Blood and Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  There would be a long list of other items on Goltz’s agenda, of course, matters that interested the upper echelons of the Nazi hierarchy.

  This secondary list would start with questions concerning how long it had taken him to deal with the problem of el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade once the order to eliminate him was given. This would be followed by the ritual inquiries into the level of devotion to the Führer personally and to National Socialism generally by members of the Embassy staff from Ambassador Manfred Alois Graf von Lutzenberger downward.

  Goltz and his superiors would also be interested in what he had done, and was doing, to aid the escape and repatriation of the officers of the Graf Spee who had been interned in Argentina since the ship was scuttled.

  Getting the officers out of the internment camp and back to Germany was of personal interest to Abwehr Chief Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, who had himself escaped from Argentine internment during the First World War. Oberst Grüner was very sensitive to this; Canaris was not only his superior officer in the Abwehr, but an old friend as well.

  He was sure that Canaris had been satisfied with his report on the sinking of the Reine de la Mer, and that Canaris would not hold him personally responsible for it, or for the failed elimination attempt on the OSS team chief. Things go wrong, honest mistakes are made; in his report to Canaris he had admitted his culpability.

  He’d admitted further that he should not have presumed that Coronel Frade’s son was the naive amateur he had believed him to be, and that he also should have presumed Frade would help his son, regardless of his sympathy for the German cause. Canaris would understand. But that did not mean that others high in the Intelligence and Espionage hierarchies of the Third Reich would be satisfied with his explanations, or with the time it took him to comply with orders to eliminate el Coronel Frade.

  ‘‘Herr Oberst,’’ Günther Loche announced loudly as he pushed open the door to the suite Grüner had taken for the visiting liaison officer, ‘‘Standartenführer Goltz!’’

  Grüner liked Loche, a civilian employee of the Embassy known as a ‘‘local hire,’’ because he was just smart enough for his driving duties—in other words, not too smart to the point where he would take an interest in matters that were none of his business.

  His parents had immigrated to Argentina after the First World War and went into the sausage business, where they mildly prospered. More important, they were as devoted supporters of Adolf Hitler and National Socialism as anyone Grüner had ever met. And there was something else: Günther’s father, who had served on the Western Front in the First World War and had few illusions about combat service, was delighted that Grüner had convinced Günther that he could make a greater contribution to National Socialism by serving as his driver than by ‘‘returning to the Fatherland’’ and volunteering for military service.

  ‘‘Welcome to Argentina, Herr Standartenführer,’’ Grüner said, raising his arm in the approved Nazi salute. ‘‘Oberst Grüner at your service. I hope it was a pleasant flight?’’

  ‘‘A very long flight, Herr Oberst,’’ Goltz said, returning the salute. The two men shook hands and unabashedly examined each other.

  They were of equal rank. Tonight, of course, at dinner at the Ambassador’s residence, Standartenführer Goltz would have the place of honor, and be seated at the head table next to the Ambassador and across from the Ambassador’s wife. Ordinarily, although he was senior in grade by almost two years to Grüner, he would be seated far below him at a formal dinner table. Protocol, which for some reason had always fascinated Grüner, held that branch of service was the first consideration, then the rank of the individual.

  In terms of protocol, the Army was the senior service, followed by the Navy, the Air Force, and then the SS. This was a source of annoyance to many members of the SS. Since their mission was the protection of National Socialism and the Führer himself, they felt that the SS should be the senior service, and that SS officers should not be relegated to a distant corner of an official table. None of the other services agreed, of course.

  Grüner had come to understand and appreciate the necessity for protocol and to understand why it rankled the SS. Many senior SS officers had never worked their way up through the ranks, and that situation was getting worse. To curry favor with—or ensure the loyalty of—high-ranking bureaucrats and even prominent doctors, lawyers, and businessmen, these people were being given honorary officer’s rank in the Allgemeine SS. This carried with it the privilege of wearing the black SS uniform and the cap adorned with death’s-head.

  At a formal dinner, serving SS officers had precedence over honorary officers. So everyone at a dinner could look down the table and see who was a serving SS officer, and who was a bureaucrat or businessman dressed up like one.

