And I have all the money I could possibly need—or will just as soon as I can get to Uruguay.
But men? Where am I going to find good men?
There’s no one at all, except that fat slob—Anton von Gradny-Sawz, the grosse Weinerwurst—and he’s stupid and as useless as teats on a boar hog.
Or . . .
Wait a minute! I don’t think he’s really stupid. He was certainly smart enough to know when to change sides just before the Anschluss. And he’s done a remarkable job of covering his Gesäss since he joined the German diplomatic service.
And he’s afraid of me!
And what other choice do I have?
Anton von Gradny-Sawz and August Müller, M.D., were standing in the foyer of the petit-hotel when von Deitzberg came quickly down the stairway.
Dr. Müller looked at von Deitzberg curiously. Von Gradny-Sawz had a look of concern, as if he were afraid that von Deitzberg would attack the physician.
“Ah, the Bavarian medical genius!” von Deitzberg then cried happily. “What are you doing here in the foyer? Come up to the room and we’ll send Maria out for a little schnapps. We can find schnapps here, right, Anton?”
“I’m not sure if we can,” von Gradny-Sawz said uneasily.
“Nothing to drink for me at this hour,” Dr. Müller said. “Thank you just the same. I have to go to the hospital.”
“Of course, of course,” von Deitzberg said. “I understand. But I really wanted to celebrate.”
“You’re feeling better, I gather?” Müller asked.
“I woke up this morning feeling better than I’ve felt in years,” von Deitzberg said. “Doctor, you are a genius!”
“Oh, I’m just a simple physician trying to do my best.”
“You’re too modest,” von Deitzberg said. “Much too modest. I am deeply in your debt. And at the risk of immodesty, the SS is grateful to you, as well. You have returned this officer to full duty.”
“If that is so, I am honored to have been of service,” Müller said.
“I wish I could proclaim your genius to the world,” von Deitzberg said. “But under the circumstances, you understand, that is not possible.”
“I understand,” Dr. Müller agreed solemnly.
“But as soon as I can get through to Reichsführer-SS Himmler,” von Deitzberg went on, “I’ll see that your son’s commanding officers are made aware of your contribution to the SS.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Müller said emotionally.
“But now our duty calls,” von Deitzberg said solemnly. His right arm shot out in the Nazi salute.
“Heil Hitler!” he barked.
Dr. Müller returned the salute.
“After you, mein lieber Gradny-Sawz,” von Deitzberg said, and grandly bowed him ahead of him up the stairway.
[TWO]
Von Deitzberg’s judgment that von Gradny-Sawz was afraid of him was something of an understatement. Terrified would have been more accurate. Von Gradny-Sawz had known von Deitzberg’s reputation within the SS before “Generalmajor” von Deitzberg had come to Argentina the first time. And that reputation was that he was at least as ruthless and cold-blooded as Reichsführer-SS Himmler himself.
Part of von Deitzberg’s mission then—aside from apologizing to the Argentine officer corps for el Coronel Frade’s murder, and von Gradny-Sawz would not have been surprised if that order had actually come from SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg in the first place—was the detection of the spy, or spies, everyone knew operated in the embassy.
Von Deitzberg had brought three people with him to help him find the spy or spies or traitors, and three people—Major von Wachtstein, Sturmbannführer von Tresmarck, and First Secretary von Gradny-Sawz—were rushed onto the next Condor flight to Berlin “to assist in the investigation.”