“Oh, I don’t think they were fooling, Claudia. Tío Juan told Delgano he was going to have a word with the president. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody’s already painting a temporary sign.”
“If la señora is so pleased,” the butler announced from the door to the dining room, “dinner can now be served.”
“As our hostess,” Clete said while the coffee was served, “already is offended by my bad manners—”
“And with damned good cause,” Claudia interrupted, “thank you very much, Cletus.”
Clete nodded once, then went on: “—I would not dare anger her further by filling the room with cigar smoke. I am therefore going to take my coffee onto the verandah for a smoke. If anyone would care to join me . . . you, perhaps, Isabela?”
She snorted.
“All are welcome,” Clete went on. “I have cigars but regrettably no cigarettes. ”
“I’d like a smoke,” Boltitz said. “With your permission, la señora?”
“Go,” Claudia said.
The three men went not only onto the verandah but off it and into the garden, where they could not be overheard. There, Frade extended his cigar case.
“I don’t use them, thank you,” Boltitz said.
“Put one in your mouth anyway,” Frade said. “In case El Bitcho is watching us out the window, as I suspect she is. Or will be.”
Boltitz nodded and took a cigar.
Von Wachtstein took a cigar, lit it, and puffed appreciatively.
“Nice,” he said.
“They make them in Tampa, Florida,” Frade said between puffs on his. Then he added, “Peter, turn your back to the house. I’m going to give you an envelope, and I don’t want Isabela to see me doing it.”
The transfer took perhaps thirty seconds.
“What’s in the envelope?” von Wachtstein said.
“Information about your embassy. I need to know how accurate it is.”
“Where did you get it?” Boltitz asked.
Frade didn’t reply.
“So you have the Froggers, Cletus?” von Wachtstein asked, but it was more of a statement.
“The who?”
“You would be surprised to learn that the former commercial attaché of the embassy, Herr Wilhelm Frogger, and Frau Frogger have gone missing?” Boltitz asked.
“You don’t say?” Frade said.
“On Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo?” von Wachtstein asked.
Frade shook his head.
“Someplace where they will be hard to find, I hope?” Boltitz asked.
Frade looked at him but did not reply.
“Major Frade, if I’m not mistaken, SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg has ordered the present commercial attaché, the former Obersturmbannführer Karl Cranz, to eliminate them when and where found.”
“Why would von Deitzberg want to do that?”
“Because he could then tell Himmler that Frogger was the traitor in the embassy and that he had been eliminated.”
“But that’s not true.”
“And if von Deitzberg later found the real traitor, he could then tell Himmler that there were two traitors and he had found both. And I would guess that he would hope the currently unrevealed traitor, or traitors, would relax a bit after learning Frogger had been identified, and that would help him catch them.”
“You’re pretty good at this, aren’t you, Boltitz?” Frade said. His tone of voice showed that he meant the compliment.
“Admiral Canaris once told me that any intelligence officer who thinks he’s pretty good is sadly mistaken,” Boltitz said.
“He’s obviously a wise man,” Frade said. “Well, if I happen to bump into your man Frogger, I’ll mention that his friends are looking for him.”
“I suspect he knows that,” Boltitz said. “What he really should worry about is that Frau Frogger thinks they are really friends.”
“You know that, too, do you?” Frade said.
“What do you want done with what you gave Peter?”
“Just let me know if it’s accurate. If it is, call my house in Buenos Aires and leave word that my new suit is ready.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Leave word that I have to come in for another fitting,” Frade said.
Boltitz nodded.
“We should probably rejoin the ladies,” von Wachtstein said. “Before El Bitcho comes out to wag her tail at Karl.”
X
