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

"How the boats will be loaded is up to you, Herr Brigadefuhrer, by which I mean it is your decision whether you want to be put ashore first, or whether you would rather wait until some of your men are ashore. Each boat will carry six men, two of whom will be my sailors.

"We are approximately a thousand meters offshore. I estimate it will take fifteen minutes to row ashore, and probably ten for the boats to return here."

"Why the difference?"

"Coming back to the ship, the rubber boats will be lighter and the wind will be behind them."

"Why can't you go closer to the beach?"

"We would run aground, Herr Brigadefuhrer," von Dattenberg said simply.

Von Deitzberg was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I think it would be best to put the SS men ashore first. I will go with the special shipment when we know all is well on the beach."

"Whatever you wish, Herr Brigadefuhrer," von Dattenberg said, then picked up the telephone again.

"Send the SS men to the deck, put a line on each of them, and load them into the rubber boats as soon as possible."

"What is that? 'Put a line on each of them'?" von Deitzberg asked. "You've said that before."

"That's a safety measure, Herr Brigadefuhrer. In case they fall into the water."

"There's a risk of that?"

"Yes, there is. The hull is curved and slippery."

And if God is in his heaven, you arrogant SS sonofabitch, you will take a bath.

[SEVEN]

Cafe Dolores

Dolores Railway Station

Dolores, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

0845 28 September 1943

When the dark green--almost black--1941 Buick Roadmaster sedan pulled into the parking area and stopped, a clean-cut young man in a business suit suddenly appeared and walked quickly to the car.

"Senor . . . ," the driver of the Buick said, not in alarm, but warily.

"That's Sargento Lascano, Pedro, relax," the middle-aged, muscular, balding man in the passenger seat said as he opened the door and got out.

"Buenos dias, senor," Sargento Manuel Lascano said.

"Nice suit, Lascano," the muscular man said. He was Inspector General Santiago Nervo, chief of the Special Investigations Division of the Gendarmeria Nacional. He was de facto, if not actually de jure, Argentina's most powerful policeman.

Sargento Lascano had spent five of his twenty-three years in the army, and almost all of that in the infantry, and almost all of that in remote provinces. Just before the coup d'etat that had made General Arturo Rawson the president of Argentina, Lascano had been transferred to the Edificio Libertador headquarters of the Ejercito Argentino for "special duty."

Having been selected as the most promising among ten candidates for training as an intelligence agent, it was intended that he receive a final vetting for suitability by the then-el Teniente Coronel Alejandro Martin--the chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Argentine Bureau of Internal Security--by "working with him" for a week or two.

The coup d'etat had changed all that. Sargento Lascano had been given responsibilities during the chaos of the coup far beyond his expected capabilities and handled them remarkably well. Martin had been promoted to coronel, and Lascano had been given the credentials and authority of a BIS agent--and, although this was not made public, the promotion to warrant officer that went with them--and became officially what he had been during the coup, assistant to Martin.

"Thank you, senor," Lascano said. "Senor, el coronel suggests you park your car in the garage over there." He pointed. "They are expecting you."

"Who are we hiding from, Lascano?" Nervo asked.

"Just about everybody, senor."

"Where's your jefe?"

"There is a room in the cafe."

"Go park the car, Pedro," Nervo said, and then asked, "Is he welcome in the cafe?"

"You are Subinspector General Nolasco, senor?" Lascano asked.

"You didn't recognize him, right?" Nervo said sarcastically.

"Guilty," the driver said.

"El coronel said Subinspector General Nolasco is welcome, sir."

"Congratulations, Pedro," Nervo said. "Martin trusts you. Go park the car and then join us."

The room in the back of Cafe Dolores was small and crowded. The tables had been pushed together and held a number of telephones.

To take advantage, Nervo decided, of the railway telephone network.

Large maps were pinned to the walls.

There were now ten people in the room. El Coronel Alejandro Martin and "Suboficial Mayor" Jose Cortina--Nervo knew the stocky, middle-aged man to be both a longtime BIS agent and actually a teniente coronel--were seated at the end of the pushed-together tables. Both were in civilian clothing. Lascano had followed Nervo into the room.

A half-dozen other men in civilian clothing were at the table manning the telephones and two typewriters.

And there was someone else whose presence surprised Nervo: a tall, good-looking man in his late twenties who was wearing the uniform of a capitan of cavalry, the de rigueur cavalry officer's mustache, and the heavy golden aiguillettes of an aide-de-camp.

Nervo knew Capitan Roberto Lauffer to be the president's aide-de-camp and more: As with Lascano, the chaos of the coup d'etat had seen Lauffer given responsibilities far beyond those ordinarily given to young captains.

The successful coup had moved General Rawson into the president's office in the Casa Rosada and put Lauffer in the adjacent office, where he had become, again de facto if not de jure, chief of staff to the president.

"People will talk, Alejandro, if it comes out we're meeting like this," Nervo said.

Martin smiled, then chuckled, then, shaking his head, laughed heartily out loud.

"Was it that funny?" Nervo asked.

"Whenever I run into Don Cletus Frade, he offers that same tired joke," Martin said. "Is Nolasco with you?"

"He's parking the car. What the hell is going on here?"

"Why don't you all go have a coffee?" Martin said to the men manning the telephones and the typewriters. They quickly got to their feet and left the room.

Deciding that Martin was going to wait for Nolasco before explaining what was going on, Nervo walked to the wall of maps and studied them. One of them--actually three, patched together--showed the national routes between where they were and San Martin de los Andes. Pins-- Probably indicating some sort of checkpoints, Nervo decided--were stuck along the route.

There were maps, of different scales, of the highways leading to Buenos Aires, of the neighborhood of Belgrano in Buenos Aires, and of the area around Samborombon Bay, all stuck with pins.

Nervo turned to look at Martin, his eyebrows raised questioningly. At that moment, Nolasco entered the room. His face registered surprise when he saw Lauffer.

"Subinspector," Lauffer said.

"Capitan."

"I have been rehearsing my little speech about what you are about to hear," Martin said. "And about asking you to give me your word it doesn't leave this room. But I've decided not to ask that of you. You are all going to have to make that decision yourselves. What I've decided to do--as my friend Frade would say--is roll the dice and see what happens. Go ahead, Cortina."

Cortina stood and walked toward the wall. Then he stopped. Lauffer had put his high-crowned uniform cap on the table. He held his riding crop--a standard accoutrement for a cavalry officer.

"May I?" Cortina asked.

Lauffer nodded.

Cortina walked to the map and pointed the riding crop at the map of Samborombon Bay.

"At approximately oh four-thirty today," Cortina began, "the German submarine U-405 began to land, using rubber boats, two German SS officers and ten other ranks of the SS and a large wooden crate onto the beach at this point on Samborombon Bay.