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

Don't fuck up!

He dropped nineteen birds--eight of them in doubles--before missing. When he finally missed, he turned to Father Welner and said, "You must be right about the faulty shells. I usually shoot much better than this."

By then it was quarter past ten, and they stopped the hunt for a break.

And to get down to the business of the day. Which was getting Frogger to trust Hans-Peter von Wachtstein and Karl Boltitz and vice versa.

As far as he was concerned regarding Frogger, Allen Dulles apparently knew enough about him to trust him. Clete had had no choice but to go along with that. Moreover, unprofessionally, he had the gut feeling that Frogger was one of the good guys.

And he, of course, knew that Boltitz and von Wachtstein could be trusted.

The problem was that they didn't trust Frogger--they didn't know him, or that he was what he said he was. And the reverse was true. Clete thought that if he were in any of their shoes, he would have felt the same way.

That had to be changed.

If their conversation--mutual interrogation--went sour, as it very possibly would, Clete had a hole card in his chest pocket. It was a letter from General von Wachtstein that Captain Dieter von und zu Aschenburg, at considerable personal risk, had carried to Hans-Peter von Wachtstein shortly after von Wachtstein had arrived in Argentina.

In the letter, General von Wachtstein told his son that he had belatedly realized it was his duty to do whatever he could to rid Germany of Adolf Hitler.

He had begun the letter: The greatest violation of the code of chivalry by which I, and you, and your brothers, and so many of the von Wachtsteins before us, have tried to live is, of course, regicide. I want you to know that before I decided that honor demands I contribute what I can to such a course of action, I considered all of the ramifications, both spiritual and worldly, and that I am at peace with my decision.

Clete's father had read the letter. It had caused the tough old cavalryman to weep.

If things did not go the way Frade hoped they would-- the way they had to go --Frade was going to show the letter to Frogger, even though this would enrage Peter, would make him feel that Frade had not only betrayed him but had sentenced his father to death by hanging from a butcher's hook by piano wire.

Frade raised his arm over his head and, fist balled, made the U.S. Marine Corps hand signal for Gather on me by making a pumping motion.

Whether that was also a hand signal of the Husares de Pueyrredon or not, Enrico Rodriguez, whom Clete was starting to think of as the wagon master leading the pioneers across the prairie, understood it. He and the wagons and horsemen, who had followed the hunters across the pampas, now headed for them.

"Leave the lunch wagon," Clete ordered when Enrico rode up, "and then take everybody far enough away so they won't be able to hear us talking."

"Si, senor."

Frade turned to Welner and said, "Father, I have no problem with you hearing this, but it's up to them, not me."

Frogger, von Wachtstein, and Boltitz looked at them.

"For what it's worth, I trust Father Welner with my life," Clete said. "And he already knows a hell of a lot; just about everything."

The three Germans looked among themselves.

"Father," Boltitz finally said, "are you sure you want to know about this?"

"I wish I didn't know any of it," the priest said. "What I am sure of is that what I would like to do is keep your parents alive. The more I know, the better chance I will have to do that. If I have to say this, I swear before God that nothing I hear here today will go any further."

The Germans looked at each other again. Finally, von Wachtstein and then Frogger nodded.

"Please stay, Father," Boltitz said. "And getting right to the point of this, what Peter and I have to do, with the lives of many people at stake, is determine that Oberstleutnant Frogger is who he and--no offense intended--Major Frade say he is."

"And the reverse is true, Herr Kapitan zur See," Frogger said stiffly. "The only person vouching for you is Major Frade. How do I know you are who you say you are?"

The irony of three traitors standing around a wagon in the middle of nowhere on the pampas drinking coffee and eating pastry while trying to determine that the others were also bona fide traitors was not lost on Frade. It would have been almost funny if so much, and so many lives, were not at stake.

It also made him consider treason and traitors. Until he came to Argentina, it had been simple: Anyone who is a traitor is a no-good sonofabitch. One beneath contempt.

But these three honorable men, these decent officers who actually tried to live by a code of chivalry that Frade thought was ridiculous in these times, were putting their lives on the line to be traitors. He admired them all, and doubted that he would have been able to handle being in their shoes.

Peter and I don't belong in this. We should be at the controls of fighter planes. Philosophical introspection is not needed in a cockpit. You shoot the other guy down, or he shoots you down. Very simple.

The mutual investigation lasted for thirty-five minutes. Frade was impressed with Boltitz's skill as an interrogator, and Frogger was nearly as good.

By comparison, Peter and I seem rank amateurs. Which, of course, we are.

"I pray to God that I am not wrong, Herr Kapitan zur See," Frogger said finally. "But I believe that you are who you say are, personally, and further that you are allied with us in what we have undertaken."

Boltitz gave Frogger his hand.

"Hey, what am I?" Peter asked.

"Claus vouched for you, Herr Major," Frogger said. "He said if it was impossible to keep you out of our enterprise, then I could trust you with my life."

And who the hell am I? Frade wondered. Like it or not, guys, I'm the guy you have to trust with your lives.

"Our immediate problem is my mother," Frogger said.

"How's that?" Welner asked.

"When I saw her yesterday, Father," Frogger said evenly, "and told her that I had come to see that she and my father cooperated with Major Frade in collecting information about Operation Phoenix and on that ransoming operation, she said I was a despicable traitor to Germany and to my family and my late brothers, and that she hoped I was going to burn in hell for breaking my vow of obedience to 'unser Fuhrer.' "

The priest shook his head.

"Perhaps I can reason with her, perhaps pray with her for God's guidance."

"I don't think that would be a solution to the problem, Father," Frogger said. "Especially if she suspects--and I'm afraid she's paranoid enough to do just that--what we plan to do to 'our leader.' "

[FOUR]

Casa Numero Cincuenta y Dos

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

Republic of Argentina

1205 14 August 1943

Frade knew there was something wrong the moment he walked Julius Caesar up to the verandah of the house.

Both Dorotea and El Jefe, who had been sitting on the verandah, stood up the moment they saw him, but neither smiled or waved.

They look like they're waiting for Daddy to give them a whipping, now that he's home from the office.

Or for the Grim Reaper.

The door opened and Staff Sergeant Sigfried Stein came onto the verandah. He didn't look particularly happy either, and when he saw Frade, his look changed to very glum.

What the hell has happened?

There were seventy-odd "casas," each numbered, scattered around the three hundred forty square miles of Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. The use of the Spanish word for "house" was somewhat misleading. There was always more than just a house. Each so-called casa had stables and barns and all the other facilities required to operate what were in effect the seventy-odd farming subdivisions of the estancia. And on each casa there was always more than one house; often there were four or more.