“And, Herr Oberst, wouldn’t he hate us for killing his son?”
“Yes, of course he would hate us. And yes, he is a powerful man. But according to my information, he does not at this point absolutely control the G.O.U. And his power would be weakened when the word spread that his son was an OSS agent.”
But, goddamn you, you don’t know that he is!
What’s the difference? The interests of Germany require that Clete be “removed.” This is simply a way of accomplishing that “removal” in the most efficacious way.
“Even though the other members of the G.O.U. would sympathize with Oberst Frade’s loss, they would still question whether Frade had a connection with the Americans that he has concealed from them. Oberst Frade has too much invested in the G.O.U. to risk losing his influence there. That means he must minimize his relationship with his son…and thus with the Americans. Like you and me, Peter, and like Willi, he is a soldier. He knows that one most accept one’s losses and get on with the mission.”
“Herr Oberst, I’m flattered, but more than a little surprised that you have taken me into your confidence.”
“This was just a hypothetical discussion, Peter. And, hypothetically, don’t you think that a man in my position can safely trust a man who comes from a distinguished military lineage? Who has risked his life for my son? And who wears the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross as proof of his dedication to Germany?”
“I will try to prove myself worthy of your confidence, Herr Oberst.”
I didn’t get the goddamned Knight’s Cross for cold-blooded murder. And part of my distinguished military heritage includes a concept of honor.
“I’m sure you will, Peter.”
“May I infer, Herr Oberst—hypothetically—that Ambassador von Lutzenberger is not aware of your plans?”
“He is not. But he will approve ex post facto. He has nothing to lose.”
But my friend Clete does.
“One final hypothetical question, Herr Oberst?”
“One final question.”
“Can you trust the people you mentioned to carry out the plan?”
“To carry out my instructions? Absolutely. I pay them well, and they are violent men. Do I trust them? Absolutely not. After they do what they have been hired to do, they will leave Buenos Aires for Paraguay. I have given them the address of a hotel in Encarnación, a small town just across the border, where they expect to take a holiday until things calm down here in Buenos Aires. In fact, others will meet them there; and that is the last anyone will ever see of them.”
Two more murders. Maybe three, or even four. You are a cold-blooded bastard, aren’t you, Herr Oberst?
“I am really not qualified to judge a plan like this, Herr Oberst,” Peter said. “But for what it’s worth, it seems to me you have covered every contingency.”
[TWO]
Suite 701
The Alvear Palace Hotel
Buenos Aires
0915 19 December 1942
In response to the fifteenth or twentieth ring of the telephone on the table beside his bed, Hauptmann Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein finally sat up abruptly and answered it.
“Buenos días, Señor,” an outrageously courteous, infuriatingly cheerful female voice came over the line. “It is nine o’clock, Señor.”
“Gracias,” Peter said, picking up a stainless-steel-cased wristwatch from the bedside table and with some effort focusing his eyes on it. It informed him that it was not nine, but 09:15:40.
“I will require immediately a pot of coffee,” he ordered. The way his tongue felt, like a North African desert, he was surprised that he could speak at all.
“I will connect you with Room Service, Señor. Un momento, por favor.”
He looked at the watch again as he replaced it on the bedside table. It was a U.S. government-issue Hamilton chronograph identical to the one he had spotted on the wrist of Lieutenant Cletus Frade of the flying service of the Corps of U.S. Marines, who would have his throat cut tonight.