The Honor Of Spies - The Honor of Spies Part 37
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The Honor of Spies Part 37

They smiled at each other.

Frade went on: "But to answer the question generally: South American Airways is about to begin one-stop--at Belem, Brazil--service between Buenos Aires and Lisbon, Portugal. Or maybe Madrid. I won't know that until I make a test run. Could be to both places. And maybe to Switzerland, too. Anyway, at least one flight each way a week, maybe two."

"What's that all about?"

"What I was told was there is a problem moving civilians between Europe and the States by air . . ."

"Civilians? Or spies from that organization you never heard of?"

"Civilians. Diplomats. Not only Americans, but neutrals--French, Spanish, Swiss, et cetera. Businessmen, too. Right now, if we have to send a diplomat to Spain, for example, he has to either wait for a Spanish ship--or other neutral ship, and there aren't many of either--or travel by air on one of our transport airplanes, which means some military officer gets bumped . . ."

" 'Bumped'?"

"Doesn't get to go. Anyway, he goes by military air to England--sometimes by bomber, riding in the back, where the bombs go--and then they get him to Spain either by a neutral-country civilian airplane, and there aren't many of those, or by a neutral ship. Getting the picture?"

Martin nodded.

"The Swiss--I didn't even know they had an airline until last week--have been asking for Douglas transports and, specifically, for Constellations. Which is what I flew in here today."

"Beautiful airplane. Enormous airplane. Where did you learn how to fly one?"

"I thought you knew I used to be a Marine fighter pilot. If it's got wings, a Marine fighter pilot can fly it."

Martin shook his head resignedly. "And Delgano?"

"I taught Delgano at Canoas. Then we partially trained another half-dozen SAA pilots--"

"Partially trained?"

"They've made a half-dozen takeoffs and landings, but they're not ready to fly the Connies anywhere."

"Getting back to how you came to get the airplanes?"

"Okay. They offered the Connies to me. I jumped at it, borrowed the money . . ."

"What I was asking was why did they--and who's 'they'?--offer them to you?"

"They were offered to me by Howard Hughes . . . the aviator, the movie guy?"

"I know who he is."

"We're old friends. More important, he's close to my grandfather. He's also in tight with Lockheed. I think he probably owns it, but that's just a guess. Anyway, Howard told me what I just told you, and said that the government doesn't want to sell airplanes of any kind to the Swiss--or just about anyone else in Europe, or to the Brazilians, but SAA is sort of special."

"Because the managing director works for the OSS?"

"The what?" Frade replied.

They smiled at each other, and then Frade went on: "The only thing the Constellation is good for, Alejandro, is hauling people long distances. It is not a submarine hunter; it can't drop bombs and there are no machine-gun turrets. And the Americans already have submarine-hunting aircraft--modified B-24s--at Canoas and other places in Brazil. As you well know."

"So why does your friend Howard Hughes think SAA is special?"

"Because Argentina is neutral--"

"Some of us actually are," Martin interrupted.

"Let me finish. When SAA establishes probably a twice-a-week service back and forth to Portugal or Spain, the problem of moving civilians back and forth from the States by air is solved. The airplanes take off from a neutral country, Argentina, and fly with only one stop, Canoas, to another neutral country. If you want to go to Europe, you get on one of the Pan American Grace Clippers, the flying boats, and go to Canoas. SAA will then fly you to Lisbon."

"Why is the United States being so nice to Argentina?"

"The Connies will give the finger"--he demonstrated the gesture--"to the only other airline, Lufthansa, offering commercial service to Europe. Everybody knows the Constellation is an American airplane. They call that 'public relations.' "

"You believe all this, Cletus?"

"All I know for sure is that I am about to own three Constellations with which I hope to make a lot of money."

"That presumes the Argentine Civil Aviation Direccion gives you--gives SAA--permission."

"Come on, Alejandro. The airplanes are owned by an Argentine company--"

"There is a nasty rumor going around that the major stockholder in that company is in the OSS," Martin interjected.

"--and will be flown by Argentine pilots, many of whom"--Frade turned to look Martin in the eyes--"a nasty rumor has it, are actually military officers assigned to the Bureau of Internal Security." Frade looked back to the road and went on: "As will be, I suspect, the Immigration and Customs officers who will carefully check each plane before it takes off, and when each one lands. This has nothing to do with the OSS, Alejandro."

"So you say, Major Frade. Or did a promotion come with your added responsibilities to the OSS?"

"And then there's that other thing," Frade said, ignoring the comment. "I somehow got the impression just now that General Rawson thinks this is a lovely idea, that offering intercontinental air service will add to the prestige of the Argentine Republic."

"Since we are still off the record, Cletus, I will admit that was brilliant, what you did at the airfield."

"You are too kind, Alejandro."

And it was.

Colonel Graham actually orchestrated that entire arrival business like a symphony conductor.

But, Alejandro, if you want to think I'm that clever, help yourself!

"What did you say about borrowing money?"

"My grandfather, who always knows a bargain when he sees one, has elected to make a substantial investment in South American Airways."

"Wouldn't that make it a mostly North American-owned company?"

"Not at all. As you know, I am an Argentine by birth. And many years ago, when he first started looking for oil in Venezuela, my grandfather became a citizen of that splendid South American country. Something to do with excessive taxes laid on foreigners. You know, dual citizenship. Like me. SAA is entirely owned by South Americans."

