Peter got out of the car and followed von Tresmarck to Schulker’s office.
“Heil Hitler, Excellency!” Peter barked, giving a straight-armed salute and clicking his heels. “I was not aware that the Herr Ambassador wished to see me.”
Schulker returned the salute and the greeting. “I have two envelopes for you to take to Buenos Aires, von Wachtstein,” Schulker said.
“Jawohl, Excellency!”
“Forster, this is Major Freiherr von Wachtstein,” Schulker said. “Herr Forster is our commercial attaché.”
Peter clicked his heels and nodded his head. “Herr Councilor,” he said.
Forster gave him his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, von Wachtstein,” he said. “I’ve heard of your heroic behavior on the beach.”
Peter smiled broadly at him. “I regret, Herr Forster, that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Schulker chuckled. “The world of diplomacy, von Wachtstein,” he said, “may be compared to peasant women gathered around the village pump. A lot of things people would rather not have talked about are discussed in some detail.”
“I am a soldier, Excellency. I try very hard to comply with my orders.”
“And do so admirably, von Wachtstein,” Schulker said. “Well, here’s what needs to be taken to Buenos Aires.” He handed Peter two envelopes, a large one apparently containing routine papers—it was addressed to Gradny-Sawz—and a smaller one, bearing Schulker’s embossed family crest and addressed to Ambassador von Lutzenberger.
“I would like to make the point,” von Tresmarck said, “that whatever my friend Forster has heard about some beach, he did not hear from me.”
“Or from me,” Schulker said. “But doesn’t that prove that Forster has been doing what we diplomats are supposed to do, keep our eyes and ears open for something of interest?”
“Your discretion is admirable, von Wachtstein,” Forster said.
“It is very nice to have made your acquaintance, Herr Councilor,” Peter replied. “And may I say that I am grateful that you understand my position?”
“I
have no doubt that we’ll see each other again,” Forster said. “And may I wish both of you a very pleasant home leave?”
“Now, that I told him, von Wachtstein,” Schulker said.
“In that case, Herr Councilor, thank you very much.”
“Have a drink for me at the Adlon,” Forster said.
“I’ll do that,” Peter said.
In the car on the way to the airport, von Tresmarck said, “Peter, there is a story going around—I don’t know if it’s true or not, and I tell you this in confidence—that Forster is not entirely what he represents himself to be, that he has other duties, if you take my meaning.”
“He’s the Sicherheitsdienst’s man in the embassy,” Inge said, “and everybody knows it.”
“No one knows that, Inge,” von Tresmarck said. “And you should be very careful about who you say something like that to.”
“I wondered how he heard about the beach,” Peter said.
“What beach is that, Peter?” von Tresmarck asked.
While they were loading the Storch, Peter saw that von Tresmarck was more than a little nervous about flying the 160-odd kilometers across the River Plate in the small single-engine airplane.
It easily occurred to him that once they were out of sight of land, he would add to von Tresmarck’s discomfiture by causing the engine to backfire, or by perhaps adding some sudden up-and-down movement to the aircraft.
The customs and immigration officers showed up at the terminal while Peter was checking the weather. After they asked about his destination they immediately left (without bothering to proceed out to the parking ramp to check what he might be taking out of Uruguay).
Inge kissed her husband’s cheek, offered her hand to Peter, then changed her mind and kissed his cheek, too.