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“I never heard of the plans for him in Paraguay, sir.”
“No reason that you should have. The fewer people who know something, the less chance the wrong people will learn of it.”
“I’ve heard that, sir.”
“Frau von Tresmarck also disappeared at the same time. She appeared in San Martín de los Andes, as Señora Schenck. Inasmuch as von Deitzberg was now using that name, I’m afraid we have to presume—he was notorious for this—that the late brigadeführer once again was careless with his zipper.
“Moreno also told me that after von Deitzberg was murdered by parties unknown—any thoughts, Richter, on them?”
“I believe he was murdered by someone in Abwehr Ost, one of those Frade brought to Argentina.”
“Why would they want to murder him?”
“Either at Frade’s order, or simply because he could recognize one of them and get word back to Germany that some of Gehlen’s people were in Argentina. The war was still on.”
Mannhoffer grunted.
“In any event,” he went on, “von Deitzberg died. Moreno told me that a court—or at least judges—favorable to Oberst Perón quickly granted the former Frau von Tresmarck all of her husband’s—Señor Schenck’s—assets. In other words, the Confidential Special Fund. And that she almost immediately transferred half of them to Señorita Evita Duarte, Oberst Perón’s good friend, as an expression of her gratitude for their friendship and support in her time of grief. Is that your understanding, Richter?”
“Yes, sir. That sums it up very well.”
“How many men do we have here?” Mannhoffer asked.
“You’re speaking of SS?”
Mannhoffer nodded.
“Directly subordinate to me, sir, there are fifty-two. Eleven junior officers, the rest other ranks. And there are perhaps a hundred others who can be pressed into our service—SS personnel sent here for other reasons. I’m compiling a roster.”
“I thought there were a few more than that. Immediately subordinate to me, I mean.”
“We lost sixteen of them, sir.”
“What do you mean ‘lost’?”
“Shortly after the Froggers deserted their post at the embassy, we learned that they were being held at a small estancia—one of Frade’s—in Tandil. A raid was staged with the mission of eliminating them. Four SS officers and twelve other ranks were assigned to the mission, to augment troops of the Argentine Tenth Mountain Regiment. After the initial assault, the Argentines left and our people stayed behind to make sure the Froggers had in fact been eliminated. None of the SS men were seen or heard from again. They are probably buried in unmarked graves on the Pampas.”
“Sixteen SS troopers just vanished?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leaving me just fifty-two. Well, we’ll have to use what we have. They are, after all, SS.”
“To do what, sir?”
“As incredible as this might sound at first, the future of National Socialism is now in the hands of two men, neither of whom can any longer use their names, much less their ranks.”
Richter did not reply.
“Think about it, Richter. The Führer is dead. Joseph Goebbels is dead. Heinrich Himmler is dead. Hermann Goering is a prisoner and will probably be hung. Everyone who served in the SS is being arrested. We’re all that is left.”
He paused to let this sink in, then said fervently, “But National Socialism is not dead! It will rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes. Because of us, Señor Richter.”
Richter, who looked uncomfortable, again did not reply.
“If you have something to say, Richter, say it!” Mannhoffer snapped.
Richter nodded, then carefully began, “I’ve had a lot of time to think our situation over, Herr Brig— Señor Mannhoffer.”
