Blood and Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  ‘‘I’d rather not answer that question, Colonel,’’ Stevenson said immediately.

  ‘‘Answer it. What would you do in my shoes?’’

  Stevenson met Graham’s eyes for a moment, then shrugged.

  ‘‘Let it in,’’ he said. ‘‘Try to keep an eye on it. Spend whatever it takes to have enough FBI accountants and whatever else is needed to follow the money trail sent down here. Otherwise the people in the camps won’t get out. Isn’t life worth more than money?’’

  Graham didn’t reply directly.

  ‘‘This conversation never took place,’’ he said. ‘‘You’re welcome to stick around, of course, Ralph. But if you want to return to Montevideo . . .’’

  ‘‘I think I’ll wait and see what happens tomorrow morning, ’’ Stevenson said.

  ‘‘In that case, good night, Ralph,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Sleep well.’’

  Graham walked with him to the door and then turned to face Milton Leibermann.

  ‘‘That makes it two to one, doesn’t it?’’ Leibermann said.

  ‘‘Maybe three to one. But I have other thoughts. If we grabbed this money, wouldn’t it let them know we’re onto them?’’

  ‘‘To what end?’’

  ‘‘It might make them consider that this sanctuary nonsense is a dream,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘I’m not sure it is,’’ Leibermann said. ‘‘Money talks, to coin a phrase.’’

  ‘‘Could you follow the money trail Stevenson talked about?’’

  ‘‘Yes and no. Yes, if I had enough people, and we could—the U.S. government could—put sufficient pressure on the government of Argentina—on all the governments down here—to let us into their banking records. I don’t think either is likely.’’

  ‘‘So your objection to grabbing the money is based on this filthy scheme saving some lives?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. But I’m not sure if that’s Milton Leibermann, Philosopher, talking, or Milton Leibermann, Jew.’’

  ‘‘That doesn’t make it two to one, Milton. It makes it one for letting the money in because it saves lives; one for letting it in because things can be made right later—which is unlikely; and one for grabbing the money and letting the bastards know we know what they’re up to.’’

  ‘‘I still count that two to one for letting it in,’’ Leibermann said. ‘‘So what are you going to do about Frade?’’

  ‘‘You mean about Galahad and Cavalry?’’

  Leibermann nodded.

  ‘‘Galahad is obviously the Luftwaffe pilot. The confirmation of that we got tonight. Frade leaves the room to see the Carzino-Cormano girl. He comes back three minutes after seeing her with the location of the Océano Pacífico and the information that the Germans are going to smuggle the money ashore in the morning, and where they’re going to land it. And you tell me she is running around with a Luftwaffe pilot—what’s his name?’’

  ‘‘Hans-Peter von Wachtstein.’’

  ‘‘. . . named von Wachtstein.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Leibermann agreed.

  ‘‘Von Wachtstein tipped Frade that they were going to try to kill him, and Frade figures he owes him his life. He doesn’t want to give me his name because—with good reason, I’m sorry to say—he doesn’t trust Donovan, and figures if the OSS was willing to consider him expendable, they wouldn’t hesitate to use von Wachtstein to manipulate his father, which is likely to get von Wachtstein, pere et fils, killed. You heard that couldn’t-look-himself-in-the-mirror business.’’

  Leibermann shrugged, clearly meaning he agreed with the identification.

  ‘‘And Cavalry?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure about Cavalry. One moment I think it’s the BIS guy, Martín, and the next moment I think, really think, that it’s Rawson. He and Frade’s father were great buddies. . . .’’

  ‘‘So were Frade’s father and el Coronel Juan Domingo Perón.’’

  ‘‘Rawson obviously trusts Frade enough to let him get close to the coup d’état, not to mention letting him fly him around during the revolution. And who but somebody like Rawson would have the authority to let Frade land his airplane at Santo Tomé?’’

  ‘‘Martín,’’ Leibermann said. ‘‘Either at Rawson’s bidding, or on his own authority.’’

  ‘‘Bringing me back to square one,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.’’

  ‘‘So what happens if you take a chance—you understand Frade is not going to identify either one of them, don’t you?’’

