The result of this was that there were two U.S. intelligence agencies operating throughout Central and South America who regarded themselves as being in competition with each other and therefore had as little to do with each other as possible. And in Argentina—where Major Cletus Frade, chief of OSS Western Hemisphere Team 17, code name Team Turtle, did not trust the OSS Station Chief, Argentina, Lieutenant Commander Frederico Delojo, USN, as far as he could throw him—that meant there were three American intelligence agencies whose members did not talk to each other.
The exception to this was the relationship between Major Frade and Mr. Leibermann. There was a strong feeling of mutual admiration. Leibermann was a first-generation American who had learned his German and Yiddish from his parents and his Spanish from the Spanish-Harlem section of Manhattan.
He had developed contacts with the German and German-Jewish communities in Buenos Aires and elsewhere. Frade—with the caveat that Leibermann not pass it on to his FBI superiors—had told Leibermann about the operation the SS had ransoming concentration camp inmates. Leibermann had agreed to keep the secret, because he personally believed the OSS was better equipped to deal with the problem than was the FBI. The FBI’s expertise lay in solving crimes and ransoming operations of an entirely different nature.
Leibermann was the only person not in Team Turtle who knew that “Galahad, ” Frade’s man in the German embassy, was Major Hans-Peter Baron von Wachtstein. He had kept this secret, too, although, as the SAC in Buenos Aires, he had been tasked “as the highest priority” to find out who Galahad was.
Leibermann and Frade had agreed early on that the less they were seen together the better it would be for both. They maintained contact through Ashton and Pelosi, and the latter took care to see that their contacts took place not only inside the embassy but out of sight of Commander Delojo as well. It was not in either Frade’s or Leibermann’s interests that Delojo know of their association.
The last time Leibermann had been at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo was for the wedding of Clete and Dorotea. Frade was genuinely surprised to see Leibermann now, and concerned. Agents of the BIS knew who Leibermann was and kept him under pretty tight surveillance.
The mystery grew even more when instead of pulling into the parking area in front of the big house, Ashton stopped just long enough for Leibermann to get quickly out of the car, then drove away.
Leibermann trotted up the stairs and across the verandah—passing Clete and Dorotea—and went into the house.
Enrico picked up his shotgun and looked down the drive as if he expected someone to be chasing the Chevrolet.
“I think he’s headed for the hangar, Enrico,” Clete said. “Go down there and see if you can be useful.” Then, when he saw the look of reluctance on the old soldier’s face, he added: “Go! We’ll be all right. There’s a Thompson in the vestibule.”
When Clete and Dorotea went into the house, they found Leibermann in the vestibule.
“Where’s the resident BIS agent?” Leibermann asked.
“Delgano’s waiting for me at Campo de Mayo,” Clete said. “Where today, after dutifully cramming for it all last night, I take my pilot’s exam.”
“What he meant to say, Milton,” Doña Dorotea said, “was: ‘Good morning, Milton. How are you? Nice to see you. You’re looking well. Can we offer you a cup of coffee? Or some breakfast?’ ”
"What I meant to say is: ‘What’s the hell’s going on, Milt?’ ”
“At half past eight this morning, the commercial attaché of the German embassy appeared at my apartment door with his wife and surrendered,” Liebermann said. “They’re in the car with Ashton.”
"What do you mean, surrendered?” Clete asked.
“They’ve been recalled to Germany, and he doesn’t want to go. So he wants me to get them to Brazil, where he can get them interned.”
“He tell you why?” Clete asked, but before Leibermann could reply, he asked another question: “What’s their relationship to you?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to recruit them, but until this morning, when they showed up at my place, I had no idea that I’d even caught their attention.”
“Recruit them for what?”
Leibermann’s face showed he thought that was a really stupid question.
“Can you do that? Get them to Brazil?” Clete asked.
“Not without permission,”’ Leibermann said. “Which means I would have to ask the ambassador, who would ask your friend Commander Delojo . . .”
“Another stupid question: Why can’t they get themselves interned here?”
“Because neutral Argentina is not granting political asylum to Germans. Or, for that matter, to Americans. Brazil is at war . . .”
“Okay. Back to my first question: Why doesn’t he want to go back to Germany? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing that I believe,” Leibermann said. “But what I think is very likely is that he’s afraid he’s going to be identified as Galahad.”
“But he’s not.”
“I know that, and you know that, and probably so does Generalmajor von Deitzberg, who was sent here to find the traitor and he’s not going to fail. Or at least that’s what Frogger is worried about.”
“That’s his name?”
Leibermann nodded. “Wilhelm Frogger.”
“So what’s wrong with letting Delojo have him?”
“Delojo’s going to ask why he came to me, and I have solemnly promised him I would let him know in advance before I tried to recruit anybody, so there would be ‘no duplication of effort.’ ”
“And Delojo,” Dorotea said, “would certainly ask him who he thought the traitor really was, and this man would probably give him a list of names, including the right one.”
Leibermann looked at her and nodded.
“I wonder what this guy knows about Operation Phoenix and the ransoming operation,” Clete wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. He probably knows something he doesn’t know he knows. Presuming he doesn’t know all about both operations,” Leibermann said.
There was the sound of a car pulling up outside.
“Now what the hell?” Clete said.
It was Enrico and Max Ashton.
“I told you to make yourself useful at the hangar,” Clete said less than kindly.
“Rodolfo is at the hangar, Don Cletus,” Enrico said.
Cletus was about to bark at Enrico, then just in time remembered, Never give a subordinate an ass-chewing in the presence of others, and turned back to Leibermann.
“Well, what we’re really saying is that we should hide these people someplace until we make up our minds what to do with them,” he said.
“And pick their brains about what they might not know they know,” Leibermann quickly agreed.
“Which is why you brought them here, right?” Clete said. “Why the hell didn’t you come right out and say so?”
“I didn’t want to suggest something that could endanger your operation. But once it was your idea . . .”
“Well, we can hide them here, I guess.”
“This is the first place Colonel Martín would look for them,” Dorotea said. “If he doesn’t think you kidnapped them, the Germans will make that suggestion.”
Leibermann didn’t say anything, but it was clear on his face that he agreed with Dorotea.
“Don Cletus?” Enrico said.
“What?” Clete asked, somewhat impatiently.
“Is it important that we hide these people where El Coronel Martín and his clowns cannot find them? Or the Germans?”
“Yes, it is.”
“We could hide these people in Casa Chica, Don Cletus.”