Blood and Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  ‘‘I thought I took you to the Hotel am Wansee,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You usually took girls from the Hotel am Zoo to the Hotel am Wansee?’’

  ‘‘Only special girls,’’ Peter said. ‘‘From the am Zoo and the Adlon.’’

  ‘‘Was I special for you?’’

  ‘‘Of course.’’

  ‘‘No, I mean, really special?’’

  ‘‘Of course really special.’’

  ‘‘Tell me the truth, Peter. Was that why you loaned me the money? Because I was special?’’

  What money? I loaned her money? I don’t remember that.

  ‘‘I’m going to pay you back,’’ Inge said. ‘‘That’s the first thing I thought when I saw you. No. The second thing. The first thing was, ‘Ach du lieber Gott, that’s Peter. And he’s alive. And here.’ The second thing was, ‘I can repay the loan.’ ’’

  ‘‘I don’t remember a loan, Inge,’’ Peter said. ‘‘Truthfully, I don’t.’’

  ‘‘You probably thought of it as a payment,’’ she said. ‘‘I showed you a good time, and then I asked for a loan, and you ‘loaned it’ to me.’’

  ‘‘I really don’t recall anything about money,’’ he said. ‘‘But if I did, forget it.’’

  ‘‘No. I’ll pay you back,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s important to me. If we’re going to be here for a long, long time—and thank God, it looks like we will be—I don’t want you looking across a dinner table at me ten, fifteen years from now and thinking, ‘That old woman was once an amateur prostitute I took to the Hotel am Wansee. I say amateur prostitute because she didn’t ask for the money first, the way a professional prostitute would. She asked for a ‘loan’ afterward, complete with a complicated explanation of her financial predicament.’ ’’

  ‘‘Your apartment had been burned out,’’ Peter said, remembering. ‘‘You couldn’t go to the housing people for another one, because you didn’t have permission to live in Berlin. You did know a place you could get on the black market, but you didn’t have quite all the money you needed. . . ."

  ‘‘I needed five thousand Reichsmarks,’’ she said. ‘‘And you gave me a check.’’

  You’re right, Peter thought, remembering. I did think you were an amateur prostitute. And I felt sorry for you for having been forced into it by the war—and that was when I was having a premonition of death about once a week—so I wrote you a check, thinking I wouldn’t need the money anyway.

  ‘‘I didn’t think you were a prostitute, Inge, amateur or otherwise,’’ Peter said. ‘‘I thought you were a nice girl, alone, and in trouble. And I had the money, so I gave it to you. Loaned it to you.’’

  ‘‘See?’’ she said. ‘‘You said ‘gave’ and then corrected yourself. You did think I was a prostitute, didn’t you?’’

  ‘‘I told you what I thought.’’

  ‘‘You never thought you’d see the money again, did you?’’ Inge said. ‘‘Tell the truth, Peter!’’

  ‘‘I didn’t care if I did or not,’’ Peter said. ‘‘And I don’t care now.’’

  ‘‘Why, then, did you think I let you pick me up? And take you to the Hotel am Wansee?’’

  ‘‘I thought you were dazzled by the Knight’s Cross,’’ Peter said, truthfully.

  Later, when you asked for the loan, I thought you were an amateur prostitute. That was not good for my ego. Fighter pilots aren’t supposed to pay whores. So I forgot it.

  ‘‘When I thought about you—and I often thought about you—I used to think that it wasn’t your medal that dazzled me, or the aristocratic ‘von,’ or even your looks, but the fact that the bartender served you French cognac from an unmarked decanter kept under the bar and normally reserved for generals. That meant you were somebody special —the bartenders there are notorious snobs—and that was what attracted me to you.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Peter asked. The conversation was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

  ‘‘But today, on the way from the airport, I realized that wasn’t it at all.’’

  ‘‘Wasn’t it?’’

  What the hell is she talking about?

  ‘‘It was subconscious,’’ she said. ‘‘It was because we were two of a kind.’’

  What the hell does that mean?

  ‘‘Two of what kind?’’

  ‘‘Survivors,’’ she said. ‘‘I sensed you were a survivor, too. And I was right, wasn’t I? We’re both here, aren’t we? We’re among the first survivors.’’

  ‘‘The first survivors of what?’’

  ‘‘The Thousand Year Reich, of course,’’ Inge said. ‘‘That’s why I finally married Werner. There were practical considerations, of course. He told me he was being assigned here, and I think I would have married a gorilla if he promised to take me somewhere away from the bombing, somewhere with fresh eggs and meat with no ration coupon, somewhere warm. But the real reason was that I sensed— this subconscious thing—that Werner was also a survivor.’’

