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Von Deitzberg slumped to the floor, leaving a tracing of brain tissue and blood on the urinal’s tiles. The stream of water caused first the blood to start sliding down the tiles, and then the smaller pieces of brain tissue.

Niedermeyer quickly examined his clothing to see if he had been splattered with either. He had not been. He looked down at von Deitzberg, said, “God forgive me,” returned the pistol to the small of his back, and calmly walked out of the men’s room.

My ears are ringing from the noise of that gun firing in there. My hearing has been impaired.

I will have to remember to speak softly. Deaf people speak loudly.

He walked to the table and sat down.

“I heard what sounded like a shot,” Alvarez said.

“Father,” Körtig said softly, “if it looks as if I am about to be arrested, I will have to take my own life; otherwise many good men and their families will die.”

[TWELVE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1705 16 October 1943

Clete set the Cub down with landing roll to spare on the first try. The pilot of the Cub following him decided to go around twice before finally coming in for a landing.

“He’s not as skilled as you are,” President Rawson said.

“What he is is smarter than I am,” Clete replied. “He didn’t bring it in until he was sure he could.”

Captain Madison R. Sawyer III walked up to them. He was wearing an olive-drab shirt with the silver railroad tracks of his rank and the crossed sabers of cavalry pinned to the collar points. He had a Thompson slung from his shoulder.

“Well, look what you brought home,” he said, and only then recognized the president of the Argentine Republic. He saluted.

“General Rawson, this is Captain Sawyer,” Clete said.

“How do you do, Capitán?”

“Sir,” Sawyer said, then: “Major, may I have a word in private?”

“Anything you have to say to me, Captain, you may say in the presence of the president.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, maybe you better come with me.”

The body had been laid on and under a blanket outside one of the small outbuildings.

“Please tell me this is not one of ours,” Clete said.

“There is one of ours, sir, but he’s inside on the bed.”

Sawyer pulled off the blanket.

The eyes of the corpse were open. His face showed what could have been surprise. His coveralls had been unbuttoned, exposing the blood-soaked black SS uniform underneath. On his chest were his identity tags and his identity card.

“Close his eyes, for Christ’s sake,” Clete snapped.

Sawyer looked at him in horror.