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“Meaning General Martín is way ahead of you. You remember me telling you that for quaint and mysterious resaons of their own, the deputy head of the BIS, Habanzo, usually wears civilian clothing? And that when he does deign to wear a uniform, it is that of a major?”

“But he’s actually an oberst? So what?”

“The convoy headed south will be led by a staff car, with Habanzo riding regally in the backseat, wearing his colonel’s uniform. The only people who would dare to question a colonel of the BIS—much less stop or turn around a convoy he is leading—would be either Perón or Farrell. BIS de jure answers only to President Farrell, although just about everybody de facto answers to Oberst Perón.”

“Well, obviously, we can’t go to Farrell to rein in Martín. And if we go to Perón, we’ll have to tell him what’s going on.”

“And he would demand a small percentage—possibly fifty percent—of what the Russians will pay us,” Lang said. “Or—and I think he’s perfectly capable of this—he’d send the Armada Argentina to seize U-234 and sell the uranium oxide to the Russians himself.”

“So what do we do?” Körtig said.

“I presume I have the floor?” Mannhoffer asked, and when both Lang and Körtig nodded, began: “I have not only given this a good deal of thought, but have discussed it in some detail with Fassbinder and Richter. All of this of course before this current problem presented itself, which of course has changed everything.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Körtig said.

“At first, the intuitive thing to do—lay low, bide our time, make no waves, et cetera—seemed to make sense. But then I realized that we—the people in this room—are all that’s left of National Socialism. Our superiors are either dead or locked up awaiting trial. There will be no more submarines from Germany, no more funds with which we can cause National Socialism to rise, using Himmler’s phrase, ‘phoenix-like from the ashes.’ Either we do it, or it doesn’t get done.”

“So we do it. What’s the problem?” Lang asked.

“We’ll have that hundred million dollars from the Russians,” Körtig said. “That should help.”

“The problem is there is no state. The Germans here have nothing to which they owe their allegiance. To put a point on that, no state of which they are afraid. If we, for example, decided to call a demonstration to protest the trials of Goering and the others in Nuremberg, I’m afraid a large number of our countrymen might decide they’d rather not participate, and all of them, I’m sure, would ask, ‘Just who are these people issuing these orders? Where do they get their authority?’”

“I’m not saying I agree with you,” Körtig said, “but for the sake of argument, what should we do in your judgment?”

“Das Deutschesvolk cheerfully and enthusiastically obeyed der Führer for two reasons. One, he was a spellbinding orator. Two, they knew if they didn’t, they’d have to deal with the SS.”

“That’s cynicism.”

“Whatever it is, it’s true, and you know it.”

“What’s your point, Ludwig?”

“If we are serious about keeping National Socialism alive, we are going to need the support of the German people here in Argentina and in Paraguay and Uruguay, and we’re not going to get that unless they respect the state.”

“You mean, are afraid of the SS?”

“Precisely.”

“And how are you going to do that when we have no more than a hundred or so SS people?”

“They don’t know how many people we have,” Mannhoffer said. “But they believe that the SS, like they do, must stay out of the public eye. All we have to do is convince them not only is the SS larger than it happens to be, but it is inflicting punishment on those disloyal to National Socialism.”

“Explain that,” Lang said.

“They know what’s going on in this country. They know, for a specific example, that von Wachtstein was a traitor to the Third Reich all the time he was serving as air attaché in the embassy. And that he is now married into one of the better families and flying an airliner. That he not only got away with his treason, but has been rewarded for it. And they have concluded, with reason, that the SS has been unable to do anything about it.”

“So you’re saying we should do something about it? Eliminate von Wachtstein?”

“What I want to do is build an image of the SS in the public’s imagination as a secret organization—a large secret organization—dedicated to the maintenance of National Socialist principles. Now, try to follow my reasoning. We eliminate von Wachtstein. No one will know who did it. But they will wonder: ‘Who did this and why?’ And they will conclude, wondering why it took them so long to understand, that the Sicherheitsdienst of the SS is alive, well, and as dangerous as ever. And here.”

“You may be onto something, Ludwig,” Körtig said. “First, von Wachtstein. And then Boltitz . . .”

“And of course von Dattenberg, who surrendered U-405 to the Argentines,” Lang chipped in.

“And most important, Don Cletus Frade,” Mannhoffer said. “His elimination will send a message not only to das Deutschesvolk, but to Juan Domingo Perón.”

“I don’t like that,” Körtig said. “Frade was standing beside him on the balcony of the Casa Rosada. Perón looks on him almost as a son.”