“He probably knows that Juan annoyed FDR and is being punished with South American Airways,” Graham said, “but I don’t know if he knows Hap— oh, hell, the cow’s out of the barn—if he knows Hap Arnold also went to Roosevelt. And he hasn’t told me because I would be liable to tell Howard—Wild Bill refers to Howard as my Loose Cannon Number One—”
“Guess who’s A. F.’s Loose Cannon Number Two, Clete,” Hughes interrupted, laughing.
Graham finished: “—who would be capable of going—even likely to go— to Colonel McCormick and telling him (a) what Lindbergh did vis-à-vis Yamamoto and (b) what FDR did in grateful appreciation.”
“What I’d like to do is go whisper in Alphonso’s ear,” Hughes said.
"God damn it, don’t even joke about something like that,” Graham said furiously.
“ ‘Alphonso’?” Clete asked.
“The A in Senator Robert A. Taft’s name stands for Alphonso,” Hughes said. “That’s a secret right up there with Leslie Groves’s superbomb.”
Graham looked at Hughes almost in horror, then his eyes darted to Clete.
Clete said, “I don’t know who—what did you say, ‘Leslie Groves’?—I don’t know who she is, but I know about the superbomb.”
“Who she is?” Hughes said, laughing. “Clete, the guy who runs the Manhattan Project is a barrel-chested gray-haired major general named Leslie Groves.”
“Allen Dulles told you about the Manhattan Project?” Graham asked.
Clete nodded.
“He somehow neglected to mention that to me,” Graham said.
“Maybe he thinks you’re a loose cannon,” Hughes said.
Graham flashed him an angry look.
“He also told me about some German ex-Nazi in the Hotel Washington,” Clete said. “Tell me about him.”
“He did tell you how secret the Manahattan Project is, I hope,” Graham said.
Clete nodded, then said, “Tell me about the German in the Hotel Washington. ”
Graham said, “You’re thinking he might be useful in turning Colonel Frogger?”
“I don’t know. It looks to me as if I need all the help I can get. What about him?”
“I’m somewhat embarrassed that I never thought about this at all,” Graham said. “What did Allen Dulles tell you about Hanfstaengl?”
“That he was an early supporter of National Socialism,” Clete said, “and became a pal of Hitler, a member of the inner circle. Then he got on the wrong side of Martin Bormann or Goebbels or Göring or Himmler—or all four—who didn’t want him close to Hitler. Somebody warned him that one of the above— or maybe Hitler himself—was going to have him whacked, and he got out of Germany just before that was going to happen, and came here and looked up his college chum, FDR, who installed him in the Hotel Washington, where he tells Roosevelt what Hitler and friends are probably thinking.”
Graham nodded and said, “That’s the story.”
“You sound like you don’t believe it,” Hughes said.
“I have trouble believing people who change sides,” Graham said.
“If Clete thinks he’d be useful, and he probably would be,” Hughes said, “we could pick up ol’ Putzi in Washington and take him with us to Mississippi. Or take the Kraut with the funny name to Washington to see Putzi.”
“Ol’ Putzi would probably be useful”?
Howard knows about this guy?
Not only knows about him, but sounds as if he knows him.
“We could pick up ol’ Putzi and take him with us to Mississippi”?
“Who is ‘we’ and ‘us’?” Clete asked. “As in ‘we could pick up ol’ Putzi and take him with us to Mississippi’?”
Graham started to reply, then stopped.
“I don’t have the Need to Know, right?” Clete said.
“What’s going to happen now, Major Frade,” Graham said, “is that you’re going to bed before you fall asleep standing up again. You will be awakened at eight, and informed that the Immigration Service people will pick you up in the driveway at nine and return you to Burbank.”
“And what’s going to happen when we return to Burbank?”
“That’s what I’ll decide before you return to Burbank,” Graham said.
“Why can’t you tell him now?” Hughes protested.
“Tell either one of you now?” Graham asked, and then answered his own question. “Because I just realized that both of my loose cannons would probably approve of what I’m thinking, and when that happens I want to really be careful.”
