That pushed Graham over the edge. “Goddamn you!” he exploded. “I’m an American, not a goddamn Mexican! When your ancestors were rooting for potatoes in some Irish bog, my ancestors were fighting this country’s wars, starting at the Alamo! When my great-grandfather was marching on Mexico City with General Winfield Scott, your goddamn ancestors, the goddamn San Patricio Brigade, deserted to the Mexicans!” The San Patricio Brigade had been made up of Catholic Irish-Americans who’d deserted to the Catholic Mexicans. After the war, they were caught and executed.
Donovan smiled but said nothing for almost a full minute.
“Got it out of your system enough to listen to me, A. F.?” he said finally.
Graham glowered at him for a moment, then smiled. “If you’re waiting for an apology, gringo, don’t hold your breath.”
“I wasn’t asking for an apology,” Donovan said.
“Then let me save you some time. No, I won’t tell you who Galahad is. Do you want my resignation?”
Donovan ignored the question. “The Navy and the Brits know about him,” he said. “Or at least that we have someone in the German Embassy in Buenos Aires.”
“The Navy and the English?” Graham asked.
“I don’t know who told the other,” Donovan said. “But from what you tell me, the Argentine Navy brass is close to the Brits, so that seems likely.”
“Our naval attaché down there is ONI,” Graham said, thoughtfully, referring to the Office of Naval Intelligence. “It’s possible he has some kind of arrangement with the English.”
Donovan nodded but said nothing.
“Or the reverse,” Graham said. “The English found out first, and told the ONI. How do we know the English know?”
“Because Churchill wants Roosevelt—Hands Across the Sea, of course—to give him Galahad’s name.”
“Do they have ‘Galahad’?” Graham asked quickly. “The code name, I mean?”
“No. Or at least it didn’t come up.”
“What happened on the beach at Samborombón Bay has to be common knowledge to the Argentine brass,” Graham said. “Army and Navy. And they are not stupid. They know there’s no way Cletus Frade could have known when and where the Océano Pacífico was going to try to put that stuff ashore unless he had someone in the German Embassy. And they would like to know who he is. And use him. El Coronel Martín of the BIS is as good as they come—”
“What do you think the Argentines know, or suspect, about Operation Phoenix?” Donovan interrupted.
“If they know, or suspect, anything, they didn’t get it from Frade.”
“Do you think they have somebody in the German Embassy?”
“I’d be very surprised if they didn’t. I told you, Bill, this guy Martín is good. But—presuming they do have somebody there—I don’t think that he, or she, knew anything about the Océano Pacífico. Frade said Galahad himself didn’t know the details until shortly before they made the landing. If he didn’t know—”
“The question was what do you think the Argentines know, or suspect, about Operation Phoenix?”
“I have no idea,” Graham said.
“And Lindbergh?”
“I don’t think they know about that,” Graham said firmly.
“The President told me he wants Galahad’s name,” Donovan said.
“And what did you tell the President?”
“I told him you wouldn’t give it to me.”
“And?”
“He asked me how I thought you would react if he personally ordered you to identify Galahad.”
“Is that what this is about, goddamn it?” Graham replied, his temper visibly on the rise. “I’m to face Roosevelt?”