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“He was in Villa General Belgrano,” Frade said, stopped, and after a moment went on: “You’re not going to like this answer, Otto.”
“Well, that would certainly be a first for us, wouldn’t it, Cletus?” Niedermeyer replied, lightly sarcastic.
“And it will probably piss off Frogger, Strübel, von Wachtstein, Boltitz, and my wife, as well.”
“I can’t believe you would do that,” Niedermeyer said drily.
“I asked General Martín to arrange for von Dattenberg to escape from Villa General Belgrano and he did so.”
Niedermeyer’s eyebrows rose. “Why? I mean why did you want him released? Or permitted to escape?”
“Which was it?” Frogger said.
Frade grunted. “As that ancient Chinaman said, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ I got von Dattenberg out of Villa General Belgrano and am bringing him here because I don’t trust the sonofabitch. I want to keep an eye on him.”
“Sun Tzu?” Niedermeyer asked. “That Chinaman?”
“That’s the guy. Either him or Confucius.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Sun Tzu also say, ‘Even though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear to be ineffective’?”
“I think it was that other famous Chinese philosopher, One Hung Low, who said what you just said.”
Cronley laughed.
After a moment, Martín and Ashton shook their heads and chuckled, and Dorotea said, “My God, Cletus!”
“I was simply going to observe,” Niedermeyer said, smiling, “that most of us—all of us, come to think about it—have learned that is your very successful modus operandi.”
“Why don’t you trust Willi?” Dorotea challenged.
“I think he still feels bound by that damn oath of personal loyalty he took to Hitler,” Clete said. “When I first confronted him at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, he started talking only after he realized I wasn’t kidding when I told him his choice was either talk or get shot.”
“That’s all?”
“He started to talk, and I started to think he’d seen the light. But then that rendezvous point business came up. I’m having a hard time believing he didn’t know all along that he had it in his safe. It’s bullshit. He was captain—and he knew what he had in his safe.”
“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Dorotea said.
“Sweetheart, just because he and Hansel’s sister-in-law are holding hands and staring soulfully into each other’s eyes doesn’t make him a good guy.”
Cronley looked at Clete.
No, Jimmy thought, but it does make him probably Number Three Hundred and Seven on the list of Elsa the Great’s Lengthy List of Lovers.
And then Jimmy had a flood of disquieting thoughts:
Jesus, what if Marjie knew there was more between Elsa and me than me—what did she say?—“looking at her like a lovesick calf”?
Would she be angry, pissed, disgusted, jealous—what?
Do I care?
And what the hell am I doing with the Squirt?
So far nothing. At least nothing serious.
And that’s where it stops.