He stood.
“Good evening, Major Frade,” he said. “Try to get a good night’s sleep. Whatever ultimately happens tomorrow, I suspect it will be a busy, busy day.” He turned to Hughes. “Let’s go, Howard. And if you’re even thinking about sending somebody to keep Clete company, don’t.”
He walked to the door. Hughes pushed himself out of his chair and walked after him.
XIV
[ONE]
Grand Reception Room Embassy of France Cerrito 1399, Buenos Aires, Argentina 2205 4 August 1943
German Ambassador Manfred Alois Graf von Lutzenberger, attired in the splendiferous gold- and silver-encrusted diplomatic uniform prescribed for ambassadors of the Third Reich, stood with First Secretary Anton von Gradny-Sawz, whose uniform was only slightly less laden with gold thread embroidery. They were holding champagne stems and making polite conversation with Mexico’s ambassador to the Republic of Argentina, José Enrico Tarmero.
Despite von Lutzenberger’s smile, he was having unkind thoughts about many things, starting with Ambassador Tarmero’s uniform, which outshone his own.
Then there had been Tarmero’s inquiry.
The Mexican ambassador had asked the German ambassador if he could offer—in confidence, of course—his opinion of the ultimate effect on the war of King Victor Emmanuel having dismissed Benito Mussolini and then appointed Marshal Badoglio to replace him.
Von Lutzenberger had thought: The simple answer to your question, you stupid man, should be self-evident.
The King understands the war is lost and wants to salvage whatever he can, then dodge, as well as he can, the wrath of the Allies.
I would not be at all surprised to learn that as we stand here dressed like characters in a Hungarian comic opera—in this grand reception room in the embassy of what pretends to be a neutral sovereign state but is in fact Axis-leaning—officers of the American OSS are meeting with Badoglio—probably in Rome, maybe in the Vatican—discussing with him the capitulation of Italy.
And with that in mind, Mister Ambassador, I dare to suggest that your question is something less than diplomatic.
But what von Lutzenberger had told the ambassador was that, in his opinion, once it became evident that Italy could not function without Il Duce, particularly when it came to throwing the British and the Americans off Sicily, Mussolini would be restored to power.
Von Lutzenberger also had unkind thoughts about the minister extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the United States of America to the Republic of Argentina, who, while standing across the room under the magnificent chandeliers and before a portrait of Napoleon, had had the gall to raise his champagne stem and smile.
But, von Lutzenberger told himself, the American ambassador was nodding and smiling at Tarmero—not at von Lutzenberger.
One does not nod at the ambassador of a nation with which your nation is at war.
Von Lutzenberger glanced again at the American ambassador.
In a pig’s ass he’s smiling at Tarmero!
The sonofabitch is smirking at me!
And his gottverdammt smirk is asking, “Heard about Sicily, Mr. Ambassador of the Third Reich? Or about Il Duce getting the boot? Getting the message, are you?”
And what’s particularly galling is that he has every right not only to smirk but also to mock me and just about every other ambassador in the room by his dress. He is in white tie and tails, rather than any sort of diplomatic uniform. And there is nothing wha
tever—no silken sash nor ornate decorations, not even miniature medals of any kind—on his jacket or sleeves or anywhere else to suggest his rank or even his nationality.
He looks as if he could be a gigolo or a headwaiter.
But what he is—and everybody knows it, including this moron of an ambassador from Mexico—is the representative of the most powerful nation on earth, which inevitably will be the ultimate victor of the second world war to end all wars.
Von Lutzenberger drained his glass and put it on a table.
And if I have any more of this splendid champagne—which, aside from pâté de foie gras, is about the only thing the French do well—I am almost certain to make an ass of myself.
I have to think of some way to get out of here without violating any diplomatic protocol.
Now, how the devil am I going to do that?
Not quite thirty seconds later, the problem was solved.
Assistant Consul Johan Schneider—wearing civilian clothing, of course— was being led to him by a young man who was almost certainly one of his French peers—that is to say, a junior officer on the French ambassador’s staff.
