Victory and Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  General Gehlen suddenly spoke up: “I agree with Graf von Wachtstein’s assessment of the Russian military mind. And I would suggest further that when they are faced with a force that is capable of causing great damage, they will back down.”

  “Unless, of course, General,” Mattingly said, “they come out to meet the C-54 with the intention of shooting it down to show us how unwelcome we are in Berlin.”

  “That is true,” Gehlen admitted.

  “Under what circumstances can I fire at the YAKs?” Dooley asked.

  “If they fire at you,” Mattingly said. “Or the C-54.”

  “Or if they even look like they’re going to fire at the Connie,” Frade said. “Which brings us to that: I might have missed it, but I didn’t hear you ask, Colonel Mattingly, if SAA is willing to go along with your plan to give the Russians the finger.”

  “Are you?” Mattingly asked simply.

  “Not my call, Colonel.”

  “Then whose?”

  “Delgano’s, both as SAA chief pilot and also—more importantly—as the senior Argentine officer here. Probably the senior Argentine officer in Europe. What about it, mi coronel?”

  “Oddly enough,” Delgano said, getting to his feet, “just before we left Buenos Aires, my general . . .” He paused, looked at General Gehlen, and then went on: “General de Brigada Alejandro Martín, chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Argentine Ministry of Defense, which is the official euphemism for the Argentine intelligence and counterintelligence service, took me aside and made that point to me.

  “He told me that I would be the senior officer of the Ejército Argentino in Europe, and further that inasmuch as the German Reich no longer exists and that Germany is now governed by SHAEF, with which Argentina has no diplomatic relations, the Argentine diplomats in Berlin and those we would bring here have no status beyond that of people with diplomatic passports.

  “What I am trying to say is that as I outrank the lieutenant colonel we have as liaison officer to SHAEF, I find myself the senior Argentine officer in Europe period.

  “As such, General Martín told me that—no offense intended, Cletus—should Colonel Frade be about to do anything which in my judgment would be detrimental to the interests of my country, I was not only authorized but duty bound to take whatever measures required to keep him from doing it, including placing him under arrest and taking control of the Constellation.”

  Mattingly made eye contact with Delgano, then nodded and said, “So you don’t think you’re going to be able to participate in this. I understand your position, Colonel—”

  “Please let me continue,” Delgano said.

  “Sorry,” Mattingly said.

  “I was having many thoughts as I listened to all this . . .” He paused and smiled, then said: “Including the thought that if I had shot Colonel Frade when I first met him, as I really wanted to, I wouldn’t be in this awkward position tonight.

  “Among other factors bearing on this situation is that I know General Martín shares your opinion, General Gehlen, of the danger the Soviet Union poses to the world, including Argentina. When I told him that Colonel Frade intended to offer your men sanctuary in Argentina, in accordance with the deal struck by you and Mr. Dulles, his response was, ‘Thank God for people like Dulles and Gehlen.’

  “And since your people have been in Argentina, my officers and I have had many conversations with them. Primarily with el Teniente Coronel Niedermeyer, but with many others, including some of the Nazis. These conversations convinced us all that the threat posed by the Communists is far worse than we understood.

  “For these and other reasons, I have concluded that what you propose, vis-à-vis challenging the Bolsheviks, is in no way inimical to the interests of the Argentine Republic. I will be aboard the SAA Constellation when it flies to Berlin.”

  “Thank you,” Mattingly said.

  “However,” Delgano added, “I don’t think I have the right to order my officers to participate.”

  Peralta and Vega shot to their feet and stood to attention, obviously waiting for permission to speak.

  “Junior officer first,” Delgano said, pointing to Vega.

  “Mi coronel, where you go, I will go. I am surprised there was a question in your mind.”

  “Thank you,” Delgano said. “Mario?”

  “Mi coronel,” Peralta said, “I will consider it an honor to be aboard Ciudad de Rosario when we fly her to Berlin.”

  “Thank you,” Delgano said. “Frankly, I expected no less of you. Be seated.”