  ‘‘Werner’s a survivor?’’ Peter asked.

  ‘‘If he wasn’t a survivor, Liebchen, Werner would be in Sachsenhausen wearing a pink triangle,26instead of in Montevideo making himself rich getting Jews out of Sachsenhausen. ’’

  What did she say, ‘‘making himself rich getting Jews out of Sachsenhausen’’?

  ‘‘Werner’s a little light on his feet?’’ Peter asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

  She nodded.

  ‘‘Do you think Goltz knows?’’

  ‘‘Of course he does,’’ Inge said. ‘‘That’s why Werner is here.’’

  ‘‘I don’t understand that.’’

  ‘‘You can trust someone who knows you know you have something on him that can send him to the gas chambers,’’ Inge said. ‘‘What does Herr Standartenführer Goltz have on you, Peter? Or is it the other way around?’’

  ‘‘I don’t have anything on him, God knows, and I don’t think he has anything on me.’’

  ‘‘Then how are you involved in this?’’

  ‘‘In what?’’

  ‘‘I hope you’re being discreet,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Discreet about what?’’

  Inge looked at him intensely for a long moment.

  ‘‘You don’t know, do you?’’ she asked. ‘‘God, I think I’m going to be sick to my stomach!’’

  ‘‘I don’t know about what?’’

  ‘‘Peter, tell me honestly—look into my eyes—what are you doing in Montevideo?’’

  ‘‘I flew Goltz here in the Embassy Storch,’’ Peter replied. ‘‘In addition to my other duties, I’m the Storch pilot. ’’

  ‘‘And you don’t know what Goltz is doing here?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Haven’t the foggiest idea.’’

  ‘‘You do know who Goltz is?’’

  ‘‘He’s the liaison officer between Reichsprotektor Himmler and Parteileiter Martin Bormann.’’

  ‘‘Would you believe me if I told you that if one word I said about Werner being pink, or Goltz knowing it, not to mention about Jews and Sachsenhausen, got back to Goltz, you and I would be dead?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Peter said simply. ‘‘I’m aware that Goltz is a very dangerous man.’’

  ‘‘I can’t believe I have been this stupid,’’ Inge said. ‘‘I simply presumed . . . How did you get out of Germany?’’

  ‘‘An Argentine officer, an observer with von Paulus, was killed at Stalingrad. I brought his body home. And was assigned as Assistant Attaché for Air at the Embassy.’’

  She looked intently into his eyes, and then he saw something in them.

  ‘‘You told me your father was a general, didn’t you?’’

  ‘‘I don’t remember if I did or not,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Is he?’’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘‘Where is he stationed?’’

  ‘‘With the OKW.’’

  ‘‘All right. He got you out of Germany. Maybe he has something on Go
ltz.’’

  ‘‘I can’t imagine what that could be.’’

  ‘‘Then maybe Goltz has plans for you here, using your father in Germany to make sure you do what you’re told.’’

  ‘‘Aren’t you being just a little melodramatic?’’

  ‘‘When I came here with Werner, Herr Standartenführer Goltz told me that if I went an inch out of line, the next I would hear from my father would be one of those postcards saying Reichsprotektor Himmler desired to inform me my father had died of pneumonia in Sachsenhausen.’’

  ‘‘You didn’t think coming to my room was out of line?’’ Peter asked.

  ‘‘He wasn’t talking about my sex life, so long as I don’t make Werner look like a fool. He was talking about . . .’’

  ‘‘Making yourself rich getting Jews out of Sachsenhausen? ’’ Peter asked.

  ‘‘You’ll get us both killed, Peter, and my father killed, and maybe even yours, if you ever let those words out of your mouth again. Here, or anywhere else. Do you understand that?’’

  ‘‘Yes. We never had any of this conversation. You were never here.’’

  She shook her head.

  ‘‘I was here. I may have been followed. Or the car was seen. If I’m asked, I’ll say I was here. And you too.’’

  ‘‘All right,’’ Peter said. ‘‘So what do we do now?’’

  She turned and took the bottle of champagne from the cooler, filled her glass, and walked to the bed.

  ‘‘What do you think we do now, Liebchen?’’ Inge asked.

  She got into the bed, rested her back against the headboard, met Peter’s eyes, and deliberately tilted the champagne glass and spilled champagne down her breast.

