And then he saw an olive-drab Mercedes touring car coming down the road. The canvas top was down. There was a soldier driving, and two men in the backseat. The younger of them was in civilian clothing; the other was wearing an Argentine army uniform.
That has to be Oberst Schmidt.
“They’re almost here,” he called. “I’m going to meet them in the lobby. Get rid of your underwear before you come down.”
Inge appeared in the bathroom door. Naked.
“You want me to come down without my underwear? Or do you mean get that out of sight?”
She pointed to her underwear on a chair.
“If you came down without your underwear, it would give Oberst Schmidt a heart attack,” he said. “And we need him.”
Von Deitzberg reached the lobby of the hotel just as el Coronel Erich Franz Schmidt of the 10th Mountain Regiment walked in from the street. The young man in civilian clothing with him, who looked like a recruiting poster for the SS, was SS-Hauptsturmführer Sepp Schäfer of the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler.
I shall have to be very careful with that young man; not say anything at all that might be construed as defeatism.
Oberst Schmidt did not cut a very military figure. He was portly and rather short.
He looks more like a Bavarian party official—and don’t those bureaucrats and clerks love to wear uniforms and boots?—than a soldier.
“El Coronel Schmidt?” von Deitzberg asked, advancing on him.
“At your service, señor,” Schmidt said.
Schäfer popped to attention and clicked his heels.
“I don’t think clicking your heels in these circumstances is wise, Schäfer,” von Deitzberg said coldly.
“I beg pardon.”
“We are waiting for one of my agents,” von Deitzberg said. “The one thing a distinguished career in the SS-SD has not taught this agent is to be on time, probably because this SS-SD agent is a female.”
He got the expected chuckles.
“I don’t want to get into anything specific in public, of course, but to clear the air, you may feel free in Señora Schenk’s presence to say anything you would say to me.”
“Excuse me, sir. ‘Señora Schenck’?” Schäfer asked.
“I generally give junior officers one opportunity to ask an inappropriate question of me,” von Deitzberg said icily. “That was yours.”
“I beg your pardon, Herr Schenck.”
“Men traveling with good-looking females to whom they are not married cause gossip. Men traveling with their wives do not. You might try to remember that, Schäfer.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inge came tripping down the stairs.
From their faces, it was clear that she was not what Schmidt or Schäfer expected to see.
“I apologize, sir, for keeping you waiting,” Inge said.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” von Deitzberg said coldly. “Gentlemen, my wife. She knows your names.”
Inge nodded at both of them.
“I thought, Herr Schenck, that if it meets with your approval, we could have dinner at my quarters at the base.”