  ‘‘You’ll notice I didn’t stand him at attention and order him to tell me,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘So what happens if you take a chance and tell Donovan what you think, that Galahad is von Wachtstein . . .’’

  ‘‘I know von Wachtstein is Galahad.’’

  ‘‘. . . and Cavalry is Rawson. Or Martín. And Frade finds out about it?’’

  ‘‘You tell me.’’

  ‘‘You know what I really think? That it would be the first time in history that a Marine major with the Navy Cross told you ‘fuck you all, I quit.’ ’’

  ‘‘You really think he’d do that? That would be desertion in time of war. That would mean he could never go back home.’’

  ‘‘Where’s home, Alejandro? Down here he’s a great-grandson of Pueyrredón, which is like being the great-grandson of Washington or Jefferson. And this is all his. . . .’’ Leibermann gestured around the library. ‘‘And, very important, he’s going to marry that gorgeous blond.’’

  ‘‘He’s an honorable man. He swore an oath as a Marine officer,’’ Graham argued.

  ‘‘He’s an honorable man with a clear conscience. He didn’t get all those medals running away from the Japanese. And he came down here and did his Marine officer’s duty—after he found out the OSS considered him expendable —and nearly got himself killed lighting up the Reine de la Mer so the sub could torpedo it.’’

  ‘‘It would still be desertion. Maybe even treason.’’

  ‘‘Yeah. And none of the usual things that happen to deserters in time of war would happen to him. Even if you could get him back to the States to try him—and I don’t see how you could; among other things, the Argentines consider him a citizen—even if you did, do you really want to try for desertion or treason a man who won the Navy Cross? You couldn’t keep it out of the papers. And his grandfather would hire a half-dozen U.S. Senators to defend him. The whole story would come out.’’

  Graham grunted.

  ‘‘You can’t even eliminate him,’’ Leibermann said.

  ‘‘And not only because of Cletus Marcus Howell. Rawson —if you’re right about him being Cavalry, and I think you are—would be furious. Not only would Frade’s window into what’s going on down here be slammed shut, but there’s no telling the damage that would do to Franklin Roosevelt’s diplomatic plans for South America. And we would get not one more item, period, from von Wachtstein. And Frade’s family here . . .’’

  ‘‘Eliminating Frade was never one of my options,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘So what are you going to do?’’

  ‘‘The President of the United States wants to know the identity of Cavalry and Galahad. What do I do about that?’’

  ‘‘You know what I do when I have problems like this?’’ Leibermann said. ‘‘Problems with no solution? I go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Then in the morning, when you wake up, the problems might still be there, but you’ve had a good night’s sleep.’’

  ‘‘What is that, Yiddish wisdom?’’

  ‘‘Go to bed, Alejandro,’’ Leibermann said. ‘‘Let’s see what happens tomorrow.’’

  XXV

  [ONE] Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 0445 19 April 1943

  Señorita Dorotéa Mallín came into the library with Clete. She was wearing a man’s silk dressing robe, and her hair was done up demurely in a loose braid hanging down her back.

  B
eautiful girl, Colonel A. F. Graham thought. Even at this hour of the morning, with no makeup, just out of bed, she sort of glows.

  With that came insight: My God, she’s pregnant! Of course. That’s why Clete’s marrying her, and now, rather than after the expected year of mourning for the late el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade.

  And home for Clete Frade, he thought, remembering his conversation with Leibermann, is where the woman who will bear his child is.

  ‘‘I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, Miss Mallín,’’ Colonel A. F. Graham said. ‘‘Only Marines have to rise at this ungodly hour.’’

  She met his eyes.

  ‘‘I don’t mind, Colonel. I thought I’d see that everybody had breakfast,’’ Dorotéa said.

  ‘‘I’m sure Clete’s—’’

  ‘‘I don’t mind, Colonel,’’ Dorotéa repeated, smiling sweetly. ‘‘In fact, I insist.’’

  Clete Frade looked amused.

  ‘‘How much does Dorotéa know?’’ Graham asked.

  ‘‘We had a long talk last night,’’ Clete said.

