Death at Nuremberg (Clandestine Operations 4)

“I told my general we had them, and he said he wanted a look. So we marched them from the POW enclosure here. To this very room, which was then General Leclerc’s headquarters.

“As we marched them through town, French citizens of Strasbourg started throwing things—the contents of chamber pots, garbage, that sort of thing. Under the circumstances, one would assume they would cringe. To the contrary, one of them called attention and then gave the order, Vorwärts, marsch! And, backs straight, heads held high, they marched the rest of the way here.

“I confess that I was more than a little annoyed with my countrymen for attacking helpless prisoners, and felt more than a little admiration for what I saw as the maintenance of discipline in trying circumstances.

“When I marched them into General Leclerc’s office, he looked at each one of them and then asked, ‘Why are you Frenchmen wearing German uniforms?’

“Their senior officer, an SS-Hauptsturmführer, the one who had called them to attention, replied, ‘And why are you, a French general, wearing an American uniform?’

“The general was uniformed as I am, in American ODs with French shoulder boards and wearing his kepi.”

“What did Leclerc say?”

“‘If you’re through with them, Colonel, shoot them.’”

“And did you? Without a trial?”

Fortin pointed toward the ceiling.

“In the parking lot outside. They died bravely. No pleas for mercy, or anything like that. At the time, I thought I saw a sort of a parallel with the SS execution of Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg in the courtyard of the War Ministry after the bomb plot failed. As I understand it, he died bravely, shouting, ‘Long live Germany.’

“Now I see I was right. Von Stauffenberg died believing in his faith, that of the Roman Catholic Church. And the men, the traitors to France, as von Stauffenberg was a traitor to Hitler—like everyone else in the Wehrmacht, he had sworn an oath to follow Hitler to death . . .”

He paused, gathered his thoughts, and then went on: “I now think it’s entirely possible that the men I had executed here believed they would be martyrs to this new Nazi religion. That’s frightening.”

“The more you get into it, the more frightening it gets,” Cronley said.

“What makes you think you can talk your cousin Luther out of it?”

“What you said just now. The bastard is primarily an opportunist. He is far more interested in Luther Stauffer than in being a disciple in the new religion. He doesn’t want to hang.”

“We don’t have enough on him to send him to Nuremberg.”

“He doesn’t know what we have. And I’m going to offer to send him to Paraguay.”

“Paraguay?”

“There’s a colonel there who thinks there’s nothing wrong with National Socialism except Nazis, who he believes fucked it up.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You ever wonder what happened to the Nazis we shipped to Argentina?”

“I was too polite to ask.”

“Well, we had a bunch of them, and their families. And we couldn’t keep them all locked up, and we couldn’t shoot them . . .”

“Why not?”

“. . . and we couldn’t turn them over to Juan Domingo Perón, who would have kissed them on each cheek and then welcomed them to Argentina. But then ol’ Bernardo—General de Brigade Bernardo Martín, who runs the BIS, the Bureau of Internal Security, which is something like the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, and is a pal of my pal Cletus Frade and a really nice guy—came up with Paraguay.”

“You are losing me.”

“We send our Nazis to Paraguay. The guy who really runs Paraguay is a colonel named Alfredo Stroessner. His parents were German immigrants. He loves Germany and National Socialism, but doesn’t like Nazis, who, if you were listening, he thinks fucked up Germany. He really doesn’t like Nazis. When he comes across anyone we sent him from Operation Ost who is still holding his breath waiting for Nazism to rise from the ashes—Operation Phoenix—he has them shot. By firing squad. In a public ceremony. Tied to a stake, blindfolded. What’s that phrase of yours? Pour encourager les autres?”

“As incredible as that sounds, I have a strange temptation to believe you.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Jean-Paul, Boy Scout’s honor, it’s the truth.”