David Golemon: Legacy

The large man was stationed at the mouth of the Lujan River just to the north of Buenos Aires. The night was warm and the sea calm as he watched the small breakers. Earlier he had seen not one, but two British destroyers as they passed on their run up the coast. His bosses in Washington had figured out the schedule for the patrols and discovered that the British pattern never varied. Unfortunately, the German navy had also figured out the same pattern and was using it to their advantage. They could have warned the British about the flaw in their patrol patterns, but the Americans liked being able to figure out when the U-boats would attempt dropping off a landing party just off the mouth of the Lujan. The large man had already captured several couriers attempting to make it ashore with messages vital to the German war effort. On this night, and thanks to one of his most trusted informants in Buenos Aires, he would catch another.

The American adjusted his binoculars and scanned the area in front of him. As he turned left he frowned and cursed under his breath. The conning tower of a U-boat was just disappearing into the sea. He had missed the blackened silhouette in the distance, and since the boat was submerging it meant that its human cargo had already been delivered.

“Damn it!” the man said as he swung the binoculars to his right, watching for any telltale sign of the boat’s cargo. There was nothing. He replaced the field glasses in their case and then reached into his leather jacket and brought out his Colt. 45 automatic. He chambered a round as quietly as he could. Reaching behind himself he removed the safety on another Colt in his waistband, and then, as was his habit, he finally adjusted the dirty brown fedora on his head. After looking around with caution he started walking along the tree line that fronted the river and the sea beyond.

The OSS had had numerous successes gathering the information they needed on what the German high command and its inner circle planned on scurrying out of Germany after they surrendered. The plans included escape to Argentina, Venezuela, and Brazil. The large American figured this courier was delivering the same cargo as the last three: new identity papers forged through the offices of the SS and Gestapo. If not that, then it was probably the hard currency of the Allies, so the escaping war criminals could live the life of luxury and power they had grown accustomed to since 1933. He suspected the latter, thanks again to his female informant, who had overheard the plans from one of the SS operatives in the city.

The American stood six foot four inches and had the brown-colored skin of a man who had served long days in the extreme Southern Hemisphere. Since he had been transferred out of Germany two years before, he had successfully conducted operations for the OSS-the Office of Strategic Services-in six different countries with the assistance of his staff of ten men.

The large man suddenly stopped and knelt low to the sandy ground. The natural cover was something he wasn’t comfortable with as he watched the barren area to his front. His backup had not arrived as scheduled and that made him apprehensive.

He heard a noise behind him as a small bush hit the trunk of a tree. There was no wind to make it do so. He immediately turned and pointed both Colt. 45s at the dark silhouette in front of him.

“Don’t shoot me, Garrison,” said the female voice from the darkness.

“Damn it, Isabel! What are you doing? Get the hell out of here!” Lee hissed.

The woman he had known for two years, Isabel Perione, the very best OSS informant they had in the region, came forward cautiously. To Colonel Garrison Lee, she looked out of place in pants and shirt. Her usual attire was evening wear smuggled out of Paris by the OSS and used as payment to the Argentine spy.

“I am sorry, Garrison. I had to come. Two of your men were taken right from the Club Dubois in the city.”

“What do you mean by taken?” Lee asked as he watched Isabel’s eyes in the soft moonlight.

“All I know is that your men were removed from the club and taken away. I know they were supposed to meet you here.”

“Haney and Rafferty are too damn good to get snatched from a public place,” Lee said. His eyes never left the woman, nor did the guns he held waver.

“Nonetheless, Colonel, your men will not be here for you.”

Lee was about to respond when he heard voices. He realized whoever they were, they were speaking a heavily accented form of the castellano Spanish of the Argentine region.

He risked moving two small branches of the bush they were hidden behind, using the barrel of one of his Colts, all the while keeping the other automatic pointed in the general direction of his informant. He knew beyond a doubt that the best thing to do would be to back away right then, call the operation a bust, and return to Buenos Aires to learn about the situation from his only two-man team in the region. However, he needed to see who he was dealing with.

Lee counted six men. They were only ten yards away. Four of them were Argentines; the other two men were dressed in dark clothing and woolen hats, the sort used by men just coming in from the sea. The smaller of the two was holding a satchel and the taller, a very lethal-looking submachine gun. Automatic weapons weren’t the norm for anyone sneaking into Argentina. Lee looked at his. 45 and shook his head, then half turned toward Isabel.

“We have to let this one go, doll face. I’d say the better part of valor tonight is-”

He heard the click of a hammer being drawn back and felt a gun being placed to his head.

“I would hate to put a bullet hole into what I know is your favorite hat, Mr. Lee. So if you would, please release the hammers of both of your Colts as gently as possible. I am not the only one with a weapon on you.”

“I must say,” Lee said, as he did what was ordered, “you were good, Isabel.” He finally turned and saw the Argentine woman with the pretty face and perfect body holding the gun, now pointed at his nose. The more menacing view came from another man he hadn’t counted in the small circle of men to his front. He was also carrying a submachine gun. Garrison added his and Isabel’s number value to the equation-nine altogether. “Have you been accepting dresses from another man?” Lee asked as he slowly stood to his full height.

The woman smiled, showing her perfect white teeth as she backed away from the most dangerous man she had ever known.

“Yes, many dresses, and a small monetary amount to tide me over after the war.”

The man with the submachine gun gestured for Lee to raise his hands.

The American did as he was told, feeling sick at being caught so easily. As he stood, the. 45s were taken from him by Isabel, who watched for any sudden movement. The man with the heavy artillery called out in horrible Spanish and the six men stopped and turned as he was pushed out of the small grove of trees with his hands in the air.

“We have caught the Oso of an American who has been preying on your agents,” Isabel said from behind him. He had to smile when he heard the nickname the Argentines had bestowed on him-Oso, Bear. He figured that compared to the short sons of bitches around him, he was a bear-sized American. Well, there was one German that was as big as he was, the one next to the small man with the satchel.

The Satchel Kraut, as Lee now thought of him, approached and looked him over. He turned to his colleague and muttered in German, “The OSS is getting more brazen every day. And attempting to take us right from the beach? Such treatment by a colleague.” He laughed.

“Kill him and be done with it. We have to be in Quito for the second part of the operation in two days time. We have no time for this.”