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“The second interesting thing that happened was that the Uruguayan authorities asked the Policía Nacional to contact a woman by the name of Inge von Tresmarck. They wanted to know if she could shed any light on the whereabouts of her husband, Sturmbannführer Werner von Tresmarck, the security officer of the German Embassy in Montevideo whom the Germans had reported to be missing. The Uruguayans said they knew Señora von Tresmarck had taken the overnight steamer to Buenos Aires.

“Diligent police work revealed that Señora von Tresmarck had taken a room at the Alvear Palace Hotel. She then went shopping, leaving a message to that effect with the hotel switchboard. She never returned to the Alvear Palace.”

“Von Tresmarck is missing?” Clete asked. “What the hell is that all about?”

Nervo did not reply.

“Then we learned that the ever-obliging von Gradny-Sawz purchased a car—a 1941 Ford station wagon—for Señor Schenck. The Automobile Club requires people who want insurance to appear in person. Señor Schenck did so, and while he was there availed himself of the ACA’s free travel services. They provided him with road maps, on which the route to San Martín de los Andes was marked, and made a reservation for him and Señora Schenck at the Rio Hermoso Hotel in San Martín.”

“Which is where Schmidt is, right?”

Again, Nervo did not reply.

“By the time all these details came to my attention, and Alejandro’s—sometimes the Policía Nacional is a little slow—Señor and Señora Schenck were well on their way to San Martín de los Andes.

“By the time we got there, the Schencks had already been entertained at dinner in el Coronel Schmidt’s quarters and, the morning following, had departed for San Carlos de Bariloche—”

“That’s where Körtig is,” Frade interrupted. “Or at least where he’s headed.”

“Tell me about that,” Martín said.

“Welner ‘just happened to hear’ . . .”

“Father Kurt Welner, S.J.? That Welner?” Nervo asked.

“That Welner.”

“And you can’t bring yourself to call him ‘Father’? Out of simple respect for the cloth?”

“I don’t call you ‘General’ all the time, either, mi general.”

“Perhaps you should. A little proper respect goes a long way with me. So tell me, Señor Heathen, what did the Reverend Father Kurt Welner of the Society of Jesus ‘just happen to hear’?”

“The other Jesuit, the one who gets National Identity documents . . .”

“The Reverend Father Francisco Silva, S.J.? That Jesuit?”

“That’s the one. He showed up here and said that Welner had ‘just happened to hear’ that a small country hotel in Bariloche was up for sale, and he thought it just might be what we were looking for to put up the Gehlen people.”

“Beware of Jesuits bearing gifts,” Nervo said.

“And that, since he just happened to be driving that way anyway, he thought I might want to take a look at it.”

“Could be one of two things,” Nervo said. “Holy Mother Church might want to dump a hotel they own that’s not making them enough money—or is termite-infested—on a gringo with money, or our wily Jesuit is being accommodating to this Gehlen fellow, for good reasons of his own that I can’t even guess at.”

“Well, since real-estate appraisal is not among my many other skills, I gave Körtig a pistol and sent Pablo Alvarez . . .”

“The estancia manager?” Martin asked. “Apparently, he knows what’s going on and can be trusted?”

Frade nodded, and picked up the rest: “. . . with him to have a look at the hotel in Bariloche, and at other properties on the way. Pablo has friends all over this part of Argentina.”

“Who wouldn’t be surprised if he was quietly buying property for a friend of yours?” Martín asked.

“Yeah,” Clete said.

“You gave Körtig a pistol?” Nervo asked.

“He asked for one, and I gave him one,” Frade replied. “There are people who don’t like people who like Valkyries. He wanted to be able to defend himself. That sounded reasonable to me.”