I wonder if he suspects that Schneider is an SS-untersturmführer?
Schneider announced: “I regret the necessity, Excellency . . .”
Von Lutzenberger tried but failed to shut him off with a gesture.
"... of this interruption,” Schneider plunged ahead, "but there has been an important communication from—”
“I understand, Herr Schneider,” von Lutzenberger cut him off abruptly, thinking, It certainly is not Ambassador Tarmero’s business to know from whom I have an important message, and possibly none of Gradny-Sawz’s. “And where is this communication?”
“—from Berlin,” Schneider plunged on, and then patted his chest.
Von Lutzenberger gestured impatiently for Schneider to hand over the message.
Schneider took a gray manila envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to von Lutzenberger, who then looked at Tarmero and Gradny-Sawz.
“Will you be so kind, gentlemen, as to excuse me for having to answer the call of duty?”
He didn’t wait for a response. He gestured for Schneider to follow him and went to the men’s room. He had been in the French embassy often enough to know where it was, and also that it would reek of perfume to mask the odors from the plumbing, which apparently had been installed about the time of the Franco-Prussian War and not repaired since.
It was not occupied.
Thank God. Now I won’t have to go in one of the indoor pissoirs.
“Don’t let anyone else in,” von Lutzenberger ordered.
“Jawohl, Excellency,” Schneider said, and stood beside the door, prepared to defend the men’s room with his life.
Once von Lutzenberger was inside, despite what he had originally decided not to do, he went into one of the stalls, which did indeed smell like a pissoir on the Champs-Élysées, and latched it closed before he tore open the gray manila envelope.
It contained a white letter-sized envelope stamped MOST SECRET and closed with an official stamp, not unlike a postage stamp, across which, following the protocol, Schneider had written his name.
Von Lutzenberger tore it open, took out several sheets of paper, and began to read them.
CLASSIFICATION: MOST URGENT
CONFIDENTIALITY: MOST SECRET
DATE: 4 AUGUST 1943
FROM: PARTEILEITER MARTIN BORMANN NATIONAL SOCIALIST GERMAN WORKERS PARTY BERLIN
TO: IMMEDIATE AND PERSONAL ATTENTION OF THE REICH AMBASSADOR TO ARGENTINA, BUENOS AIRES
HEIL HITLER!
WITH REGARD TO THE MATTER OF COMMERCIAL ATTACHÉ WILHELM FROGGER AND FRAU GERTRUDE FROGGER IT HAS BEEN DECIDED BY THE PARTEILEITER, ADMIRAL CANARIS, AND SS-BRIGADEFÜHRER VON DEITZBERG ON BEHALF OF REICHSFÜHRER-SS HIMMLER THAT THE PRESS OF DUTIES UPON OUR FÜHRER ADOLF HITLER IS SUCH THAT THIS MATTER SHOULD NOT BE BROUGHT TO HIS ATTENTION
AT THIS TIME SO THAT OUR FÜHRER CAN DEVOTE HIS FULL ATTENTION TO BRINGING GERMANY TO FINAL VICTORY.
CONFIDENTIAL AND UNOFFICIAL CONFERENCES BETWEEN CANARIS, VON DEITZBERG, AND THE UNDERSIGNED HAVE REVEALED ASPECTS OF OUR OPERATIONS IN ARGENTINA BEARING UPON OPERATION PHOENIX AND OTHER MATTERS THAT WERE NOT KNOWN, IN THE INTERESTS OF SECURITY, TO OFFICIALS OF THE GERMAN EMBASSY OR TO ALL OF THE SIGNATORIES HERETO. SPECIFICALLY:
THE UNDERSIGNED HAS FOR SOME TIME EMPLOYED FRAU GERTRUDE FROGGER AS HIS CONFIDENTIAL AGENT TO REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE UNDERSIGNED HER OBSERVATIONS OF THE ARGENTINE/GERMANS, HER HUSBAND, AND OTHERS INVOLVED OR PLANNED TO BE INVOLVED IN OPERATION PHOENIX. THIS MISSION WAS NOT TO BE REVEALED TO ANYONE, INCLUDING HER HUSBAND, BUT WITH REGARD TO THE LATTER, WE MUST PRESUME THAT SECURITY HAS BEEN BREACHED BECAUSE OF THE MARITAL RELATIONSHIP.
