“We can’t get that many from the air service,” Martín thought aloud.
“And that’s probably as many pilots as Aeropostal has.”
“They have seventy-one,” Martín said. “Seven of whom are quote inactive end quote air service officers.”
“If we have half a dozen air service officers to watch the others and keep their eyes open, generally—”
“Can we find that many willing to quote resign end quote?” Martín asked. It was obvious he didn’t expect an answer. “Let me think about that, Gonzalo.”
“Yes, sir. And while we’re just a little off the subject of airlines, Clete—”
“ ‘Clete’?” Martín parroted.
“I realize it’s not very professional of me, Colonel, but the cold fact is I like him. He’s a nice chap, funny. And you have to admire the way he jumps in and gets things done.”
“I agree with everything you say, Gonzalo. But Frade—despite his not-at-all-convincing denials—is a serving officer of the American Corps of Marines in the OSS. What he’s trying to do is not necessarily—indeed, rarely—in the best interests of Argentina.”
“Who’s going to win the war? Don’t answer that if it puts you on a spot.”
“It doesn’t matter who I think will win it. There are a lot of people here, including President Ramírez and Colonel Perón—perhaps most importantly, Colonel Perón—who think German efficiency and the invincible Wehrmacht will come out on top.”
“The Wehrmacht was run out of Africa, and just a couple of days ago, the Allies invaded Sicily. And it’s Berlin that is being bombed just about daily, not Washington.”
“It would not behoove either of us as Argentine officers to publicly disagree with our president’s—or, again, perhaps more importantly, Colonel Perón’s— assessment of the world situation. For one thing, we might well be wrong. The late Colonel Frade also thought the Germans were going to be invincible.”
“For which he got himself shot.”
Martín met Delgano’s eyes for a long moment.
“Before we got into this potentially dangerous conversation, Gonzalo, you started to say something? ‘A little off the subject of airlines’?”
“Oh, yeah. I told you that von Wachtstein brought two friends with him to dinner at Estancia Santa Catalina? The Lufthansa pilot and the new commercial attaché for the German embassy?”
“What about them?”
“Frade managed to make me understand that he didn’t think the commercial attaché was what he said he was, and that I should make you aware of this.”
“How so?”
“The implication was he wasn’t either a friend of von Wachtstein’s or a diplomat.”
“He has a diplomatic passport,” Martín replied. “And there has been no word from our embassy in Berlin suggesting he’s not bona fide.”
“Do you think it’s possible there are people in our embassy who might close their eyes—”
“What about the Lufthansa pilot?” Martín asked, shutting off the question.
“Well, he’s what he says he is. He and von Wachtstein flew together all over Europe and Russia. And we know he flies the Condor.”
“Why are you smiling, Gonzalo?”
“Señorita Isabela Carzino-Cormano was quite taken with him,” Delgano said. “And vice versa. As we speak, they’re having lunch in the Alvear. She’s going to show him around Buenos Aires.”
“That amuses you?”
“The possibility Estancia Santa Catalina might ultimately come into the hands of a couple of Luftwaffe pilots does.”
“You think that’s likely?”
“Ten minutes after she met him, she was miraculously transformed from grieving widow, sort of, into . . .” His eyebrows went up.
“Into what?”
“She did everything but back into him, wagging her tail,” Delgano said. “Doña Claudia saw it. She didn’t know what to think.”
Martín shook his head and smiled.
“Tell you what, Gonzalo. Nose around Aeropostal and see who you think would be useful to us and South American Airways—in that order. I’ll look into the new commercial attaché.”
[FIVE]
Office of the Military Attaché Embassy of the German Reich Avenida Córdoba Buenos Aires, Argentina 1405 13 July 1943
Sturmbannführer Erich Raschner, a thoughtful look on his face, handed Himmler’s handwritten order, the directive from the foreign ministry, and von Deitzberg’s personal orders from the reichssicherheitshauptamt, back to von Deitzberg but said nothing.
“And your opinion of all this, Erich?” von Deitzberg asked.
“There’s no telling—there’s not much to go on.”
“Off the top of your head? I won’t hold you responsible.”
“It’s odd that I’m not being ordered back to Berlin with you.”
Von Deitzberg nodded his agreement. “And what would be your guess about that?”
“The reichsprotektor wants me here,” Raschner said, matter-of-factly, with no suggestion that he was being flip.
“And why would he want you here?”
“To keep an eye on things,” Raschner replied. “We still haven’t found the traitor, and . . .” He let his voice trail off.
“And?” von Deitzberg said.
“Have you shown me everything?”
Von Deitzberg nodded.
“Have you learned anything more about the reichsprotektor in that connection? ”
“As far as I know, he knows nothing about it,” von Deitzberg said.
“You don’t think maybe the reason you’re being recalled so suddenly is because he’s found out?”
Von Deitzberg stared at him coldly.
“I thought of that,” he said, finally. “But if that were the case, don’t you think he’d have recalled both of us and not sent Cranz here?”
In August 1941, in the Reich Chancellery, Hitler had personally promoted Brigadeführer Reinhardt Heydrich, Himmler’s adjutant, to gruppenführer. And Hitler made von Deitzberg—newly appointed as first deputy adjutant—an obersturmbannführer.
After a good deal of champagne at the promotion party at the Hotel Adlon, von Deitzberg confided to Heydrich that, although the promotion was satisfying for a number of reasons, it was most satisfying because he needed the money.
Two days later, Heydrich handed him an envelope containing a great deal of cash.
“Consider this a confidential allowance,” Heydrich said. “Spend it as you need to. It doesn’t have to be accounted for. It comes from a confidential special fund.”
With his new position as first deputy adjutant to Reichsführer-SS Himmler came other perquisites, including that of a deputy. Heydrich sent him—“for your approval; if you don’t get along, I’ll send you somebody else”— Obersturmführer Erich Raschner, whom Heydrich identified as intelligent and trustworthy. And who “having never served in either the Waffen-SS or the Wehrmacht,” Heydrich went on, “had been taught to respect those of his superiors who had.”
Raschner turned out to be a short, squat, phlegmatic Hessian, three years older than von Deitzberg. He had come into the SS as a policeman, but a policeman with an unusual background. He had originally been commissioned into the Allgemeine-SS, which dealt mainly with internal security and racial matters, rather than the Waffen-SS. Later, he had been transferred to the Sicherheitspolizei.
Von Deitzburg had sensed that, for some reason, it was important to Heydrich that he and Raschner get along.
When, several weeks later, Heydrich asked von Deitzberg for his opinion of Raschner, von Deitzberg gave him the answer he thought he wanted: They got along personally, and Raschner would bring to the job knowledge of police and internal security matters that von Deitzberg admitted he did not have.
“Good,” Heydrich said with a smile. “He likes you, too. We’ll make it permanent. And tonight we’ll celebrate. Come by the house at, say, half past seven.”
At a little after half past seven, they opened a very nice bottle of Courvoisier cognac, toasted the new relationship, and then Heydrich matter-of-factly explained its nature.