Death and Honor

Boltitz is not a counterintelligence officer. And he’s in Argentina not because I wanted him there, but because von Deitzberg asked for him, and I didn’t think objecting was worth the trouble it would cause.

“We’re getting a little off track here, Herr Vizeadmiral,” Bormann said. “What I wanted to talk to you about is making Operation Phoenix a success, not about the problems we’re having with it at the moment.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, Herr Reichsleiter.”

“I’m sure, one way or another, we can get the special shipment into Argentina. What I’m concerned about is what we do with it when we get it there. What I’m saying, I suppose, is that I’ve been thinking we need a good Argentine ally.”

Canaris nodded but said nothing.

“Someone of influence,” Bormann went on, “someone who can make sure Operation Phoenix becomes a reality and, most importantly, remains a secret.”

“I see what you mean.”

“Someone we can trust,” Bormann added. “I have learned over the years that one can usually trust people who have something to gain personally from the success of the enterprise in which one has an interest, more than you can people simply doing something as a duty, or for altruistic philosophical reasons.”

Canaris nodded.

“That has also been my experience, Herr Reichsleiter.”

“I thought perhaps you might know someone who would be suitable.”

“I’ll have to give it some thought, Herr Reichsleiter, but off the top of my head, no one comes to mind.”

“But you do have friends in Argentina?”

“None that I would entrust with knowledge of Operation Phoenix,” Canaris said. “We simply cannot afford any risk of having the Argentine government learn what we plan to do, and what friends I have there are officers of the Armada Argentina.”

“So?”

“They might feel honor bound to inform their government what we are planning.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Bormann said. “Does the name Perón mean anything to you, Canaris?”

“He’s one of the colonels around General Ramírez. According to the late Oberst Grüner, he was instrumental in the coup which deposed President Ramón Castillo a couple of weeks ago—on June seventh, to be precise.”

“You didn’t meet him when he was here?”’ Bormann asked, as if surprised.

“I knew of him,” Canaris said. “But I don’t think I ever met him.”

Of course I knew of him.

Despite what Bormann and his ilk like to believe, all Argentines are not two steps away from embracing Der Führer and National Socialism. There are God only knows how many refugees from the Thousand-Year Reich down there.

It was my duty to learn something about an Argentine officer attached to theirembassy here and being fawned over by the elite. It was possible—unlikely but entirely possible—that he was working for the British.

I’ve often thought that the same Germano-Argentines who helped me escape from internment so I could return to serve the Fatherland would now go out of their way to ensure that Germans interned there now stay there, rather than return here to serve Hitler, proof of that being Oberst Grüner having absolutely no success getting any of the Graf Spee crew out of internment and back here.

Oberst Juan Domingo Perón is not a very interesting man, except for his unusual, if rather disgusting, sexual proclivities.

What’s Bormann’s interest in Perón?

“I made an effort to get to know him while he was here,” Bormann said. “And, as a result, learned there are several very interesting things about him.”

Well, one probably is that he likes young girls.

I wonder what Bormann thinks the others are?

“And they are?”