"Wait here," he ordered his driver. "I will be back directly."
The doorman was displeased. There was room for only three or four cars under the hotel arcade. Because Gradny-Sawz's Mercedes blocked one of the spaces, the traffic flow would be impeded. But there was nothing he could do. The Mercedes carried the CD insignia and Corps Diplomatique license plates. Diplomatic status gave one the privilege of parking wherever one elected to park.
Gradny-Sawz marched into the lobby and stopped by the desk to inquire as to Standartenf?hrer Goltz's room number. When he had it, he ordered, in not very good Spanish, "Be so good as to inform the Standartenf?hrer that I am on my way up. I am First Secretary Gradny-Sawz of the German Embassy."
"I know who you are, Se¤or Gradny-Sawz," the desk clerk said in a tone that bordered on the insulting.
Gradny-Sawz climbed the second flight of stairs and entered the elevator.
When Gradny-Sawz knocked, Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein opened the door to Goltz's suite.
Gradny-Sawz was relieved to see that von Wachtstein was in full dress uni-form, complete to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross hanging around his neck. He was sometimes negligent about this. Gradny-Sawz was willing to grant him the benefit of every doubt-he was, after all, a fellow nobleman-but sometimes he seemed unable to grasp that he was now assigned to diplomatic duties, with concomitant responsibilities vis-a-vis dress and other matters of protocol.
"I hope you have been taking very good care of Standartenf?hrer Goltz, Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz said.
"I have been doing my best," Peter said. "I thought we would see you at the Residence."
Goltz came out of the sitting room, curious to see who was at the door. An-ton Gradny-Sawz raised his right arm in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!" Gradny-Sawz barked.
"Anton, my old friend!" Standartenf?hrer Goltz cried happily, went to him, and embraced him. "You're just in time. Major von Wachtstein and I just opened a bottle."
"Josef," Gradny-Sawz said, taking Goltz's arm as they walked into the sit-ting room, "if you had not become so important, the Ambassador would have told me it was you arriving, and I would have been at the airport with a bottle of champagne, to take you to my house."
"I know you would have," Goltz said. "But security..."
"Well, at least we'll move you out of here tonight," Gradny-Sawz said. "I'll have von Wachtstein take care of it."
"Will it wait until tomorrow? I'm just a little worn out."
"Moving may wait, but what we might find when we get there tonight, Josef, might not be there tomorrow."
Goltz took his meaning.
"I thought you might be getting too old for that sort of thing, Anton."
"God, I hope not!"
"In that case, I think I just may have to impose on the already abused Freiherr von Wachtstein."
"Sir?" Peter asked, coming into the room and hearing his name.
"Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz ordered, "would you see that the Standartenf?hrer's luggage is packed and moved to my home?"
"Yes. Sir."
"The Standartenf?hrer and I are old and dear friends," Gradny-Sawz said. "We can't have him staying in a hotel."
"Yes, Sir."
"And be so good as to call my houseman and tell him we'll be there directly after paying our respects at the Edificio Libertador, and to make sure everything is in order when we arrive."
"Yes, Sir," Peter said. "I was just about to introduce the Standartenf?hrer to the very fine native champagne."
"Well, by all means, continue," Gradny-Sawz said. "It's quite good. It's not a good German Sekt, of course, but every bit as good as any French I've ever had."
Peter poured the champagne.