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"Of course, all I am is a simple accountant, not a secret agent, like you two, so I may be missing the big picture on this, but my word for that is 'stupid.'"

"When did this happen?" Graham asked.

"According the local cops, he'd been dead about thirty hours when they found him."

"Where did they find him?"

"There's a sort of a seaside resort here called Carrasco. They found him in the sand dunes about a mile north of the hotel—actually it's a gambling casino and hotel—where he was staying. His car is in the casino garage. No signs of a struggle in his room."

"How did they kill him? How was he mutilated?"

"Ice pick in the ear," Leibermann said. "And, postmortem, they severed his penis and placed it in his mouth. That's what we were talking about when you showed up."

"Why would they do that?" Graham asked.

"Are we talking to each other to the point where we agree that probable bad guys are the Germans?" Leibermann asked. "OK, why would the Germans do that?"

"I don't think the Germans would," Leibermann said. "They might do something imaginative, like hang a gasoline-filled tire around him and set it on fire, but I don't think they'd cut off a Yiddisher's schwantz. and stick it in his mouth. They'd have to touch it."

He mimed lifting the penile member erect and then sawing on it with a knife.

"Isn't that sort of thing, the penis in the mouth, associated with gangs in the United States?" Graham asked.

"The true indication of somebody else's intelligence is how much he agrees with you," Leibermann said. "My own theory of what happened is that the local branch of Murder Incorporated was hired by parties unknown but who probably have offices in the German Embassy. The reason for the contract was that Ettinger knew too much and talked. The local cops tell me that's what happens down here, too, to people who talk too much."

"You say Frade asked for your help?" Graham asked.

Leibermann nodded.

"When was that?"

"A little after noon today."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Hey, I'm the FBI. I'm supposed to ask the questions. You guys are supposed to blow things up."

"Very funny, Milton," Graham said. "You don't mind if I call you Milton, do you?"

"Not if I can call you Alejandro," Leibermann said.

Christ. He even knows my first name.

"I would be honored if you called me Alejandro, Milton," Graham said. "And very grateful if you would tell me where Frade is."

"He told me he was invited to a party and couldn't turn down the invitation. Clever fellow that I am, I think he was telling me the coup d’?tat has started."

"Did he happen to mention anything about an airplane?"

"What did you do, get him one to replace the one he put on the bottom of Samboromb?n Bay?"

Graham happened to glance at Stevenson. From his face, it was obvious that he was hearing a number of things for the first time.

"If I answer that so subtly phrased question, will you answer a question for me?'

"That depends on how subtle your answer is," Leibermann said, smiling at him.

"Yes. We got him another airplane. He picked it up in Brazil, and had aboard another OSS team. It was supposed to be a small twin, but it turned out to be a Lockheed airliner, a Lodestar. Since that was the first time Frade has flown a Lodestar, so far as I know, I have been naturally wondering if he and the people with him made it all right."

"That wasn't evasive at all, Colonel," Leibermann said. "So I will reply in kind. Frade landed at his estancia with the Lockheed. They unloaded five people—almost certainly your OSS team—and some crates, and then took off again. I don't know where to."

"How reliable is that information?" Graham asked.

"The man I have on Frade's estancia is pretty reliable."

"A minute ago, Milton, when I asked about an airplane, you weren't exactly truthful, were you?" Graham said.

"I was obfuscatory," Leibermann said. "The first time you asked me about an airplane was before I knew you had really stopped playing games. So I was obfuscatory."

"Do the names 'Galahad' and 'Cavalry' mean anything to you, Milton?"

"These sources? Code names for sources?" Leibermann asked, as if he didn't expect a reply. "You got them from Frade?" Now he waited for Graham to nod. "I haven't a clue about who Galahad might be," he went on. "But Cavalry might be Martin. You know who I mean, the BIS guy?"

Graham nodded again.

"I'll ask around, if it's important to you," Leibermann said. "Is it important?"

"Important enough for me to come down here," Graham said. "Which is the next thing on my agenda. I need to get to Buenos Aires. How's the best way?"

"The best way is to catch the eight-o'clock boat ferry in the morning. That'll put you into Buenos Aires a little before two."

"That's not quick enough," Graham said.

"You're out of luck," Leibermann said. "There's no other way tonight. You missed the boat, to coin a phrase."

"What about driving?"

"There's a ferry across the border into Entre Rios Province," Stevenson said. "But it stops running at ten. I'm afraid Mr. Leibermann is right, Colonel. You're stuck here for the night."

Graham shrugged.

"Colonel, what about Ettinger's body?" Stevenson asked.

"What about it?"

"What do we do with it when the police release it?"

God forgive me, that subject never entered my mind.

"Ettinger was here as a private citizen. What happens when a private citizen dies down here?"

"I really don't know," Stevenson said. "I'll have to ask one of the diplomats, the Consul General."

"No. You go to the Ambassador. You tell them Ettinger died in the service of his country. I want him put in a casket with a flag on it, and I want him taken to Porto Alegre, Brazil, escorted by the Military Attach? and a couple of Marines from the Embassy Guard. They can fly him home from there. You tell the Ambassador I said that's what going to happen, and all you want from him is to tell his people to do it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do it now, tonight," Graham said. "And send off a message to Oracle— right now—so somebody can let his mother know what happened."

"Yes, Sir."

"Where can I stay tonight?"

"There's room in my apartment, Sir," Stevenson said.

"Where are you staying, Milton?"

"I've got a room in the Casino Hotel I told you about."

"Could I get a room there?"

"Probably. But there's two beds in my room, if there's a problem."

"That might be best of all," Graham said. "Once I have a shower and a shave, and change into clean clothes, I think that you and I ought to have a long talk, Milton."

"I was hoping that's what you had in mind, Alejandro," Leibermann said.

Chapter Twenty-Two

[ONE]

Visiting Officers' Quarters

First Cavalry Regiment

Campo de Mayo

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

0125 19 April 1943

The lights in the room went on. Clete, startled, sat up in the bed.

Capitan Roberto Lauffer was standing just inside the door, by the light switch. He was fully dressed, and wore a blue-and-white-striped band of cloth around his right arm. The door was open, and through it Clete could see two soldiers armed with Thompson submachine guns. They both looked maybe seventeen years old—and terrified. They also had the blue-and-white—the Argentine colors—armbands.