Empire and Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Cletus!” General Martín said warningly.

  “Cletus what?” Frade snapped. “The fucking Nazis murdered my father, and Hansel’s father, and this smug sonofabitch sits here and says, ‘Sorry, my officer’s honor doesn’t—’”

  “Herr Oberstleutnant,” von Dattenberg interrupted.

  Frade looked at him. He saw tears running down von Dattenberg’s cheeks.

  “What?” Frade snapped.

  “I will tell you, and may God forgive me, whatever it is you wish to know.”

  “I really hope you mean that, von Dattenberg,” Frade said, after a long moment.

  “I will tell you whatever you wish to know, Herr Oberstleutnant,” von Dattenberg repeated.

  “Okay. Your immediate problem with me is that by asking you some of these questions I will be telling you things you have no right to know, and I can’t run the risk of you telling anyone what I have asked. I really don’t like killing people, but I will kill you without hesitation if I decide that is what has to be done to keep this information out of the wrong hands. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Von Dattenberg nodded slowly. “I understand, Herr Oberstleutnant.”

  “Clete, Willi’s given his word,” von Wachtstein said.

  “Are we back to that German officer’s honor bullshit, Hansel?” Frade snapped.

  “It was my German officer’s honor that forced me to warn you that there would be an attempt on your life,” von Wachtstein said softly.

  Frade looked at him for a long moment.

  “Touché, Hansel,” he said finally. “You really know how to go for the gut, don’t you?”

  Von Wachtstein didn’t reply.

  “What our mutual friend, Hansel, is talking about, Willi,” Frade explained, “is that shortly after he came to Argentina, he learned from Oberst Karl-Heinz Grüner—the SS guy at the German embassy—that, to send a message to my father and the Argentine army officer corps, assassins had been hired to whack me—”

  “‘Whack’?” von Dattenberg parroted.

  “Kill, assassinate, eliminate,” Frade clarified. “And, cutting to the chase, he warned me.”

  “And you were able to stop them?” von Dattenberg asked.

  “What he did, Fregattenkapitän,” General Martín said, “was kill both of the men sent to kill him.”

  “But not before the bastards had cut the throat of Enrico’s sister, who was my housekeeper. Later, Oberst Grüner arranged the successful assassination of my father. Nice guy, Oberst Grüner. Enrico later put a seven-millimeter slug in his brain when Grüner was unloading stuff from a Spanish merchant ship onto the beach at Samborombón Bay.

  “The reason I’m telling you all this, Willi—and the reason I’m calling you Willi—is that you just got a pass. Hansel has vouched for you—that makes you one of the good guys. In other words, after you finish answering my questions, I will not shoot you.”

  “And you had planned to do that?”

  “Let’s say I considered it one of my likely options.”

  “One of the difficulties I have encountered in dealing with Colonel Frade, Fregattenkapitän,” Martín said, “is that I never really know if he means what he says.”

  “Well, Willi, now that you’re suitably terrified, there’s a number of questions I have for you. Let’s start with the most important subject in which my government is interested. U-234.”

  “Before I ask what’s your interest in U-234,” von Dattenberg said, and looked at von Wachtstein, “I will clarify that prior to surrendering my U-boot, I carried out orders to put ashore SS-Brigadeführer Ludwig Hoffmann and fifteen other SS officers with five wooden crates, contents unknown, in the San Matias Gulf.”

  Frade noticed that his tone showed that he didn’t seem at all terrified. Not as he went on answering von Wachtstein’s and Frade’s and Martín’s detailed questions about the secret landing. And not as he almost conversationally finally said, “Now, what’s your interest in U-234?”

  “I think the stories about large numbers of U-boats leaving Germany for Argentina in the last days of the war are bullshit,” Frade said. “But U-234 is different. Credible intelligence has been developed by the OSS that U-234 left the submarine pens in Norway bound for Japan carrying not only the to-be-expected cargo of Nazi officers and cash and diamonds, but also several German nuclear physicists and five hundred sixty kilograms of uranium oxide. Do you know what uranium oxide is, Willi?”

  “It has something to do with your atomic bombs,” von Dattenberg said.

