Capitan de Banderano finished shaving, put on his tunic, and went to the bridge. He picked his binoculars from its rack and walked out on the flying bridge, where he found the binoculars unnecessary. He could quite clearly read the gold-lettered name of the vessel on its bow with his naked eye-Coronel Gasparo.
His first thought was that a boat of that type had no business so far out in the bay. She was a river craft, lean, narrow, and long. In a moment he recog-nized her for what she was: one of the river craft that plied the maze of waters of El Tigre, north of Buenos Aires.
What in the name of all the saints is she doing out here in the first place, so far from the sheltered waters of El Tigre? And in the second place, why is she pulling alongside me ?
She had neither bridge nor wheelhouse. She was controlled internally by her coxswain-or more likely by some sheltered water seaman who proudly called himself "Capitan"-from inside her superstructure.
She took water over her bow as she turned to draw alongside-not enough to be dangerous, he judged. And when the light was right, he could see into the interior of her single cabin.
A young blond-haired man was at her wheel. Beside him, hanging on for dear life, was a man very likely wearing the uniform of the SS.
"Capitan, our accommodation ladder is half-raised," his Second Officer in-formed him.
"Have it lowered. Have someone on the platform throw her a line. Have an officer arm himself and be prepared on my orders to deny the use of the ladder to anyone."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
It took five minutes for the accommodation ladder to be lowered to the sur-face of the water, then for an officer-de Banderano was surprised to see it was the Second Engineer-to find a submachine gun and come to the rail, and fi-nally for two seaman to find a coil of line and descend to the ladder's platform with it.
During this period, the Coronel Gasparo circled, dipping her bow in the swells and leaning almost alarmingly as she waited for the completion of the preparations to receive her.
The first time she approached the ladder, only a last-second desperate ma-neuver kept her from colliding with the Oceano Pacifico. This, of course, forced her to make yet another dipping and swaying turn.
Two of her crew-a middle-aged man and a younger one, who looked like his son-were now outside the cabin. The middle-aged man aft caught the sec-ond tossed line, tied it to a stanchion that was not very substantial-looking, and the two sailors on the ladder physically dragged the Coronel Gasparo back to the ladder.
The SS officer appeared on the aft deck. De Banderano could now see him clearly. He was not only an SS officer, but a Standartenf?hrer. De Banderano had been told he would be contacted by a senior German official, but had ex-pected this would be someone from the German embassy, a diplomat, not a Standartenf?hrer.
Very carefully, the Standartenf?hrer jumped from the Coronel Gasparo onto the ladder and started up it.
When he reached the deck, he looked around until he saw Captain de Ban-derano.
His arm shot out in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!" he barked in German. "You are Captain de Banderano?"
De Banderano nodded. His German was adequate but not fluent; he used it only when he had to.
"Standartenf?hrer Goltz," Goltz announced. "I am the officer you were told to expect."
"What can I do for you, Standartenf?hrer?" de Banderano asked in his halt-ing German.
"This is my authority," Goltz said, and handed him the letter on the sta-tionery of the Nazi party and signed by all the senior members of the German government except Adolf Hitler himself.
Capitan de Banderano had just finished reading it-and being suitably im-pressed by it-when Peter stepped off the ladder onto the deck.
"Buenos dias, Capitan," Peter said, and rendered a military salute.
"Major Freiherr von Wachtstein, Captain," Goltz said. "My assistant in this undertaking."
There was something about the young major that de Banderano liked.
"You apparently have had a rather rough voyage," de Banderano said in Spanish. "Could I offer coffee? Perhaps with a little something to sweeten it?"
"The Capitan's understatement is exceeded only by his generosity," Peter said. "I accept with the most profound thanks."
Goltz looked at Peter for a translation.
"The Capitan has just offered us coffee," Peter said.