City of Knives

by William Bayer

  Marta studied him. "I believe you, Andrés. You've been straight with us. That's very much appreciated. We'll put you in protective custody. But first call your friend Miguel, tell him we want to come over, tell him we're after Liliana Méndez and that the time's come to take his revenge."

  Chapter Sixteen

  GÖRING'S DAGGER

  Hank Barnes studied the woman sitting opposite as she read through his folder of clippings—newspaper and magazine articles that confirmed his status as an expert in the field of Third Reich militaria.

  They were seated at a table in the dark paneled bar of the elegant Alvear Palace Hotel, definitely several cuts above the Castelar. Beautifully dressed men and women sat at other tables. The mood was hushed, the lighting subdued, the service exemplary, the prices out-of-sight.

  "She'll feel comfortable meeting you there," DiPinto assured him. "She'll feel safe among her own kind." And just what kind is that? Hank wondered, observing Señora Pedraza as she continued to peruse his clippings.

  Max Rosenfeld, the jeweler, had described her as arrogant. "A typical Barrio Norte type," he'd said. She looked to Hank to be a vain well-groomed "woman of a certain age," perhaps also a bit surgically enhanced, he thought, noticing a frozen quality to her unlined forehead and a telltale lack of expression around her mouth.

  She was peering at him now over the tops of her spectacles.

  "You certainly seem to be the man you claim to be," she said, comparing his face to a photograph beside an article in The Chicago Tribune. She smiled, a shrewd smile, he thought. "One can't be too careful these days," she added.

  Her English was excellent, not surprising since DiPinto told him she'd lived in South Africa during the Apartheid regime, when her husband, Dr. Osvaldo Pedraza, had been a professor of political theory at the University of Johannesburg.

  "This city is filled with con men," she continued. "We call them chantas. So tell me, Mr. Barnes, now that you've proven your bona fides, what kind of 'urgent business' do you wish to discuss?" Again she smiled her very clever smile. "Or, to be precise, exactly what sort of swindle do you intend to pull on the poor, naive, middle-aged lady sitting opposite?"

  Amused, he found himself beginning to like her. "I don't do swindles," he said.

  "Everyone does swindles," she responded quickly. "Some call them business dealings, but in the end all businessmen here are crooks and all their deals are scams. So tell me, sir, why did you ask to meet with me?"

  "I'd hoped my clippings would give you a hint."

  She stared at him, waiting for him to explain.

  "Six months ago," he began, "a certain lady brought a dagger into a jewelry store here in Buenos Aires." He glanced at Señora Pedraza, highly attentive now. "This lady requested an evaluation of the gem stones to determine whether they were worth prying out and replacing with glass."

  At this he gave her a meaningful look. When she stared back coolly, he continued.

  "From what I understand, the jeweler didn't offer the lady much for the stones. But he did tell her that if she'd sell him the entire dagger he would pay her a very good price. The lady told the jeweler she couldn't possibly sell the dagger, then abruptly left the shop."

  "End of story?"

  "End of Part One. If you're interested I'll go on to Part Two."

  Señora Pedraza laughed. "This is so amusing. I do want to hear Part Two. But first, please explain how this funny anecdote reached you so far away in North America?"

  Good! She's hooked! Now show her more of the bait!

  "You've read my clippings, Señora. You know my specialty. I deal in Third Reich material, especially dress swords and daggers. The dagger the lady showed the jeweler was recognized due to a coat of arms etched on the blade. This suggested it may have once belonged to an important Third Reich personality. As the dagger hasn't been authenticated, there's no way of knowing whether that's the case. But if the dagger is real it would be of great interest to specialist collectors and thus extremely valuable. It shouldn't be surprising that the merest hint that such a dagger was floating around would reach a specialist dealer such as myself."

  "But according to your story, Mr. Barnes, the lady refused to sell the dagger."

  "True. So naturally I speculated as to why she was interested in selling the gems but not the ensemble."

  "Your conclusion?"