  Mattingly then said, “Everybody is aware, right, that there is a real chance you will be shot down?”

  “Mi coronel,” Delgano said. “If that were to happen, and I shall pray that it does not, it would certainly open the eyes of the Argentine people to the threat the godless Communists pose, wouldn’t it?”

  Frade had a very unkind thought.

  The naïve goddamn fool thinks he’s Sir Galahad bravely facing a hero’s death in the defense of his country.

  And the other two are eager to jump on their horses, unsheath their swords, and ride out with him to die nobly while trying to slay the dragon.

  The problem is that Delgano and Peralta and Vega have no idea what the dragon really looks like. None of them has ever been shot at, or seen an aircraft enveloped in flames—much less been in one that’s on fire—or seen an out-of-control, blazing aircraft turn into a huge ball of flame either before or after it crashed into the ground.

  “There is one other factor bearing on our little problem,” Frade said sarcastically.

  “Which is, Colonel Frade?” Mattingly asked, his tone suggesting he hadn’t heard the sarcastic tone or was ignoring it.

  “What about the Nazis in Berlin whom some people—including me and the Secret Service—think Argentina’s secretary of Labor and Retirement Plans intends to fly out of Berlin to sanctuary in Argentina?”

  “Who’s the secretary of whatever you just said?” Mattingly asked.

  “Tell me about that, please,” Gehlen said.

  “El Coronel Juan Domingo Perón,” Frade explained. “He’s behind this rescue-the-diplomats operation, which I don’t think has anything to do with rescuing diplomats.”

  “What do you think the purpose is, Colonel?” Gehlen asked.

  “Sir, I believe—and so does, apparently, Secretary of the Treasury Morgenthau—that the purpose of the rescue-the-diplomats mission is to bring some Nazis, probably high-ranking ones, from Germany to Argentina.”

  “I can’t agree that it’s the primary purpose,” Gehlen said. “But I agree that it has something to do with getting former high-ranking officials of the Third Reich out of Germany. I wasn’t aware of Morgenthau’s interest. Are you sure about that, Colonel Frade?”

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. When we were at the Val de Cans air base in Brazil, a planeload of Secret Service agents was there waiting for clearance to come here. The commanding general told me that agents had been roaming the base asking junior officers and enlisted men if they’d seen anything that looked like it could be a Nazi smuggling operation. For what it’s worth, they were traveling in an Air Forces C-69—a Constellation—the same massive aircraft that I flew over here. The usual means of flying government officials to Europe is by the much slower method of C-54s across the North Atlantic.”

  “Do you think Mr. Morgenthau has any suspicions vis-à-vis my people, Colonel Frade?”

  “I have no reason to think so, sir. But that does not mean we’re not operating on the possibility he might.”

  Mattingly put in: “In other words, he’s fishing? The Secret Service agents were fishing?”

  “Yes, sir. At this point, that’s what I would guess.”

  General Gehlen said, “When I heard about your flight, Colonel Frade . . . Are you interested in my uninformed scenario?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mattingly and Frade said speaking on top of each other.

  Gehlen nodded once, then went on: “I wasn’t
aware of the OSS connection. I wondered what the real purpose of the flight might be. I didn’t think it had anything to do with rescuing diplomats. And what I decided was most likely was that since actually taking former Nazi officials aboard the aircraft on its return flight would be dangerous, the Argentine diplomats probably were carrying with them in their luggage a large number of passports.”

  “Passports?” Clete blurted.

  “Yes. Blank passports. Argentine certainly, but probably also Uruguayan and Paraguayan as well. Someone equipped with such a passport wouldn’t be afforded the luxury of a twenty-four-hour flight to Buenos Aires, but he could make his way to a port in a neutral country—Sweden, for example, or Spain—and there board a ship bound for South America. It would take a little longer, but it would reduce his chances of being questioned.”

  “Passports never entered my mind,” Clete said.

  “That’s only a possibility,” Gehlen said.