  “It is the essential ingredient in nuclear weapons,” Frade said. “Did you know that the Germans had a program to make nuclear weapons?”

  “No. But I’m not surprised.”

  “Our intelligence has it that when imminent defeat became apparent to the Nazi hierarchy, they decided to send their stocks of uranium oxide and their best nuclear scientists to Japan, in the hope the Japanese could finish the work. Do you know, or have you heard anything, about that?”

  “No. But it also doesn’t surprise me. I know we sent at least one, and possibly more than one, of our jet fighter aircraft, the ME-262, to Japan by submarine. Same idea, I would suggest, that the Japanese could possibly use them against the English and Americans.”

  “One unpleasant, if wholly credible, scenario is that the senior Nazi officers aboard U-234—once they heard the Japs had surrendered, and that would have happened before they could have reached Japan—would contact the Russians by radio and see what the Russians would offer, including sanctuary from war-crimes trials, for both the uranium oxide and the nuclear scientists.

  “My own variation of that scenario is that the Russians would promise the Nazis the moon, and then when U-234 tied up in a Russian port, the Russians would seize the uranium oxide, put the German scientists to work on their nuclear weapons program, and either execute the Nazis on the spot or after they had been thoroughly interrogated.

  “It’s obviously of great importance to the United States that the Russians get neither the scientists nor the uranium oxide,” Frade went on. “Or that the Soviets even learn that both had left Germany on a submarine bound for Argentina. So, what I need from you right now, Willi, is everything you know, or have heard, or intuit, about U-234.”

  Von Dattenberg nodded, collected his thoughts, and then began: “Colonel—”

  “Now that we’re pals, Willi, you can call me Cletus.”

  Von Dattenberg nodded again. “Cletus,” he said. “This would be good news, except that I don’t think you’re ready to accept good news from me.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I knew that U-234—more accurately I suspected that U-234 was coming here. She’s the same kind of boat—a VIIC, built as a minelayer, converted to a transport—as my U-405. Both vessels were sort of reserved for important missions like Argentina transport because of their greater range.

  “We can assume she didn’t make it to Japan. If she did, as you suggest, try to go to Russia—I think this is unlikely, as she was probably close to Argentina when she heard the Japanese were out of the war, and establishing radio contact with any Russian base would be very difficult. Even if that unlikely circumstance happened, she would not have had enough fuel to make it to any Russian port.

  “One possibility is that she went to South Africa, put the money, the crew, and passengers ashore, and then was scuttled. But that’s a remote possibility, at best. So, if I were you, I’d stop worrying about U-234.”

  “If that’s good news—”

  “I hope you accept it as such. It’s the best I have to offer.”

  “Well, Willi, since Hansel got you a pass, I don’t have any other options, do I?”

  “El Jefe,” General Martín said, “please take Fregattenkapitän von Dattenberg onto the veranda and give us a moment alone.”

  “Open another bottle of the Cabernet,” Frade said. “Quickly. This won’t take long.”

  Martín waited until von Dattenberg had followed Schult
z out of the library before asking, “Well? Is he telling the truth, Peter?”

  “Yes,” von Wachtstein said. “I think—what is that line from court trial movies?—I think we got ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’”

  “Cletus?”

  “Either that, or he’s a better actor than John Barrymore,” Frade said. “Those were real tears.”

  “You were a pretty good actor yourself,” Martín said, “with that line about him being sixty seconds from getting shot.”

  “What the hell makes you think I didn’t mean it?” Frade asked.

  “I think what broke him,” von Wachtstein said, “was what Clete said about the ‘honor-of-the-officer-corps bullshit.’ Willi—he’s really a good man—had to know that oath of loyalty we ‘swore’ to Hitler was . . . well, bullshit.”

  “Since we’re all playing psychiatrist,” Frade said, “I think what made him open up was hearing what happened to Hansel’s father and Admiral Canaris.”

  “The question now is whether he will keep his mouth shut about talking to us,” Martín said. “But let me back up. The people he put ashore on the San Matias Gulf—anybody important, Clete?”

