The Honor of Spies

by W. E. B. Griffin; William E. Butterworth; IV

[THREE]

  Quarters of the Commanding Officer

  10th Mountain Regiment

  San Martin de los Andes

  Neuquen Province, Argentina

  2100 5 October 1943

  There were five Argentine officers waiting for them in el Coronel Schmidt's dining room. The dining room was much larger than von Deitzberg expected it to be, as the house itself was much smaller than he expected it to be.

  It was hardly more than a cottage, sitting in a group of cottages across a road from the barracks, stables, and other buildings of the regiment. Von Deitzberg couldn't see much; nothing was brightly illuminated.

  Against one wall of the dining room were three flags: the Argentina colors, a red Nazi flag, and an elaborately embroidered flag, the 10th Mountain Regiment's colors.

  As the officers were introduced to Senor and Senora Schenck, young enlisted men in starched white jackets immediately began passing champagne glasses. When everyone held one, Colonel Schmidt said, "Gentlemen, I give you el Presidente Rawson."

  Champagne was sipped.

  Schmidt toasted again: "Gentlemen, I give you the Fuhrer of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, and his Final Victory over the godless Communists."

  This time the glasses were drained.

  "Well, gentlemen, since my wife and I were never here, I don't suppose it much matters what I say," von Deitzberg said.

  He got the expected chuckles and took another sip of the ritual postdinner brandy before going on. It was Argentine, and surprisingly good.

  "But let me say it's good to again be with my fellow sailor, Sepp Schafer--who, come to think of it, is also not here."

  That caused applause and laughter.

  And reminded everybody that I am important enough, what I'm doing here is important enough, to justify sending us by submarine.

  "Let me say something about the current situation," von Deitzberg said. "I'm sure you have all heard that it was necessary for the Wehrmacht to withdraw from Africa, and also that our forces suffered a terrible defeat at Stalingrad. And, of course, that our Italian allies betrayed us, and as a result of that, the Americans are now in Italy.

  "Those are facts. Not pleasant facts, but facts. A professional soldier must deal with the facts, not with things as he wishes they were.

  "But there is another fact here that applies: The great military philosopher Carl von Clausewitz wrote, 'There is only one decisive victory: the last.' "

  More applause.

  "What went wrong? Von Clausewitz also wrote, 'The most insidious enemy of all is time.' "

  Von Clausewitz didn't actually say that, but it sounds like something he would have said if he had thought of it. And I don't think there are any really serious students of von Clausewitz in this room to challenge me.

  "Time has been against us," von Deitzberg went on. "The rocket scientists at Peenemunde, while their work has been brilliant, just haven't had the time to develop rockets that not only are more accurate than the ones currently landing in England, but will have the range to strike the United States.

  "But it's just a matter of time until they do.

  "Luftwaffe engineers have developed a new fighter, the Messerschmitt Me- 262, which uses a revolutionary new type of propulsion, the jet engine. It is faster than any other fighter aircraft in the world, and it is armed with 40mm cannon. It can fire at American and British bombers from a distance greater than their .50-caliber machine guns can return fire. Once it goes into action, it will cause unacceptable losses to British and American bombers.

  "There is already a squadron of these aircraft flying in Augsburg. But there has been time enough to manufacture only twenty or thirty of them.

  "But it's just a matter of time until they do.

  "Time has been working for our enemies.

  "So now we make it work for us.

  "How do we protect our rocket engineers from being killed by the Soviet Communists if they should temporarily overrun our rocket facilities? More important, how do we prevent our rocket scientists from being forced to work for the Soviet Communists?

  "The same thing for our aeronautical engineers.

  "The same thing for our physicists, who are close to developing a bomb more powerful than the imagination can accept.

  "If the Soviets came into possession of German technology, it would mean the end of the Christian world.

  "I'm sure the answer has already occurred to many of you.

  "We bring them to Argentina, secretly, by submarine. Germany has the largest fleet of submarines in the world.

