“Nonsense,” von Tresmarck said. “You’re our good friend, Peter. We wouldn’t feel right if you were in a hotel.”
“You’re very kind,” Peter said.
Ambassador Joachim Schulker raised his eyes from the envelope Peter had just handed him. “Are you familiar with the contents, von Wachtstein?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you say anything to Sturmbannführer von Tresmarck?”
“No, Sir, of course not.”
“Well, then, I suppose I had better do so, wouldn’t you think?”
How the hell am I supposed to reply to that?
“Yes, Sir.”
Schulker picked up a silver bell from his desk and shook it. His secretary appeared a moment later at the door. “Will you ask Sturmbannführer von Tresmarck to see me, please?” Schulker asked. Then he looked at Peter. “I almost forgot, von Wachtstein, to congratulate you for your courageous behavior on the beach.”
“I tried to do my duty, Excellency.”
“There aren’t many men who would have your icy courage under fire,” Schulker said. “Who would have been so—what shall I say?…visibly unaffected—when two of their comrades died in such an awful fashion, right beside them.”
“It was a very unpleasant incident, Excellency.”
“Certainly, after both Standartenführer Goltz and Oberst Grüner were shot in the head, you must have thought you were next. And of course the next shot narrowly missed you, is that not so?” Peter gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Yet you saw to their bodies, carried them to the boat without assistance…”
He’s been talking to somebody who knows exactly what happened at Puerto Magdalena, not just that Grüner and Goltz were killed. Who? I don’t think von Lutzenberger, who would have told me if he had spoken to Schulker. That leaves Gradny-Sawz. Who else knew?
And did I detect a suspicion that it’s odd I didn’t have my brains blown out when Grüner and Goltz did? Or am I being paranoid?
There was a discreet knock at the door. Schulker looked up and saw von Tresmarck standing there. “Come in, please, Werner,” Schulker said.
Von Tresmarck walked in and gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler,” he said. “You wished to see me, Excellency?”
Schulker returned the salute casually.
“They want to see you in Berlin, Werner, in connection with the unfortunate recent incident,” Schulker said. “Von Wachtstein will fly you to Buenos Aires in the morning.”
Von Tresmarck tried very hard, and almost succeeded, to conceal his reaction to the announcement—terror. “Tomorrow, Excellency?” he asked.
“There is apparently a Lufthansa Condor flight en route to Buenos Aires. You will travel aboard it on its return flight.”
“I understand, Excellency,” von Tresmarck said.
“That doesn’t give you much time,” Schulker said.
“Excellency, did they say how long I am to be gone?”
“No, they didn’t,” Schulker said simply. “You will check in with me in the morning, though, before you leave, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course, Excellency.”
“There might be another message, or something,” Schulker said, and then sat down, making it clear they had been dismissed.
“I’ll have to clear my desk here, you understand,” von Tresmarck said as they left the ambassador’s office, “but there’s no reason for you to wait for me. I’ll have Inge run you out to the house.”
“Wouldn’t it be much simpler if I just went to the Casino and got a room?”