W. IV - Honor Bound 05 - The Honor of Spies

"Who's Senor Jorge Schenck?" von Tresmarck blurted.

"He's the man who will hunt you down and kill you as slowly and painfully as possible if I ever hear of either of you again," von Deitzberg said. "Get going, Ramon. Not only does the sight of you make me ill, but you're starting to smell badly."

XIV

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1930 2 October 1943

Inspector General Santiago Nervo and Don Cletus Frade were sitting in wicker chairs on the verandah of the big house. A wicker table between them held bottles of scotch and bourbon.

Frade was wearing khaki trousers, a polo shirt, and battered Western boots. Nervo was in uniform, save for his tunic, which he had shed before they had gone riding.

Nervo had expressed interest in the radar, and Clete had really had no choice but to offer to show it to him.

"It's not far," Frade had said. "I usually ride out there . . ."

It was a question, and Nervo had picked up on it.

"Whatever happened to that magnificent stallion of your father's? What was his name?"

"Julius Caesar. Would you like to ride him out to the radar?"

"No," Nervo had replied immediately. "I watched him throw your father before God and five thousand spectators at the Rural."

The Rural Exposition was the Argentine version of an American county or state fair--but a national affair. The bull, sow, stallion, hen, or whatever that earned a blue ribbon became the best of its breed in Argentina.

"I never heard that story."

"It was considered impolite--even dangerous--to remind el Coronel that he had landed on his ass in dress uniform before everybody he knew," Nervo said.

"Every time I get on that big beautiful bastard, he tries to throw me," Clete said. "After, of course, he tries very hard to bite me as I get on him."

Clete saw in Nervo's eyes that he was going to have to ride Julius Caesar to wipe out the disbelief in the policeman's eyes.

And he had done so. And had kept his seat without getting bitten.

They had ridden out to Casa Numero Cincuenta y Dos, where Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USNR--who of course had driven, not ridden, out there--had proudly shown Nervo how the radar functioned, and introduced the gendarme to the rest of the team.

And now Nervo and Frade were back at the big house, enjoying what Clete had described to Nervo as the sacred Texas tradition of "having a little sip to cut the dust of the trail."

After a short time, there was the sound of a vehicle approaching, and they watched Schultz drive up at the wheel of a Ford Model A pickup truck.

Nervo gestured toward Schultz, who wore full gaucho regalia.

"I'm having trouble believing that," Nervo said. "He never rides?"

"Never," Frade confirmed. "When he was a kid, he went on a pony ride, and when he got off, the pony stepped on his foot. He swore he would never get on anything with four legs again, and he hasn't."

"Hola, Jefe," Nervo called cheerfully, and waved.

Then he said: "That isn't the only thing I'm having trouble believing."

"Excuse me?"

"Wait until el Jefe 'dismounts,' " Nervo said, and reached for the bottle of scotch. "I want him to hear this."

Schultz climbed down from the pickup and came onto the verandah. He pulled up a wicker chair, reached for the bourbon, poured himself a steep drink, announced, "In my professional opinion as an officer of the Naval Service, the sun is over the yardarm," took a healthy sip, and then added, "Even down here in Gaucholand."

Clete chuckled and said, "You better tell General Nervo what you mean."

"Cletus, please, 'Santiago,' " Nervo said.

"Me too?" Schultz asked.

"Of course you too," Nervo said.

Why do I not think he's not just schmoozing us?

Why was I not surprised that Nervo and Schultz had immediately taken to each other?

We're the same kind of people?

I think deciding to come clean with Nervo and Martin was probably the smartest thing I've done in the last six months.

"Well, Santiago," Schultz began, "in the old days in the North Atlantic, on sailing ships, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, the sun would rise above the yardarm. That's that horizontal spar"--he demonstrated with his hands--"that's mounted on the mast."

Nervo nodded his understanding.

"Which meant," Schultz went on, "that the officers could go to the wardroom and have a little sip to give them the courage to face the rest of the day."

"Fascinating," Nervo said, chuckling. "May I say something about the way you're dressed, Jefe?"

"Of course," Schultz said, just a little warily.

"As one professional officer to another," Nervo said, "your gaucho costume is complete except for one small detail."

"What's that?"

"I was raised on an estancia in Patagonia," Nervo said. "And never can I remember a gaucho who did not have, very close by--"

"She's visiting her mother," Schultz interrupted, smiling knowingly. "She should be back sometime today."

Nervo literally convulsed; he stood up, spilled his drink, and then, laughing heartily, wrapped his arm around Schultz.

They're buddies, delighted with themselves!

When Nervo finally sat down and was pouring himself another drink, Frade said, "Santiago, tell Casanova what it is that you are also having a hard time believing."

Nervo pointed with his glass at one of the manager's houses, into which the Mollers and the Kortigs and their families had been taken. Clete knew that both Dorotea and Claudia were there "to help with the children" and also that there were enough peones discreetly watching the house to make sure everything remained under control.

"Something smells with those two," Nervo said.

Schultz met his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly.

That's interesting. What have I missed that these two see?

"Look, Cletus," Nervo said, as if he'd read his mind. "I'm a policeman. I'm not like you and Martin, into politics and espionage and all that. Just a simple policeman."

Like hell you're just a simple policeman. You didn't get to be Inspector General of the Gendarmeria by being simple.

What is he doing now? Schmoozing me?

"But . . . ?" Frade said.

"Like most old policemen, I have learned to know when people are lying. And those two are."

"About what?"

Nervo shrugged. "You tell me. What have they got to lie about?"

Clete shrugged.

"They're either not who they say they are," Schultz said, "or they're not telling you something, or both."

"What do you mean, they're not who they say they are?"

Now Schultz shrugged.

"Tell me about this Gehlen guy," Nervo said. "He must be pretty smart, would you say?"

Smart enough to run the Russian Intelligence branch of the Abwehr, and smart enough to deal with Allen Dulles.

Yeah, I'd say he has to be pretty smart.

"He'd have to be," Frade said, "wouldn't he?"

"And he knows about Valkyrie, right?"

Frade sipped his drink, then nodded. "Yeah. Knows about--and is involved in--Valkyrie."

"Which makes a simple policeman like me think Gehlen doesn't think Adolf Hitler is God's sword against the Antichrist, and believes the best thing for Germany is to kill the bastard. Or am I wrong?"

"I think you're absolutely right," Clete said.

"So why did he send Moller?"

"I don't know where you're going," Clete admitted.

"Moller was not lying when he told me I should understand that he considers himself a serving officer who has taken a personal oath of allegiance to Hitler," Nervo said.

"And he made a point of telling you that. And he made a point of telling me that earlier today when we first met," Clete thought aloud. "So what?"