  "And we set them up, with new laboratories, perhaps even manufacturing facilities. If things go even worse for us, with time working against us, certainly with manufacturing facilities.

  "Where?

  "I'm sure that answer has already occurred to many of you, perhaps all of you. I know that it has occurred to el Coronel Schmidt.

  "Right here, in this remote corner of Argentina."

  There was a burst of applause.

  "As you can well understand, this has to be accomplished with the greatest secrecy. The Communists are everywhere. And the Jews. The Antichrist.

  "El Coronel Schmidt and others have been working on establishing these refuges for German scientists--and their families--for some time, and will continue to do so.

  "But there is another problem, the real reason I am here. This is always distasteful for professional officers, but again, we must deal with things as they are rather than with things as we may wish them to be.

  "I am speaking of treason, which von Clausewitz described--I forget the exact quote . . ."

  Probably because I just made this one up. But it does sound like something he would say.

  ". . . but it was to the effect that treason is simply another way of showing cowardice in the face of the enemy. On the battlefield, there is a simple way of dealing with those who throw down their arms and refuse to fight. One conducts a summary court-martial to establish that those are the facts. And if they are, the traitors, the cowards--whatever they are called--are tied to a post, stripped of their military insignia, offered a blindfold, and shot, with as many of their former comrades in arms as can be gathered watching.

  "In the First World War, when soldiers of regiments refused to fight, every tenth soldier in the regiment was shot. We Germans believe in honor and justice, and we don't shoot people we don't know for sure have run from the enemy. But we do execute those we know have shown their treason, their cowardice.

  "I am ashamed to tell you that a trusted officer of the German Embassy in Buenos Aires, Wilhelm Frogger, and his wife--who, like my wife, was an agent of the Sicherheitsdienst, the secret police branch of the SS--have deserted their post and gone over to the enemy.

  "They were assisted in running by an American, a slimy Jew by the name of Milton Leibermann, who works for the American FBI. Leibermann thought that--probably with the assistance of the head of the OSS in Argentina, a man named Frade--he could hide the Froggers from us, save them from the execution they so rightly deserve.

  "He was wrong. I am almost positive that some excellent detective work on the part of the Sicherheitsdienst agents in the embassy has located them. In Mendoza. Once we are sure of this, SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer and I will carry out the unpleasant duty of executing these swine.

  "It gets worse. I have to tell you that an officer of the SS, Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, has deserted his post in Montevideo, Uruguay. He went--initial investigation indicates this happened within the last week--to Paraguay, taking with him a substantial amount of money he stole from the embassy. There hasn't been time for a summary court-martial, of course--it may have to take place in Germany, as he is entitled to be judged by officers of equal or superior rank and there are not three officers like that available here--but when it takes place, and if it finds this swine guilty, SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Sepp Schafer and I will run him down, recover what he stole, and carry out his execution."

  I don't think, judging b
y the looks on the faces of these people, that I would have any trouble at all finding volunteers for a firing squad for either the Froggers or von Tresmarck, or both.

  "There is only one thing worse than a traitor," von Deitzberg said solemnly. "And that is someone who encourages--by argument, or by payment--another to betray the duties and obligations which he has sworn an oath to God Almighty to carry out.

  "So the silver lining in this despicable black cloud for me will be the opportunity to kill Milton Leibermann of the FBI for doing this to the Froggers, and especially, especially, Don Cletus Frade of the OSS, who tried and failed to turn his father into a traitor, and when that distinguished officer refused, murdered his own father--or had him murdered, which is the same thing--so that he could place the Frade assets in the service of Roosevelt and international Jewry."

  Von Deitzberg saw the look on el Coronel Schmidt's face.

  Didn't know that before, did you, my friend?

  Why the hell didn't I think of that until just now?

  Goebbels is absolutely right: The bigger the lie, the more people who'll believe it.

  [FOUR]

  Casa Montagna

  Estancia Don Guillermo

  Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

  Mendoza Province, Argentina

  1300 7 October 1943

  Don Cletus Frade, who with his wife was sitting on the verandah of Casa Montagna sipping wine as they watched the fifth chukker of the game between the Ramapo Valley Aces and the Mountain Husares, did not pay much attention to the dark green 1939 Ford Tudor when it first appeared.