  Grüner found a certain justice in the dictates of protocol, and had taken pleasure that every time the SS wanted the system changed, it had been frustrated by those who wanted it left as it was.

  Goltz had at least once been a serving officer. Although they had never seen each other before, Grüner knew a good deal about him. In the same out-of-normal-channels envelope in which he had notified him of the identity of the SS liaison officer who would visit Argentina, Admiral Canaris had included a copy of Goltz’s Abwehr dossier.

  Grüner had learned that Standartenführer Josef Luther Goltz was a Hessian, born in 1897 in Giessen, forty miles north of Frankfurt an der Main. He was called up with his class of eighteen-year-olds in 1915, and served four months in the trenches on the Western Front with the 219th Infanterie Regiment. While recuperating in Weisbaden from wounds, he was awarded the Iron Cross Second Class, as well as selected for Officer Training School.

  On graduation he was posted to the Sixteenth ‘‘List’’ Bavarian Infanterie Reserve Regiment—in which Corporal Adolf Hitler won the Iron Cross First Class—and served in it until the Armistice in November 1918. During that time he was wounded twice again, promoted Captain, and also awarded the Iron Cross First Class.

  Obviously, Grüner thought as he read the dossier, if Lieutenant or Captain Goltz encountered Corporal Hitler in the trenches, he treated him well, or he would not be a Standartenf ührer.

  Immediately demobilized after the Armistice of 1918, Goltz returned briefly to school, but after less than a year at Munich University, he dropped out. He then found employment driving a streetcar for the City of Munich. And in 1921, he joined the Sturmabteilungen (the SA, the private army of the Nazi party, commonly called the ‘‘Brown Shirts,’’ commanded by Ernst Röhm) of the just-renamed (from ‘‘German Workers’ Party’’) Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (National Socialist German Workers ’ Party).

  Grüner remembered this now, seeing the ‘‘Long Service ’’ Nazi party pin in Goltz’s lapel.

  In 1924, Goltz left Civil Service to work full-time for the Nazi party. And in 1929, he left both the SA and the employ of the Nazi party to reenter government service, this time as a policeman. In 1933, he was commissioned into the SS as a Hauptsturmführer, the equivalent of a captain. His promotions thereafter came rapidly.

  After reading Goltz’s dossier, Grüner decided that Goltz was an obviously bright, well-connected, and thus dangerous man. Looking at his face now, he saw nothing to change that opinion.

  ‘‘I think you’ll be comfortable here,’’ Grüner said, gesturing around the suite.

  ‘‘I’m sure I will be,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘At what time, if you know, would it be convenient for me to present my respects to the Ambassador?’’

  ‘‘The Ambassador requests the pleasure of your company at dinner at the residence . . .’’

  ‘‘How kind of him.’’

  "... at eight P.M. Following this, the Ambassador suggests that you join the official party which will go to the Edificio Libertador to pay our respects to the late Oberst Jorge Guillermo Frade.’’

  Goltz’s face now showed interest.

  ‘‘Oh, really?’’

  ‘‘Gün
ther, would you wait in the corridor, please?’’ Grüner ordered.

  ‘‘Jawohl, Herr Oberst,’’ Günther said, came to attention, clicked his heels the way he had seen Major von Wachtstein do, and left the room.

  ‘‘Oberst Frade,’’ Grüner said, pausing to light a cigarette, ‘‘a prominent Argentine, was tragically murdered during a robbery attempt three days ago.’’

  ‘‘So I’ve heard,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘Murdered by robbers, you said?’’

  ‘‘Yes. They were quickly detected by the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, and died in a gun battle during an attempt to arrest them.’’

  ‘‘That question was one of the matters I had wished to discuss with you, Herr Oberst,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘There was some question—’’

  ‘‘I must temper my desire to immediately comply with my orders,’’ Grüner said, aware of the direction Goltz was taking him, ‘‘as I am sure you will understand, Herr Standartenf ührer, with other considerations.’’

  ‘‘There are those in Berlin who felt you questioned that decision, Herr Oberst.’’

