The Honor Of Spies - The Honor of Spies Part 64
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The Honor of Spies Part 64

"Yeah, right," Nervo said, chuckling. "The SS guy at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo doesn't like Valkyries?"

"I know he thinks that anyone who is not going to keep his vow of personal loyalty to Hitler is a traitor."

"Like Galahad, for example?" Martin said.

"Like who?" Frade said.

"You did hear that he flew his little airplane to Montevideo this morning, and came back about an hour ago?"

"Who did what?"

"He brought back with him a package for Senor Gradny-Sawz," Martin said.

He demonstrated with his hands the size of the package; about that of a shoe box.

"Cletus," Nervo said. "Would you be shocked to hear that I don't think fighting godless Communism is such a bad idea?"

"I'd say you sound like my boss and my grandfather," Clete said.

Nervo chuckled. He patted Clete on the arm and then turned to Martin.

"Alejandro, decision time. You have thirty seconds to decide what we're going to do about all these people violating the sacred neutrality of Argentina."

Martin shook his head.

"Twenty-five seconds," Nervo said, looking at his wristwatch. "Do you want to report to General Obregon that we have reason to believe that the American OSS with the connivance of the Papal Nuncio has just smuggled into Argentina two SS people and their wives and children? And plans to smuggle in more?"

Martin stared icily at him.

"Or that you watched, but did not arrest, an SS general as he was smuggled into Argentina from a German submarine?"

"Christ, Santiago!" Martin protested.

"Or that we have reason to believe that Don Cletus Frade has been concealing two Germans who either ran from their embassy--or who he might have kidnapped--at his Estancia Don Guillermo in Mendoza?"

"I didn't kidnap the Froggers," Clete said.

"Does Father Kurt know about you and the Froggers?" Nervo asked.

Clete nodded.

"Or, Alejandro, do you wish to join with Don Cletus and me in this noble--and I might add, endorsed by Holy Mother Church--battle against godless Communism?"

Nervo glanced at his wristwatch. "Fifteen seconds."

"Goddamn you, Santiago!"

"I would ask if you want to join with Don Cletus and me in the equally--as far as I am concerned--noble battle against more-or-less godless Nazism, but I'm not sure how you and Holy Mother Church really feel about the Nazis."

"You sonofabitch!" Martin said, but he could not restrain a chuckle.

"May I interpret that to mean you're with us?"

"What other choice do I have?"

"Suicide would be an option, but I seem to recall that's a mortal sin."

"What are we going to do?" Martin asked.

"What I'm going to do is get in Don Cletus's airplane . . . the little one . . . and fly to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo with him to have a word with el Senor . . . what's his name, Cletus?"

"Moller. Alois Moller. We kept their real Christian names."

". . . with Senor Alois Moller."

"About what?"

"I'll decide that after I talk with him," Nervo said. "But right now I'm thinking along the lines of suggesting to him that his only option--presuming he wants to stay alive--is to do nothing that might in any way annoy Don Cletus or myself."

"What about Edmundo Wattersly?" Martin asked.

"Tell him we need a daily report on el Coronel Schmidt's activities. We can't have that Nazi sonofabitch going to Casa Montagna looking for the weapons cache. . . . Or, now that I think of it, for the Froggers."

"Okay. But what I meant is: Do we tell him about this?"

Nervo didn't reply for a long moment, before finally asking, "We don't have to make that decision right now, do we?"

"No," Martin said. "But sooner or later. Him and Lauffer."

"Not now," Nervo said.

Martin nodded.

Nervo asked: "Do you want me to send Pedro out to the estancia with your car?"

"How about this?" Clete interrupted. "Father Silva is going to bring the National Identity booklets out here at nine tomorrow morning. I'm going to make a fuel stop at the same time on my way to Mendoza. Santiago, if you want to spend the night at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo . . ."

"I accept your gracious offer," Nervo said. "Alejandro, have Pedro bring the car here in the morning. Wait . . ." He turned to Cletus. "I'd like Subinspector General Nolasco to see Casa Montagna for himself. Would there be room for him on your airplane?"

Clete nodded. "Plenty of room. You want to send somebody else?"

"Tell Nolasco to pick two other people, who will stay there for a few days, a week. Don't tell them where they are going. Got that?"

"Si, mi general," Martin said sarcastically.

"Good man," Nervo said.

[FOUR].

Calle Martin 404

Carrasco, Uruguay

1615 2 October 1943

Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck--a somewhat portly man in his forties who wore a full, neatly manicured mustache, a la Adolf Hitler--rang the doorbell of his home a second time.

It was literally a door bell, a five-inch brass bell hanging on a chain from the roof of the house. A woven leather cord was attached to the clapper.

When there was again no answer, he turned to the person standing with him, a tall, trim, olive-skinned man in his thirties.

"Dare I hope not only that my beloved wife is still in Punta del Este, but that the maid has taken advantage of this and given herself the day off?"

"Your wife's car is not here," the man with him said.

"Cross your fingers," von Tresmarck said as he took the door key from his pocket.

He pushed the door open and called, "Maria?"

There was no answer.

Von Tresmarck waved the man with him into the house, then closed the door.

He held up his hand, fingers crossed, and then called, "Inge!"

When there was no answer, he called again.

And when there was still no answer, he called loudly, "Inge, you blond slut! Answer me!"

When there was again no answer, he turned to the man with him and kissed him on each cheek and then on the mouth.

"Now, let us have a drink," he said. "And then a bath."

"I'm up here, Werner," Inge von Tresmarck said.

He looked up and saw her standing in her bathrobe on the landing beside the stairwell.

"Scheisse!" von Tresmarck muttered.

"Wait for me in the sitting," Inge said.

"What?" von Tresmarck asked incredulously. He looked at the man with him.

"Your wife said to wait for us in the sitting," a male voice then said unpleasantly.

She's got a man up there? She's never done that before!

"It would seem your wife has a guest," the man said. He obviously found this amusing.

Von Tresmarck looked up at the second floor. There was a man--also wearing a bathrobe--standing beside his wife.

Is that my bathrobe?

He recognized the man, who was indeed wearing his bathrobe.

"Oh, my God!"

"And don't let your friend get away until I have a word with him," the man said.

"Wernie, who is that man?" the man asked.

Von Tresmarck grabbed the man's elbow and propelled him into the sitting room.

"What's going on here, Wernie?" the man quickly asked, his tone now one of concern.

"Just sit there and be quiet," von Tresmarck ordered. He went to the bookcase, removed four books, put his hand in the space where they had been, and rummaged around.

"What are you doing?" the man asked.

"For the love of God, be quiet!"

When his now frantic search in the space behind the books proved fruitless, von Tresmarck went to the desk and started pulling open drawers.

"Is this what you're looking for?" SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg asked.

Von Tresmarck looked up. Von Deitzberg was lowering himself onto a small couch. He held von Tresmarck's 9mm Luger P08 pistol in his left hand. Not threateningly; he wasn't holding it by the grip, ready to fire, but in his palm, as if it were a pocket watch or a handful of coins he wished to examine.

Von Tresmarck did not reply.

Von Deitzberg turned to the man who was now standing beside von Tresmarck, visibly uncomfortable with the introduction of the pistol.

"You must be Ramon," von Deitzberg said. "Did you two have a pleasant time in Paraguay, Ramon?"

"Who are you?" Ramon asked.

"You may call me senor," von Deitzberg said. "Both of you may call me senor. Answer my question, Ramon!"