  ‘‘That wasn’t wise, Major,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘Well, it occurred to me that since Goltz and Grüner might try to kill her, I thought she had the right to know why.’’

  He didn’t say ‘‘Sir’’ or ‘‘Colonel.’’ Obviously, he has been thinking about the same things Milt Leibermann talked about. He may already have made up his mind— certainly, that pregnant young woman has not spent the night encouraging him to go out and do something that may get the father of their unborn child killed—and the worst thing I can try to do right now is order either one of them around. Or even order her out of the room. This is his house, and she’s, for all practical purposes, his wife. All I can do is hope that when I tell him what I want him to do, he’s willing to do it.

  ‘‘On the strength of your assurance that your information about German activities this morning is accurate, Major, I’ve developed our plan of action,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘My information is good,’’ Clete said.

  ‘‘In addition to the radar Captain Ashton brought with him, there is an aerial camera,’’ Graham said. ‘‘The latest word in aerial cameras, and in high-resolution film.’’

  Clete didn’t reply.

  Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodríguez entered the library.

  What took you so long, Sergeant Major? Graham wondered. You usually appear no longer than sixty seconds after your master. Oh, I see now, you stopped for a quick shave.

  ‘‘Good morning, Suboficial Mayor,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘Buenos días, mi Coronel,’’ Enrico replied, and took up what Graham had come to expect as his usual stance, leaning against the wall.

  ‘‘If at all possible,’’ Graham went on, ‘‘the United States government does not wish to again violate Argentine neutral waters by sending in a submarine to sink a ship flying a neutral flag,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Even a ship like Comerciante del Océano Pacífico that is itself violating Argentine neutrality.’’

  Clete nodded.

  ‘‘If I have to say this, this operation was decided upon before we learned about Lindbergh, and about your source’s information that the Germans intend to bring into Argentina an enormous sum of money.’’

  ‘‘One hundred million dollars, according to my source,’’ Clete said.

  Captain Maxwell Ashton III and First Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi of the Army of the United States entered the room, both in civilian clothing.

  ‘‘Have a seat, gentlemen,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Señorita Mall ín’s arranging for breakfast.’’

  Dorotéa smiled sweetly at him again.

  ‘‘I asked the housekeeper to lay a buffet,’’ she said. ‘‘I hope that will be all right?’’

  ‘‘That will be perfect, thank you,’’ Graham said. ‘‘I was just telling Major Frade about the camera,’’ Graham said. ‘‘You’ve checked it out, I hope?’’

  ‘‘Seems to be working perfectly, Sir,’’ Pelosi said.

  ‘‘When did you become an expert?’’ Clete asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know about being an expert, but I know how to operate it,’’ Tony said. ‘‘I told you I went to photo school in Washington.’’

  ‘‘Let’s talk about the camera a moment,’’ Graham said. ‘‘The problems with aerial photography are threefold. First, the vibration of the aircraft causes obvious problems, in proportion to the distance between the camera and the subject being photographed. Second, the instability of the camera is magnified by aircraft movement, again in proportion to the distance between the camera and the subject being photographed. The third problem is enlargement of the negative. The more enlargement necessary, the more the granules of silver on the film become apparent. The term used is ‘grainy.’ ’’ He paused and looked at Dorotéa.

  ‘‘I’m afraid I’m boring you with this, Dorotéa.’’

  ‘‘Not at all. I’m fascinated.’’

  ‘‘Nice try, Colonel,’’ Clete said. ‘‘But you might as well give up, she’s not going to leave.’’

  ‘‘That was the furthest thought from my mind, Major,’’ Graham said.

  Clete chuckled. ‘‘Yes, Sir,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m sure it was.’’

  ‘‘As I was saying,’’ Graham went on. ‘‘Eastman Kodak’s experimental laboratory has come up with two kinds of new film. Both considerably reduce the granularity problem in enlargement. The slower film we have is really extraordinary in that regard. But that’s daylight film. The second film is much more sensitive; it can record an image in very little light, in almost total darkness. It works well, for example, in moonlight. But the price paid for that is higher granularity. You understand all this, Major?’’

