“Thank you, Krantz,” Grüner said. “This will do.”
“Perhaps I might interest the Herr Oberst in something besides a schnapps?”
“With the outrageous prices you charge, schnapps—imitation schnapps is all…”
“The Herr Oberst forgets that I have told him time and time again that his money is not acceptable here,” Krantz said.
“How kind of you, Krantz,” Grüner said, and added to Peter: “Herr Krantz is a good German, Herr Hauptmann. A leader of the German colony here.”
Krantz beamed.
“Permit me, Herr Oberst, to send you something of my choice.”
“How kind of you, Krantz,” Grüner said.
Grüner disappeared.
“He has been very valuable, helping us get officers from the Graf Spee* out of the country,” Grüner said. “You’ll become involved in that, of course.”
“How many of the Graf Spee’s men are here?” Peter asked. He remembered the loss of the Graf Spee and the suicide of her captain, but it never entered his mind to wonder what happened to her crew.
“Eight hundred and something other ranks, and about forty-nine officers,” Grüner said. “Getting the officers out is a high priority for me, largely because Admiral Canaris has an understandable personal interest.”
Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was Chief of German Intelligence (Abwehr).
“Excuse me?”
“Canaris was himself interned here during the First World War, and escaped.”
“I didn’t know that,” Peter confessed.
Strange that I didn’t. Admiral Canaris and my father are close. I wonder if Grüner knows that. I wonder how much he knows about my father, or for that matter about me. Did they send a copy of my service records over here? Or my Abwehr dossier? More than likely.
Krantz came back, bearing a bottle in his right hand and holding the stems of three glasses between the fingers of his left.
“I know the Herr Oberst likes a little Slivovitz to whet his appetite, and I thought the Herr Freiherr might like a taste.”
“Good of you, Krantz,” Grüner said as Krantz poured the liquor.
“I am chilling some champagne, Argentinean. The German is gone, and I didn’t think French appropriate to properly welcome the Herr Freiherr to Argentina. And then with the Herr Oberst’s approval, I thought perhaps a nice Schnitzel, mit Kartoffeln und Apfelbrei—breaded veal cutlet, potatoes, and applesauce.
“We place ourselves in your capable hands, Krantz,” Grüner said.
Krantz picked up his glass and raised it.
“Herr Oberst,” he said, “Herr Freiherr, unser Führer!”
Grüner and Peter stood and made the toast.
“To victory!” Grüner said.
“Death to our enemies!” Krantz said passionately.
Cletus Frade is by definition my enemy. But I don’t wish to seehim dead. I just don’t want him to kill me. Why do people who have never worn a uniform—who have never had to kill anyone—seem to be in love with death and killing?
The Slivovitz burned his throat. But he remembered that his mother liked it. There was a dinner at the Drei Husaren Restaurant in Vienna, near St. Stephen’s Cathedral…
“How long have you been in Argentina, Herr Krantz?” he asked.