by Blood
It took several minutes for the last people in the shuffling line to pass by the casket at the far end of the room, but finally Clete could see it. It was on what looked like a table draped in black velvet. Hanging from the ceiling above- which must be fifty, sixty feet high, at least, Clete thought-was a huge Argen-tine flag three times as wide as the casket was long.
That has that golden-face-in-a-sunburst centered on the blue-white-blue stripes, Clete thought, which makes it a military flag. The ordinary flag has just the stripes.
Behind the casket were massed twenty or thirty normal-size Argentine mil-itary flags in holders placed so close together that the flags formed a blue and white mass.
At each corner of the casket, facing outward, head bent, his hands resting near the muzzle of a butt-on-the-floor Mauser cavalry carbine, stood a trooper of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n, in full dress uniform. (The dress uniform of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n-Pampas horsemen turned cavalrymen-features a bearskin hat and a many-buttoned tunic bedecked with ornate embroidery clearly patterned after that of the Royal & Imperial Hungarian Hussars of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.)
Behind the casket was a Capitan of Husares, head bent, his hands resting on his unsheathed saber.
Ramirez touched Clete's arm, a signal that he was supposed to approach the casket. He walked alone, uncomfortably, down the one hundred feet or so toward it. When he was halfway there, he heard a faint order being given, and was surprised to see the troopers and the officers, in slow motion, raise their heads and then bring their weapons to Present Arms, the troopers with their car-bines held at arm's length in front of them, the Capitan with his saber also held upright at arm's length.
He remembered his father, who'd had more than a couple of drinks at the time, telling him that he was not at all surprised that he had "done well" in the Corps, since the blood of Pueyrred¢n-of whom Clete had never heard before that moment-"coursed through his veins."
That salute is as much for me, as the great-great-grandson, or whatever the hell I am, of Pueyrred¢n, as it is for my father.
He felt his throat tighten, and his eyes watered.
For Christ's sake, control yourself. You 're a Marine officer, and Marine of-ficers don't weep!
He reached the closed, beautifully carved solid cedar casket. An Argentine flag was draped over the lower half of it. His father's high-crowned, gold-encrusted uniform cap and a blue velvet pillow covered with medals rested on the upper portion.
Where the hell did you get all those medals, Dad? Argentina's never been in a war. So far as I know, you never heard a shot fired in anger.
Except one, of course. El Coronel-Medico Orrico said death came instan-taneously.
He dropped to his knees at the prie-dieu.
I don't want to think of you inside that casket, Dad. I've seen what happens to people when they take a load of 00-buckshot in the face.
I 'm sorry my coming here got you killed.
I'm sorry I spent most of my life thinking you were an unmitigated sonofabitch.
I feel sorry as hell for myself because I will never get to know you better.
I really hope that Enrico was right, and that you're with the angels and my mother in heaven.
And I swear to God, Dad, I'll get the sonsofbitches who did this to you.
He rose to his feet. As he did, he heard the Husares Capitan murmur an-other order. He looked at him. The Capitan was starting the slow-motion rou-tine of changing from Present Arms to whatever the hell they call that head-bowed, hands-on-weapon position.
Clete snapped his right hand to his temple in a crisp salute. There was sur-prise and maybe displeasure in the Capitan's eyes.
Well, fuck you, Capitan. I'm an officer, you're an officer, and my father was an officer. If I want to salute, I goddamn well will salute.
He held the salute until the Capitan had rested his hands on his saber again and started to incline his head. Then he made a precise left-face movement and marched away from the casket.
The Capitan who had come aboard the seaplane, now wearing a Husares full dress uniform, and who Clete decided was probably a couple of years older than he was, stood by a door at the side of the room. He motioned to Clete, and Clete went through the door and found himself in a small room furnished with heavy, leather-upholstered furniture.
"May I offer you a small refreshment, Mayor Frade?" the Capitan asked. Sure. Why the hell not? A couple of canap‚s, how about a cucumber sand-wich and a deviled egg ?
The Capitan held a bottle of Johnny Walker scotch in one hand and a bottle of Martel cognac in the other.
"The cognac, por favor, Capitan," Clete said.
The snifter he was handed a moment later was half full of liquid. He had just taken a healthy swallow and was beginning to feel the warmth spread through his body when generals Ramirez and Rawson came into the room. Ramirez took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes.
"A soldier is not supposed to show emotion," Ramirez said. "But when you saluted..."
Well, at least he didn't disapprove. That makes me feel better. Ramirez pointed a finger at Clete's snifter, as a signal to the Capitan to get him one.
"What we will do, with your permission, Se¤or Frade," Ramirez said, "is wait for the other officers to join us. Then, if you think it is appropriate, we will raise our glasses a final time in the presence of your father." "I think he would like that, mi General."
"And then I will turn you over to Capitan Lauffer, who is General Rawson's aide-de-camp," Ramirez said, inclining his head toward the Husares Capitan. "He will be with you until after the interment tomorrow. If there is anything you need that the Capitan cannot provide, please get in touch with me." "You're very kind, mi General."
