet and gentle creature loved him, was bearing his child, and—as soon as they received that goddamned counseling from the Very Reverend Matthew Cashley-Price—was going to be his bride, his wife, to have and to hold from that day forward until death did them part.
With that certainly decent and arguably perhaps even noble line of thought in his mind, he then dropped off to sleep himself.
He awoke two hours later to find Dorotéa’s head still innocently in his lap, but its weight was delivering surprisingly sharp pain to what was the father of all erections.
He tried to endure the pain. He looked out the window. He couldn’t see much.
‘‘Where are we?’’
‘‘About five minutes from the house,’’ Enrico replied, adding, ‘‘You were snoring again, Señor Clete.’’
‘‘Thank you very much, Enrico,’’ Clete said, and then yelped in pain.
‘‘Señor?’’
‘‘It is nothing,’’ Clete said.
He tried to gently waken Dorotéa. All that did was make her shift her head, with a concomitant painful reaction in the physiological symbol of his gender.
‘‘Sweetheart,’’ he cried cheerfully—trying to sound cheerful required a good deal of effort—‘‘wake up, we’re almost there!’’
He had to repeat the message three times before he broke into Dorotéa’s peaceful slumber. By then, he could see the lights of the big house.
She then pushed herself erect, and in doing so, her hand quite innocently found the source of his discomfort.
‘‘Cletus,’’ she said naughtily. ‘‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’’
For reasons he could not imagine, she then gave it a good squeeze.
‘‘Jesus, Dorotéa!’’
Enrico blew three short blasts on the horn.
As they turned onto the drive before the big house, the verandah lights came on. Clete saw Rudolpho, his short-barreled cavalry Mauser carbine slung from his shoulder, come quickly off the verandah toward the car.
Good. I can send him to the radio station and have him tell Tony I need to see him. Maybe he knows more about David Ettinger than Martín did. And in any event, I should radio Graham that the airplane is here, and, for that matter, that the new President of Argentina is General Rawson.
Come to think of it, I don’t know how much attention Rawson will pay to anything I have to say, but I don’t think there’s much doubt that he’ll listen to me. We became buddies in the Piper Cub.
‘‘Buenos tardes, Patrón,’’ Rudolpho said. ‘‘Señorita.’’
Clete shook Rudolpho’s hand.
‘‘Could you go out to the radio station and tell Teniente Pelosi I have to see him?’’
‘‘El Teniente is in the house, Patrón.’’
Great. And that explains what he’s doing here carrying the carbine, doesn’t it?
‘‘Honey, do you want something to eat?’’ Clete asked.
Dorotéa smiled sweetly at him.
‘‘It’s been a long day,’’ she said. ‘‘Why don’t we just turn in?’’
One of the maids came down to the car.
Thank God, nobody’s here but Tony. We don’t have to go through that nonsense of pretending we’re not sleeping together.
‘‘Put the Señorita’s luggage in my room, please, and draw a bath for her.’’
‘‘Cletus!’’ Dorotéa protested.
‘‘Nobody’s here, why not?’’
Dorotéa shook her head but did not protest any further.
‘‘I need a minute or two with Tony, and then I’ll be right along.’’
‘‘You’d better be,’’ Dorotéa said. ‘‘I’m going to hold you to the promise you made in the car.’’
‘‘What promise?’’
‘‘You’ve forgotten already?’’ she asked.
He finally took her meaning, and his face reddened.
‘‘Where’s el Teniente?’’ Clete asked.
‘‘In the library, Patrón.’’
‘‘I’ll just say hello to him,’’ Dorotéa said, and followed Clete to the library. He held the door open for her and she walked in ahead of him.
‘‘Ah, Señorita Mallín,’’ a familiar male voice. ‘‘What an unexpected pleasure! How nice to see you again.’’
Jesus, who the hell is that? Whoever it is, he sounds just like Colonel Graham.
‘‘And Major Frade himself!’’ Colonel A. F. Graham, USMCR, said. ‘‘What a coincidence! We were just talking about you.’’
‘‘I told the Colonel you’d probably show up here sooner or later, Tex,’’ Mr. Milton Leibermann said. ‘‘And tell us all about the revolution.’’
‘‘What’s going on?’’ Clete said.
‘‘You’ll have to excuse my bad manners, Señorita Mall ín,’’ Graham said, ignoring the question. ‘‘You’ve met Lieutenant Pelosi, I know. But not these other gentlemen, I believe. May I present Commander Delojo, our Naval Attaché here, and Mr. Milton Leibermann, who is the Legal Attaché of the American Embassy in Buenos Aires?’’
