For reasons he couldn't imagine, Canaris and von und zu
Waching wanted him to acquire extensive knowledge of
Argentina. And in doing this, he found he had an unexpected ally in Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop himself, who ordered that he be given access to the files in the Argentine
Section of the Foreign Ministry.
All of these loose strands came together in January 1943 at what had been announced as a small dinner party at von und zu Waching's home in Potsdam to celebrate Karl's promotion to Korvettenkapitan. He had expected neither the promotion nor the party.
The presence of some of the people at the von und zu
Waching villa doubly surprised him-first because they were there at all, and second because they had come almost surreptitiously, in ordinary cars, rather than in the enormous and glistening Mercedeses and Horch limousines almost invariably used by the upper echelons of the Nazi hierarchy.
Martin Bormann was there, and Heinrich Himmler and
Admiral Donitz and Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop, and of course, Admiral Canaris. Only Canaris stayed for dinner, the others having wanted only to see for themselves the young Naval Intelligence officer whom Canaris wished to involve in Operation Phoenix.
Two SS officers, Oberfuhrer Freiherr Manfred von
Deitzberg, Himmler's adjutant, and von Deitzberg's deputy,
Sturmbannfiihrer Erich Raschner, appeared ten minutes after Himmler left. Over dinner, Boltitz's role in Operation
Phoenix-essentially liaison between the Navy, von Rib bentrop's office, Himmler's office, and the Abwehr-was discussed at some length.
"I think I should tell you, von Deitzberg," Canaris said,
"with the exception, of course, that we will be using the
Oceano Pacifico and not a submarine, that the plan to repa triate the GrafSpee officers is Boltitz's. He has become our
Argentine expert."
"Then perhaps we should send him over there. Or is that what you're suggesting?"
"I discussed that with both Himmler and Donitz. We are agreed that he will be more valuable here. In case something goes wrong."
"Are you suggesting that something will go wrong?"
"Did you ever hear the phrase, my dear von Deitzberg,
'the best laid schemes of mice and men,' et cetera?"
"There is no room in Operation Phoenix for error," von
Deitzberg said.
"Even the more reason to expect the unexpected, my friend," Canaris said.
And now it was 0930 on the twenty-eighth of April, and the unexpected had happened. The GrafSpee officers would not be repatriated aboard the Oceano Pacifico, the special cargo had not been landed, the two officers in charge of the opera tion had been shot to death on the beach of Samborom-bon
Bay, and Admiral Canaris had summoned Karl Boltitz to his office.
"The Reichsfiihrer-SS," Canaris was saying, "has just about convinced himself that there is a traitor in Buenos
Aires. He may well be right, and he may have information in that regard that he has not seen fit to share with me. The pos sibility exists, however, that the Argentines-knowing abso lutely nothing about Operation Phoenix-are responsible for the deaths of Oberst Griiner and Standartenfuhrer Goltz.
Ordering the elimination of Oberst Frade may well turn out to have been very ill-advised in this connection alone, not to mention the damage it did to our relations with the Argentine officer corps."
Karl Boltitz nodded but said nothing. He had long before learned that Admiral Canaris had no time to listen to verbal agreements. If there was no objection, he presumed full agreement with him.
"I have no doubt that a means will be found to land the special cargo in Argentina, and that Operation Phoenix, sup ported as it is at all echelons, will ultimately go forward.
But I consider, and so does the Fiihrer, that the repatriation of the GrafSpee officers is also very important to ultimate victory."
He glanced at Boltitz as if looking for an indication that
Boltitz understood him.
"I have the feeling that the Fiihrer will wish to see the reports from Spain and Buenos Aires. Read them himself, rather than trust a synopsis. The Fiihrer does not like reports that offer ambiguities. So the report that you and whoever the Reichsfiihrer-SS sends with you to Spain should contain no ambiguities. If there is any disagreement as to what the report to Himmler should contain, defer to the SS."
Now a reply was expected, and Boltitz gave it. "Jawohl,
Herr Admiral."
"I would, of course, be interested in anything you develop there, or in Buenos Aires, that Himmler's man does not feel is worthy of the attention of either the Reichsfiihrer-SS or of the
Fiihrer."
The translation of that is that I am to report to him, unof ficially, anything in the report to Himmler I don't agree with, as well as anything I think-or suspect-he should know.
"I understand, Herr Admiral."
"If you can find the time, Boltitz, perhaps you could meet the Condor from Buenos Aires when it lands in Lisbon."
"Jawohl, Herr Admiral."
Admiral Canaris smiled at Boltitz, then signaled with his hand that their little chat was over.
[TWO]
Avenida Pueyrredon 1706
Piso 10
Buenos Aires
0405 29 April 1943
Alicia Carzino-Cormano was twenty years old, tall and slim; and when she came out of the bathroom, her intensely black hair hung down over her shoulders and almost below her bare breasts. The bedroom was flooded with moonlight, and she could see quite clearly.
What she saw made her smile tenderly. Twenty-four-year old Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein was lying naked in his bed, on his back, arms and legs spread, breathing softly, sound asleep.
She walked to the bed and looked down at him.
He was really blond, she thought, blond all over, not just the hair on his head, but the hair on his chest, between his legs, and under his arms.
There were blondes in Argentina, of course. Dorotea Mal 1m, Alicia's friend since childhood-and soon to marry Clems
Frade-was a natural blonde, an English blonde, but she had seen Dorotea changing clothes, and she wasn't blond all over the way Peter was.
She sat down on the bed very carefully, so as not to wake him, and looked at him again. After a moment, she swung her legs into the bed.
She ran her fingers very softly over the hair on his chest, stopping when she encountered a line of scar tissue.
Peter had told her that he had gotten that falling off his bicycle as a child, but she didn't believe him. She was sure he'd gotten that scar in the war, just as he'd gotten the longer scars on his lower abdomen and on his right leg in the war.
He never talked to her about the war.
She wondered if Cletus Frade talked to Dorotea about what he'd done in the war. Or if Peter talked to Cletus about what they'd done in the war. Did they talk about war? Or about women?
When Alicia leaned forward to run her fingers farther down Peter's chest, her hair fell forward, blocking her view, and she pushed it back and over her shoulders.
Her fingers reached the blond hair at his groin. His thing looked like a long, wrinkled thumb, she thought. And ten minutes ago it had looked like… like a banana, a large banana!
She touched it, and that woke him up.
She quickly removed her hand.
"Sorry, baby," Peter said.
"For what?"
"I fell asleep."
"You don't have to be sorry for falling asleep," Alicia said.
He raised his hand to her breast, cupped it momentarily, and then put his index finger on her nipple, causing it to stiffen and rise.
"That's chocolate, right?" he said. "The other one's vanilla."
A moment later, he chuckled. "I love it when you blush," he said.
"I'm not blushing."
He snorted.
"Precious," she said. "I have to go."
"Damn!" he said, and sat up and reached for the wrist watch on the bedside table.
It was American, a Hamilton chronograph, an aviator's wristwatch. Cletus Frade had one exactly like it, and