“The only good news was that we didn’t lose the special shipment on the shore of . . . what was it? Bonbon Bay? Something like that?”
“Samborombón Bay,” Canaris furnished.
“Why do you suppose that was, Canaris? Why didn’t the people who shot Standartenführer Goltz and Oberst Whatsisname, the military attaché?”
“Grüner,” Canaris furnished.
“. . . and
“There are several possibilities,” Canaris said. “The story Korvettenkapitän Boltitz got from the captain of the
“You believe that story? I’ve always thought it was odd that the other two were killed and von Whatsisname wasn’t hurt.”
“Von Wachtstein,” Canaris furnished. “May I go on, Herr Reichsleiter?”
“Of course. Excuse me, Canaris.”
“What I was about to say was that that suggests the possibility that the Argentines accomplished what they may have set out to do. That is, get revenge for the killing of Oberst Frade by killing two German officers. Once that was done, they had no further interest in the boat or its crew. And von Wachtstein was in civilian clothing, which suggests the possibility they thought he was just another seaman. And, of course, they had no idea what was in the crates.”
“You think, then, that it was an act of revenge? By Argentine army officers?”
“Excuse me, Herr Reichsleiter, but what I said was that it
“They can murder in cold blood but not steal?”
“In a sense. They consider revenge to be one thing, theft another.”
“How do you think they knew when and where the landing would be attempted? ”
“Again, several possibilities. They have a man in their Bureau of Internal Security, an Oberst Martín, who is far more competent than one would expect. One possible scenario is that he maintained aerial surveillance of the
“What you’re saying is that you don’t think we have a traitor in the embassy in Buenos Aires?”
“I’m not saying that at all, Herr Reichsleiter,” Canaris replied. “There very well may be. If there is, I’m sure Brigadeführer von Deitzberg will find that out. If indeed he hasn’t already. Has anyone heard from him?”
“Not that I know of,” Bormann said. “You didn’t mention your man just now, Korvettenkapitän Whatsisname?”
“Boltitz, Herr Reichsleiter. He’s a junior officer and he’s taking his orders from, and will make his report through, von Deitzberg. He’s not really an intelligence officer . . . an intelligence officer for something like this.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Herr Reichsleiter. Boltitz is a good man. Very smart. If you want an assessment of the Royal Navy, of the probable course and speed of a convoy crossing the North Atlantic in January, that sort of thing, he’s quite useful. He was a submarine officer—many successful patrols—but he doesn’t have much experience—any at all, actually—in counterintelligence, which is what von Deitzberg is dealing with here.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Bormann said.
“When von Deitzberg came to me asking if I had someone who could talk, as a seaman and in Portuguese, to the captain of the
“He speaks Portuguese?”
“Yes. And Spanish. And English. Many naval officers are multilingual.”
“I suppose that would be useful to a naval officer.”
“Yes. But, frankly, Herr Reichsleiter, I wondered if Boltitz wouldn’t be more useful here in Berlin. I deferred to von Deitzberg.”
“Huh,” Bormann grunted. “It is sometimes hard, is it not, not to defer to a high-ranking SS officer?”
“Sometimes, as I suspect you well know, to do one’s duty it is necessary. But we have a saying in the navy, Herr Reichsleiter, that it is always wise to conserve one’s ammunition until you really need it.”
Bormann chuckled.