an excruciating pain in the man's bent wrist.
'Just keep walking or III snap your hand off,' said David in English,
pushing the man to the right of the sidewalk to avoid the few pedestrians
walking west on C6rdoba.
The man's face grimaced in pain; David's accelerated walk caused him to
partially stumble - his limp emphasized - and brought further agony to the
wrist.
'You're breaking my arm. You're breaking itt' said the anguished man,
hurrying his steps to relieve the pressure.
'Keep up with me or I will,' David spoke calmly, even politely. They
reached the comer of the Avenida Parani and Spaulding swung left,
propelling the man with him. There was a wide, recessed doorway of an old
office building - the type that had few offices remaining within it. David
spun the man around, keeping the arm locked, and slammed him into the
wooden wall at the point farthest inside. He released the arm; the
grabbed for his strained wrist. Spaulding took the moment to ffip open the
man's jacket, forcing the arms downward, and removed a revolver strapped in
a large holster above the man's left hip.
It was a Lfiger. Issued less than a year ago.
David clamped it inside his belt and pushed a lateral forearm against the
man's throat, crashing his head into the wood as he searched the pockets of
the jacket. Inside he found a large rectangular European billfold. He
slapped it open, removed his forearm from the man's throat, and shoved his
left shoulder into the man's chest, pinning him unmercifully against the
wall. With both hands, David removed identification papers.
A German driver's license; an Autobalm vehicle pass; rationing cards
countersigned by Oberfiffirers, allowing the owner to utilize them
throughout the Reich - a privilege granted to upperlevel government
personnel and above.
And then he found it.
An identity pass with a photograph affixed; for the ministries of
Information, Armaments, Air and Supply.
Gestapo.
'You're about the most inept recruit Himinler's turned out,' said David,
meaning the judgment profoundly, putting the bill-
258
fold in his back pocket. 'You must have relatives.... Was ist "Tortagas"?'
Spaulding whispered harshly, suddenly. He removed his shoulder from the
man's chest and thrust two extended knuckles into the Nazi's breastbone with
such impact that the German coughed, the sharp blow nearly paralyzing him.
'Wer ist Altinliller? Was wissen Sie fiber Marshall?' David repeatedly
hammered the man's ribs with his knuckles, sending shock waves of pain
throughout the Gestapo agent's rib cage. 'Sprechen Sie! SO/ortl'
'Neinl Ich weiss nichts!'the man answered between gasps. 'Nein I'
Spaulding heard it again. The dialect. Nowhere near Berliner; not even a
mountainized Bavarian. Something else.
What was it?
'Noch 'mal! Again I Sprechen Sie I'
And then the man did something quite out of the ordinary. In his pain, his
fear, he stopped speaking German. He spoke in English. 'I have not the
information you want! I follow orders. ... That is all!'
David shifted his stand to the left, covering the Nazi from the
intermittent looks they'both received from the passersby on the sidewalk.
The doorway was deep, however, in shadows; no one stopped. The two men
could have been acquaintances, one or both perhaps a little drunk.
Spaulding clenched his right fist, his left elbow against the wall, his
left hand poised to clamp over the German's mouth. He leaned against the
slatted wood and brought his fist crashing into the man's stomach with such
force that the agent lurched forward, held only by David's hand, now
gripping him by the hairline.
'I can keep this up until I rupture everything inside you. And when I'm
finished I'll throw you in a taxi and drop you off at the German embassy
with a note attached. You'll get it from both sides then, won't you? ...
Now, tell me what I want to know I' David brought his two bent knuckles up
into the man's throat, jabbing twice.
'Stop.... Mein Gott! Stop!'
'Why don't you yell? You can scream your head off, you know. . ... Of
course, then I'll have to put you to sleep and let your own people find
you. Without your credentials, naturally.
. . Go on I Yell V David knuckled the man once more in the throat. 'Now,
you start telling me. What's "Tortugas?" Who's
259
Altmigler? How did you get a cryp named Marshall?,
'I swear to God I I know nothing V
David Punched him again. The man collapsed; Spaulding pulled him up against
the wall, leaning against him, hiding him, really. The Gestapo agent opened
his lids, his eyes swimming uncontrollably.
'You've got five seconds. Then I'll rip your throat out.'
'Nol ... Please I Altmaller .... Armaments .... Peenem(Inde...'
'What about PeenemOndeT
'The tooling Tortugas".
'What does that meanl?'David showed the man his two bent fingers. The
recollection of Pam terrified the German. 'What is 66 Tortugas"?'
Suddenly the German's eyes flickered, trying to focus. Spaulding saw that
the man was looking above his shoulder. It wasn't a ruse, the Nazi was too
far gone for strategies.
And then David felt the presence behind him. It was an unmis-, takeable
feeling that had been developed over the recent years; it was never false.
