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“I’ll bet my Horch against your Packard that right now Enrico is patiently waiting for me to come out of here so that he can tell me Juan Domingo has been arrested and say where he’s being held. The Ejército Argentino—like the U.S. Marine Corps—has no secrets safe from its sergeants major.”
Martín laughed. “He’s right, Father. Cletus, el Coronel is on Martín García Island.”
“Where the hell is that?”
“It’s a small island off the coast of Uruguay,” Martín said. “Have I your word you will go nowhere near it?”
“Right now, I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere near it, much less of springing my Tío Juan from his cell. But this is Argentina, and we never know what’s going to happen next, do we?”
“Is that really what you want me to tell General Farrell?” Martín asked.
“I don’t care what you tell him,” Frade said, and then reconsidered. “No. Tell him I understand that whatever he has chosen to do with el Coronel is none of my business.”
“I will,” Martín said.
“What I don’t understand is why Farrell is so interested in keeping Juan Domingo alive,” Frade said. “Farrell’s no fool. He has to know Juan Perón has his eye on the Casa Rosada.”
“You don’t know what happened in Spain, Cletus,” Father Welner said. “A half million people died—”
“At the risk of sounding callous,” Frade interrupted, “the Germans killed ten times that many Jews, Gypsies, and other so-called undesirables.”
“—and he is determined there will be no civil war here,” Welner finished.
“And so am I,” Martín said. “Which brings us to something else. At dawn yesterday, the U-405 appeared off our naval—”
“The U-405?” von Wachtstein interrupted.
Martín nodded.
“—our naval base at Puerto Belgrano flying a black flag and surrendered.”
“You’re sure it was the U-405?” von Wachtstein asked.
Martín nodded again.
“The U-boat skipper told Vicealmirante Crater that he came directly to Puerto Belgrano from Denmark—that is, without making a stop somewhere else to off-load a cargo in secret—but the admiral and I think he’s lying.”
“You don’t have the U-boat captain’s name by any chance?” von Wachtstein asked.
“I heard his name,” Martín said. “Let me see if I can remember it.”
“Hansel, he’s pulling your chain,” Frade said. “Where did you take Hansel’s pal, Bernardo?”
“As we speak, he and el Jefe are swapping sea stories on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo,” Martín said.
“I gave up on Willi von Dattenberg,” von Wachtstein said. “After all this time, I was sure he was gone.”
“Why are he and Schultz swapping sea stories, Bernardo?” Frade asked.
“What I would like to happen is to hear from Fregattenkapitän von Dattenberg who and what he put ashore and where, and then get him back to Puerto Belgrano before he is interrogated by anyone else. I think we’d be better off if the people he put ashore, and the people who were waiting for him, don’t know we know.”
“Well, let’s go talk to him,” von Wachtstein said. “Fly down there right now. He’ll tell me anything we want to know.”
“There’s a small problem with that, Hansel,” Frade said, and held up his glass.
“I haven’t been drinking,” Martín said. “I can fly.”
“The problem with that, mi General,” Frade said, “is the only airplane you know how to fly—using that term very loosely—is at the estancia.”