  "The lady was willing to sell the gems, if they were sufficiently valuable, because she knew her husband, the owner, wouldn't notice the replacements. But the dagger itself was so important to him he'd be very concerned if it disappeared...so concerned, he might even suspect her of having disposed of it."

  "If that's true, why bother coming such a long way to talk to her?"

  "I came because I can offer the lady a solution. Just as the jeweler would have replaced the gems with glass, I can assist her by replacing the dagger with an indistinguishable replica."

  Señora Pedraza's eyes lit up. "Now that is interesting!" But then the gleam began to cloud. "Wouldn't such a replica be very costly and take a long time to make?"

  She still thinks I'm a chanta. I'd think so too if I were her!

  "Normally, yes. But suppose I tell you the replica already exists? It may need some work. I'd have to see the original to know how much. In fact, I'd have to see the original before making an offer to assure myself it's authentic."

  She smiled. "Just as the lady would have to see the replica before even contemplating such a deal."

  "Certainly she can see it. It's upstairs in my room. If she wants, I can show it to her right now."

  Señora Pedraza smiled. "I doubt a lady in her position would want to be seen entering a strange gentleman's hotel room. All sorts of wicked things might happen up there. Who knows? She might be ravaged!"

  Oh, this is great! We're flirting!

  He shrugged. "She can see it anytime and at any place she chooses. Perhaps at the same time she'll show me the original."

  "You wouldn't try and use that opportunity to switch the daggers, would you?" she asked coquettishly.

  He laughed. "No, Señora, I wouldn't dream of doing that. The lady can assure herself of this by arranging for separate viewings, one of the original, the other of the replica. That way there'd be no opportunity to make a switch and each party could assure him/herself that the other party has what he/she wants. At which point, assuming he finds the original authentic and she finds the replica indistinguishable, they can finalize the deal."

  "I'm impressed, Mr. Barnes. It's clear you've thought this through. However the lady would want to know what price you have in mind before she wastes her time with such shenanigans."

  "I can assure the lady the price would be substantial."

  "Isn't it often the case that one party's 'substantial' turns out to be another party's 'not nearly enough'?"

  "I'll be frank with you, Señora. When I make an offer it's final and it comes with an expiration date. Then it's up to the other party to accept or reject. As a dealer, I naturally expect to make a profit. Should I acquire the dagger, I'd expect to double my money on the resale. That's what all antique dealers try to do and I'm no exception. But I think in this case what I have to offer is unique. I not only have a replica in hand, but I also offer total discretion. When you sell to me it's not like selling at an auction house. The deal is private and the money is paid in US dollars cash."

  Señora Pedraza smiled. "I must say I like you, Mr. Barnes. You make a good case for yourself. But suppose the lady were to turn you down in the belief that another dealer might make a better offer? After all, if Hank Barnes has wind of the lady's encounter with the jeweler, perhaps another dealer has too."

  "A good point. But for reasons I can't go into, that simply isn't possible."

  This time her smile was both clever and flirtatious. For a moment they beamed at one another, then she checked her watch.

  "Thank you for telling me this interesting story." She rose. "It's been a pleasant encounter."

 
He stood. "Will I hear from you, Señora?"

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

  "I'll be leaving Buenos Aires in a week."

  "In that case, if you don't hear from me, you'll be leaving with your replica, won't you, Mr. Barnes?"

  She stuck out her hand. He shook it. She started to leave, then turned back. "You're staying here in the hotel?"

  "Room 620."

  She nodded. "Adiós, Mr. Barnes. I wish you a pleasant stay."

  Hank waited in his new luxurious hotel room for DiPinto to show up. He figured DiPinto was making sure Señora Pedraza had left before returning to debrief him on the meeting.

  While he waited, he reviewed his plan. A single public meeting with the Señora was acceptable; additional meetings would not be. If he was being set up, the more often he was seen with her the more dangerous his position. He knew Mossad agents were ruthless. They had invested a lot of time and money in this operation. He didn't know what kind of trap they had in mind, but knew he had to get away before they sprung it. He also knew that until then he must have only one objective: to discover whether the Pedraza Reichsmarschall dagger was genuine. If it turned out to be bogus, he'd depart on the next plane. If it was real, he'd try his damnedest to take it with him. He was thinking about that when DiPinto entered the room.

