Everyone looked at him.
“Señor Körtig and Señor Möller are German officers,” Clete began. “Möller is an SS major who told me he believes any officer who violates his oath of personal allegiance to Adolf Hitler is a traitor—”
“You brought a goddamn Nazi into Argentina?” Nowicki exploded.
“Easy, Estanislao,” Peralta said.
Frade was nodding. “For reasons—good reasons—known to Inspector Peralta. He can explain them to you if he wishes later, but let me continue.
“Körtig is a lieutenant colonel. He tells me that he is privy to a very important secret with the code name Valkyrie. He also told me that he was sent on this duty—ostensibly as a suboficial mayor—to keep an eye on Möller, who was sent here because he was getting too close to the Valkyrie secret.” He paused, then asked, “Have I succeeded in confusing everybody?”
“I will tell you what I can of this later,” Peralta said to the Gendarmería officers, then gestured to Frade. “Go on, please, Don Cletus.”
“What we know now is that Möller cannot be trusted.”
“If he can’t be trusted, kill him,” Nowicki said.
“You and Enrico think alike,” Clete said. “But right now that wouldn’t be smart. There is another German officer here, another lieutenant colonel, who is privy to Valkyrie. I know about this man. If he recognizes Körtig, then Körtig can be trusted.”
“That’s the South African?” Peralta asked. “The wine expert?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I wondered about him.”
“How did you hear about him?” Frade said.
“Subinspector Nowicki heard he was here. He asked me what to do. I asked Subinspector Nervo, who asked Colonel Martín, who asked Inspector General Nervo to back off. We backed off.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Before I get them in here, I want to make it clear that I don’t want Möller to know that the wine expert is anything but a wine expert, or that I put him—he’s using the name Fischer; his real name is Frogger—together with Körtig.”
“That’s presuming your man knows Körtig, right?” Peralta asked.
“What if your man, the one you trust, knows Körtig as a goddamn Nazi?” Nowicki asked.
“That’s a possibility,” Frade admitted. “If that happens, I’ll turn both Möller and Körtig over to you and Rodríguez.”
“Clete, you better make sure they understand that was a joke,” Madison R. Sawyer III said. It was the first time he’d opened his mouth.
Frade met Sawyer’s eyes. “It wasn’t a joke, Captain Sawyer.”
“But they have their wives and children . . .”
“Nothing will happen to the wives and children.”
“Jesus Christ, Clete!”
“Enrico, go get Körtig. And, Stein, you go get Fischer.”
“Clete, I can’t believe you’re serious,” Sawyer said.
“I have heard your comments, Captain Sawyer. Don’t question any decision I make, or order I give, ever again.”
Sawyer looked at him incredulously.
“The answer I anticipate, Captain, is, ‘Yes, sir. I understand, sir.’ ”