  “According to the list of people we are looking for—”

  “‘We’ again meaning the OSS?” Martín interrupted.

  “Don’t start that crap again, Bernardo. The OSS no longer exists.”

  “I may not be very bright, Cletus, my friend, but I’m smart enough to know when not to—what is it you say?—pull your chain. I just want to know what list.”

  Frade looked at him for perhaps five seconds, and then tapped the thick stack of paper held together with a metal clip with his fingertips.

  “I got this in Germany,” he said. “This is the list of people the U.S. government—and all the Allies, which theoretically includes Argentina—are looking for.” He paused, and then went on: “For a lot of reasons. That same list allowed us to find Elsa von Wachtstein.”

  “Are you going to give me a look at it?”

  “How come you don’t have a copy, Bernardo? I’m sure the Argentine embassy—or whatever it’s now called—in Berlin was given a copy.”

  “Would you be shocked to learn there are people in my government who would rather I didn’t have access to the information in your list?”

  “Nulder, you mean?”

  “Nulder and others,” Martín said.

  “I’ll do better than giving you a look,” Frade said. “I’ll have el Jefe shoot it with his trusty Leica.”

  “I would be grateful,” Martín said.

  “According to the list, SS-Brigadeführer Ludwig Hoffmann is a three-star sonofabitch. We really want him. And of the other fifteen SS officers, nine are of ‘special interest,’ which means if they weren’t here, and we caught them, they’d be on death row waiting to be hung. Unless the Brits found them first—seven of von Dattenberg’s Nazis are on the Special Air Service’s ‘execute on locating’ list. I’ve got a copy of that, too, which, if you’d like, el Jefe can also photograph.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll probably learn more when I send the list to . . . to somebody I know in Germany.”

  “Your little brother, you mean?” Martín asked.

  “Yeah, my little brother,” Frade said, smiling. “Like most second lieutenants, he knows everything about everything. So, what happens to von Dattenberg now?”

  “Well, presuming we can get him back to Puerto Belgrano without attracting too much attention—”

  “Define ‘too much attention,’” Frade interrupted.

  “No eyebrows will be raised if the chief of BIS is reported to have been at Puerto Belgrano to see what he can find out about U-405. That’s my job. The same eyebrows would go way up if it got out that I took him away for all this time.”

  “And if they don’t go up?”

  “I will report to General Farrell that I interviewed von Dattenberg, and that he told me he had not put anything or anyone ashore anywhere. I will recommend that he and his crew join the internees of the Graf Spee in Villa General Belgrano in Cordoba, until it can be decided what to do with them. I think Farrell will go along with that. Once they’re there, certain people will go there to try to find out what, if anything, he told Admiral Crater and me about his passengers and cargo.

  “I think ‘certain people’ will either be el Coronel Perón’s good friend former Teniente Coronel Nulder, or one of Rudy’s charming associates. With a little bit of luck, von Dattenberg’s crew will tell them he ordered them to say nothing about their putting anything ashore in the San Matias Gulf.”

  “His crew will do what he asked them to,” von Wachtstein said flatly.

  “I really hope so, Peter,” Martín said.

  “So, what happens to him now? To them? After they’re in Villa General Belgrano?”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens, Peter,” Martín said. “What we have to do now is get him back to Puerto Belgrano as discreetly as possible. And as quickly.”

  “Quickly would be in the Lodestar,” Frade said. “But that airplane seems to attract attention, doesn’t it?”

  “Just a little,” Martín agreed. “Maybe because it’s fire-engine red?”

  “I could fly Bernardo and Willi to Puerto Belgrano in the Storch,” von Wachtstein said. “And then take Bernardo to Buenos Aires. Your driver is here, right?”

  Martín nodded.

  “By the time you and I could get to Jorge Frade, he could be there with your car,” von Wachtstein finished.

  “That would work,” Martín said.

  “And I could shoot the lists and send the film with your driver,” Schultz said.

  “That would really be helpful,” Martín said.

  “A beautiful plan which will probably destroy Hansel’s happy marriage, when Alicia gets home and he’s not there,” Frade said.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” von Wachtstein said. “I thought you knew that.”