  “If someone—these Secret Service agents,” Mattingly said thoughtfully, and then interrupted himself. “So far as I know—and I would be on the list of people to be notified—Secretary Morgenthau has not told SHAEF he’s sending the Secret Service.

  “What I was about to say is that if somehow it came out that these Argentine diplomats have, say, two hundred passports with them, they would say, ‘Of course, that’s what embassies and consulates do, issue passports to their nationals, if the original has expired or been lost.’”

  “Well, the passports went right over my head,” Clete said. “But the other thought that I had was that no one—certainly not Argentine customs—is going to go through the luggage of heroic, just-rescued diplomats to see if they might contain a couple of kilos of diamonds.”

  General Gehlen said: “If we rate my passport scenario on a one-to-ten scale and it’s a five, then I would say the transport of valuables—or even currency—is an eight or nine. Allen Dulles told me that, as it became increasingly apparent that Germany was losing the way, the Swiss became increasingly concerned that one could accuse them of helping the Nazis conceal funds.”

  “Where are Morgenthau’s Secret Service agents now, Clete?” Mattingly asked. “Do you know?”

  Frade shrugged.

  “General Bendick told me they were supposed to be on the ground at Val de Cans only long enough to take on fuel, but then there was a message saying to wait for further orders. They were still there when we took off. I have no idea where they might be.”

  “There’s something about these Secret Service agents that’s not right,” Mattingly said. “Something that bothers me. It goes without saying that Eisenhower—SHAEF—would do everything possible to keep Nazis from escaping to South America. And SHAEF has the assets to do so.”

  “And Eisenhower would be unlikely to ask for Secretary Morgenthau’s assistance?” Gehlen asked.

  “Exactly,” Mattingly said.

  “And if Morgenthau offered Eisenhower his Secret Service agents?” Gehlen asked.

  “Ike would say, ‘Thank you just the same, Mr. Secretary, but I can handle this myself.’”

  “Which leads us . . . where?”

  “I’m not trying to suggest that Ike is in any way lackadaisical about arresting and bringing to trial the Nazis,” Mattingly said. “But I don’t think it would be unfair to suggest that Morgenthau doesn’t think Ike has a passion—the necessary, in Morgenthau’s judgment, passion—to deal with the Nazis. Morgenthau’s passion is that of a Jew, and God knows they have the right to be passionate.”

  “So Morgenthau is sending assistance, whether or not General Eisenhower wants it?” Gehlen asked softly.

  Mattingly nodded. “I think there would have to be a subterfuge. Morgenthau knows he can’t challenge the authority of the Supreme Commander. But some second assistant deputy secretary of the Treasury could take it upon himself to send a planeload of financial experts—who just happened to be Secret Service agents—to look into the financial records of the Third Reich. This would not come to Eisenhower’s personal attention, but rather to a one- or two-star in military government, who would presume it was authorized—”

  “And some Air Forces brigadier,” Frade interjected, “sympathetic to Morgenthau’s problem could arrange for the Air Forces Constellation . . .”

  “Which would fly via Brazil . . .” Mattingly picked up.

  “Once someone in Europe thought it was time—in other words, safe—for the Connie to arrive in Berlin . . .”

  “Or Frankfurt . . .”

  “Which would explain the ‘hold in place’ message . . .” Frade said.

  “Until SHAEF completes its move to the I.G. Farben building,” Mattingly concluded. “When the arrival of one more airplane would not cause comment.”

  Mattingly looked at Gehlen, who was smiling.

  “You’re amused, General?”

  Gehlen nodded.

  “By the way you finish one another’s thoughts,” Gehlen said. “Otto Niedermeyer and I were—how do I put it?—smiled at when we did that at Abwehr Ost.”

  “You weren’t smiling at our scenario?” Mattingly asked.

  Gehlen shook his head.

  “Actually,” he said, “your scenario normally would have wiped away any smile. Despite what Colonel Frade said before, I think we have to consider that somehow Morgenthau has heard of the arrangement I made with Mr. Dulles. Let me go down that path. If Morgenthau has heard of it, I think he would presume that General Eisenhower knows all about it.”