He turned.
Coming into the dark shadows from the harsh Argentine sunfight was the
second part of the surveillance team, the man who'd entered his apartment
building. He was Spaulding's size, a large man and heavily muscular.
The light and the onrushing figure caused David to wince. He released the
German, prepared to throw himself onto the opposite wan.
He couldn't!
The Gestapo agent - in a last surge of strength - held onto his arms 1
Held his arms, threw his hands around David's chest and hung his full
weight on him I
Spaulding lashed out with his foot at the man attacking, swung his elbows
back, slamming the German back into the wood.
It was too late and David knew it.
He saw the huge hand - the long fingers spread - rushing into his face. It
was as if a ghoulish film was being played before his eyes in slow motion.
He felt the fingers clamp into his skin and realized that his head was
being shoved with great strength into the wall.
The sensations of divin& crashing, spinning accompanied the
260
shock of pain above his neck.
He shook his head; the first thing that struck him was the stench. It was
all around him, sickening.
He was lying in the recessed'doorway, curled up against the wall in a fetal
position. He was wet, drenched around his face and shirt and in the crotch
area of his trousers.
It was cheap whisky. Very cheap and very profuse.
His shirt had been ripped, collar to waist; one shoe was off, the sock
removed. His belt was undone, his fly partially unzipped.
He was the perfect picture of a derelict.
He rose to a sitting position and remedied as bes
t he could his appearance.
He looked at his watch.
Or where his watch had been; it was gone.
His wallet, too. And money. And whatever else had been in his pockets.
He stood up. The sun was down, early night had begun; there were not so
many people on the Avenida Parani now.
He wondered what time it was. It couldn't be much more than an hour later,
he supposed.
He wondered if Jean were still waiting for hirn.
She removed his clothes, pressed the back of his head with 100 and insisted
that he take a long, hot shower.
When he emerged from the bathroom, she fixed him a drink, then sat down
next to him on the small couch.
'Henderson will insist on your moving into the embassy; you know that,
don't youT
'I can't.'
'Well, you can't go on being beaten up every day. And don't tell me they
were thieves. You wouldn't swallow that when Henderson and Bobby both tried
to tell you that about the men on the roof!'
'Tbis was different. For God's sake, Jean, I was robbed of everything on
me!' David spoke sternly. It was important to him that she believe him now.
And it was entirely possible that he'd find it necessary to avoid her from
now on. That might be important, too. And terribly painful.
'People don't rob people and then douse them with whisky!'
'They do if they want to create sufficient time to get out of the area.
It's not a new tactic. By the time a mark gets finished
261
explaining to the police that he's a sober citizen, the hustlers are twenty
miles away.'
'I don't believe you, I don't even think you expect me to.' She sat up and
looked at him.
'I do expect you to because it's the truth. A man doesn't throw away his
wallet, his money, his watch . . . in order to impress a girl with the
validity of a lie. Come on, Jean! I'm very thirsty and my head still
hurts.'
She shrugged, obviously realizing it was futile to argue.
'You're just about out of Scotch, I'm afraid. I'll go buy a bottle for you.
There's a liquor store on the corner of Talcahuano. It's not far. . . .'
'No,' he said interrupting, recalling the man with huge hands who'd entered
his building. 'I will. Lend me some money.'
'We'll both go,' she responded.
'Please?. . . Would you mind waiting? I may get a phone call; I'd like the
person to know I'll be right back.'
'Who?'
'A man named Kendall.'
Out on the street, he asked the first man he saw where the nearest pay
phone could be found. It was several blocks away, on Rodriguez Peila, in a
newspaper store.
David ran as fast as he could.
The hotel page found Kendall in the dining room. When he got on the phone
he spoke while chewing. Spaulding pictured the man, the doodled
obscenities, the animal-like breathing. He controlled himself. Walter
Kendall was sick.
'Lyons is coming in in three days,' Kendall told him. 'With his nurses. I
got him a place in this San Telmo district. A quiet apartment, quiet
street. I wired Swanson the address. He'll give it to the keepers and
they'll get him set up. They'll be in touch with you.'
'I thought I was to get him settled.'
'I figured you'd complicate things,' interrupted Kendall. 'No piss lost.
They'll call you. Or I will. I'll be here for a while.'
'I'm glad.... Because so's the Gestapo.'
1M01
'I said so's the Gestapo. You figured a little inaccurately, Kendall.
Someone is trying to stop you. It doesn't surprise me.'
'You're out of your fucking mind V
,I'm not.,
'What happened?'
262
. So David told him, and for the first time in his brief association Mth the
accountant, he detected fear.