  ‘‘Remember this, Peter?’’ she asked, and motioned for him to come to her.

  XVI

  [ONE] Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 0230 14 April 1943

  The lights went on in the apartment of el Patrón, startling him. He sat up quickly in bed and saw Chief Schultz and Enrico.

  ‘‘You scared the hell out of me,’’ Clete confessed. ‘‘What’s up?’’

  ‘‘You got a reply on the oh one thirty call,’’ Chief Schultz said. ‘‘Should I have waited until morning?’’

  ‘‘No, of course not,’’ Clete said, pushing himself up against the headboard and reaching for the sheet of paper Schultz extended to him.

  TOP SECRET LINDBERGH

  URGENT

  DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

  MSG NO 2545 DDWHO 1650 GREENWICH 13APR43

  FROM ORACLE WASHDC

  TO STACHIEF AGGIE

  REFERENCE YOUR NO. 00021. ORACLE DIRECTS YOU FURNISH QUICKEST MEANS IDENTITY CAVALRY AND GALAHAD AND PROVIDE REASONS YOU BELIEVE THEY HAVE ACCESS TO INTELLIGENCE DESCRIBED.

  2. AIRCRAFT (HEREAFTER PARROT) WILL BE AVAILABLE PORTO ALEGRE BRAZIL AIR STATION (HEREAFTER BIRDCAGE) AFTER 1700 GREENWICH 16 APR43. COLONEL J.B. WALLACE USAAC USAAC (HEREAFTER BIRDDOG) WILL RELEASE PARROT TO YOU ON YOUR FURNISHING HIM YOUR NEW ORLEANS TELEPHONE NUMBER.

  3. BIRDDOG ADVISES PARROT WILL BE MARKED AS REQUESTED AND PAINTED APPROXIMATELY DESIRED COLOR; HAS 1600 MILE RANGE; CIVILIAN ONLY REPEAT CIVILIAN ONLY RADIO AND NAVIGATION SYSTEM. REQUESTED ON SITE TRAINING AVAILABLE FOR YOU AND COPILOT.

  4. ADVISE UNDERSIGNED QUICKEST MEANS WHEN PARROT MOVEMENT COMMENCED AND COMPLETED.

  GRAHAM END

  ‘‘Looks like you got your airplane, Major,’’ Chief Schultz said when Clete looked up at him.

  ‘‘All I have to do is fly it into Argentina from Pôrto Alegre, wherever the hell that is, right?’’

  ‘‘It’s on the Atlantic Coast, maybe a third of the way between Buenos Aires and São Paulo,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘I got a chart.’’

  He handed it to Clete.

  ‘‘Is that typewriter still in there?’’ Clete asked, jerking his thumb toward the sitting room of the apartment.

  Schultz nodded.

  ‘‘Do me a favor, Chief,’’ Clete said, swinging his feet out of bed. ‘‘While I’m getting dressed and Enrico is going to get Capitán Delgano out of bed, extract enough from this message so that I can show it to Delgano without telling him anything that’s none of his business.’’

  ‘‘Aye, aye, Sir.’’

  ‘‘Be so kind as to present my compliments to el Capitán Delgano, Suboficial Mayor,’’ Clete said. ‘‘And ask him to join me at his earliest convenience.’’

  "Sí, mi Mayor,’’ Enrico said, smiling.

  ‘‘See if you can rustle up some coffee on your way,’’ Clete added.

  ‘‘Coffee, mi Mayor? Not chocolate?’’

  ‘‘I’m glad you thought of that, Enrico. I’m jumpy enough the way I am. I don’t need any coffee. Chocolate, please.’’

  ‘‘Chocolate for me too, please, Enrico,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘I can’t handle Argentine coffee.’’

  Enrico shook his head in disbelief and then followed Schultz out of the bedroom.

  Clete went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, hoping it would wake him up.

  When he came out, Schultz had already finished the extract. Clete read it, then started to get dressed.

  AIRCRAFT (HEREAFTER PARROT) WILL BE AVAILABLE PORTO ALEGRE BRAZIL AIR STATION (HEREAFTER BIRDCAGE) AFTER 1700 GREENWICH 16 APR43.

  AIRCRAFT HAS ARGENTINE REGISTRY NUMBERS FURNISHED AND IS PAINTED SAME COLOR AS STAGGERWING.

  AIRCRAFT HAS 1600 MILE RANGE AND CIVILIAN ONLY RADIO AND NAVIGATION SYSTEM.

