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

"The Reichsfuhrer wants you to know how much we appreciate all that you have done for us," von Deitzberg said.

"And?"

"How about a nine-room villa on two hundred and fifty hectares on the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi in Bariloche? Does that sound nice to you?"

"It sounds like something I would have a hard time explaining."

"We'll talk about it. Believe me, Juan Domingo, it can all be handled with the greatest discretion."

"Discretion is very important," Peron said. "And speaking of which, there's someone I want you to meet. And here discretion is really the watchword."

Peron put his index finger below his left eye, closed the right eye, and then pulled down the loose flesh below his left eye.

He pulled the door open and waved von Deitzberg into the apartment.

Von Deitzberg thought: What's this? I am about to be introduced to his latest conquest from the cradle?

Peron gestured at a line of liquor bottles.

"A little of that Johnnie Walker would go down nicely, thank you very much," von Deitzberg said.

Peron made the drinks, and as he was handing one to von Deitzberg a not-unattractive blond woman walked into the room and smiled a little uneasily at them.

This one's not thirteen! She has to be at least eighteen.

Eighteen, hell! She's twenty-four, twenty-five, trying to look like she's eighteen.

Who the hell is she?

"Evita," Peron said, "say hello to my good friend Manfred."

"It is always a pleasure to meet any acquaintance of el Coronel," the young blonde said.

"I am enchanted, senorita," von Deitzberg said.

"I didn't catch the name, senor," Evita said.

"My name is Jorge Schenck, senorita."

"I thought el Coronel just said your name is Manfred," Evita said.

"What this is, my dear," Peron explained, "is state business. That's not his real name, and you've never seen him."

"Oh!" Evita said. "It's like that, is it?"

Peron repeated the earlier gesture, this time closing his left eye and pulling the skin below the right eye down with his finger.

"Might one guess that you're not a Porteno, Senor Schenck?"

"Only if you call me Jorge," von Deitzberg said. "Actually, I live in Rio Negro. Outside Bariloche. I'm what they call an 'ethnic German.' I'm a German who now calls Argentina his home."

"And what, if one may inquire, do you do in Bariloche?"

She talks very strangely, stiltedly formal. What the hell is that all about?

"Well, I have a number of business interests--May I call you Evita, senorita?"

"Of course you may, Jorge."

"I'm glad you raised the question, Evita. Among my interests is real estate. I've come to see Juan Domingo about a property in which I think he will be interested."

"What's that all about?" Evita asked.

"Well, as I'm sure you can appreciate, Evita, a man in Juan Domingo's position here in Buenos Aires is always in the public eye. Sometimes that's bothersome."

"Absolutely," Peron agreed. "Just between us and the wallpaper, just before you came, Manfred, I was explaining to Evita . . . again, I have to say . . . why we have to be careful where we are seen together. I have a number of enemies."

"You also have a lot of friends, including this one, Juan Domingo," von Deitzberg said. "And all of us are sympathetic to your problem."

"You see, Evita?" Peron said. "That's just what I was telling you."

"Sometimes I get the idea you're ashamed of me," she said more than a little petulantly.

"Don't be silly," Peron said. "What you should know, Man . . . Jorge , is that Evita herself is in the public eye. She is a radio actress on Radio Belgrano."

"Oh, really?" von Deitzberg said. "I should have guessed. You have a lovely voice, Evita."

"Why, thank you."

"So when we go out to dinner, there is usually someone who sees us and says to their friends, 'Oh, look, there's Evita Duarte, the radio actress, out with some officer.' Or: 'Oh, look at the beautiful blonde with el Coronel Peron.' Or, worst of all: 'Oh, look, there's that beautiful blond radio actress Evita Duarte out with the Secretary of Labor, el Coronel Peron.' "

"It's really not that bad, sweetheart," Evita said. "And it's the price you just have to pay for being prominent."

"Sweetheart"? Suspicion confirmed.

Maybe it's finally occurred to him that there would be objections to a president known to have an affinity for adolescent girls.

This may go easier than I thought it would.

"Well, all I know is that it's a problem even for someone like me," von Deitzberg said. "Who is not in the public eye. Just between us and the wallpaper, I have a lady friend, and we have the same problem."

"You're married, Jorge, is that what you're saying?" Evita asked.

"We haven't lived together for some time," von Deitzberg said. "It just didn't work out, and then it turned nasty. We can't go to dinner anywhere in Buenos Aires. My lady friend and I, I mean. If we do, my wife hears about it by breakfast and--Well, you can imagine."

"I understand," Evita said sympathetically. "So what do you do?"

"We do what I came here to suggest to Juan Domingo--and this was, of course, before I had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Evita--that he seriously consider doing himself."

"Which is?" Peron asked.

"Have a vacation retreat in Bariloche," von Deitzberg said. "And I think I have found just the place for you. For you both."

"Oh, really?" Evita said.

"I left my briefcase by the door," von Deitzberg said. "Let me go get it."

"Well, there it is," von Deitzberg said, pointing to a dozen or more large photographs laid out on Peron's dining room table. "Estancia Puesta de Sol, two hundred and fifty hectares on the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi. A nine-room villa, plus servants' quarters, with most of the land in forest. Harvestable forest. What do you think, Juan Domingo?"

"I love it," Evita said. "Oh, sweetheart!"

I should have been a real-estate salesman.

"Again between us and the wallpaper, I'm a little strapped for cash," Peron said.

"That's not a problem," Von Deitzberg said. "I took title to this place when it came on the market, and your credit is good enough with me."

Peron obviously was trying to come up with the words to squirm out of it.

"But this is something you would want to consider at your leisure," von Deitzberg said. "Not just jump into."

"Yes, I would agree with that," Peron said. "Haste does make waste."

"So what I would suggest you and Evita do is go have a look at it."

"I'd love to," Evita said.

"How would we do that?" Peron quickly objected. "It's three days by train out there. If we only spent a day there, we'd be gone a week. I don't have the time for that."

"And eight hours by air," von Deitzberg said. "I know because I just came back to Buenos Aires by air."

"Really?" Evita asked.

"South American Airways now flies there twice a day, with a stop at San Martin de los Andes," von Deitzberg said. "The morning flight leaves Aeropuerto Jorge Frade at eight-thirty."

"You're not suggesting we do this tomorrow?" Peron asked, incredulous.

"Oh, darling, why not?" Evita said. "I'm so sick of this dreadful little apartment. And I've never flown. Please?"

"I'm not sure we could get seats on such short notice," Peron said.

Evita said what von Deitzberg was thinking: "Of course you can. You're on the board of directors of SAA. They'll find seats for us. Will your lady friend be going, too, Jorge?"

"Yes, of course. I think you'll like each other."

Inge will be a little surprised, and probably not pleased to hear we're going back to Bariloche. She really got airsick on the way here.

Too bad. This is all I could ask for, and more.