“I’m on watch in an hour, I’d better go. I’ll see you off the ship tomorrow when we dock in Buenos Aires.”
Sybilla jumped out of bed, still naked, and went to him, circling her arms around his neck and kissing him tenderly. “No! I don’t want you to. Let’s make this our goodbye. It’s a good way to end it.”
The ship docked in Montevideo, Uruguay, at first light, and remained only a few hours before departing again and sailing further up the estuary of the River Plate, manoeuvring into position at a wharf in Buenos Aires on the southern bank.
As soon as the gangplank was lowered into position, Sybilla walked from her cabin with her suitcase. At the top of the gangplank, she paused only for a second to wave her goodbyes to the bridge, then strode purposefully down without a second glance. As she stepped off, a man wearing a Panama hat and dressed in a smart white linen suit approached her. She remembered his face from one of the photos the CIA had shown her, but couldn’t put a name to it. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, medium height, good physique. He clicked his heels and gave a curt nod of his head.
“Frau Meyer?” he asked.
Sybilla nodded. “Yes, I am Frau Meyer.”
“Good day, Frau Meyer, my name is Herwig Weber. It is my honour to look after you until you have settled into your new life here in Argentina.”
The relays in Sybilla’s mind rattled and clicked into place. Herwig Weber. Oberst in the Wehrmacht, he had been on Guderian’s staff on the Eastern Front. Believed to have amassed a fortune in looted gold and jewellery, never recovered. Escaped to Argentina in 1947.
“I will help you in any way I can,” Weber continued. “If you find you are experiencing any difficulties, you must let me know immediately. Here, let me take your case.”
Sybilla followed him to his car, a rather smart, white Mercedes. After loading her suitcase into the boot, he opened one of the rear doors for her before walking around the car, where a man dressed in a pale blue pseudo-military uniform awaited—presumably a chauffeur—holding the other rear door open.
Weber climbed in alongside Sybilla, giving her a smile as he did so.
“Herr Weber, it is very kind of you to meet me. I confess to feeling a little bewildered,” said Sybilla.
“Understandable, and I won’t ask you how your voyage was. The Miranda is an old ship, but she serves our purpose well enough.” Weber looked at her, his face now stern and serious. “When I say our purpose, I am of course referring to the Kameradenwerk, the organisation I represent and the organisation responsible for your safe conduct here.”
“I can’t thank you and your comrades enough,” said Sybilla with genuine sincerity. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of Kameradenwerk, the operation would have ground to a halt in Mexico.
The chauffeur had climbed into the front of the vehicle and now cast a glance over his shoulder at Weber. “One moment, Ignatius,” said Weber, then turning to Sybilla asked, “You don’t happen to have a cocktail dress, I suppose?”
Sybilla laughed, more out of surprise than amusement. “Herr Weber, I have what I stand up in, plus a few blouses, shorts and personal clothing in my case.”
Weber smiled indulgently. “I ask because I am hosting a small get-together at my villa this evening, and I would very much like you to attend. There will be someone there whom I would particularly like you to meet.”
Sybilla registered her regret. “I’m really sorry, Herr Weber, but I left in rather a hurry.”
“Think nothing of it. Like most problems, there is an easy remedy.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Gath and Chaves, Calle Florida, Ignatius!”
The vehicle burst into life then purred out of the port gates, manoeuvring through a fairly insalubrious part of the city before emerging into the main shopping area of the busy metropolis. Ignatius pulled the Mercedes up outside a substantial, upmarket department store.
“Gath and Chaves is Buenos Aires’ answer to London’s Harrods and Berlin’s KaDeWe, or KaDeWe as it was, I should perhaps say,” said Weber.
Sybilla had to bite her tongue, as she was on the point of saying that KaDeWe had in fact re-opened the previous year and was, albeit slowly, returning to its former glory. She caught herself just in time. As far as Weber was concerned, Sybilla had never been to Berlin.
Once inside, they made their way to the women’s clothing department, where Weber picked up a newspaper from a table and sat down in an easy chair. Before opening it, he looked up at Sybilla.
“I would like you to select two dresses: a simple one for tonight, as our soirée is quite informal, and something a little more formal for later in the week, when I hope you will accompany me to a reception at the Presidential Palace.”
“Oh, but Herr Weber, I couldn’t … the expense!”
Weber smiled. “Personally, I always find that when someone else is paying, expense ceases to be a consideration. Consider this a welcome gift, and enjoy your experience in Gath and Chaves, but don’t take too long, we need to prepare for this evening.” With that, he opened his newspaper and took no further part in proceedings.
Weber’s villa was a substantial detached residence in the exclusive suburb of Palermo Chico in the east of the city. Waiting at the gate was a servant who dutifully saluted as the vehicle swept through. Sybilla and Weber were met at the entrance by two female servants who were friendly and welcoming but at the same time deferential.
Sybilla was overawed by the splendour of the villa’s interior. The furniture and fittings were clearly of the finest quality. As if reading her mind, Weber said, “I
