Buenos Aires, Argentina
0925 21 December 1942
“You wished to see me, Herr Oberst?” Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein asked as he entered Oberst Karl-Heinz Grüner’s office.
“The Ambassador wants to see you, Peter,” Grüner said. “His secretary called here at nine oh two.” Grüner waited until the young Luftwaffe officer had squirmed uncomfortably for a while, then went on. “I told her you were in the rest room.”
“Thank you, Herr Oberst. I regret that I was delayed.”
Smiling, Grüner held up his hand and stopped him.
“A late, romantic evening, I gather, von Wachtstein?”
“Romance is difficult, Herr Oberst, when the object of your intentions is connected like a Siamese twin to her older sister.”
Grüner chuckled. “You are an enterprising young man. You’ll find a solution.”
“Is Ambassador von Lutzenberger waiting for me, Herr Oberst?”
“He wants to see you at 9:40. Not 9:35, not 9:45. 9:40. The Ambassador is a very precise man, von Wachtstein.”
Peter looked at his wristwatch.
“We have a few minutes,” Grüner said, then handed Peter a folded newspaper. Peter saw that it was the Buenos Aires Freie Presse. “Have you seen this, Peter?”
He pointed to a story with the headline “Murder and Robbery in Belgrano.”
“Not this story, Herr Oberst. But I saw a similar one in the Herald. The hotel placed one before my door; I read it at breakfast.”
“‘The best laid plans of mice and men,’” Grüner said. “I think it was a Scotsman who said that.”
“I saw young Frade earlier in the evening,” Peter said. “He came into the hotel.”
“So I understand,” Grüner said. “It was reported to me that you had angry words.”
“He was angry with the lady, Herr Oberst.”
“And she with him, I understand,” Grüner said. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what went wrong, except that I violated the adage that one should never underestimate one’s enemy. Leutnant Frade may not be the babe in the woods I took him to be.”
“May I ask what happens now?”
“Well, first you see von Lutzenberger. I suspect there may have been a letter for you in the diplomatic pouch. There was a Condor flight this morning.”
“Oh, really?”
“He will deliver the standard speech, that you are not free to use the diplomatic messenger service for personal business. That should take about three minutes. He probably has you on his schedule, ‘von Wachtstein, nine-forty to nine forty-four.’”
Peter smiled, thinking it was expected of him.
“And when he turns you loose, I thought we would take a look at the advertisements in the Freie Presse and see about finding a suitable apartment for you. Or would that interfere with your romantic life?”
“No, Herr Oberst. Thank you very much,” Peter said.
Grüner stood up.
“I noticed in the Freie Presse three or four apartments for rent that might be suitable for you. When von Lutzenberger is through with you, I suggest we have my driver take us past all of them. We will then wind up at my quarters, where my wife has her camera prepared to take pictures, to send to Willi. She will even feed us lunch. And afterward, if any of the apartments has taken your fancy, we can have a closer look on our way back here.”
“You’re very kind, Herr Oberst.”