  "She's gone," the detective said, sprawling on an easy chair. He looked very sure of himself, Hank thought, like a guy who had everything under control.

  "I got a good look at her when she got into her car. She seemed excited. How'd it go?"

  Hank described the meeting including the flirtatious aspects, but he didn't tell DiPinto that he'd revealed to Señora Pedraza that he knew it was she who'd taken the dagger into Joyería Rosenfeld. DiPinto had been adamant he say nothing about the maid on the pretext that, if he did, Luisa Kim would be fired. Of course the real reason was that Luisa Kim was not a maid but an actress. Still, DiPinto had made a case that, having corrupted Luisa with their bribe, she was now subject to further manipulation. "It's always good to have an agent working for you inside the house," he'd said.

  "You did a great job," he told Hank, when he finished. "The hook's definitely in her mouth."

  "I'm not so sure. She didn't leap to come up and examine the replica."

  "She's shrewd. She didn't want to seem too eager. Now she's got a big decision to make. You'll hear from her pretty soon."

  Hank sat down on the bed. "She acted like I was some kind of chanta."

  DiPinto was amused. "I see you've learned some Argentine slang. Don't forget, she's a chanta too if she sells us her husband's property."

  "Which means we're all chantas, right? You, her, me and Mr. G."

  DiPinto stroked his goatee. "Sure, Hank, we're all chantas. Everyone's a chanta down here. The longer you stay here the more clearly you'll understand that Buenos Aires is the world capital for chantas."

  DiPinto went to the closet, retrieved the replica dagger from the room safe, then turned back to Hank.

  "I bet you five bucks she calls before noon tomorrow. If you need me, I'll be next door."

  Señora Pedraza phoned at ten a.m. Her husband must have just left for the day, Hank thought.

  "I'm ready to examine the replica," she said, "and show you my husband's original."

  Hank proposed a method, devised by DiPinto, that would provide the Señora with a sense of security. He'd reserve the adjoining room, then leave the key card for her in a sealed envelope at the front desk. She need only pick it up, slip into the room, place her husband's dagger in the closet safe, set the combination, then knock on the connecting door. Hank would let her into his room, show her the replica, then they'd both return to her room where he'd examine the original. If he determined it was genuine, she could mark it in several places with red tape to insure there'd be no sleight-of-hand. Then he'd bring in the replica, they'd compare the two, and then he'd photograph them side-by-side so his artisan would see what had to be altered. After that, he'd present her with his offer.

  "Sounds like a good plan," she said. "I'll bring my own tape to do the markings."

  Hank was amused. "Still suspicious?"

  "Call me cautious. Your plan is too detailed. Why red tape? Why not green? yellow? orange? In a situation like this, I'd be dumb to give up all control. Not because I distrust you, Mr. Barnes, but simply as a matter of principle."

  "Oh, yes!" he said. "We're both so highly principled!"

  At her request the meeting was set for six p.m., a good time, she said, to slip into an elevator amidst all the comings and goings in the lobby.

  "If I'm spotted and can't come up, I'll give you a call."

  "Fine. But don't use the house phone. From now on we'll talk only on our cells."

  She agreed, they exchanged numbers, then Hank called DiPinto to tell him he'd won their bet.

  At noon DiPinto turned up with all the equipment Hank had ordered: a binocular microscope for examining the daggers; a scale for weighing them; a length of black velour to serve as background; and a good 70mm camera, film, tripod and set of lights for the photography. As for taking the Pedraza dagger apart, Hank had brought his own set of vintage German dagger take-down tools from Chicago. DiPinto also wired rooms 620 and 622 for sound, enabling him to hear every word from his listening post in a third room he'd taken down the hall.

  A little after six o'clock, Hank heard a dull knock on the connecting door. He opened his side and knocked back. When Señora Pedraza opened her side, they gazed at one another across the doorsill.

