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“I wouldn’t know her, Cletus, if she walked into Doña Claudia’s party on the arm of a diplomat.”

Frade nodded at Martín. Somehow, the nod expressed thanks.

[FIVE]

Office of the Ambassador

The Embassy of the German Reich

Avenida Córdoba

Buenos Aires, Argentina

0930 20 September 1943

Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein walked into the office carrying a thick sheaf of eight-by-ten-inch photographs. He was in civilian clothing. Günther Loche, carrying a nearly identical stack of photographs, followed him.

Von Wachtstein laid the photographs on Ambassador von Lutzenberger’s desk and motioned for Loche to do the same thing. Then von Wachtstein came to attention, clicked his heels, gave the Nazi salute, and said, “Heil Hitler!”

Loche tried and almost succeeded in doing the same simultaneously.

Ambassador von Lutzenberger returned the salute.

Commercial Attaché Karl Cranz glowered at von Wachtstein.

Anton von Gradny-Sawz demanded, “Where in the world have you been?”

There was no expression on the face of the naval attaché, Kapitän zur See Karl Boltitz.

Von Wachtstein pointed to the two stacks on von Lutzenberger’s desk.

“Since six this morning, Herr von Gradny-Sawz, I have been up to my ears in chemicals in the photo lab. As you can see, there are a great many photographs.”

“There were a great many photographs in the press, von Wachtstein,” Cranz said. “Presumably you’ve seen them?”

“No, sir.”

“Have a look, von Wachtstein,” Cranz said, and pointed to the conference table. There were at least a dozen newspapers spread out on it. On the front pages of all of them were photographs—sometimes just one, more often two and even three or four—of what had happened at Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade the previous afternoon.

Just about all of them had a photo of the SAA Constellation coming in for a landing. And there were shots of the Constellation as it taxied up to the hangar with Argentine flags flying from holders at the cockpit windows. Others showed Gonzalo Delgano saluting General Rawson, of Rawson embracing Delgano, of Rawson, hands on hips, looking up with admiration—maybe even awe—at the enormous airplane.

“Take a look at that one, von Wachtstein,” Cranz said, pointing to a photo of a beaming General Rawson embracing Cletus Frade. He then read aloud the cutline under one of the photos:

“ ‘The President of the Republic embraces Don Cletus Frade, Managing Director of South American Airways. Frade is the son of the late and beloved Coronel Jorge G. Frade, whose monument is now the airport named in his memory, from which the new aircraft will soon begin to fly to Europe.’ ”

He paused, looked at von Wachtstein, and challenged, “Well?”

“Excuse me, Herr Cranz?”

“Wouldn’t you say you’ve been wasting your time, ‘up to your ears in chemicals ,’ printing photographs that were already spread across the front page of every goddamn newspaper in Argentina?”

Von Wachtstein’s face tightened, but his voice was under control when he said, “With respect, Herr Cranz, I don’t think our engineers could do much with newspaper photographs of the Constellation.”

“What did you say?” asked von Gradny-Sawz.

“I’m sure our engineers will be very interested in the photographs I took of the Constellation.”

“Why?”