What the hell is all this about?
Commander Delojo and Milton Leibermann shook Dorot éa’s hand. Leibermann told her that she was even more beautiful than Pelosi had told him she was.
‘‘. . . and Mr. Ralph Stevenson, who is the Cultural Attach é of our Embassy in Montevideo, and Captain Maxwell Ashton III. Gentlemen, Señorita Dorotéa Mallín, Major Frade’s fiancée.’’ He paused and looked at Clete. ‘‘When Tony told us that wonderful news, Clete, frankly I was a little hurt that you hadn’t let me know. I would have sent a present, or something.’’
Clete didn’t reply.
Enrico came into the room, looked around, and then at Clete.
‘‘And this gentleman,’’ Graham said, ‘‘is Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodríguez, Argentine Army, Retired, sometimes introduced as Colonel Rodríguez.’’
Graham has obviously heard from that Air Corps Colonel at Pôrto Alegre, Clete thought.
Or maybe he’s been there?
And obviously, behind that little mask of perfect manners he’s wearing, he’s pissed at me.
Why?
What the hell have I done wrong, except getting one of my men killed?
Well, if that’s what’s pissing him off, he’s entitled.
‘‘I realize this is an imposition, Señorita Mallín,’’ Graham said, ‘‘but I’m afraid that we have to speak to Cletus now, and alone.’’
She looked at Clete, then at Graham, then turned and left the library without a word.
Clete looked at Graham.
‘‘I accept full responsibility for the death of Sergeant Ettinger,’’ Clete said. ‘‘I should have made sure that he would not leave the estancia.’’
‘‘I’m not surprised that you would say that, Clete,’’ Graham said, ‘‘but I am surprised that you know. Who gave you that information?’’
‘‘It’s not important.’’
‘‘I decide what’s important.’’
‘‘I decide what I tell you.’’
‘‘That’s not the way it works.’’
‘‘Yes, it is,’’ Clete said.
Commander Delojo looked at Graham, anticipating a satisfactory reaction to Clete’s insubordination.
‘‘If you tell me what you know, about Ettinger, I mean,’’ Graham replied, the reply disappointing Delojo, ‘‘I—or Stevenson—will fill in any blanks from what we know.’’
; ‘‘In front of Milton Leibermann?’’ Clete asked.
‘‘In front of Milt,’’ Graham said.
‘‘Including why Ettinger felt he had to go to Montevideo? ’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Graham said simply. ‘‘Milt knows what Ettinger was up to; I told him.’’
Maybe, if the OSS had been talking to the FBI all along, David would still be alive, Clete thought angrily.
He looked at Leibermann.
‘‘I was told that Ettinger was found dead of stab wounds in the sand dunes on the River Plate beach north of Carrasco. The murder was probably done for hire, by Uruguayan gangsters, and the murder was paid for by Standartenführer Goltz, or somebody working for him. But at Goltz’s orders. Goltz is also the guy who gave the orders to have my father killed.’’
‘‘You must have a pretty good source of information,’’ Graham said. ‘‘That’s about all we have. Except why the Uruguayan police believe the murderers were Uruguayan criminals. Do you want to hear that?’’
‘‘Please.’’
Graham looked at Stevenson and gestured for him to furnish the information.
‘‘They severed Sergeant Ettinger’s penis and placed it in his mouth,’’ Stevenson said. ‘‘In the . . . How do I put this? This is what the gangsters down here do to stool pigeons. The idea, apparently, was to send a message to people.’’
‘‘What kind of message? To who?’’
‘‘To the German Jewish community in Montevideo and here,’’ Stevenson went on. ‘‘That Ettinger—in his role as a German Jew, not an OSS agent—had talked too much, which means at all, about the ransoming operation the Germans are running. The message is that anyone who talks about it will be killed, and in that manner.’’
‘‘I think we ought to send the Germans a message,’’ Clete said. ‘‘That anybody who orders the killing of one of us gets a rifle bullet between the eyes.’’
‘‘Shoot Standartenführer Goltz, you mean?’’ Graham asked.
‘‘Or blow his brains out,’’ Tony Pelosi said. ‘‘If Clete had let me do that when I wanted to, maybe Dave would still be alive.’’
‘‘Tell me about that,’’ Graham said evenly.
There was something in his voice Clete didn’t like, and he tried to signal Tony to button his mouth, but Tony had his attention focused on Graham and didn’t see him.
Blood and Honor Page 69