"Not at all. Your father was a lifelong friend, and I can't tell you how sorry I am, how ashamed, that this terrible thing happened to him."
The small room gradually filled with the officers who had been following them around since Clete had gotten off the plane. When Capitan Lauffer had provided each of them a brandy snifter, Ramirez raised his own glass high.
"Gentlemen, I give you our late comrade-in-arms, friend, and distinguished Argentinian, el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade."
They all raised their glasses and drained them-surprising Clete, who thought they would take a small ceremonial sip. Then, apparently in order of rank, with Ramirez doing so first, they each shook Clete's hand, expressed their condolences a final time, and left the room.
"Capitan, what did you do wrong?" Clete asked Lauffer. "You seem to be stuck with me."
"It is my privilege, Se¤or. I served under your father."
"Well, I think you can go home after you take me back to the house. All I'm going to do, frankly, is have another stiff drink and go to bed."
Capitan Lauffer looked uncomfortable.
"I don't think that's what you had in mind, is it?" Clete said.
"I thought perhaps you might wish to call on your aunt and uncle, Se¤or."
Christ, I forgot all about them!
"La Se¤ora de Duarte left here only minutes before you arrived," Lauffer said. "She asked me to tell you that she waited as long as she could, but she had an appointment with Monsignor Kelly, some final points about the Mass and in-terment tomorrow."
"Thank you," Clete said. "The embarrassing truth is I completely forgot about my aunt and uncle."
"Under the circumstances..." Lauffer said.
"And so, if you would be so kind, I would appreciate a ride over to the Av-enue Alvear."
"My car is out in back," Lauffer said. "It will save you passing through the crowd in front."
I also forget Dorotea. Jesus Christ! And Tony and Dave Ettinger. And Pe-ter. I really want to see him. And with Capitan Lauffer hanging around, how am I going to be able to?
And-Jesus H. Christ!-Claudia! She wasn't married to him, but if any-body feels worse about my father than I do, it's Claudia, and I didn't even think of her until just now.
[THREE]
Alvear Palace Hotel
Avenida Alvear
Buenos Aires
1930 9 April 1943
Anton von Gradny-Sawz, First Secretary of the Embassy of the German Reich to the Republic of Argentina, was wearing his heavily gold-encrusted diplo-matic uniform when the top-hatted doorman pulled open the door of the Em-bassy's Mercedes sedan in the arcade of the hotel.
Gradny-Sawz was more than a little annoyed that he had learned only an hour before that the "distinguished personage" who had arrived on the Lufthansa Condor was Standartenf�hrer Josef Goltz. It was another instance of Ambassador von Lutzenberger not electing to tell him information he believed he was entitled to know. In this instance, it was particularly galling because he and Josef Goltz were not only old friends but had worked together in the unit-ing of Germanic Austria with the Reich.
He could only hope that his old friend would believe him when he said he would have been at the airport to greet him when he arrived, and to take him into his home, if only he had known he was coming.
Early on, when he was a relatively junior officer in the Foreign Ministry of the Austrian Republic, Gradny-Sawz decided that Adolf Hitler and his National Socialists were the one hope of the Deutsche Volk, and that Austria should "re-turn" to the German fatherland.
After he had made this judgment, a visiting German officer, a Sturmbannf�hrer (SS Major) by the name of Josef Goltz, somewhat delicately brought up the subject of Austria becoming part of the Reich, and of the way this might be accomplished. Gradny-Sawz understood that this was that opportunity which comes but once in one's lifetime, and took the chance. He assured Goltz that he was in complete agreement with Adolf Hitler's plans for the German people and would do whatever he could to bring Austria into the Thousand Year Reich as soon as possible.
He had bet on the right horse, he liked to somewhat smugly think. In 1938, with not a little assistance from Anton Gradny-Sawz, the Austrian Republic fell in an almost bloodless coup d'‚tat, the Wehrmacht marched on Vienna, and Austria became Ostmark.
Grateful for his services, the German Foreign Ministry "absorbed" Gradny-Sawz-with a promotion and decoration "for services rendered." In January 1940, he was assigned to the Embassy in Rome as Third Secretary for Commercial Affairs. In 1941, he was assigned to Buenos Aires as First Secre-tary.
In Buenos Aires, he saw it as his mission to do whatever he could to see that Argentina declared war on the Allies, and if that proved impossible, that Ar-gentine neutrality be tilted as much as possible to the advantage of Germany.
"Wait here," he ordered his driver. "I will be back directly."
The doorman was displeased. There was room for only three or four cars under the hotel arcade. Because Gradny-Sawz's Mercedes blocked one of the spaces, the traffic flow would be impeded. But there was nothing he could do. The Mercedes carried the CD insignia and Corps Diplomatique license plates. Diplomatic status gave one the privilege of parking wherever one elected to park.