Martin shook his head.

"You're good, Cletus. This round goes to you."

"That suggests there will be other rounds."

"You and I both know there will be," Martin said.

"All I can do is hope that your careful scrutiny of every little detail of our operations, which I fully expect will finally convince you that my motive in this is solely to make a lot of money. And, of course, to add a little prestige to the country of my birth."

"You already have a lot of money."

"Money is like sex, Alejandro," Frade said solemnly. "You can never get too much of it."

Martin laughed, but then said: "I already warned you that I've learned you are most dangerous when you're playing the clown."

"Can we turn to this 'you have to see me on a matter of life-and-death importance'?" Frade said. "I never clown about things like life and death."

"Neither do I," Martin replied. "Okay. Here it is: The Germans may be planning to kidnap your father-in-law, your mother-in-law, and your brother-in-law, and exchange them for the Froggers."

Frade didn't say a word.

After a long moment, Martin said, "For God's sake, Cletus, don't pretend you don't have the Froggers."

"What I was thinking was: How good is your source?"

"It came from someone in a position to know," Martin said.

"That's not the same thing as saying 'reliable' or 'very reliable,' is it? Where'd you get that, Alejandro?"

"Next question?"

"You've got somebody in the German Embassy?" Frade said, but before Martin could respond, he went on: "I don't understand why they would tell you that. Or, if this is true, why they haven't already done it. It's probably bullshit, which brings me back to: Why did they tell you?"

"It may very well be, to use your word, bullshit. But, on the other hand, they just might be getting ready to kidnap your in-laws."

"You've said 'may be planning' and 'just might be getting ready.' Which suggests to me that you don't have much faith in your source."

Martin didn't reply for a long moment, then asked: "You're hearing this for the first time?"

Frade nodded. "I never even thought of something like this as a possibility."

"I'm surprised. You generally think of just about everything. Unless, of course, you have a reason for believing the Germans won't do anything to get the Froggers back."

"Short of causing harm to me or anyone close to me, they're capable and probably willing to do anything to get the Froggers back." He stopped and smiled at Martin. " 'The Froggers.' There's that name again. Who are the Froggers, incidentally? I never heard of them."

Martin shook his head in resignation. "Tell me," he said, "why won't they cause harm to you or people close to you?"

"I thought I told you that."

"Tell me again."

"I told my beloved Tio Juan--and you were there, Alejandro, when I called him from my house on Coronel Diaz, right after they tried to kill Enrico and me--that I was giving him the benefit of the doubt that he didn't have time to call off his German friends, but that he'd better get right on the phone."

"I remember that. But I don't remember hearing what it was that el Coronel Peron was supposed to tell the Germans that would make them reluctant to harm you."

"Well, for one thing, there's photographs of my Tio Juan with the SS just before they shot up my house in Tandil. I don't think the Germans would like to see them plastered all over the front pages of La Nacion, La Prensa, et cetera."

Martin's eyebrows rose.

"Uh-huh," Frade said, nodding. "And then there are photographs of boats trying to smuggle crates from the Spanish-registered merchantman Comerciante del Oceano Pacifico onto the beach at Samborombon Bay. Taken from up close with one of those marvelous German Leica cameras. Some of those pictures show the German assistant military attache for air . . . What's his name?"

"Galahad, maybe?"

Frade, looking forward and showing no reaction, said, "'Galahad' ? Never heard that name, either. Now I remember: von Wachtstein. The photos--remarkably clear photographs, as I said--show von Wachtstein loading the bodies of the German military attache, Oberst Gruner, and his assistant, Standartenfuhrer Goltz, onto the Oceano Pacifico's boats. Very graphic photographs. Both men had been shot in the head. Blood and brain tissue all over them. And von Wachtstein."

Martin exhaled audibly. He said, "Well, I suppose keeping those photographs out of the newspapers would tend to make the Germans reluctant to really make you angry."

"And there are more."

"If you have these photographs . . ."

"I have them, and there's more."

Martin raised his hand to interrupt him.

"I can't help but wonder why you just don't give them to the press."

"Next question?"

Martin shrugged his acceptance of the rules.

"I've changed my mind," Frade said thoughtfully a moment later. "But this is really off the record, Alejandro."

Martin nodded.

"President Roosevelt made the decision that as outrageous as Operation Phoenix is, and as despicable and disgusting as the SS-run Buy-the-Jews-Out-of-Extermination-Camps Operation is, as much as he would like to expose both operations to the world, the bottom line is that some Jews are being saved from the ovens. If it came out, no more Jews could be saved, and the Germans would probably kill the rest of the Jews as quickly as possible so there would be no proof, no witnesses."

Martin exhaled audibly again. This time it sounded like a groan.

"My orders are to keep track of where that money is going," Frade said. "So that when the war is over--"

"That's an admission, you realize . . ."

"Yeah. I realized that when I decided you had a right to know what's going on."

"And the Froggers are giving you information, or at least names--that sort of thing--regarding the money from both Operation Phoenix and the other one? Does the other one have a name?"

"The who? Never heard of them. And, no, the other filthy operation doesn't have a name."

"Do the Germans know you know about the unnamed operation?"

"They don't know how much we know about it."