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“Very well armed.”
“And the government permits this?”
“It’s not illegal, sir.”
“You just said these people were armed. The government permits this?”
“The people here have the right to be armed, to go about armed.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s how it is, sir.”
“Weapons in the hands of people cannot be tolerated. The Führer forbade private citizens to have arms.”
“They have them here, sir.”
“Tell me more about the Froggers.”
“Yes, sir. Frade has them—Herr Frogger and his wife, and their son, Oberstleutnant Frogger—at his estancia in Mendoza.”
“Their son? He was captured in North Africa.”
“Yes, sir. Frade brought him here from the United States.”
“You’re saying the son is also a traitor?”
“It seems obvious, sir.”
“Well, that’s one more that has to go,” Mannhoffer said. “Tell me about this apartment.”
“Sir, when Herr Frogger deserted his post, I realized that it would be useful if the Final Victory . . . didn’t come as quickly as we hoped . . . and I stayed behind. So I suggested to Ambassador von Lutzenberger that the apartment lease be allowed to expire. It was then rented by a man named Gustav Loche, an Argentine of German ancestry, whose son, Günther, was an employee of the embassy.”
“Can this man be trusted, in the changed situation?”
“He is a great admirer of the Führer and National Socialism. More important, he is a devout Catholic who believes that National Socialism is the last defense against the Antichrist, the Communists. And finally, I have kept him and his son on the payroll.”
“Tell me about von Lutzenberger. Where is he now?”
“He and his wife—and just about all the diplomats—have been interned in the Club Hotel de la Ventana, in the south of Buenos Aires Province.”
“Graf von Lutzenberger is one of two things, Richter,” Mannhoffer said. “He is either an incredibly stupid diplomat who never understood that his naval attaché and his military attaché for air were traitors, or he is a traitor himself.”
“I never thought von Lutzenberger was stupid, Señor Mannhoffer,” Richter said.
He looked out the Plymouth’s side window.
“That’s the opera, Herr Mannhoffer. One of the largest in the world. Larger than Vienna and Paris.”
“And Berlin?”
“And Berlin. The apartment is almost right behind it. There is an underground garage, so no one will see us go in.”
“Except perhaps agents of General Martín,” Mannhoffer said. “One should never underestimate one’s enemies, Richter.”
“I try very hard not to, Señor Mannhoffer.”
[THREE]
