Philip Kerr - A Quiet Flame

“I can keep my mouth shut,” I said.

“Everyone can keep their mouths shut,” Skorzeny said. “The trick is to do it and stay alive at the same time.”

That was cute, too. The scars, the Knight’s Cross, the reputation for ruthlessness, all of it was starting to make a lot of sense. The man who put Otto Skorzeny’s nose out of joint wasn’t about to get the loan of his collection of pressed wildflowers. He was a killer. Maybe not the kind of killer who enjoyed killing for killing’s sake, but certainly the kind who killed without even the least idea of how anyone could lose any sleep over it.

“All right. I’ll help you out if I can, Otto. I’m not awful busy right now. So go ahead. Pretend I’m your priest or your doctor. Tell me something confidential.”

“I’m looking for some money.”

I tried to stifle a yawn. “Small world,” I said.

“Not that sort of money,” he snarled.

“There’s a kind I don’t know about?”

“Yeah. The kind you can’t count because there’s so bloody much of it. Serious money.”

“Oh. That kind of money.”

“Here in Argentina, about two hundred million U.S. dollars.”

“Well, I can understand why you would be looking for that kind of money, Otto.”

“Maybe twice that. I don’t know for sure.”

This time I stayed silent. Four hundred million dollars is the kind of figure that commands a lot of respectful silence.

“During the war, two, maybe three or four U-boats came to Argentina with gold, diamonds, and foreign currency. Jew money, mostly. From the camps. On arrival, the Monte Cristo was handled by five German bankers. German-Argentines who were supposed to be financing the war effort on this side of the Atlantic.” He shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you how successful they were at that. And most of the money remained unspent. Safely tucked up in vaults at the Banco Germanico and the Banco Tourquist.”

“That’s a nice little legacy for someone,” I said.

“Now you’re getting it,” said Skorzeny. “After the war, the Perons had the same thought as you. The greasy general and his bitch blonde started putting a little pressure on these five bankers. Suggesting that they might like to make a generous campaign contribution in return for all the traditional Argentine hospitality that was being shown to our old comrades. So the bankers anted up and hoped that was the end of it. Of course it wasn’t. It’s expensive, being a dictator. Especially one without the same line of Jewish credit that Hitler enjoyed. So the Perons, bless their black shirts, asked for another contribution. And this time the bankers demurred. As bankers do. Big mistake. The president started to apply a little pressure. One of the bankers, the eldest, Ludwig Freude, was charged with espionage and fraud. Freude made a deal with Peron, and in return for turning over the control of a nice chunk of change, his son Rodolfo Freude was made the head of security police.”

“That’s a nice quid pro quo,” I said.

“Isn’t it? Heinrich Dorge, who was formerly an aide to Hjalmar Schacht, was less cooperative. He didn’t have a son like Rodolfo. Which was too bad for him. The Perons had him murdered. To encourage the other three bankers: von Leute, von Bader, and Staudt. And they were encouraged. They handed over the lot. The whole Monte Cristo. Since then they have remained effectively under house arrest.”

“Why? If the Perons have the loot, then what’s the point of that?”

“Because there’s a lot more to it than the money that walked down the gangplank of a couple of U-boats. A lot more money, anyway. You see, the Perons have got this foundation going. For the last five years Eva’s been giving Reichsbank money away to just about every Argie bastard who can spin her a hard-luck story. They’ve been buying the loyalty of the people. The trouble is, at the rate they’re spending the U-boat cash, they’re going to run out. And so, to stay in power for another ten, maybe twenty years, they would dearly like to get their hands on the real prize. The big prize. The motherlode.”

“You mean your four hundred million dollars isn’t it?”

“We didn’t lose the war for lack of money, my friend. At the end of the war, there was so much money held in the Reichsbank’s Swiss accounts it made what was in German banks here look like small change. There are billions of Nazi dollars in Zurich. And it’s all of it, every last cent, under the control of those three remaining bankers here in Buenos Aires. At least, it is so long as they remain alive.”

“I see.”

“For the Perons, the question is how to get their hands on it. To exercise control of the Zurich accounts requires the physical presence in Switzerland of at least one of those bankers, accompanied by the signed letters of the other two. But which one of them can be trusted to go? Trusted by the Perons. Trusted by the other bankers. Naturally, there’s no guarantee that the one who goes to Zurich is ever going to come back again. Nor any guarantee that he will do what the Perons want him to do when he’s there. Which is, of course, to sign control of the money over to them. It leaves these three in a bit of a tight spot. And that’s where I come in.”

“Oh? Are you a banker now, Otto?”

I tried to look and to sound like all this was news to me. But my meeting with the von Baders and the disappearance of their daughter, Fabienne, left me in no doubt that the money and her disappearance were somehow connected.

“More of a banking regulator, you might say,” said Skorzeny. “You see, I’m here to make sure the Perons never see a pfennig of that money. To this end I’ve managed to become quite close to Eva. Largely on account of how I managed to foil an attempt on her life. Well, it was easy enough.” He chuckled. “Especially since it was me who set her up. Anyway, she’s come to rely on me, rather.”

“Otto,” I said, grinning. “You don’t mean-”

“We’re not lovers, exactly,” he admitted. “But like I said, she’s come to rely on me. So who knows what might happen? Especially as the president is off fucking young girls.”

“Oh? How young?”

“Thirteen. Fourteen. Sometimes younger, according to Eva.”

“And how is this trust in you going to manifest itself in a way that’s relevant to the money in Switzerland?” I asked carefully.

“By making sure I can be in a position to find out if ever she manages to send one of these bankers to Zurich. Because then I should have to act to prevent that from happening.”

“You mean kill someone. One of the bankers. Maybe all three of them.”

“Probably. As I said, the trust won’t be under their control forever. Eventually, the money will be dispersed to certain organizations throughout Germany. You see, it’s our plan to use the money to rebuild the cause of European fascism.”

“ ‘Our plan’? You mean the Old Comrades plan, don’t you, Otto? The Nazi plan.”

“Of course.”

“And double-crossing the Perons? It sounds dangerous, Otto.”

“It is.” He grinned. “Which is why I need someone in the secret police watching my back. Someone like you.”

“Suppose that I’m the nervous type. Suppose that I don’t want to be involved.”

“That would be a shame. For one thing, it would mean you’d have no one watching your back. Besides, Eva trusts me. You, she hardly knows. If you denounce me, you’ll be the one who disappears, not me. Think it over.”

“How long have I got?”

“Time’s up.”

“I can hardly say no, can I?”

“That’s the way I see it, too. You and me. We’re two of a kind. You see, it was Eva who told me about you. About that little speech you made to her and the greaseball. How you used to be a cop. Stuff like that. That took a boxful of eggs. Peron appreciated that. So do I. We’re both mavericks, you and I. Loners. Outsiders. We can help each other out. A phone call here. A phone call there. And depend on it. We never forget our friends.” He produced a business card and placed it carefully on my bedside table. “On the other hand.”