Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

“Yes, Herr Major von Wachtstein, there is.”

Peter didn’t reply, but his face clearly showed that he didn’t believe this at all.

And, of course, neither do I, Boltitz had to admit to himself.

So what does this mean?

He does have a lady friend. Where? Is she German, and he doesn’t want to go to her bed in Berlin fresh from a whore’s bed here? Or is she Argentinian? Why do I suspect that? And if she’s Argentinian, it’s entirely possible that she works for our friend Oberst Martín of their Bureau of Internal Security. Von Wachtstein is a fighter pilot, not an intelligence officer. He would probably find it difficult to believe that the love of his life is an agent.

And if she is, there’s the leak from the embassy.

If, of course, von Wachtstein knew where they were going to land the special cargo from the Océano Pacífico.

“I’ve been told the women in Argentina are beautiful,” Boltitz said.

“And they are, and can we change the subject?”

“One more question: Am I going to meet this lady when I’m in Buenos Aires?”

Von Wachtstein met his eyes. “I was just thinking about that,” he said. “I don’t see how I can keep that from happening. Yeah, you’ll meet her. But let me tell you beforehand that she’s nineteen years old, doesn’t work for the BIS, and doesn’t even know anything happened at Samborombón Bay.”

“I had to ask, Peter,” Boltitz said.

“Yeah, I guess you did,” Peter said.

“What if we take the bottle with us, go to your room, and you tell me what happened at Samborombón Bay?”

“Why do I feel that I don’t have any choice?”

“Probably because you know you don’t,” Boltitz said.

The bartender came to them.

“We’ll take the bottle,” Peter said. “My friend from the Abwehr will pay.”

“Señor?”

Boltitz put down some money, grabbed the bottle, and followed Peter out of the bar.

[FIVE]

The Office of Strategic Services

National Institutes of Health Building

Washington, D.C.

0825 9 May 1943

Colonel A. (Alejandro) F. (Federico) Graham, USMCR, the Deputy Director for Western Hemisphere Operations of the Office of Strategic Services, was already in a bad mood when the door to his office opened and OSS Director William J. Donovan walked in and almost immediately made things worse.

Almost exactly twenty-four hours before, Graham had been eating breakfast in his hotel room in Mexico City when the Mexico City Station Chief unexpectedly appeared and wordlessly handed him a message.

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