  For one thing, the appearance of Gendarmeria vehicles--he had come to think of their color as "Gendarmeria Green"--was routine, and for another, it was a good match. A dozen new mallets, two dozen new wooden polo balls, and a supply of red-and-blue polo shirts--real polo shirts, with the players' position numbers on their chests and backs--had arrived on a training flight of an SAA Lodestar, and there were now four players properly identified on each side.

  And everybody on the field knew how to play the game. Captain Sawyer had once told Major Frade, with pride, that he'd been rated as a four-goal player. Captain Sawyer was by no means the best player on the field today.

  Frade didn't even pay much attention to the Ford until it drove up to the verandah. There was a sort of motor pool beside one of the outbuildings, and he expected the Ford would go there. And then the driver of the Ford jumped out, ran around the front of the car, and opened the rear door. Two men in civilian clothing got out. One was Inspector General Santiago Nervo of the Gendarmeria and the other was el Coronel Alejandro Bernardo Martin of the Bureau of Internal Security.

  Both officers walked directly to Dona Dorotea and kissed her, and then--Nervo first--turned to Don Cletus, who stood up and then asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Our duty, Major," Nervo said as he wrapped his arm around Frade's shoulders. "I hope we're not too late for lunch."

  "How the hell did you get here?"

  El Coronel Martin first embraced Frade, then answered the question.

  "With the polo mallets," he said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "We were on hand to meet the Ciudad de Buenos Aires when it returned from Lisbon," Martin said. "I asked your chief pilot, Gonzalo Delgano, if there was any way at all he could think of to get us to San Martin de los Andes in a hurry, and he was kind enough to say he would look into it . . ."

  "That was nice of him," Clete said dryly.

  ". . . and he asked a few questions, and learned that a training flight was scheduled for one of your Lodestars; that, among other things, it was dropping off polo mallets and some other equipment for you at Mendoza; and he could see no reason why it couldn't drop us off at San Martin on the way back."

  "Why not?" Clete said. "SAA always tries to cooperate with the BIS."

  "So Capitan Delgano . . ."

  "I thought he was a major," Clete said.

  Nervo chuckled.

  "He was a major," Martin said. "Now he's retired."

  "Oh," Clete said. "I didn't know that."

  Nervo, smiling, shook his head.

  "So he not only arranged for us to go along with the Polo Mallets Training Flight--until just now, when we drove in, I wondered about those mallets--but flew the plane himself."

  "Right after he came back from Lisbon? How obliging of him."

  "He said something about there not being much to do but watch the needles on the fuel gauges drop. Anyway, he flew us to San Martin, and now here we are. By a fortunate coincidence, another training flight is scheduled to land here about four, and Major--excuse me, Capitan--Delgano has been kind enough to arrange it for us to go back to Buenos Aires on that."

  "How nice of him!"

  The doorbell at the door behind them sounded loudly.

  "Well, that's the chukker," Dorotea announced. "One to go. If my husband will pull me out of this chair, I'll forgo that and see about lunch."

  "Subinspector Nowicki may drop by, Dona Dorotea," Nervo said.

  "I'll set a place for him," she said, and raised both arms toward Clete.

  He gently pulled her out of the chair.

  "Thank you," she said. "But don't think I'm ever going to forgive you for putting me into this condition."

  Nervo laughed.

  Dorotea walked into the house as Wilhelm Fischer came out with a wineglass. She returned a few minutes later.

  "So how were things in San Martin de los Andes?" Clete asked Nervo.

  "Why don't we wait until Nowicki and Sawyer are with us?" Martin asked. He pointed at Sawyer.

  "I've never met him," Nervo said. "But he's not too bad a polo player--for an American--is he?"

  "You were about to tell us, mi general," Clete said, "why your duty took you in such a hurry to San Martin de los Andes." He paused, and raised a bottle. "Another little sip of our humble Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon, mi general?"

