Death and Honor

Graham realized that he was dangerously close to losing his temper, and that would make matters even worse.

“This helping von Wachtstein conceal his money over here, I hope you’re aware, could be considered as treating with or giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”

“I hope that wasn’t a threat.”

“It was a simple statement of fact, Frade.”

Neither said anything for a moment, then Graham asked, “What happened when von Wachtstein went to the ambassador? Let’s get back to that.”

“He told him—this is almost a quote—to be careful when he came back from Uruguay; he needed him. Actually, he said, ‘Germany needs you.’ ”

“Why was von Wachtstein flying to Uruguay in the first place?”

“They have a Fieseler Storch. Like a Cadillac version of the Piper Cub. He goes over there all the time, carrying stuff, people, et cetera.”

“And then what?”

“Lutzenberger calls Boltitz in and shows him a letter from Canaris, which says Boltitz is to regard any orders from Lutzenberger as if they came personally from him.”

“And the orders from Lutzenberger were to lay off von Wachtstein?”

“That, too, of course. But, more importantly, admitting—without actually coming out and saying it—that he’s part of the whole resistance to the Nazis, and probably part of—at least a supporter of—the plot to kill Hitler.”

“And then von Wachtstein told you what had happened?”

“He flew out here, with Boltitz, in the Storch. They both told me.”

“And then you sent me the radio?”

Frade nodded.

“Frade, I can only hope that you appreciate what dangerous ground—what thin ice—you’re walking on,” Graham said seriously.

“I can only hope that you appreciate your OSS guy down here is in way the hell over his head.”

“Is that another shot at Commander Delojo?”

“I was talking about me.”

“Commander Delojo is the Argentine OSS station chief,” Graham said. “He’s my OSS guy down here.”

“Then I can only hope you appreciate your OSS guy down here is not only in way over his head, but isn’t working exclusively for the OSS.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s an Annapolis ring-knocker, a lifer, who still has dreams of being captain of a battleship. He is not going to do anything that might displease the Navy Department, and, conversely, is going to do anything he thinks will please them—get him his battleship—like sending them anything about what the OSS is doing down here that they might like to know. He scares the hell out of me.”

“I don’t believe that he’s that way.”

“If Delojo knew anything about what I’ve just told you, it would be in the next diplomatic pouch to the Office of Naval Intelligence. And Christ only knows what they would do with it.”

God damn it! He’s right.

That wasn’t considered before—what the hell, the Navy’s on the same side in this war—but it should have been. And by me.

Well, as soon as I get back to Washington, I’ll get Delojo out of here.

If ONI hears that Admiral Canaris is working against the Nazis, God only knows what they would try to do with their fellow sailor. And what damage that could cause to what Dulles is trying to do.

Or, for that matter, to the OSS.

There’s nothing the Navy would like more than to send the chief of Naval Operations to Roosevelt and tell him they’ve got Canaris in their pocket. And, that being the case, shouldn’t the OSS be ordered to back off?

The problem is that there is only one man who can deal with Canaris, and he’s not in the Navy. At the first approach the Navy made to Canaris, he’d back off. Not only from the Navy but from Allen Dulles, too.

I can’t let Navy Intelligence put its toe in those waters.

“I think you’re dead wrong about that, Frade.”

“Then I’m sorry. What I was hoping you’d say would be that you would send somebody—Christ, there must be somebody in the OSS—who would know what to do down here.”

Nobody with your connections, unfortunately.

And, as a matter of fact, nobody that I can think of who could do a better job, including me.