  ‘‘I get the general idea.’’

  ‘‘Now, the Signal Laboratories at Fort Monmouth, working with Sperry-Rand, the gyroscope people, have come up with a platform for the camera which is both heavily damped against aircraft vibration and gyroscopically stabilized. The camera platform is designed to mount on a standard U.S. Army Air Corps fuselage floor.’’

  ‘‘I remember that,’’ Clete said. ‘‘But the floor we were talking about was a C-45 floor. What about the floor in the C-56?"

  ‘‘Captain Ashton checked the floor in the Lockheed,’’ Graham said. ‘‘There is no problem there. A window will have to be removed, however. Will that be a problem?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ Clete said after a moment. ‘‘Can it be unscrewed?’’

  ‘‘We can cut a hole, I suppose, if it won’t,’’ Tony said.

  ‘‘What this gives us, then, is the capability to photograph the Océano Pacífico from a considerable distance.’’

  ‘‘How do you define ‘considerable distance’?’’ Clete asked.

  ‘‘Two miles,’’ Ashton replied. ‘‘Maybe a little more.’’

  ‘‘The idea was to keep the aircraft far enough away from the Océano Pacífico so it won’t appear to be a threat,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘But not beyond the range of its antiaircraft, right?’’ Clete challenged.

  ‘‘If they don’t consider the airplane a threat, they won’t fire on it,’’ Graham said.

  Clete said nothing, but shook his head in either resignation or, possibly, contempt.

  ‘‘To continue,’’ Graham went on. ‘‘From a two-mile distance, using telephoto lenses and the new film, we have the capability of making photographs, which, when enlarged, will permit us to see a man’s mustache.’’

  ‘‘Where do you plan to develop and enlarge this super film of somebody’s mustache?’’ Clete asked. ‘‘Did anybody think of that?’’

  ‘‘The original idea was to have it developed at Pôrto Alegre,’’ Graham said. ‘‘The Navy has a photo lab there. Ashton brought a supply of the special chemicals with him. The original idea, of course, was to have photographic evidence that we were aware of the location of the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico. This would be presented t
o the Argentine government in the hope that they would then order the Océano Pacífico to leave its waters.’’

  ‘‘Simply for anchoring in Samborombón Bay?’’ Dorotéa asked. ‘‘Why would we do that?’’

  ‘‘Why would we do that’’ is what she said.

  ‘‘Because, Dorotéa,’’ Graham said, desperately trying to keep his annoyance at her question out of his voice, ‘‘because they would correctly infer that it was a subtle warning that unless they ordered the ship from their waters, the United States would take other action.’’

  ‘‘ ‘Other action’ meaning what you did—as Cletus did— with the first ship?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘That might work,’’ Dorotéa said.

  Thank you very much. It warms the cockles of my heart to know that a nineteen-year-old girl approves of the best idea the Assistant Director for Western Hemisphere Operations of the OSS—and a half-dozen other people all old enough to be your father—could come up with after a hell of a lot of thought. And your beloved, Little Lady, didn’t sink the Reine de la Mer all by himself. There was a destroyer and a submarine who made a little contribution to sending the Reine de la Mer down.

  ‘‘I said, before, ‘the original idea.’ All of this planning, of course, was before we became aware of Lindbergh, and of the intelligence Clete came up with last night,’’ Graham went on. ‘‘Now there are two issues involved here. The, quote, neutral status, unquote, of the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico, and the money Clete’s source says they are going to smuggle ashore this morning.’’

  ‘‘I don’t quite understand,’’ Dorotéa said.

  Graham glanced at Clete.

  ‘‘What’s the new idea?’’ Clete said.

  ‘‘Maybe killing two birds with one stone,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Or at least with one set of photographs. Tell me about this Air Service Captain . . . Delgano?’’

  ‘‘Delgano,’’ Clete confirmed. ‘‘What about him?’’

  ‘‘I have the feeling he’s more than just a pilot,’’ Graham said.

  ‘‘He’s BIS,’’ Clete said. ‘‘He works for Coronel Mart ín.’’