The Honor Of Spies - The Honor of Spies Part 43
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The Honor of Spies Part 43

"See if you can get us to the threshold without running over anything big."

"Jorge Frade, SAA 1002 taxiing to the threshold of Runway Three Zero."

"Engineer, start Number One."

"Starting Number One."

"Jorge Frade clears 1002 to take off as Number One."

Two minutes after that, Frade said, "I have everything in the green."

"Confirm all green," the flight engineer said.

Clete then ordered: "Copilot, pay close attention. I am now going to try real hard not to bend our bird."

"Yes, sir," the copilot said, smiling.

"Take-off power, please," Clete ordered.

Five seconds later, the copilot reported, "Ten Zero Two rolling."

The pilot-in-command tried very hard to spot the mother of his unborn child on the tarmac, but could not.

[FIVE].

Office of the Ambassador

The Embassy of the German Reich

Avenida Cordoba

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1620 27 September 1943

First Secretary Anton von Gradny-Sawz was already in Ambassador von Lutzenberger's office when Commercial Attache Cranz appeared at the door.

Von Gradny-Sawz was drinking coffee and eating pastry.

Cranz felt his temper flare.

Gottverdammt Wienerwurst!

"You should have waited for me," Cranz snapped. "I had to ride all the way back in the cab of that goddamned truck. And then take a taxi here."

"Herr Cranz, Herr Raschner came to me, told me you could see no point in waiting any longer for U-405, so we left," von Gradny-Sawz said on the edge of self-righteousness.

"Aside from the inconvenience von Gradny-Sawz caused you--I'm sure inadvertently--were there any problems?" von Lutzenberger asked somewhat coldly.

He's reminding me that he's the ambassador, the ultimate authority.

What we really should have is a rule--a simple order from the Fuhrer would do it--saying that ambassadors are in charge of everything but the missions and activities of the SS.

Himmler's title, after all, is Reichsprotektor.

If that isn't the most important responsibility any German official but the Fuhrer has, I'd like to know what is.

And here is this canape-pusher sitting with the Wienerwurst, stuffing his face with pastry and asking me what I've been up to.

What I have been doing, Exzellenz, is standing in the rain in the dark on the goddamned beach in the middle of nowhere for four hours waiting to see a flash from a signal lamp I knew goddamned well wasn't coming.

While I am doing this, the gottverdammt Wienerwurst is sitting in his car a kilometer from the beach, stuffing his fat fucking face with something--when he's not sleeping--while I am getting soaked to my skin and catching pneumonia.

And then the sonofabitch leaves me there, and I have to spend four hours in the cab of a goddamn truck getting back to Buenos Aires.

Cranz--as he had trained himself to do--smiled as he tried to rein in what he realized was a dangerous tantrum.

And then suddenly the flaming rage was gone, as if it had been washed away with a sudden torrent of ice water. He knew he was now in full control of himself.

My God, why didn't I think of this before?

Von Lutzenberger is behind this kidnapping operation!

He's been here forever. He knows his way around Buenos Aires.

He's the goddamned ambassador, the senior German officer. He doesn't have to tell me he's hired some of the local thugs to kidnap Mallin, much less ask my permission.

If he succeeds, Berlin will think he's a genius, the man who got the Froggers back when I failed to do that.

And he will tell everyone the reason he took it upon himself to deal with the situation was because neither I nor Raschner could.

And because we also failed to eliminate that goddamned American, Frade.

If we've proven we're not smart enough to eliminate Frade, why should he have turned to us to carry out an operation requiring the skill and finesse of an experienced diplomat?

And he doesn't care whether or not Frade makes good on his threat to give the photographs of Peron with the SS in Tandil to the press. Or that map von Deitzberg gave Peron.

God, that was stupid of von Deitzberg!

Actually, von Lutzenberger probably hopes that happens. Then not only does SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Cranz look like an incompetent moron, but so does SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg.

And it won't matter that we can explain what happened to Himmler. Even if Himmler believes us, we still will have committed the worst sin of all--making the SS look stupid in the eyes of the Fuhrer. And that the Reichsfuhrer will not forgive.

And if von Lutzenberger's kidnapping operation fails--that goddamned Frade has his private army guarding Mallin; and they have proved they know what they're doing--all he has to do is back off and pretend he knows nothing about it.

Hinting, of course, that SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Cranz may know something about it.

"Cranz and Raschner were more than a little embarrassed that they had no idea the Froggers were going to desert."

Is anybody in this with him?

Certainly not von Gradny-Sawz. Von Lutzenberger doesn't think the Wienerwurst can be trusted any further than I do.

Von Wachtstein?

Probably not. Although he could be useful in knowing where and when Mallin would be someplace.

Boltitz?

Now, that makes a little sense. He's close to Canaris, and I have never trusted that sonofabitch. Or sailors in general.

So what do I do now?

"Were there any other problems, Cranz?" von Lutzenberger asked again.

"Excuse me, Exzellenz, I was lost in thought," Cranz confessed, smiling. "No, Exzellenz, there were not. I have communicated with Oberst Schmidt and set up the rendezvous points for tomorrow. All that remains to be done is for Raschner and me to be on the beach of Samborombon Bay at half past four tomorrow morning. And, of course, for von Gradny-Sawz to be prepared to drive Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg here once he is safely ashore."

He turned to von Gradny-Sawz and smiled. "Gradny-Sawz, could I impose on you again to drive me down there? Let Raschner ride in the truck with our Gunther tomorrow."

"Of course," von Gradny-Sawz said. "Pick you up at midnight?"

"I would really appreciate it," Cranz said.

"My pleasure," von Gradny-Sawz said.

[SIX].

Aboard U-405

South Latitude 36.05, West Longitude 57.17

Samborombon Bay, River Plate Estuary

0430 28 September 1943

Kapitanleutnant Wilhelm von Dattenberg had just spotted the first light from the shore when SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg climbed awkwardly up through the hatch to the conning tower.

It was dark, there was wind from the direction of the beach, and there was a cold drizzle. Von Dattenberg and the signalman standing beside him were wearing oilcloth hooded jackets. Von Deitzberg was in civilian clothing, including a top coat and a homburg hat.

"Send, Zero Seven," von Dattenberg ordered his signalman.

"Zero Seven, aye aye, sir," the signalman replied, tapping the key of the signal lamp.

"Well?" von Deitzberg asked.

Von Dattenberg ignored the question.

"Shore sends, Nine Nine sir," the signalman reported.

"Send, One Five," von Dattenberg ordered.

"One Five, aye, sir."

"We have established contact with the beach," von Dattenberg said to von Deitzberg. "I have just sent them code for 'Commencing disembarkment.'"

He picked up a telephone handset.

"Open two and five. Put boats on deck and inflate. I want a line on every man on deck."

"What happens now?" von Deitzberg asked, his tone implying that whatever that was, he reserved the right to correct anything of which he did not approve.

"I have ordered the rubber boats to be brought onto the deck," von Dattenberg said. "There are, in all, four of them. They will be inflated and put over the side. Two trips to the beach will be necessary, presuming nothing goes wrong.