“Say, shooting Nazis so they can’t rise Phoenix-like from the ashes?”
“That thought did run through my mind, Siggie.”
“No, sir,” Stein said, then went on: “Don’t look for some nice explanation why I can’t go with you, Colonel. All you have to say is ‘No way.’”
“Whatever happened to that Leica camera you used at Tandil?”
“I’ve still got it. You want it?”
“I don’t know who Peron is sending to Germany with me, and I don’t know who I’m going to bring back from Germany. And he’s not going to tell me. But if I had photographs I could show Nolasco, Martin, and as far as that goes, Kortig . . .”
“I’ll go get the camera.”
“No. You can just bring it with you when we go to Germany. You’ll go as the radio operator. In an SAA uniform.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you.”
“When we finish this bottle of wine, Sergeant, get on the radio to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. Tell Schultz what’s going on. Tell him to get blank OSS ID cards out of the safe and have them made out for von Wachtstein and Boltitz by the time we get there tomorrow. You still have yours, right?”
“Yes, sir. But you told me those IDs are not real . . .”
“They’re not. But people don’t know that. And in our business, Sergeant Stein, what people don’t know usually hurts them.”
[THREE]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 1305 15 May 1945
As the Red Lodestar, with Peter von Wachtstein at the controls, made its approach to the airfield, then smoothly touched down, Clete thought,
“Don’t worry,” Clete said, “with a little practice—four, five hours shooting touch-and-gos, you’ll eventually get the hang of it. I’ll show you the tricks.”
It went right over von Wachtstein’s head.
His face showed he thought he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Just kidding, Hansel.”
“Alicia and I are going to Dona Claudia’s,” von Wachtstein then said. “What about Karl and Beth?”
“That depends on where Beth’s mother is,” Clete said. “That’s where they’ll go.”
One of the drivers of the cars waiting for them told them that
“Karl,” Frade said, “your call. When we get there, you and Beth can try to look innocent, or hang your heads in shame. Doesn’t matter. Martha Howell will see through it and make you both pay for your lewd and lascivious behavior.”
“Screw you!” Beth said.
There was a 1942 Chevrolet Master Deluxe sedan with diplomatic license plates parked in front of the Big House when Clete and Siggie Stein rolled up in one of the estancia’s station wagons.
His wife was sitting on the side verandah with the U.S. Embassy “military attaches” Pelosi and Ashton, and someone he was surprised to see—Milton Leibermann, the “legal attache” of the embassy. Their children were nowhere in sight.
“I thought you’d be with
“I didn’t think Milt came all the way out here from Buenos Aires just for the hell of it,” Dorotea said matter- of-factly.
Leibermann laughed.
“She’s good, Clete,” he said. “I didn’t. And neither did these two.”
“Excuse me?”
“When I asked Tony if I could borrow his embassy car to come out here, he said he’d drive me. And then Max sniffed something was up and found the time in his busy schedule to join us.”
“So, what’s up, Milt?”
“I got a letter from an old pal, a fellow Gangbuster, that I thought might be of interest to you.”
“A fellow Gangbuster?” Clete asked.
“That’s what we called ourselves when we were going through the FBI Academy,” Leibermann said. “There was a radio program at the time called
“I don’t understand,” Clete confessed.
“Read this,” Leibermann said, handing Frade a sheaf of typewriter paper. “I will then entertain questions.” Dear Milt:
For reasons which will become apparent as you read this, I really wish that instead of writing this in some haste, we were sitting—two old friends—across a table from one another. But that’s simply not possible under the circumstances.Let me start with the good news: You will shortly learn through normal channels that the Bureau’s Operation in Buenos Aires has been upgraded by Director Hoover from Foreign Station to Overseas Division, and that the Director has named you Chief thereof.That appointment comes with a substantial pay increase, of course, but this has all happened so suddenly that I just don’t know the details. When I have them, I will get them to you as soon as I can.The appointment also carries with it both much greater responsibility and authority than you were charged with as Special Agent in Charge Buenos Aires Station. The Section Chief, South America, is being informed today that effective immediately, Overseas Division, Argentina, will report directly to the Assistant Director for South America. Who just happens to be yours truly.While your outstanding performance of your duties certainly merits a promotion like this for you, I must in candor tell you that another reason for it was the Director’s realization that for you to be able to deal with the responsibilities you will now have you will require both more authority than you had as Special Agent in Charge and the appropriate senior title to go with them.
“Well, congratulations, Chief Leibermann,” Clete said when he had read the first page. “Who’s this from?”
“Clyde Holmes, the deputy director of FBI Operations,” Leibermann answered. “He’s probably number four in the Bureau hierarchy.”
“I’m impressed, and I think I may say, without fear of objection, that your promotion merits a celebratory libation. What would please you in that connection, Chief Leibermann?”
“A Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks, thank you, Colonel. But you better hold off on the congratulations until you have read the whole thing.”
Clete signaled for a maid and ordered her to bring the rolling bar onto the verandah.
“I presume, Chief, that I have your permission to share this bulletin of good fortune with my wife?”