  She was smiling. "We mustn't keep meeting like this!"

  He was struck again by her coquettishness.

  "I feel like I'm in the middle of a spy film."

  "So do I!" Her eyes gleamed. "Isn't it fun?"

  When he brought out the replica, she put on her glasses, picked it up and examined it. She slid the blade out of the scabbard, lightly touched the steel, replaced the blade, then pulled out a jeweler's loupe and began studying the gem stones.

  Suddenly she looked up. "These are real diamonds!"

  Hank nodded. "The chips and little ones are. The big one in the pommel is a Zircon."

  "This must have cost a fortune."

  "It cost plenty," Hank agreed. "You can be sure that'll be factored into my offer."

  "I can't believe you had this made on spec. You couldn't have known I'd sell to you, or even agree to meet."

  Hank had prepared an answer for that. "It's an old forgery. I've had it a few years, kept it in case the real dagger turned up."

  "I'm going to mark it," she said, opening her purse, pulling out a scissors and a small roll of white tape, snipping off several triangular pieces, then adhering them to the scabbard and hilt.

  "Clever, Señora! When I suggest you mark the original, you elect to mark the replica. Always do the opposite...on principle, of course!"

  She laughed; she liked being regarded as clever. Pleased with herself, she put the replica aside, then pulled her own dagger from her purse, wrapped, as Max Rosenfeld had described, in a Hermès scarf.

  "Another surprise. I didn't feel like leaving it unguarded in what could easily be a tricked-out hotel room safe."

  Hank felt great excitement as he picked it up and weighed it in his hand. The balance was perfect. Then, as a sixth sense told him it was real, his head began to swim.

  Forget this sixth sense crap! Pull yourself together! Do this right!

  He spent an hour examining it millimeter by millimeter, first with his naked eye, then under the microscope. Everything was perfect: the Luftwaffe eagle on the crossguard composed of diamond chips; the diamond studded Reichsmarschall eagle and the crossed batons and swastika on the upper scabbard. The steel blade was flawless, as fine a hand-forged blade as he'd ever seen. The ivory grip was superbly fluted. He couldn't find a flaw. And then, when finally he used his special tools to unscrew the ring just below the pommel, pull apart the hilt assembly and expose the hidden portion of the blade, his heart leapt as he found Pau
l Müller's forge mark on the tang, and Professor Herbert Zeitner's initials etched on the underside of the crossguard.

  The dagger, he could see, had never before been taken apart. Most likely its previous owners were too awed to attempt it. In any event, they probably wouldn't have known how to do it since the lower pommel ring had to be worked in a special way before it could be unscrewed.

  Here was a dagger that had been made for and fondled by one of the great twentieth century megalomaniacs. And now here he was in a luxurious hotel room in Buenos Aires, staring into the interior of the Holy Grail of Third Reich militaria collectibles. He understood that it was not so much Hermann Göring's prior ownership that inspired his awe, but the beauty and artisanship of the object itself. He also knew that if he could figure out a way to keep hold of it, he could turn it into a huge amount of money.

  "Are you in a trance?" Señora Pedraza asked.

  Hank looked up. "Excuse me?"

  "You've been staring at that thing for nearly an hour."

  "Sorry. I'm just awed by it."

  "You're saying it's genuine?"

  "Absolutely. No doubt about it!"

  He set to work, first weighing it, then weighing the replica. The replica was three grams too light. He set the two daggers side by side on the velour, noted a few small differences in wear and coloring, then lit them and photographed them together—obverse, reverse, top, bottom and sides. He also photographed the interior parts of the original, not because he expected Gerhard Adler to duplicate the forge mark and initials, but simply to document the workmanship. Then he put the original back together, handed it back to Señora Pedraza, went to the room minibar and asked her what she'd like to drink.

  "Soda water will be perfect," she said.

  Ah, the lady wishes to remain sober!

  He opened a bottle for her, poured the liquid into a glass, fixed himself a Scotch and water, then sat down in the easy chair across from hers at the window end of the room.