“The next step will be locating her when she arrives in Argentinean waters. We’re working on that,” Nestor said, and then changed the subject. “Did Ettinger have any luck with Klausner when he went back to see him?”
“I haven’t seen him since we got back. I thought I would drop by his place this morning. But since we know what ship it is, isn’t that moot?”
“It is entirely possible that one of the other ships is also a replenishment vessel. This business is important to the Germans, and they have a reputation for being thorough.”
“I don’t know if he went back to see Klausner or not,” Clete said. “But if he did…I can’t believe that declaration won’t affect Klausner. Even if Ettinger doesn’t tell him the figure is millions of people murdered, not thousands.”
“You say you plan to see David today?”
Clete nodded. “This morning.”
“Ask him to call me at home, please,” Nestor said. “Better yet, ask him to come for drinks and dinner—say, at seven.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I suppose that habit is hard to break, isn’t it? The Southern custom of addressing one’s elders as “Sir.”
Military courtesy only buttresses it.”
“Sorry,” Clete said. “I’ll try…”
“Why don’t you come for drinks and dinner too?”
“Thank you, but I have a previous engagement. As soon as I pick up my car at the port, I’m driving to my father’s estancia. Unless you…”
“That is more important. How long will you be there?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“I’m sure you’ll return in time for the Duarte boy’s funeral.”
“He wasn’t a boy,” Clete said. “He was a captain. Maybe a foolish one, but a captain.”
“Figure of speech. No slight intended.”
“I had an interesting conversation about el Capitán Duarte last night,” Clete said. “With Captain von Wachtstein of the Luftwaffe.”
“With whom?” Nestor asked. His surprise was evident.
“The German officer who escorted my cousin’s body home,” Clete said. “Somebody’s signals crossed—the arrangements were probably made long before I showed up down here—and they put him up here in the Guest House. He was in the library when I came in last night.”
“And?”
“It was really very civilized. We wound up talking about flying. Somebody, some German officer, came and fetched him this morning. I rather liked him, as a matter of fact.”
“He’s an enemy officer, for God’s sake! And you were drinking!”
“What should I have done?” Clete asked.
“You told him you were a Marine officer?”
“An ex-Marine officer, with a medical discharge for a heart murmur. He’s a clever fellow. He saw my watch.” Clete raised the Hamilton chronograph. “And recognized it as a military pilot’s watch.”
“If you weren’t wearing that watch…”
“I thought about that, Mr. Nestor, before I came down here: If my cover story were true, and I had acquired a watch like this, would I wear it? The answer was yes, I would. They’re very good watches.”
“By now, you must realize that Colonel Grüner, the German military attaché—and the representative of the Sicherheitsdienst—knows that you are a Marine officer.”