Frade was a little startled; he hadn’t heard him walk up.
“That is good to hear, Herr Oberst,” Max said. “The admiral did not deserve what the SS did to him.”
“I missed the first part of this,” Mattingly said, and looked at the elderly Germans. “How is it that you’re in the kitchen making coffee and you’re cutting the grass in the garden?”
Dunwiddie answered: “They came to me, Colonel, and said they used to work here.” He pointed to each and added, “Max and Egon offered to make themselves useful if we fed them.”
Karl put in: “They did more than simply work for Admiral Canaris. They served under him.”
As he finished giving the details of that, von Wachtstein and Peralta walked into the kitchen.
“I knew I smelled coffee,” Peralta said.
“This is Captain Peralta,” Boltitz said. “He is an Argentine pilot.”
Egon and Max acknowledged Peralta with a nod.
“And this is the Graf von Wachtstein,” Boltitz said.
Max and Egon snapped to attention.
“Herr Graf,” they said in unison.
“You have heard what happened to Generalleutnant von Wachtstein, presumably,” Mattingly said.
They nodded.
“I heard you say before that both of you know ‘how to find things out,’” Mattingly said.
Neither Max nor Egon said anything, but both nodded and looked at him curiously.
“Would you be willing to find some things out for us?” Mattingly went on.
Both looked uncomfortable.
“Would you be willing to help us,” Mattingly pursued, “by suggesting to whom Boltitz should talk to find out about the submarines that are supposed to be taking high-ranking Nazis to South America?”
“You remember General Gehlen, of course, Max? Egon?” Boltitz said.
“The last time we saw your father, Herr Graf,” Egon said softly, “was in this house. There was a small dinner. Your father, Fregattenkapitän von und zu Wachting, and Oberst Gehlen of Abwehr Ost. The gentlemen were joined after dinner by SS-Brigadeführer Ritter von Deitzberg, Himmler’s adjutant. With the exception of von Deitzberg, all distinguished German officers. Fregattenkapitän von und zu Wachting was tortured and then hung by the SS and then left to rot beside the admiral. I don’t know where Oberst Gehlen met his fate. I can only hope it was quicker. . . .”
“General Gehlen,” von Wachtstein said, “I am happy to tell you, is alive and well. We had dinner with him last night. SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg was sent to hell by one of General Gehlen’s officers, Oberstleutnant Niedermeyer . . .”
“The admiral liked Oberstleutnant Niedermeyer,” Max said.
“. . . who blew von Deitzberg’s brains all over the men’s room of the Hotel Edelweiss in Barlioche, Argentina. The police found his body in the urinal.”
Boltitz began: “Graf von Wachtstein and I, and General Gehlen, are now working with Colonel Mattingly—”
“Herr Kapitän,” Egon interrupted him. “If you and I could somehow get to Bremen and talk to some of our old U-boot comrades, I think we could learn from them anything they know.”
“Bingo!” Clete said.
“Thank you, Egon,” Boltitz said.
Clete added, “Now, can I have some of that coffee before it gets cold?”
“I’d forgotten why I came down here,” Mattingly said, “but now remember. Stein needs electrical power to get the Collins up and running. What’s the status of the generator, Tiny?”
“Generators, plural, two of them, are on the way. I guess my guys waited to pick up what was going to fall off the Constellation.”
“What’s going to fall off the Constellation?” Frade and Peralta asked together.
“We’re not talking about that,” Mattingly said.
Tiny Dunwiddie said, “What I’m wondering is what we do with the boys.”
“What?” Mattingly asked.
Dunwiddie related the story, then said, “When I had a chance to tell you about Max and Egon, Colonel, I was going to ask if it would be all right if the boys stayed with them on the third floor until we figure out what to do with them.”
“Where are your people going to stay?” Mattingly asked.
“I requisitioned the house next door,” Tiny said. “That’s why we need two generators, so they can have juice, too.”
“Okay,” Mattingly said after a moment. “That’ll work.” He turned to Max. “Do you think you could find us a housekeeper? Maybe two? Cook, wash, clean, make beds, et cetera? Both ugly and over fifty?”
Max nodded. “There are tens of thousands of women in Berlin—some young and quite beautiful—who will jump at the chance to work—or do anything else—for food and to be safe from the Russians.”
“Get us a couple of the old and ugly ones,” Mattingly ordered. “See if you can do that when you go pick up the kids. Tiny, send Max in one of the M-8s.” He paused. “I don’t know how we’ll handle two kids around here. How old did you say they were?”
“One is fifteen, the other fourteen,” Max said. “Just before we deserted, the fourteen-year-old, Heinrich, took out a Russian T-34 with a Panzerfaust—”
“With a what?” Frade asked.
“Handheld rocket,” Tiny furnished.
“This fourteen-year-old kid killed a Russian tank?” Frade asked incredulously.
Egon nodded. “And then Heinrich cried, Herr Oberst, and wet his pants, and that’s when Max and I decided it was time to desert and try to keep Heinrich and Gerhard alive.”
“Jesus Christ!” Frade said, and then asked, “I don’t suppose there’s anything to drink around here, is there?”
“Patience is a virtue, Colonel Frade,” Mattingly said. “Try to remember that all things come to he who waits.”
[THREE]
The first M-8 armored car that Frade had ever seen was when they had landed at Tempelhof. Curious, and wanting a better look at one, he and von Wachtstein followed Tiny Dunwiddie out to the street. Tiny was taking Max out to get him a ride to fetch Heinrich, the fourteen-year-old who had killed a T-34, his fifteen-year-old pal Gerhard, and two old and ugly women.
The M-8 had six wheels, like the standard six-by-six Army truck, and it looked like someone had set the turret of a tank down on top of the truck.
The Second Armored Division troopers were happy to show off their vehicle to the three men in the officer equivalent civilian employee uniforms.
“How about taking me along when you go get these people?” von Wachtstein said.
“Hell, we’ll both go,” Frade said.
“There won’t be room,” von Wachtstein said. “Why don’t you wait until we come back?”
Frade was about to argue but then saw a three-quarter-ton truck coming down Roonstrasse. It had two of Tiny’s men in it. Lieutenant Colonel Archer W. Dooley Jr., USAAF, sat beside the driver.
Frade looked at von Wachtstein and said, “Remember, Hansel, Mattingly said ‘old and ugly.’ You’re now a married man.”
Von Wachtstein gave him the finger. The M-8 started to move.
When the three-quarter pulled to the curb, Frade saw what had fallen off the Constellation. In addition to the generators, the truck carried one of the insulated containers holding fifty kilograms of chilled Argentine steak, another insulated container labeled VEGETABLES AND ORANGES, and two wooden cases on which was painted BODEGA DON GUILLERMO MENDOZA CABERNET SAUVIGNON 1944.
“You could have waited for me, hotshot,” Dooley said as he climbed out of the truck. “Until I saw Tiny’s guys, I was standing on the tarmac with my thumb up my ass.”