"Yeah, come to think of it, Karl, I do," Goerner interrupted.
"Okay, shoot." Karl Gossinger, the Tages Zeitung's Washington-based foreign correspondent, usually had a bylined story in the paper once a week. These were generally paraphrased- stolen-from the American Conservative magazine. There was a dual purpose. First, if someone checked on Gossinger, there was his picture, beside his latest story from Washington. And if they looked closer, the mast-head said the Tages Zeitung was founded by Hermann von und zu Gossinger in 1817. Using material from the American Conservative, moreover, gave Charley Castillo a chance to put before German readers what some Americans-including Charley-thought about the Germans turning their backs on America when the United States asked for their help in the Iraq war.
Editing only for grammar, Otto printed whatever Charley sent him without comment. Charley didn't know, or ask, whether this was because Otto agreed the Germans had behaved badly, or because the bottom line was that Charley owned the newspapers. "The Graf Spee," Goerner said.
Charley knew the story of the Graf Spee: The German pocket battleship, named after a World War I German hero, was scuttled just outside the harbor of Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1939, to keep her from being sunk by three British cruisers waiting for her to come out. Her crew went to Buenos Aires. Her captain, Hans von Langsdorff, put on his dress uniform, laid her battle ensign on the floor of his hotel room, positioned himself so that his body would fall on it, and shot himself in the temple. He was buried in Buenos Aires.
The crew was interned in Argentina. When the war was over, many of her crew declined repatriation. And many of those who did return to the fatherland took one look at the destroyed remnants of the Thousand Year Reich and went back to Argentina as quickly as they could.
"What about the Graf Spee?" Charley asked.
"A fellow named Bardo-a young and very rich financier from Hamburg-has raised the money to salvage her and turn her into a museum in Montevideo. I could use a human-interest piece on the survivors, if any-they'd all be in their eighties. And most of them would be in Argentina."
Finding the survivors-if any-shouldn't be hard. And neither would taking some pictures and writing a feature story. And it would give journalist Gossinger a credible excuse to be in Argentina.
"I'll have a shot at it," Charley said. "Anything else?"
Goerner hesitated before replying.
"Karl, I'm a little reluctant to get into this…"
"Into what?"
"I went over to Marburg an der Lahn a couple of weeks ago. They were doing a fund-raiser for the library at the university. All Alte Marburgers were invited. I overheard parts of a conversation between some of the big shots. What caught my attention was a line, something about 'Der Fuhrer was the first to come up with that idea. Ha, ha!'"
"You've lost me."
"You remember that during World War Two, Hitler-the top Nazi-sent a lot of money to Argentina to buy themselves a sanctuary when they lost the war?"
"Uh-huh."
"These guys were talking about moving money to Argentina."
"To buy sanctuary? Sanctuary from what? You're talking about drug money?"
"What I'm thinking about is Iraqi oil-for-food money bribes that may have wound up in the pockets of these guys."
"Jesus!"
"Yeah, Jesus. Anyway, I've got people looking into it here, and the idea I had-probably not a good one-was that maybe you would hear something in Argentina."
"I'll keep my ears open," Charley said.
"Just that, Karl," Goerner said seriously. "If you hear something, anything, pass it to me. But stop there. You understand me?"
That's as close as he's ever come to saying, "You and I know you're not really a journalist."
"I take your point."
"I also have people looking into the mysterious deaths of people who knew about these oil-for-food bribes."
"I take your point, Otto."
"Aside from that, have a good steak and a bottle of wine for me, and don't try to spread your pollen on more than ten or twelve of those lovely Argentine senoritas."
"Didn't I tell you? I have taken a vow of chastity. Celibacy is supposed to increase your mental powers."
"Ach, Gott, Karlchen," Goerner laughed. "Keep in touch."
"Kiss my godchildren, and say hello to Ol' Whatsername."
"My regards to Fernando and your grandmother. Auf wiedersehen!"
The line went dead.
Castillo hung up, shifted his weight in the chair so the back came up, and then got out of it. He finished the bottle of Dos Equis as he looked around the apartment to see if he had forgotten anything, and then put on the jacket to his seersucker suit.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
I am probably going to freeze my ass off in Buenos Aires until I can get to the Hyatt, but on the other hand, I won't have to go through Reagan and Miami International wearing a woolen sports coat. [THREE] Miami International Airport Miami, Florida 1850 21 July 2005 As Castillo stood before the luggage carousel waiting for his suitcase, he had very unkind thoughts about Delta Airlines, on whose flight 431 he had just arrived.
When he boarded the airplane at Ronald Reagan Washington National, he had had the suitcase in hand. All of the overhead luggage bins in the first-class section were full. The first-class section itself had not been anywhere near full-probably because Delta's DCA-MIA first-class fare bordered on the rapacious-which suggested, ergo sum, that the luggage in the first-class bins had been placed there by people traveling economy class as they passed through the first-class section en route to the rear of the aircraft.
"I'm afraid you'll have to check that," the stewardess told him.
"Why do I suspect that all the luggage in the bins does not belong to first-class passengers?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to check that," the stewardess repeated.
"I don't suppose that since I thought I would have space in the first-class bins, and find that I don't, you could put this in with the coats and jackets? I really hate to check it."
"I'm afraid you'll have to check it," the stewardess said firmly.
It would also seem to logically follow, Castillo thought, watching the luggage carousel rotate at MIA, that since my suitcase was loaded, if not last, then close to last, it would be unloaded first. That obviously is not the case.
The suitcase finally showed up. Castillo pulled out the handle and dragged it from luggage recovery. Surprising him not at all, the map in the entrance foyer showed him that Aerolineas Argentinas was at the other end of the airport, almost in Key West. It was a long walk through the crowded airport, which reminded him of his cousin Fernando Lopez's appraisal of Miami Internationaclass="underline" "It is the United States' token third world airport."
That reminded him, Jesus Christ, I almost forgot! that he would have to call Fernando and/or Abuela, their grandmother, and tell them he would not be able to come home for the weekend, even if Fernando flew up to pick him up.
He finally reached the Aerolineas Argentinas counter. There was a long line of people in the first-class line, all of whom seemed to have extra, overweight, or oversize luggage. There were far more such people than there were seats in the first-class compartment of either a 747 or a 767, which suggested that they were economy-class passengers who had taken advantage of there being no one in the first-class line.
Twenty minutes later, he reached the head of the line and was given permission to approach the counter by the clerk, who beckoned to him with her index finger like the Queen of Spain summoning a footman.
He laid a passport issued by the German Federal Republic and an American Express corporate credit card issued to the Tages Zeitung on the counter.
"My name is Gossinger," he said. "I have an electronic ticket, I believe." Getting through airport security was-if possible-more harassing than usual. Castillo was randomly selected for close examination. Not only did the security people make him take his shoes off, but their pawing through his luggage effectively nullified his careful packing. And he was concerned about the detailed examination of his briefcase cum laptop carrier that was to come.