  ‘‘Both the Ambassador and I felt that it was unnecessary, Herr Standartenführer, and perhaps even unwise. I cannot, of course, speak for the Ambassador, but I still feel that way. A moot question, anyway. Oberst Frade is no longer with us.’’

  ‘‘The thinking in Berlin—of your superiors and mine— to which I was privy, was that the solution ordered would not only have the obvious benefit of making sure Oberst Frade was not in a position to cause Argentina to declare war on Germany, it would also make the point that the enemies of Germany, no matter how highly placed, are not immune to German retribution.’’

  Grüner did not reply.

  ‘‘You question the wisdom of that decision, Herr Oberst? ’’

  ‘‘I never question my orders, Herr Standartenführer. But I consider it my duty to advise my superiors of my best judgment on any issue before them.’’

  ‘‘Of course. And your candor, as well as your professionalism, Herr Oberst, is both admired and respected in Berlin. But in this case, certainly you are willing to concede that you were . . . what shall I say . . . that you erred on the side of caution?’’

  ‘‘Time will tell, of course, Herr Standartenführer.’’

  ‘‘What if I told you that Oberst Juan Domingo Perón was on the Condor with me?’’

  Grüner shrugged.

  ‘‘We can, I presume, credibly deny that we were in any way involved in Oberst Frade’s tragic death at the hands of robbers?’’

  ‘‘With the assassins dead, there is no way that any connection with us can be proved, Herr Standartenführer. Credibly denied, yes. But that is not quite the same thing.’’

  ‘‘Oberst Perón is a member, a powerful member, of the G.O.U., is he not?’’

  ‘‘He is.’’

  ‘‘Wouldn’t you agree that for Perón to replace Frade as a power in the G.O.U. is to Germany’s advantage? After the coup d’état, in particular?’’

  ‘‘Oberst Perón and Oberst Frade were intimate, lifelong friends, Herr Standartenführer. That was one of the points I raised.’’

  ‘‘And it was duly noted,’’ Goltz said, although he could not remember that being mentioned in Berlin. ‘‘I concede that may be no immediate problem. But since you tell me that we can credibly deny knowledge of the incident, and since time passes . . .’’

  ‘‘Today’s Pan American flight from Miami brought with it Oberst Frade’s son, Herr Standartenführer. I rather doubt that he will keep from Oberst Perón his suspicions regarding those responsible for his father’s death, or that he will permit the subject to simply pass into memory.’’

  ‘‘Certainly the Argentine authorities are aware that he is an OSS agent? Who violated Argentine neutrality with regard to the Reine de la Mer?’’ Goltz asked.

  ‘‘I’m sure that Admiral Montoya is fully aware of those facts.’’

  ‘‘And that won’t get him expelled from the country? I’m surprised they let him in.’’

  ‘‘Keeping him out would have been impossible.’’

  ‘‘How so?’’

  ‘‘He entered the country on an Argentine passport.’’

  ‘‘How can he do that?’’ Goltz asked, surprised and annoyed.

  ‘‘He was born here. Under Argentine law, he is an Argentine. He is apparently claiming both his inheritance and his Argentine citizenship.’’

  ‘‘Are you telling me that a word in the proper ear cannot expose that charade? And have him expelled?’’

  ‘‘Finding the proper ear may be difficult, Herr Standartenf ührer.’’

  ‘‘That’s your job, Herr Oberst!’’ Goltz said, his temper flaring.

  ‘‘When Oberst Frade’s son arrived at the Pan American terminal, Herr Standartenführer, he was greeted by a delegation of senior Argentine military officers, headed by the Minister of War, General Pedro P. Ramírez, and Major General Arturo Rawson. Both men were close friends of Oberst Frade. I rather doubt that would be of much use to whisper in either of their ears that expelling Oberst Frade’s son would be a good thing.’’

  ‘‘The Americans arranged for that?’’

  ‘‘I don’t think so. I think it was General Ramírez’s own idea. Both to show respect for the late Oberst Frade and to send a signal to those responsible for his death that the officer corps of the Argentine Army is displeased.’’

