"Another option," Rawson said, "is to do nothing about the safe. . . ."
"Hope no one gets into it before we act?" Ramirez asked. He thought that over a moment, then went on. "Assemble another complete Operations Order, you mean. That's possible, I suppose."
"What other choice do we have, mi General?"
"Sir, we need the money," Querro said. "What about that?"
"Damn!" Ramirez said.
"Sir," Lauffer said uneasily, "el Coronel Mart?n asked me to tell you that there has been a radio from the son"
"From el Coronel Frade's son?" Rawson interrupted.
"Yes, Sir. Asking to delay the funeral services until he can get here. He leaves Miami tomorrow."
"Wonderful!" Ramirez said. "And the first thing he's going to do is head right for that safe!"
"Why do you say that?" Rawson asked. "I can't believe that Jorge discussedOutline Blue with him."
"I'm not so sure about that," Ramirez replied. "But that's not what I meant. What I meant was that, under the law, the moment Jorge died, everything he owned became the son's patrimony."
"I'm not sure that's so," Rawson said. "He's an American. For one thing, we can deny him a visa."
"He doesn't need a visa, he's an Argentine."
"He's not an Argentine. My God, he served in the American Navy!"
"Corps of Marines," Ramirez corrected him. "But he was born here and is legally an Argentine. He has an Argentine passport. Jorge got him one just before he became involved with blowing up the Reine de la Met:"
"We could detain him," Rawson said.
"On what pretext? The Americans would howl in outrage, and Castillo would wonder why we did that. About our only choice is to appeal to him maybe Claudia Carzino-Cormano could appeal to himto let us carry out the work his father began."
"And if he says no?"
Ramirez shrugged.
"I'm open to a better suggestion," he said.
"He's close to Se?ora Carzino-Cormano," Rawson said. "And he knows her relationship to his father."
"What I suggest is that we treat him as an honored guest who has suffered a terrible loss, and as soon as possible have Claudia talk to him. Does that make sense to you?"
S?, Se?or, of course," Rawson said.
"I'll go see Claudia tonight," Ramirez said. "I know she's in Buenos Aires."
"If nothing else, perhaps Claudia can keep him away from the safe until after we act," Rawson said, warming to the idea. "We don't needOutline Blue. We just, have to keep Castillo from laying his hands on it."
Ramirez grunted thoughtfully.
"But as Pedro pointed out, we cannot putOutline Blue into operation without the money. We're going to have to get into that safe," he said. "Blowing it open is a last resort. Which means we have to deal with the son. Agreed?"
S?, mi General." Rawson said.
"The possibility exists, Se?or, that Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez has the combination," Querro said. "If he does, it would solve a lot of problems."
"As I understand it, he is in the hospital being guarded by the Polic?a Federal. Any conversation any of us might have with him would be recorded," Raw-son said.
"It's agreed, then," Ramirez said, "that we will deal with the son, through Claudia. Is that correct?"
Rawson nodded.
"And now I suggest, gentlemen," Ramirez said, closing the discussion, "that we have our dinner."
S?, mi General," Lauffer said, then walked to the door and pushed the button that would summon the waiters.
Chapter Four
[ONE]
Avenida Pueyrred?n 1706, Piso 10
Capital Federal, Buenos Aires, Argentina
0755 9 April 1943
While there were many things in Argentina Hans-Peter Freiherr (Baron) von Wachtstein had come to admire, from the food toespeciallythe women, the Argentine concept of time was not among them. It was not a question of whether an Argentine would ever be on time, but instead, of how late an Argentine was going to be, a period that ranged from a minimum of fifteen minutes to an hour.
Argentines ascribed this character flaw to their Spanish heritage, but that was so much nonsense. Peter had been to Spain. He knew Spaniards regarded their timepieces as instruments of civilization rather than as decorations for the wall and/or jewelry for the wrist.
When this casual disregard for an agreed-upon schedule was tied in with another national character flaw, forgetfulnesssuch as forgetting the door key to the place where they were supposed to be long minutes beforePeter, normally a placid, sometimes quite charming young man, tended to lose his temper.
In the situation at hand, his maida Paraguayan Amazon who outweighed him by at least thirty poundshad agreed to daily present herself at his apartment at 0700, to prepare coffee according to the ratio of beans to water that he had laid out, to awaken him at 0715, and to have coffee, two soft-boiled eggs, rolls and/or bread, marmalade, and butter waiting for him when he came into the dining room at 0730.
He did not think it was too much to ask, and consequently was more than a little annoyed when his slumber was disturbed by the unpleasant grinding of the service-elevator door opening on his floor, followed almost immediately by the unpleasant clanging of the service-entrance doorbell. When he consulted his wristwatch, it indicated 07:54:45.
The facts spoke for themselves. She was not only fifty-four minutes late, again, but she had forgotten her key, again.
Peter, who was a blond, blue-eyed, compactly built twenty-four-year-old, jumped out of bed. Pausing only long enough to snatch a towel from where he had dropped it on the bedroom floor and wrap it around his waisthe slept nakedhe walked quickly out of his bedroom.
The apartment was furnished with heavy, Germanic-looking furniture, rented, like the apartment itself, from an Ethnic German-Argentine family who were happy to make these available at a very reasonable price to a man like von Wachtstein. They considered this act a small contribution to the war effort and the Thousand Year Reich.
He walked quickly through the living room to the kitchen and finally reached the service-entrance door, rehearsing all the harsh and unkind things he was going to say to Se?ora Dora.
After some trouble with the lockduring which the bell clanged twice, impatiently, in his earhe got the door open, swung it wide, and was struck dumb.
His caller was not his maid, but a black-haired twenty-year old Argentine female of extraordinary beauty named Alicia Carzino-Cormano. He had known Alicia socially since the previous December and in the biblical sense for approximately fifteen days.
"Liebchen!" he finally blurted.
"May I come in?"
He stepped back from the door and she walked past him. He closed the door, reached out his hand, and touched her shoulder, whereupon she turned to him, came into his arms, rested her face against his chest, and clung to him desperately.
"Liebchen, what's wrong?"
"I'm frightened," she said.
"About what?"
"Everything," she said.
Well, that makes two of us.
She pushed away from him and smiled up at him.
"Sorry," she said.
"Don't be silly," he said. "Sorry for what?"