  “Ike knows nothing about it,” Mattingly said.

  “Morgenthau would presume he does,” Gehlen insisted. “So how can Morgenthau—who I presume you all have heard wants to shoot the senior one hundred Nazis when and where found, and who wants to turn Germany into an agrarian society, and who is not known to be especially critical of the Soviets—stop something he truly believes is evil?

  “He would have to go to President Truman, and he would have to go to him with proof. Since Eisenhower is involved, he would need proof that Eisenhower is certainly not going to be willing to provide. So he would have to get that proof himself. Thus, the quiet dispatch of the financial experts to look into the finances of the Third Reich.”

  “How long can we reasonably expect to keep the deal secret?” Frade asked.

  “Presuming OSS isn’t shut down tomorrow, not for long,” Mattingly said. “And if we are shut down, for an even shorter period.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” Frade asked.

  “Presuming that OSS is not shut down between now and then, on May twenty-second—which is three days from now—General Gehlen and half a dozen of his officers are going to be found and arrested in Oberusel—not far from here—by agents of the Counterintelligence Corps.

  “When he—they—are interrogated—none of them, by the way, are on the Most Wanted Nazis lists—they will report that when defeat became inevitable, they burned all the records of Abwehr Ost and then made their way to refuge in what they knew was going to be West Germany.

  “The CIC investigation will be thorough and lengthy, as they will not believe him. Their arrest will be reported to SHAEF, and I suspect that SHAEF will send its own interrogators to Oberusel, and I know the OSS will. The CIC and the OSS and everyone else will ultimately and reluctantly conclude—and so inform SHAEF—that the general and his officers have nothing of value to relate, and further, that since there is no suggestion that they were anything but German officers doing their duty, they are entitled to be treated as such. They will enter the POW system. From which, after having been cleared by the appropriate De-Nazification Board, they will eventually be returned to civilian life.

  “While this is going on, the films of all their records, which have been buried in the Austrian Alps, will be recovered by us—the OSS—and moved to Bavaria, to a former monastery called Grünau. The general’s men have been told to make their way there. It will be headquarters—if that word fits—of the Gehlen organization.

  “The Vatican has very kin
dly made the monastery available to us without asking any questions—frankly, in return for past services rendered, and in expectation of services to be rendered in the future—but they regrettably can’t afford to make the monastery livable and they are not in a position to provide logistical services, such as dining facilities.

  “Until earlier this evening, we thought the funds to take care of these expenses would arrive here in your capable hands, Colonel Frade,” Mattingly concluded.

  “If I had been told . . .” Frade responded, and then stopped. “I should’ve asked myself what that half million was for, should’ve thought it through.”

  “That would have been helpful,” Mattingly agreed. “But no lasting harm done, presuming you can get it over here quickly.”

  “Stein, get word to Buenos Aires to have a Connie ready to fly back here three hours after we get back,” Frade ordered.

  “I can’t do that until we’re airborne tomorrow, Colonel,” Stein replied.

  “Questions would be asked if you did that, Cletus,” Delgano said.

  After a moment’s thought, Frade said, “You’re right. I don’t seem to be playing with a full deck, do I?” He paused. “And you and Mario and Vega will be expected to participate in the festivities surrounding the return of the heroic diplomats.” He paused again. “So how about this? At the last minute before the next scheduled SAA flight takes off for Lisbon—and I mean the last minute, when the passengers are aboard—Peter and I get aboard. We’ll be halfway to Brazil before somebody starts asking questions.”

  “And then what?” Mattingly asked.

  “In Lisbon, we disembark the passengers, take on fuel, and then Hansel and I fly the Connie to Frankfurt, the way we did just now.” He paused, then asked, “Why wouldn’t that work?”

  “Clete, when we get to Berlin, I’m going to Pomerania,” von Wachtstein said. “And I don’t think, as badly as that money is needed, that you can wait for me to return.”

  “Excuse me, von Wachtstein,” Gehlen said. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m going to Pomerania,” von Wachtstein said.