'There was a break in Rhinemann's network. It doesn't mean the designs
won't get here. It does mean we have obstacles - if Rhinemann's as good as
you say. As I read it, Berlin found out the designs were stolen. They know
they're filtering down or across or however Rhinemann's routing them out of
Europe. The High Command got wind of the transactions. The Reichsf0rers
aren't going to broadcast, they're going to try and intercept. With as
little noise as possible. But you can bet your ass there's been a slew of
executions in PeenemOnde.'
'It's crazy . . . .' Kendall could hardly be heard. And then he mumbled
something; David could not understand the words.
'What did you say?'
'The address in this Telmo. For Lyons. It's three rooms. Back entrance.'
Kendall still kept his voice low, almost indistinct.
The man was close to panic, thought Spaulding. 'I can barely hear you,
Kendall.... Now, calm down I I think it's time I introduced myself to
Rhinemann, don't you?'
'The Telmo address. It's Fifteen Terraza Verde ... it's quiet.'
'Who's the contact for Rhinemann?'
'The whaff
'Rhinemann's contact.'
'I don't know. . . . '
'For Christ's sake, Kendall, you held a five-hour conference with him!'
'I'll be in touch. . .
David heard the click. He was stunned. Kendall had hung up on him. He
considered calling again but in Kendall's state of anxiety it might only
make matters worse.
Goddamned amateurs I What the hell did they expect? Albert Speer himself to
get in touch with Washington and lend the army air corps a few designs
because he heard they had problems?
Jesusl
David walked angrily out of the telephone booth and the store and into the
street.
Where the goddamned hell was he? Oh, yes, the Scotch. The store was back at
Talcahuano, Jean said. Four blocks west. He looked at his watch and, of
course, there was no watch.
Goddamn.
263
'I'm sorry I took so long. I got confused. I walked the wrong way for a
couple of blocks.' David put the package of Scotch and soda water on the
sink. Jean was sitting on the sofa; disturbed about something, he
thought. 'Did I get the call?'
'Not the one you expected,' said Jean softly. 'Someone else. He said he'd
phone you tomorrow.'
'Oh? Did he leave a name?'
'Yes, he did.'When she answered, David heard the questioning fear in her
voice. 'It was Heinrich Stoltz.'
'Stoltz? Don't know him.'
'You should. He's an undersecretary at the German embassy. ... David,
what are you doing?'
264
27
'Sorry, seifor. Mister Kendall checked out last night. At ten thirty,
according to the card.'
'Did he leave any other address or telephone number here in Buenos Aires?'
'No, seftor. I believe he was going back to the United States. There was a
Pan American flight at midnight.'
'7rbank you.' David put down the telephone and reached for his cigarettes.
it was incredible! Kendall had shot out at the first moment of difficulty.
Why?
The telephone rang, startling David.
'Hello?'
'Herr Spaulding?'
'Yes.'
'Heinrich Stoltz. I called last night b
ut you were out.'
'Yes, I know. . . . I understand you're with the German embassy. I hope I
don't have to tell you that I find your contacting me unorthodox. And not
a little distasteful.'
10h, come, Herr Spaulding. The man from Lisbon? He finds unorthodoxy?'
Stoltz laughed quietly but not insultingly.
'I am an embassy attach6 specializing in economics. Nothing more. If you
know anything about me, surely you know that. Now, I'm late....
265
'Please,' interrupted Stoltz. 'I call from a public telephone. Surely that
tells you something.'
It did, of course.
'I don't talk on telephones.'
'Yours is clean, I checked thoroughly.'
'If you want to meet, give me a time and an address. . . . Somewhere in the
downtown area. With people around; no outside locations.'
'There's a restaurant, Casa Langosta del Mar, several blocks north of the
Parque Lezama. It's out of the way, not outside. There are back rooms.
Curtains, no doors; no means of isolation. Only seclusion!
'rime?'
'Half past twelve!
'Do you smoke?' asked David sharply.
'Yes.'
'Carry a pack of American cigarettes from the moment you get out of the
car. In your left hand; the foil off one end of the top, two cigarettes
removed!
'It's quite unnecessary. I know who you are. Ill recognize you!
'That's not my concern. I don't know you.' David hung up the phone
abruptly. As in all such rendezvous, he would arrive at the location early,
through a delivery entrance if possible, and position himself as best he
could to observe his contact's arrival. The cigarettes were nothing more
than a psychological device: the contact was thrown off balance with the
realization that he was an identified mark. A target. A marked contact was
reluctant to bring trouble. And if trouble was his intent, he wouldn't show
up.
Jean Cameron walked down the corridor toward the metal staircase that led
to the cellars.
To the 'Caves.'
The 'Caves' - a name given without affection by Foreign Service officers
the world over - were those underground rooms housing file cabinets
containing dossiers on just about everybody who had the slightest contact
with an embassy, known and unknown, friend and adversary. They included
exhaustive checks and counterchecks on all embassy personnel; service back-
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 32