“I thought he did a splendid job, sir. And his men were obviously well-trained and well-disciplined.”
"I don’t think it would be rash to think, now, that the U-405 is safe from detection, do you?”
“I think once she reached the fifty-fathom line and submerged, sir, that she was as safe as she’ll ever be.”
“Zeiss makes a fine camera. I think those photographs will come out well, don’t you?”
“Zeiss is a fine camera, sir, and there was plenty of light.”
“The vibration—is that what you call it, ‘the vibration’?—of the airplane won’t make them, what, out of focus?”
“I think the speed of the exposure will keep that from happening, sir.”
“I’m sure the reichsprotektor—and others, of course, as well—will be interested in the photos.”
“You know what they say, sir. A picture is worth a thousand words.”
“I was wondering why Sturmbannführer Raschner and Kapitänleutnant von Dattenberg took such a dislike to each other.”
“Are you asking for my opinion, sir?”
“Please.”
"I would say that Raschner didn’t like von Dattenberg’s somewhat casual uniform....”
“You can hardly imagine the kapitänleutnant walking into the Kriegsmarine building dressed like that, can you?”
“No, sir. And Raschner probably thought that von Dattenberg didn’t treat you with the proper respect. And on von Dattenberg’s part, he is a captain, and they are kings in their castle.”
“I didn’t think von Dattenberg was being disrespectful, did you?”
“No, sir. I did not.”
An embassy Mercedes was waiting for them—or at least for Cranz—at El Palomar. Untersturmführer Johan Schneider was driving it, and had dozed off behind the wheel while waiting for his passenger to arrive.
This was not the behavior expected of a very junior SS officer when dealing with a very senior one—even one in a happy, self-congratulatory frame of mind—as Cranz made clear the moment he saw Schneider with his mouth open and his eyes closed.
Cranz got in the backseat finally, and the Mercedes drove off.
There was just time for von Wachtstein to conclude that he wasn’t going to be shot tonight when the car braked, then backed up to him.
The rear door opened.
“You’ll have to excuse me, von Wachtstein. I’m a little distracted.”
“That’s perfectly understandable, sir.”
“Get in. Where are you headed?”
“To my apartment, sir.”
“The baroness is there?”
Take the chance. All he can say is no.
“No, sir. She’s at the estancia. Sir, may I ask a favor?”
There was a just-perceptible pause before Cranz said, “Certainly.”