And it was immediately apparent to Mannhoffer that these pictures were worth every centavo he was paying for them. Within thirty seconds, he had decided that it was going to be necessary to start eliminating people now, tomorrow, rather than when it would be more convenient or safer.
In addition to the traitorous former Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, whom Mannhoffer expected to see, there was von Wachtstein’s traitorous friend, former Kapitän zur See Karl Boltitz, walking down the stairway with two other Germans whom Mannhoffer absolutely didn’t expect to see: former Oberstleutnant Dieter von und zu Aschenburg and former Major Wilhelm Grüner of the Luftwaffe.
Both had obviously betrayed their solemn oath of loyalty to the Führer and were now happily in the employ of the gottverdammt Americans.
Just, Mannhoffer thought disgustedly, as Fregattenkapitän Wilhelm von Dattenberg had proven to be a traitor. Instead of scuttling U-405 as ordered, von Dattenberg had surrendered the U-boat to the Armada Argentina. Which meant—although the Armada Argentina was too stupid to know it—that the landfall coordinates for U-234 were not destroyed but in their hands.
And then the immediate proof photos showed an American officer, armed, climbing down the stairwell with two suitcases, whereupon he and the suitcases fell under the protection of General Martín and Frade’s Private Army.
And then there were photos that showed everybody had gone to Frade’s house across from the racetrack. Whatever they had gone there for, he knew that it was not to watch the races.
Mannhoffer looked up from the photographs.
“Fassbinder,” he ordered, “I want you to contact our man at Jorge Frade, and tell him that I want to know what’s going on at Frade’s house as soon as it happens.”
“I believe he’s already got the mansion under surveillance, Herr Mannhoffer. There are the photos of it—”
“We know they are there, but not what they are doing there! So, get in a taxi and go to Avenida Libertador, find whoever it is we have doing the surveilling, find out what he’s learned, and report back to me.”
“Jawohl, Herr Mannhoffer.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get moving!”
As soon as the door had closed behind Fassbinder, Mannhoffer motioned for Richter to join him.
“Erich, you have heard, I’m sure, that the more people who know a secret, the more quickly it stops being a secret.”
“Yes, sir.”
“For that reason, until now, I have not told you that both SS-Brigadeführer Gerhard Körtig and SS-Oberführer Horst Lang are here in Argentina.”
Richter’s surprise was evident on his face.
“They came aboard U-234,” Mannhoffer said.
“U-234 made it here?”
Mannhoffer nodded.
“There’s a good deal I have to tell you,” Mannhoffer said. “But first go to the telephone kiosk in the Café Colón. Call this number . . .”
He wrote a number on a piece of paper.
“Memorize that, and then burn it,” he ordered.
“Jawohl, Herr Mannhoffer.”
?
??Either Lang or Körtig will answer. They are . . . not in Buenos Aires. Whoever answers, ask for Señor Kramer. Tell Señor Kramer that you’re Señor Schmidt and that you’re sorry but you can’t have dinner with him today. Perhaps next week. Got it?”
Richter looked at the number and nodded.
“That will get them both here as soon as possible, Erich. Which should take three hours, perhaps a little less.”
“Jawohl, Herr Mannhoffer.”
[FOUR]