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“That presumes the Russians catch me. I’m going to try very hard to see that doesn’t happen.”

“Well, you’re not going, so get rid of those clothes and put on your uniform. We’re about to leave for Tempelhof.”

As if to make the point that it was time to go to the airport, Peralta came into the kitchen, followed by Stein, Mattingly, and Boltitz.

Mattingly’s, Boltitz’s, and Stein’s faces showed that they also knew the meaning of the clothing and didn’t like it either.

Peralta’s face showed complete disbelief.

“Hansel,” Frade went on, “you’re going back with us if I have to have Tiny and his guys tie you up and throw you on the airplane.”

“You could of course do that, Clete. But all that would do is delay my departure for Pomerania and increase the chances I’ll be caught by the Russians.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Clete said.

“It is my duty to our people.”

“What about your duty to your wife and child? Don’t try to feed me that noblesse oblige bullshit. I don’t buy it, Herr Graf! It’s a crock of shit!”

“I’m sorry you don’t understand, Cletus. It is a matter of honor.”

“Where’s the honor in getting skinned like a fucking Christmas turkey?”

That’s stuffed like a turkey, jackass!

“You know how much of the von Wachtstein assets are in Argentina, Cletus. How could I live with myself in Argentina if I didn’t use them to help what are now my people?”

“How are you going to help them, Herr Graf, your royal fucking majesty, if you’re nailed skinless and upside down to the fucking castle door?”

“What I am going to do, Cletus, is let my people know—”

“You sound like Moses, for Christ’s sake. You should hear yourself ! ‘Let my people go!’ Jesus!”

“Moses said, ‘Let my people go.’ What I said was that I intend to let my people know that the Graf von Wachtstein has not deserted them and will do everything in his power . . .”

“There’s that regal fucking third person! Mattingly, do you believe this?”

“. . . everything in his power to get them out from under the Communists and to a new life in Argentina.”

“Send them a fucking telegram!”

“They have to see me. Once they have seen me, and I have spoken with them, I will come here.”

“Just for the sake of argument, let’s say that doesn’t work. What am I supposed to tell your wife?”

“If something should happen to me, my dear friend, I would want you to tell the Countess von Wachtstein that I loved her as I have never loved any other woman, and that I regret that she must now assume the responsibilities that come with the title. And remind her that if I am no longer alive, our son is the Graf von Wachtstein.”

Clete looked at him but, feeling his throat constrict and knowing his voice simply wasn’t going to work, said nothing more.

“I have treasured your friendship, Cletus,” von Wachtstein said. “Will you not shake my hand and wish me luck?”

Peter put out his hand.

After a long moment, Clete took it.

Their eyes met. The handshake turned into an embrace.

When Colonel Robert Mattingly and Lieutenant Colonel Archer W. Dooley Jr. heard Frade, his voice breaking, say, “You better come back, you crazy Kraut sonofabitch, or I’ll come to that goddamn castle of yours and kick your ass all the way back to Argentina,” they averted their faces and dabbed at their eyes with their handkerchiefs.