The Honor of Spies

"In the morning, he's going to fly to the airfield here. He should arrive shortly before ten. You will meet him and give him the money. That means it will have to be made into some kind of a package. I don't want von Wachtstein to know what it is."

"He doesn't know about the confidential special fund?"

"No, and I don't want him to. But there is another man, Anton von Gradny-Sawz, in the embassy, who does."

"And what's he going to do with the money, this other man?"

"He is going to buy some property for us in Mendoza, in case the Fuhrer is wrong about the Final Victory and we need someplace to go."

" 'We' as in you and this other man, or 'we' meaning you and me?"

"We meaning you and me," von Deitzberg said.

Now that I think about it, Inge might be very useful.

She buttoned her blouse before pulling on the skirt.

She did that on purpose.

And succeeded in making my hormones rage.

I wonder how long that will last.

[FOUR]

4730 Avenida Libertador

Buenos Aires, Argentina

2015 1 October 1943

Don Cletus Frade ran his fingers across the hair of Dona Dorotea Mallin de Frade, marveling at its color and softness.

"And you said there wasn't time," he announced.

"What?" she asked somewhat sleepily, raising her head from his chest to look up at him.

"Write this down," he said. "You are fortunate to have a husband who can always find time for a 'Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am!' "

"My God!" she said.

"Yes, my child?" he asked sonorously.

She bit his nipple.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Get up and get dressed. Your guests are downstairs."

"Let 'em wait," he said.

Dorotea rolled away from him, put her feet against his hips, and pushed him out of the bed. He barely managed to avoid being dumped on the floor, but he succeeded in landing on his feet. He looked down at her.

"Don't let this go to your head, but you're the most beautiful thing I've seen--"

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"--in the last few hours."

She grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at him. He caught it and threw it back at her like a basketball.

Then he raised his arms and crawled across the bed on his knees.

"I never realized before how erotic a pillow fight can be," he said. "How about another quickie?"

She rolled out the other side of the bed.

"Get dressed, Cletus! I'm serious."

"How can you be serious? You're naked."

"Get dressed!"

"Party pooper," he said, and walked toward the bathroom.

When he came out several minutes later, she was back in the bed, covered by the sheet.

"You changed your mind?" he asked.

"Go, Cletus!"

"You're not coming?" he asked.

"He asked, hopefully," Dorotea said. "Relax, my darling. No, I'm not coming. This is Argentina. Women are not welcome in serious meetings between men. What I'm going to do is give you a few minutes and then go down the back stairs and eavesdrop from the pantry."

"With or without your clothes?"

"Go!"

There were nine men in the library when Clete walked in trailed by Enrico Rodriguez. One of them was Antonio LaValle, who had been el Coronel Jorge Frade's butler and whom Clete had not expected to see; he normally reigned over the staff of the big house on Coronel Diaz.

La Valle--following the English custom, he was called by his surname--was tending bar. Everyone in the library held a drink in his hand.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Clete announced.

He recognized only Coronel Alejandro Martin and Capitan Roberto Lauffer, who was aide-de-camp to El Presidente, General Arturo Rawson. But one of the younger men and a tall, ruddy-faced man wearing the uniform of an infantry colonel looked familiar. He couldn't come up with names, but he remembered now that the younger man was Martin's driver.

I really don't know how to handle this.

I can hug Lauffer. We became close during the Operation Blue coup d'etat.

But what about Martin? Does he want these other people--and who the hell are they?--to think we're pals?

To hell with it!

He went to Lauffer, said "Roberto," and hugged him and made kissing gestures. Then he went to Martin, said "Alejandro, we're going to have to stop meeting like this," and hugged him but did not make a kissing gesture. Then he turned to Martin's driver.

"I'm Cletus Frade," he said, offering his hand. "I know your face, but I can't come up with a name."

"Sargento Lascano, Don Cletus."

"Actually, Major Frade," Martin said, "he is Suboficial Mayor Lascano. Manuel does for me what Enrico did for your father."

"You mean he carries you home when you've been at the bottle?" Clete asked innocently.

The infantry colonel laughed.

"Major Frade has your number, old boy," he said in a crisp British accent.