Gradny-Sawz marched into the lobby and stopped by the desk to inquire as to Standartenf�hrer Goltz's room number. When he had it, he ordered, in not very good Spanish, "Be so good as to inform the Standartenf�hrer that I am on my way up. I am First Secretary Gradny-Sawz of the German Embassy."
"I know who you are, Se¤or Gradny-Sawz," the desk clerk said in a tone that bordered on the insulting.
Gradny-Sawz climbed the second flight of stairs and entered the elevator.
When Gradny-Sawz knocked, Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein opened the door to Goltz's suite.
Gradny-Sawz was relieved to see that von Wachtstein was in full dress uni-form, complete to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross hanging around his neck. He was sometimes negligent about this. Gradny-Sawz was willing to grant him the benefit of every doubt-he was, after all, a fellow nobleman-but sometimes he seemed unable to grasp that he was now assigned to diplomatic duties, with concomitant responsibilities vis-a-vis dress and other matters of protocol.
"I hope you have been taking very good care of Standartenf�hrer Goltz, Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz said.
"I have been doing my best," Peter said. "I thought we would see you at the Residence."
Goltz came out of the sitting room, curious to see who was at the door. An-ton Gradny-Sawz raised his right arm in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!" Gradny-Sawz barked.
"Anton, my old friend!" Standartenf�hrer Goltz cried happily, went to him, and embraced him. "You're just in time. Major von Wachtstein and I just opened a bottle."
"Josef," Gradny-Sawz said, taking Goltz's arm as they walked into the sit-ting room, "if you had not become so important, the Ambassador would have told me it was you arriving, and I would have been at the airport with a bottle of champagne, to take you to my house."
"I know you would have," Goltz said. "But security..."
"Well, at least we'll move you out of here tonight," Gradny-Sawz said. "I'll have von Wachtstein take care of it."
"Will it wait until tomorrow? I'm just a little worn out."
"Moving may wait, but what we might find when we get there tonight, Josef, might not be there tomorrow."
Goltz took his meaning.
"I thought you might be getting too old for that sort of thing, Anton."
"God, I hope not!"
"In that case, I think I just may have to impose on the already abused Freiherr von Wachtstein."
"Sir?" Peter asked, coming into the room and hearing his name.
"Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz ordered, "would you see that the Standartenf�hrer's luggage is packed and moved to my home?"
"Yes. Sir."
"The Standartenf�hrer and I are old and dear friends," Gradny-Sawz said. "We can't have him staying in a hotel."
"Yes, Sir."
"And be so good as to call my houseman and tell him we'll be there directly after paying our respects at the Edificio Libertador, and to make sure everything is in order when we arrive."
"Yes, Sir," Peter said. "I was just about to introduce the Standartenf�hrer to the very fine native champagne."
"Well, by all means, continue," Gradny-Sawz said. "It's quite good. It's not a good German Sekt, of course, but every bit as good as any French I've ever had."
Peter poured the champagne.
"Welcome to Argentina, Josef!" Gradny-Sawz said, touching his glass to Goltz's, and then, after a moment, to von Wachtstein's.
"Hear, hear," von Wachtstein said.
"Nice," Goltz said, tasting the champagne.
"Their wine is nice, and so is their beer," von Wachtstein said. "And their beef! Magnificent!"
"And so, according to Oberst Per¢n, are the women?" Goltz said. "Or were you just being diplomatic, von Wachtstein?"
"No, Herr Standartenf�hrer, I was not being diplomatic. Their women are magnificent."
"Aryan?"
"I never thought about that before," von Wachtstein said. "I'm not sure where the Spaniards and the Italians fit in as Aryans. The majority here are Spanish or Italian. Some Germans, some English, even some Slavs. Poles, for example."
"If I were you, von Wachtstein, I don't think that I would take some Span-ish or Italian beauty home to Poppa in Pomerania."
Von Wachtstein laughed.
"I'm not ready, Herr Standartenf�hrer, to take some Berlin blonde of im-peccable Aryan background home to my father."
"Nor would I if I were in your shoes. Enjoy life while you can. Before you know it, you'll be as old as Anton here."
Anton Gradny-Sawz's smile was strained.
"I think we had better leave," he said. "It's time."
"I'll see that the Standartenf�hrer's things are packed, and take them to your residence, and then come to the Residence."
"You're a good man, von Wachtstein," Goltz said, smiling at von Wacht-stein and touching his arm.
He went to the mirror by the door, put on his black brimmed cap with the death's-head insignia, and adjusted it twice before he was satisfied.
/> Peter closed the suite door after them, helped himself to another glass of champagne, and waited for the maid's knock. When she arrived, he showed her what he wanted done. He then told her he had business in the lobby and would wait for the luggage in the lobby bar, and left the room.
When he got on the elevator he told the operator to take him to the roof gar-den. Once there, he stood in the line waiting before the maitre d'hotel's table. And when he reached the head of the line, he replied to the maitre d's surprised look at seeing him both in uniform and alone by announcing he had to make a quick telephone call.