Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

Von Deitzberg had also bought three pairs of high-quality shoes at amazingly low prices. As he put on a pair of new black wing tips this morning, it occurred to him that custom-made shoes would almost certainly be available in Buenos Aires; he would look into that when he returned to the city.

“It would seem, Erich, that we are expected,” von Deitzberg said, taking his hand from the rail to point vaguely at the cars lined up on the wharf.

Raschner grunted.

“And I did make the point, I hope, that I don’t want…What’s his name? Forster? The Gestapo man?”

“Hauptsturmführer Forster, Konrad,” Raschner furnished.

“…to get the idea that we are any more interested in Frau von Tresmarck than we are in anyone else.”

“I understand,” Raschner said. “It won’t be a problem. I’ll ask him for a roster of embassy personnel, and get that to you immediately. Her address and telephone number should be on that.”

“My primary interest in Forster, really, is to see how much he knows about Operation Phoenix. And, even more important, if he knows anything, or even suspects anything—has even heard rumors—about our arrangement with von Tresmarck.”

“I understand,” Raschner repeated, just a trifle impatiently. He had heard all this the night before, standing on the stern of the Colonia after dinner.

“The trouble with the Gestapo, Erich, is that they are accustomed to looking into whatever they want to look into, and I don’t want Forster looking into von Tresmarck’s operation.”

Raschner had heard this the night before too. “My feeling is that the man with the most to gain and the least to lose by ‘cooperating’ with the Argentines is Gradny-Sawz,” he said. “And we already know that his loyalty is to whichever side he thinks will win.”

“So you said,” von Deitzberg said. “And you may well be right; you usually are.”

“I’ll find out what Forster knows,” Raschner said.

“Ah, they are about to put the gangplank in place,” von Deitzberg said. “Shall we go?”

[FOUR]

The San Martín Suite

The Casino de Carrasco

Montevideo, Uruguay

1015 16 May 1943

Manfred von Deitzberg was sitting on the balcony of the suite when he heard the somewhat tinny doorbell sound. The suite, on the top floor of the right wing of the five-story building, looked out over the Rambla and the beach.

The Rambla was a wide, attractive, four-lane avenue. A graceful promenade of colored blocks separated it from the beach. The beach was nice, not spectacular, but at least as wide and clean as a North Sea beach, and far superior to the touted—for reasons von Deitzberg could not understand—beaches of the French Riviera. The water was disappointing. Rather than blue, it looked muddy, even dirty. Von Deitzberg, curious, had asked the room-service waiter about it when he brought his coffee and sweet rolls.

The water out there, the waiter explained, was not, as von Deitzberg thought, the South Atlantic Ocean, but rather the River Plate. It was, in fact, still the river’s mouth—an incredible 230 kilometers wide. The blue waters of the South Atlantic, the waiter told him, finally overwhelmed the silted waters of the river at Puente del Este, some 100-odd kilometers north of Montevideo.

When the bell sounded, von Deitzberg was in his shirt-sleeves, with his feet up on a small table. He was smoking a cigarette and had almost finished the really nice sweet rolls. He went into the sitting room of the four-room suite—according to Schulker, it was the best in the Casino—and retrieved the jacket to his new suit and put it on.

“Just a moment,” he called toward the door, and went quickly into the bedroom to check his appearance in a full-length mirror on the door.

Very pleased with his appearance, he went to the door and pulled it open.

Raschner stood there with a slight man in his thirties wearing a too-tight suit and wire-framed glasses. He bore more than a slight resemblance to Heinrich Himmler. “Councilor Forster,” Raschner said.

Von Deitzberg motioned the two of them into the sitting room and closed the door.

Forster came to attention, and his right arm shot out in the Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!” he nearly shouted. “Hauptsturmführer Forster at your orders, Herr Oberführer!”

Von Deitzberg did not return the salute. “Do not use my SS rank again,” he said coldly, and added, “Wait here.” He took Raschner’s arm and led him out onto the balcony.

“I now understand why he’s in the dark about von Tresmarck,” Raschner said. “If we are to believe him, he is the only loyal man in the embassy.”