  "Don't mind if I do," Nervo said. He turned to Fischer. "Before you came here, Senor Fischer, to improve the quality of the grapes, I've been told this stuff was practically undrinkable."

  "I'm so glad I've been able to helpful, mi general," Fischer said.

  "Then you won't be taking a couple of cases back to Buenos Aires with you?" Frade asked.

  "The hell I won't. I accept your gracious offer. But I must say that if I didn't know better, Don Cletus, I might think you're trying to get me to tell you things I shouldn't."

  "You bet your ass I am, mi general," Clete said. "What's going on in San Martin de los Andes?"

  "Well, among other things, the murderer of your father has finally been identified," Nervo said.

  "Really?" Clete asked very softly.

  "You did it. Or at least ordered it."

  "What?" Dorotea exclaimed.

  "Or so Senor Schenck told at dinner to a group of el Coronel Schmidt's officers--one of whom just happens to work for Bernardo."

  Clete just looked at him.

  "Would you like me to go on, or would you prefer me to start at the beginning?"

  "Try the beginning," Clete said.

  "If you'd prefer. Well, the first interesting thing that happened was that we now have a beautiful blonde in the picture. Von Gradny-Sawz's friend in the Interior Ministry got her a National Identity booklet identifying her as Senora Griselda Schenck, who you will recall died several years ago in an auto crash that also killed her loving husband, Jorge.

  "The second interesting thing that happened was that the Uruguayan authorities asked the Policia Nacional to contact a woman by the name of Inge von Tresmarck. They wanted to know if she could shed any light on the whereabouts of her husband, Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, the security officer of the German Embassy in Montevideo whom the Germans had reported to be missing. The Uruguayans said they knew Senora von Tresmarck had taken the overnight steamer to Buenos Aires.

  "Diligent police work revealed that Senora von Tresmarck had taken a room at the Alvear Palace Hotel. She t
hen went shopping, leaving a message to that effect with the hotel switchboard. She never returned to the Alvear Palace."

  "Von Tresmarck is missing?" Clete asked. "What the hell is that all about?"

  Nervo did not reply.

  "Then we learned that the ever-obliging von Gradny-Sawz purchased a car--a 1941 Ford station wagon--for Senor Schenck. The Automobile Club requires people who want insurance to appear in person. Senor Schenck did so, and while he was there availed himself of the ACA's free travel services. They provided him with road maps, on which the route to San Martin de los Andes was marked, and made a reservation for him and Senora Schenck at the Rio Hermoso Hotel in San Martin."

  "Which is where Schmidt is, right?"

  Again, Nervo did not reply.

  "By the time all these details came to my attention, and Alejandro's--sometimes the Policia Nacional is a little slow--Senor and Senora Schenck were well on their way to San Martin de los Andes.

  "By the time we got there, the Schencks had already been entertained at dinner in el Coronel Schmidt's quarters and, the morning following, had departed for San Carlos de Bariloche--"

  "That's where Kortig is," Frade interrupted. "Or at least where he's headed."

  "Tell me about that," Martin said.

  "Welner 'just happened to hear' . . ."

  "Father Kurt Welner, S.J.? That Welner?" Nervo asked.

  "That Welner."

  "And you can't bring yourself to call him 'Father'? Out of simple respect for the cloth?"

  "I don't call you 'General' all the time, either, mi general."

  "Perhaps you should. A little proper respect goes a long way with me. So tell me, Senor Heathen, what did the Reverend Father Kurt Welner of the Society of Jesus 'just happen to hear'?"

  "The other Jesuit, the one who gets National Identity documents . . ."

  "The Reverend Father Francisco Silva, S.J.? That Jesuit?"

  "That's the one. He showed up here and said that Welner had 'just happened to hear' that a small country hotel in Bariloche was up for sale, and he thought it just might be what we were looking for to put up the Gehlen people."

  "Beware of Jesuits bearing gifts," Nervo said.