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

By the time he asked the question, von Gradny-Sawz had a mouthful of the sauerbraten. When he finally had it all chewed and swallowed, he said:

"If I was guaranteed Argentine beef like this, I would add sauerbraten to my last meal." And then, without a perceptible pause, he continued, "What SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Cranz plans to do is kidnap Senora Pamela Holworth-Talley de Mallin, Dona Dorotea Mallin de Frade's mother. He also plans to kidnap Dona Dorotea's fifteen-year-old brother Enrique--and possibly Senor Mallin himself. And then he plans to exchange them all for the Froggers."

He then sawed off a piece of the Kartoffelknodel, moved it around his plate to coat it with the sauce, and put it into his mouth.

Martin laid down his knife and fork, then took a swallow of his wine before asking, "Anton, why are you telling me this?"

Von Gradny-Sawz finished chewing the Kartoffelknodel, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and took a swallow of his wine. He refilled his glass before continuing.

"Two reasons, Alejandro, one of them being that I like to think of myself as a Christian gentleman, and as such am morally offended at the involvement of an innocent woman and her fifteen-year-old son in this sordid business, let alone Senor Mallin."

Martin considered that for a moment before asking, "And the other?"

"The other reason is quite selfish," von Gradny-Sawz said. "The possibility exists that I might find it necessary at some time in the future to . . . how do I say this? . . . seek asylum in this beautiful country of yours, and I would like a highly placed friend should that become necessary."

Martin looked at him intently. Von Gradny-Sawz met his eyes for a very long moment, then picked up his wineglass again.

"Anton," Martin said carefully, "if you are serious about seeking asylum, it will take me a couple of days to . . ."

"I don't think--operative word think --that such action will be immediately necessary. I would like to think of myself as a loyal German, a loyal diplomat, who would not take such action unless it was absolutely necessary. I am not a traitor. What I would like to do is have the asylum ready should I need it. In the meantime, I will carry out my duties at the embassy and, while doing so, make what might be considered deposits in my account with you."

"For example?" Martin asked.

"What I just gave you, for example. A violation of the generally accepted standards of decency, which I don't consider are covered by questions of lo yalty."

Martin nodded his understanding or agreement, or maybe both.

I've got him, von Gradny-Sawz decided. El Coronel Martin not only took the bait but swallowed it whole.

Kidnapping Don Cletus Frade's mother-in-law and brother-in-law to exchange them for the Froggers would be a clever thing to do, the sort of thing Cranz--if he were considerably more intelligent than he believes himself to be--would dream up.

"Do you have any idea when this kidnapping is supposed to take place?"

Since it exists only in my imagination, Alejandro, I know it will never be attempted.

Von Gradny-Sawz shook his head.

"If I am able to learn more, Alejandro, I'll let you know."

I have just given him several problems.

What is he to do?

Put guards on Senora de Mallin and the boy, which would carry with it the risk that questions would be asked that he wouldn't want to answer? Such as who told him?

Tell Don Cletus Frade, which could pose all sorts of problems?

Tell his superiors, who might decide to have a quiet word with von Lutzenberger, pointing out the risks of kidnapping a very prominent Argentine woman?

Would von Lutzenberger decide that Cranz, who was capable of such a scheme, was again acting behind his back?

Would any of these scenarios raise questions about Anton von Gradny-Sawz in von Lutzenberger's mind? Or in Cranz's or Boltitz's?

I think not.

This is the second time I have crossed the Rubicon. It becomes easier if one has done it before.

Von Gradny-Sawz raised his hand over his shoulder, snapped his fingers, and called, "Herr Ober!"

The waiter appeared and von Gradny-Sawz mimed for him to open the second bottle of Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon.

VIII

[ONE]

Office of the Managing Director

Banco de Inglaterra y Argentina

Bartolome Mitre 300

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1430 19 September 1943

"You have an international call, Senor Duarte," Humberto Duarte's secretary announced at his office door. "It is Senor Frade calling from Brazil."

"Put it through, put it through," Duarte said impatiently.

He had the handset of his ornate, French-style telephone to his ear before his secretary had moved from the door.

It took ninety seconds before Frade came on the line.

"What did I do, Humberto? Interrupt your lunch?"

"Where the hell are you?" Humberto began, and then before Frade could possibly reply, went on, "No one knew where you were."

"And you thought I had crashed? I'm touched by your concern."

"I didn't know what to think. El Coronel Martin has been looking all over for you."

"He does like to keep an eye on me, doesn't he?"

"Cletus, for God's sake, can't you ever be serious? Martin said he has to see you as quickly as possible. He said it was very likely a matter of life or death."

The tone of Frade's voice changed. He now was serious.

"That's interesting. He say whose life?"

"Does it matter, for God's sake? Martin is a serious man. What in the world have you done now?"

"This is what I need you to do, Humberto. And it's not open for debate . . ."

"My God!"

"I want you to call President Rawson . . ."

"The president?"

"Are there two of them?"

"Have you been drinking?"

"I haven't so much as sniffed a cork," Frade said. "Tell el General that I would be very pleased if he, and such members of his staff as he sees fit, would have a glass of champagne with me at five o'clock this afternoon at Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade."

"What?"

"I think you heard me, Humberto. If he shows reluctance, insist. If he's really reluctant, go so far as to remind him that he told me if there was anything I ever wanted from him, all I had to do was ask. Just get him there, Humberto."

"What the hell are you up to? You really haven't been drinking?"

"Boy Scout's Honor, I haven't had a drop in four days."

"I asked what this is all about, Cletus," Duarte said as sternly as he could manage.

"Take him up in the control tower. Have him there at five," Frade said, ignoring the question. "And once he's agreed to be there, get on the horn, call Claudia and tell her to be there, too--with both daughters, if possible, and von Wachtstein. And Father Welner. I suppose I'd better ask my beloved Tio Juan. I'd hate to hurt his feelings for not getting invited. And call my beloved father-in-law, speaking of people who don't like me. Get him out there, too. The more the merrier, in other words. Oh, hell! And call el Coronel Martin, too. And you better call La Nacion, La Prensa, and the Herald, too. And tell them where el Presidente is going to be at five."

"Cletus, you listen to me," Duarte said sternly. "I'm not going to do any of this until you tell me what's going on."

"Just goddamn do it, Humberto. It's really important."

"I said no."

"And I said have everybody at the field at five o'clock. Just do it, goddamn it!"

There was a click, and Duarte realized that Cletus had hung up.