ADMIRAL CANARIS HAS FOR SOME TIME EMPLOYED WILHELM FROGGER AS HIS CONFIDENTIAL AGENT, CHARGING HIM WITH REPORTING ON GERMAN AND NON-GERMAN PERSONNEL WORKING IN THE EMBASSIES IN BUENOS AIRES, MONTEVIDEO, AND SANTIAGO, CHILE. FROGGER WAS SPECIFICALLY CHARGED BY CANARIS WITH DETERMINING WHICH OF THE AFOREMENTIONED INDIVIDUALS HAD BANK ACCOUNTS AND, IF SO, WHERE AND WHAT ACTIVITY THERE HAS BEEN THEREIN, AND IF ANY SUCH PERSONNEL HAD ACQUIRED PROPERTY IN ARGENTINA AND URUGUAY OR ELSEWHERE AND, IF SO, THE SOURCE OF THE FUNDS INVOLVED.
WHILE HE WAS IN ARGENTINA, VON DEITZBERG, ACTING ON THE AUTHORITY OF BOTH REICHSFÜHRER-SS HIMMLER AND FOREIGN MINISTER VON RIBBENTROP, WAS, TOGETHER WITH VON GRADNY-SAWZ, IN SUCCESSFUL CONTACT WITH COLONEL PERÓN. PERÓN WAS OFFERED SUBSTANTIAL FINANCIAL REWARDS FOR HIS ASSISTANCE TO OPERATION PHOENIX, GERMAN SUPPORT FOR HIS AMBITIONS TO BECOME PRESIDENT OF ARGENTINA, AND IMPLIED GERMAN SUPPORT FOR THE INTEGRATION OF URUGUAY, PARAGUAY, AND OTHER TERRITORIES INTO ARGENTINA FOLLOWING OUR FINAL VICTORY.
WHILE IT IS POSSIBLE THAT THE FROGGERS HAVE BEEN ABDUCTED — EITHER BY BRITISH AGENTS, AS ADMIRAL CANARIS THINKS IS MOST LIKELY, OR BY THE AMERICANS, SPECIFICALLY FRADE — IT MUST BE CONSIDERED THAT FROGGER OR HIS WIFE, OR BOTH, DESERTED THEIR POST EITHER TRAITOROUSLY IN THE BELIEF THE WAR WILL BE LOST, OR THAT THEY DESERTED THEIR POSTS FOR FINANCIAL CONSIDERATIONS. CANARIS STATES THE BRITISH HAVE PRACTICED THE LATTER SUCCESSFULLY IN A NUMBER OF SITUATIONS.
WHATEVER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, IT IS AGREED BETWEEN US THAT THE FROGGERS ARE IN POSSESSION OF KNOWLEDGE (PERHAPS UNWITTINGLY) OF INFORMATION THAT COULD CAUSE SERIOUS DAMAGE TO OPERATION PHOENIX SPECIFICALLY AND BE EMBARRASSING TO THE GERMAN REICH SHOULD IT BECOME PUBLIC.
THEREFORE, CANARIS AND THE UNDERSIGNED ARE AGREED THAT VON DIETZBERG WAS BOTH CORRECT AND ACTING WITHIN HIS AUTHORITY WHEN HE ORDERED THE ELIMINATION OF BOTH INDIVIDUALS WHEN AND WHERE FOUND. IDEALLY, THERE WOULD BE AN OPPORTUNITY TO INTERROGATE BOTH TO DETERMINE HOW MUCH INFORMATION HAS BEEN PASSED TO THE ENEMY BEFORE THEY ARE EXECUTED, BUT THIS IS A SECONDARY CONSIDERATION.