  REQUESTED ON SITE TRAINING AVAILABLE FOR YOU AND COPILOT.

  ‘‘I didn’t know if you were planning on taking Delgano with you or not, is why I left that training business in.’’

  ‘‘This is just what I wanted, Chief,’’ Clete said. ‘‘And I’m not taking Delgano with me. He’s an Argentine intelligence officer. Getting the airplane is a temporary truce, nothing more. I’m sure he would be fascinated to have a look at a Brazilian Navy Base. And I don’t want to piss the Brazilians off by bringing an Argentine officer with me. If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t even let him know where the airplane is.’’

  ‘‘You don’t need him to help you fly it?’’

  ‘‘No. It’s not much of an airplane. A little twin-engine aerial taxi, is all it is. I can handle it by myself.’’

  ‘‘How about navigating it by yourself? I could go along with you.’’

  ‘‘You stay here and make sure Ettinger stays here,’’ Clete said. ‘‘But thanks for the offer, Chief.’’

  Schultz shrugged to indicate thanks were not required, then asked, ‘‘While we’re waiting for Delgano, you want to write your reply to the message?’’

  ‘‘No big deal. The next time you’re in contact, tell them I expect to be at Pôrto Alegre shortly after the airplane is ready.’’

  ‘‘What I meant is that they want you to identify Galahad and Cavalry,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘ ‘Quickest means’ is what they said.’’

  ‘‘I’m not going to identify them,’’ Clete said. ‘‘I don’t want to run the risk of having either of them exposed.’’

  ‘‘The Luftwaffe guy and Colonel Martín, right?’’

  Clete didn’t answer.

  ‘‘Mr. Frade, I work for you,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘That was just to keep things straight in my mind. If anybody else asks me, I don’t have a clue who Galahad and Cavalry are.’’

  ‘‘How did you pick up on Martín?’’

  ‘‘I figured it had to be either him or Captain Lauffer, but Delgano works for Martín. Two and two usually makes four.’’

  ‘‘Usually,’’ Clete said, chuckling.

  ‘‘I don’t think you can just ignore them,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘I think you have to tell them you have reasons not to identify them.’’

  ‘‘You really think so?’’

  ‘‘Either that or make up names,’’ Schultz said.

  ‘‘Oh, shit,’’ Clete said, and walked out of the bedroom and sat down in front of the typewriter. He rolled a she
et of paper into the machine and looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then he typed a single sentence, tore the paper from the machine, and handed it to Schultz.

  Regret that to obtain absolutely reliable intelligence from galahad and cavalry it was necessary to give my word of honor that their identities would not be furnished to third parties.

  ‘‘You really want me to send this?’’ Schultz said, chuckling.

  ‘‘It’s more polite than ‘fuck you, I ain’t gonna tell you,’ isn’t it? Send it word for word.’’

  ‘‘Aye, aye, Sir.’’

  A sleepy-eyed maid entered the room carrying pots and cups and saucers. A moment later, Capitán Delgano, in a bathrobe, and Enrico came in.

  Clete handed him the extract Schultz had prepared.

  ‘‘I would prefer to discuss this subject in private, Señor Frade,’’ Delgano said.

  ‘‘I prefer that Chief Schultz stay,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Sorry.’’

  ‘‘Very well,’’ Delgano said. ‘‘I rather suspected the aircraft would be at Pôrto Alegre. It’s a major Brazilian base, and both U.S. Navy and Army Air Corps units are stationed there.’’

  ‘‘Is that so?’’

  ‘‘With that in mind, I did a little preliminary planning,’’ Delgano said. ‘‘May I show you on the map?’’

  ‘‘Of course.’’

  Delgano laid Chief Schultz’s map on the desk beside the typewriter and pointed with his finger.

  ‘‘This is Santo Tomé, in Corrientes Province,’’ he said.

  Christ, Graham said Corrientes Province is where they’re going to infiltrate the new team into Uruguay!

  ‘‘It’s across the Río Uruguay from São Borja, Brazil. It’s approximately five hundred fifty kilometers from Pôrto Alegre to Santo Tomé. Since your aircraft has a range of sixteen hundred miles, we should have no difficulty—’’

  ‘‘Wait a minute,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Now that I think of it, I don’t think the C-45 has a sixteen-hundred-mile range. That’s probably a typo. A thousand seems more like it, and it may be as little as six hundred.’’

  ‘‘Six hundred miles seems a short range for a transport aircraft,’’ Delgano said.