Page 248

Buenos Aires, Argentina

0915 16 October 1943

“I hope this is important,” Capitán Roberto Lauffer said as he walked into the private dining room. “My boss is going to wonder where the hell I am.”

“Maybe you’ll have the chance to tell him, Bobby,” el Coronel Edmundo Wattersly said.

“We have some problems,” Martín said.

Inspector General Nervo said, “Schmidt has apparently decided to start the civil war we were talking about—”

“We don’t know that, Santiago,” Martín interrupted.

“—with the assistance of Brigadeführer von Deitzberg,” Nervo went on. “And that of el Coronel Juan D. Perón.”

“I repeat, we don’t know that,” Martín said.

“What we do know,” Nervo said firmly, “is that Perón and von Deitzberg are at this moment on their way to Bariloche by air. What we do know is that a ten-truck convoy of the 10th Mountain Regiment has departed its barracks in San Martín de los Andes on Route 151 in the direction of General Alvear—which is also in the direction of Mendoza.

“We also know that on the evening of the fifth of this month, el Coronel Schmidt gave a dinner for von Deitzberg, who is now running around as a dead man named Jorge Schenck, and Señora Schenck, who is almost certainly Frau von Tresmarck, the missing woman from the German Embassy in Uruguay. At this dinner, at which the Nazi flag was displayed, Schmidt toasted Adolf Hitler, and von Deitzberg slash Schenck announced he was going to take pleasure in killing the two traitors from the German Embassy—what’s their name, Señor BIS?”

“Frogger,” Martín furnished.

“Right. Thank you. And especially Don Cletus Frade, who, in addition to having the Froggers hidden at his Estancia Don Guillermo in Mendoza, is known to have ordered the murder of his father because el Coronel Frade was unwilling to betray Argentina and become an agent of international Jewry.”

“Good God!” Wattersly exclaimed.

“Von Deitzberg actually said that?” Lauffer asked.

“And el Coronel Schmidt seemed to suggest he had suspected something like that all along,” Nervo said. “A few days after this dinner party, von Deitzberg and the blond woman flew back here, then turned right around and went back, now with Perón and his lady friend.

“The good news is that Juan Domingo’s new lady friend is not thirteen years old—I believe she’s twenty-four—and el Coronel Perón’s sexual perversions apparently will no longer embarrass you gentlemen of the Ejército Argentino officer corps. She is in fact a, quote, radio actress, unquote, by the name of Eva Duarte, employed by Radio Belgrano.”

“My God!” Wattersly said.

“That was very entertaining, Santiago,” Martín said. “But I’ll repeat again that we don’t know what Schmidt is actually up to.”

“Did I mention the fact that the Edificio Libertador is having trouble communicating with the 10th Mountain Regiment?” Nervo said. “And that as this little, not-authorized motor march exercise has gone up Route 151—did I mention that’s the way to Mendoza?—telephone communication seems to have been lost. My people suspect that’s because the wire has not only been cut but has been taken away. Telephone communication will not be restored until the wire is replaced. Not just spliced.”

“What exactly is it you think Schmidt plans to do in Mendoza?” Wattersly asked. “Rescue those people Frade has there?”

“I think he plans to lay his hands on the arms cache, which is his excuse for going there in the first place,” Martín said.

“And while he’s there, since he’s come all that way, maybe kill the Froggers,” Nervo said. “And the Frades—did I mention that Frade’s wife is very, very pregnant? Maybe they’ll just let her go.”

“You’re saying Frade will fight Schmidt?” Wattersly asked.

“Well, Coronel, I’m just a simple policeman. You’re the military man. What do you think he’ll do?” Nervo said.

“We’re going to have to go to the president,” Lauffer said.

“You’re pretty good, are you, Bobby, swimming with your hands tied behind you?” Wattersly asked softly.

“If it comes to that, sir,” Lauffer said, “I guess I’ll find out.”

Lauffer walked to a telephone on a side table and dialed a number from memory.

“This is Capitán Lauffer,” he said a moment later. “Put me through to the president, please.”