THE QUESTION THEN BECOMES HOW TO LOCATE THEM. WE ARE IN AGREEMENT THAT OUR BEST CHANCE TO DO THIS IS THROUGH COLONEL PERÓN. ONCE IT IS POINTED OUT TO HIM THAT THE DISCLOSURE OF HIS CONNECTION WITH OPERATION PHOENIX — SPECIFICALLY INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO PROVIDING ARGENTINE ARMY PROTECTION OF THE LANDING OF THE SPECIAL CARGO — WOULD ALMOST CERTAINLY PRECLUDE HIS EVER BECOMING PRESIDENT OF ARGENTINA, IT IS FELT HE WOULD LEND HIS CONSIDERABLE INFLUENCE, BOTH MILITARY AND ON THE GOVERNMENT GENERALLY, TO THE RESOLUTION OF THIS PROBLEM.
AS AN IMMEDIATE SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM IS OBVIOUSLY NECESSARY, THIS MESSAGE SHOULD BE IMMEDIATELY BROUGHT TO THE ATTENTION OF VON GRADNY-SAWZ, STANDARTENFÜHRER CRANZ, STURMBANNFÜHRER RASCHNER, AND KAPITÄN ZUR SEE BOLTITZ ONLY REPEAT ONLY.
AS AMBASSADOR, VON LUTZENBERGER WILL BE IN OVERALL COMMAND, BUT IT IS BELIEVED AND EXPECTED THAT VON LUTZENBERGER WILL DEFER IN MOST CASES TO THE PROFESSIONAL JUDGMENT OF CRANZ BECAUSE OF HIS GREATER EXPERIENCE IN THESE AREAS.
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, BOLTITZ WILL TRANSMIT A DAILY REPORT TO ADMIRAL CANARIS OF PROGRESS BEING MADE.
THIS MESSAGE WILL BE ACKNOWLEDGED IMMEDIATELY ON RECEIPT.
HEIL HITLER!
MARTIN BORMANN
PARTEILEITER
CONCUR
WILHELM CANARIS
VIZEADMIRAL
MANFRED VON DEITZBERG
SS-BRIGADEFÜHRER
Von Lutzenberger, shaking his head, folded the sheets of paper and put them back into the letter-sized envelope. This he absently tried to put into his suit jacket. But he wasn’t wearing a suit jacket; he was in his uniform, and it had no pockets. He ultimately learned that there were hip pockets on the uniform trousers, though none deep enough to take the white envelope without it first being folded.
This he did. He thought he would give the manila envelope to Schneider to take back to the embassy and destroy. Then he decided he would leave it in the pissoir, on the floor, where the French would find it and wonder what it might have contained.
He wordlessly left the men’s room and found Schneider still at his post.
“Go in there, Schneider,” he said, nodding at the Grand Reception Room, “and tell Herr von Gradny-Sawz that he is to immediately pick up Herr Cranz and Herr Raschner and bring them to the embassy on a matter of some importance. ”
“Jawohl, Excellency.”
“Tell Herr von Gradny-Sawz that I am going to pick up Kapitän Boltitz on my way.”
“Jawohl, Excellency.”
Von Lutzenberger scanned the room and thought: I hope it won’t take me too long to find the French ambassador to express my gratitude for his splendid hospitality and my regrets that duty calls. I really want Boltitz to see this message before we meet with the others. Maybe—very possibly—he will see something in it that I have missed.
[TWO]
The Chateau Marmont 8221 Sunset Boulevard Hollywood, California 0905 5 August 1943
When the managing director of South American Airways—wearing a tweed jacket, khaki slacks, a white polo shirt, and well-worn Western boots—walked off the elevator into the lobby of the hotel, he found eleven SAA captains and one U.S. Border Patrol captain already there.
The Immigration Service captain was in uniform. So were the SAA pilots, each nattily attired in a woolen powder-blue tunic with the four gold stripes of a captain on the sleeves, darker blue trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a leather brimmed cap with a huge crown. On their breasts were what Clete thought of as outsized golden wings, in the center of which, superimposed on the Argentine sunburst, were the letters SAA.
Death and Honor Page 48