The Honor of Spies

Africa has been lost. And Sicily has been lost.

The English and the Americans are in half of Italy, and when they have captured the rest of it, they would start planning the cross-Channel invasion of France, from England. Which would succeed.

How is facing facts with a military professional's eye treasonous?

I will, of course, continue to honorably perform my duty as a German officer as long as that is possible.

But my duty is not to throw my life away by throwing myself under the tracks of a Russian tank rolling down the Unter der Linden--as they will sooner or later.

Rather, my duty is to carry out my orders to establish a sanctuary here in South America from which the leaders of National Socialism can rise, indeed, phoenixlike from the ashes.

I am not being treasonous; I am being

professionally realistic.

A taxi took von Deitzberg from the airport to the Hotel Casino de Carrasco on the shore of the River Plate. He was shown to a comfortable small suite on the third floor, from which he could see the beach.

On the SAA Lodestar, he had planned his first move. He would call von Tresmarck's home. If he was home, he would tell him first that no one was to know he was in Uruguay, and then to come to the casino hotel and to his suite. If he wasn't home, he would tell Inge--calling her "Frau von Tresmarck"; he was here on duty--to call her husband at the embassy, and tell him the same thing.

She will learn I'm here, and certainly hasn't forgotten what happened the last time I was. She will wonder if it's going to happen again. But since I didn't greet her charmingly, she will wonder if "Frau von Tresmarck" is in some kind of trouble. There is a certain appeal in making Inge a bit uneasy.

That plan fell apart from the start. There was no listing in the telephone book for the von Tresmarck residence. He knew it was in the neighborhood of Carrasco. He'd been there, but he wasn't sure exactly where it was, and he didn't want to get in a taxi and ride up and down streets looking for it.

There was nothing to do but call the German Embassy. The possibility existed that either the Uruguayan authorities or the gottverdammt OSS--or both--had tapped the embassy lines. But after thinking it over, von Deitzberg realized he had no choice.

A female answered the telephone.

"Senor von Tresmarck, please," von Deitzberg asked in Spanish.

"I'm sorry. El Senor von Tresmarck is not available."

"Perhaps he's at home. Could you give me that number, please?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't do that."

He switched to German: "Herr von Tresmarck is an old friend."

So did she: "I'm sorry, Mein Herr, I can't give out home numbers of embassy officers."

"Connect me with Herr Forster, please."

Von Deitzberg didn't want to talk to Forster either, but again realized he had no choice.

Konrad Forster, who was diplomatically accredited to the Republic of Uruguay as the commercial attache of the embassy, was actually Hauptsturmfuhrer Forster of the Geheime Staatspolizei of the Sicherheitsdienst. His mission was to report on the activities of Ambassador Joachim Schulker and of course on Sturmbannfuhrer Werner von Tresmarck, who was officially the embassy security officer. Reports on the latter went directly to the office of the Reichsfuhrer-SS, which normally meant to the desk of First Deputy Adjutant von Deitzberg.

But I'm not there. And if Forster reports that I'm in Montevideo and it comes to the attention of Himmler--as it almost certainly will--the Reichsfuhrer will wonder what I'm doing here when I'm supposed to be blowing up airplanes in Buenos Aires at the specific order of Der Fuhrer.

"Forster speaking."

"Konrad, this is Manfred," von Deitzberg said in German.

"Who?"