  [TWO]

  Half of a section of one of the book-lined walls of the library that von Dattenberg had noticed when he was brought into the house was swung open. It revealed a small desk on which sat several devices. But of course von Dattenberg was not privvy to the secret compartment; as far as he knew, the library bookshelves were simply that.

  One device on the desk was a Collins Radio Corporation Model 7.2 transceiver, usually—but not today—capable of establishing communication around the world.

  “It’s the fucking sun,” Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USNR, diagnosed.

  It was an expert opinion. Schultz had once been chief radioman, USN, aboard the destroyer USS Alfred Thomas, DD-107.

  “Can we get through to Vint Hill?” Frade asked.

  Vint Hill—officially Vint Hill Farms Station—was a small, highly secret base in Virginia, not far from Washington and the Pentagon. It was the home of the Army Security Agency, which provided, among other services, “secure”—in other words, encrypted—communications between the Pentagon and Army headquarters around the world. It had provided such services to the Office of Strategic Services and—by VOPOTUS, Verbal Order President of the United States—had been directed after the OSS disestablishment to continue to provide such services between Allen Dulles, Colonel Robert Mattingly, and Lieutenant Colonel Cletus Frade in connection with the unnamed operation everyone had come to think of as OPERATION EAST.

  El Jefe adjusted several controls on the Collins and then typed for perhaps ten seconds on the keyboard of another device, this one itself classified Top Secret, and called the SIGABA. He then pushed a switch marked TRANSMIT.

  Thirty seconds later, a strip of paper, a quarter inch in width, began to come out of the SIGABA.

  He looked at it and announced, “We’re up, boss.”

  Frade handed him a typewritten message. Schultz took it and turned to the SIGABA keyboard, and with a speed most secretaries would envy, retyped it. This caused two things to happen. The message i
tself appeared as it would on a typewriter, and the SIGABA started to emit more of the quarter-inch paper.

  When he had finished, he handed the “typewriter” copy to Frade, who read it carefully.

  * * *

  TOP SECRET–PRESIDENTIAL

  URGENT

  VIA VINT HILL SPECIAL

  FROM TEX 0013 10OCT45

  EYES ONLY ADDRESSEES

  TO BERN AT WHITE HOUSE

  TANKER AT HQ USFET

  FLAGS AT XXVII CIC MUNICH

  * * *

  “Tex” was Frade; he was from Texas. “Bern” was Allen Dulles, who had run OSS operations in Europe from Bern, Switzerland, and had been given access to the White House communications network. “Tanker” was Colonel Robert Mattingly, now deputy commander of the CIC at Headquarters, U.S. Forces, European Theater in the I.G. Farben Building in Frankfurt. “Flags” was Major Harold N. Wallace, whose lapels bore the crossed semaphore flags of the Signal Corps, and who was now commanding the XXVII CIC Detachment in Munich.

  * * *

  HOOVER BROUGHT TO FARM FREGATTENKAPITÄN WILHELM VON DATTENBERG HEREAFTER SUBMARINE WHO SURRENDERED U-405 TO ARMADA ARGENTINA AT PUERTO BELGRANO 0520 9OCT45.

  SUBMARINE TOLD FRIENDLY ARMADA ADMIRAL HE CAME DIRECTLY TO PUERTO BELGRANO FROM GERMANY BUT AFTER MEETING WITH GALAHAD REVEALED HE HAD SECRETLY PUT ASHORE SIXTEEN SS OFFICERS INCLUDING SS-BRIGADEFÜHRER LUDWIG HOFFMANN AND FIVE CRATES UNIDENTIFIED CONTENTS. LIST OF SS OFFICERS WILL BE SENT AS MESSAGE TEX-0014.

  * * *

  “Hoover” was General de Brigada Bernardo Martín, whose Bureau of Internal Security was something like the FBI, which was under J. Edgar Hoover. “The Farm” was Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

  Frade did not see any point in identifying “Friendly Armada Admiral” as Vicealmirante Crater. “Galahad” was von Wachtstein. “Irish” was President Edelmiro Julián Farrell. “Tío Juan” was Colonel Juan D. Perón.