  ‘‘That’s an unexpected development.’’

  ‘‘I was disappointed, but not surprised. Oberst Frade was a highly respected officer. Perhaps even a beloved officer.’’

  ‘‘We will have to have a long talk about this,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘But I would prefer that the Ambassador and Gradny-Sawz participate. This is not the time.’’

  ‘‘I am at your disposal, Herr Standartenführer.’’

  ‘‘You were telling me about tonight?’’

  ‘‘The Ambassador suggests that you join the official party to pay respects to Oberst Frade at the Edificio Libertador. Inasmuch as the Ambassador and the First Secretary will be in uniform, you might wish to wear uniform yourself.’’

  Goltz considered that. ‘‘It may require pressing. . . .’’

  ‘‘I’m sure that will pose no problem,’’ Grüner said. ‘‘May I suggest you wear uniform to the Ambassador’s residence?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Goltz agreed.

  ‘‘Following dinner the senior Embassy officers will meet at the Residence, and we will all go to the Edificio Libertador. That shouldn’t take long. There is a Corps Diplomatique line. You sign a guest register, enter the Hall of Honor, pay your respects at the casket, then to members of the Frade family in an adjacent room, and have a glass of champagne with the Argentine protocol officer in another adjacent room. After that you are free to go. The Ambassador will bring you back to the hotel.’’

  ‘‘What, exactly, does ‘pay one’s respects at the casket’ mean?’’

  ‘‘This is a Roman Catholic country. The custom is that you kneel—a prie-dieu is provided—at the casket and offer a prayer for the quick reception of the deceased into heaven.’’

  ‘‘Are you a Catholic, Herr Oberst?’’ Goltz asked, almost suspiciously.

  ‘‘I was raised Evangalische’’—Protestant—‘‘but I rarely enter a church except when duty requires. There will be a funeral service tomorrow for Oberst Frade at the Basílica of Our Lady of Pilar, with interment to follow in the adjacent cemetery. It’s called Recoleta. I don’t know whether the Ambassador would like you to attend that or not.’’

  ‘‘I’ll discuss that with him tonight,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘I am not fond of either funerals or church.’’

  ‘‘The diplomatic service of the Reich sometimes requires that one do things one would rather not,’’ Grüner said, and immediately was sorry.

  Goltz was liable to interpret the remark as referring to the Frade action, and in fact Goltz looked at him strangely.

  ‘‘How do I get from her
e to the Residence?’’

  ‘‘I would be happy to take you there, but that will mean I will have to stop by my house to change into dress uniform. The other option is to have Major von Wachtstein accompany you. A third option would be to go to the Residence by yourself. In my car. You would be in Günther’s hands. He is both a capable driver and speaks Spanish, which may prove useful to you.’’

  ‘‘Of the three options, I would prefer to inconvenience the Major,’’ Goltz said.

  ‘‘The Major works for me,’’ Grüner said. ‘‘What pleases you would be convenient for him.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps if he came by here in time to take me?’’

  Grüner went to the door and motioned Günther into the room.

  ‘‘Do you know where the Major is, Günther?’’

  ‘‘The Herr Freiherr is seeing to the Herr Standartenf ührer’s luggage, Herr Oberst,’’ Günther said. ‘‘He should be here any minute.’’

  ‘‘Then it’s solved,’’ Grüner said. ‘‘I will leave you here in Günther’s competent hands until von Wachtstein shows up, and then see you at the Residence.’’

  Günther smiled at what he perceived to be a compliment.

  ‘‘You have been most kind, Herr Oberst,’’ Goltz said.

  ‘‘It has been my privilege, Herr Standartenführer,’’ Grüner said, and offered both his hand and the Nazi salute.

  Goltz returned it, and Grüner started to walk out of the room.

  ‘‘Oh, there is one more thing,’’ Goltz called after him. Grüner turned to look at him. ‘‘I have to go to Montevideo, as quickly as possible. How difficult a trip is that?’’

  ‘‘I presume, Herr Standartenführer, that you have visas for both Argentina and Uruguay?’’