The Honor of Spies

For one thing, the last time he had been on a horse, it had been a pony at a Coney Island amusement park in Brooklyn. He had been six at the time, had fallen off, had his foot stepped on, and had since kept the vow he had made then to never again get on the back of a horse. He had acquired his Spanish from what he perhaps indelicately referred to as his "sleeping dictionary"--which was to say when he had been serving as a chief radioman at the U.S. Navy's Subic Bay facility in the Philippines. He was Lieutenant Oscar J. Schultz, USNR, and known as "El Jefe," which was Spanish for "The Chief."

"I need to talk to him," Frade said, and started to walk toward the church.

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Dorotea Mallin de Frade asked, on the edge of plaintively.

When her husband ignored her, she shook her head, got out of her wicker chair, and walked off the verandah to follow him.

Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Frogger, wearing a business suit, was on his knees at the communion rail of the chapel when Frade walked in.

In his pocket was a passport identifying him as Wilhelm Fischer, a vineyard owner and vintner, of Durban, South Africa.

Frade had carefully opened and then closed the heavy door behind him when he entered the church. He didn't think Frogger sensed that he was no longer alone.

Dorotea Frade tried to do the same, but a sudden burst of wind was too much for her and the door slammed noisily shut.

Frogger's head snapped to see what was happening, and then he returned to his prayers. Twenty seconds later, he stood up and walked down the aisle between the pews to Frade.

"You have learned what has happened to my parents?" he asked.

"God must have been listening," Frade said. "They're alive and well."

"Cletus! What a terrible thing to say!" Dorotea exclaimed.

"What, that his father and mother are alive?" Frade responded. "And I have something else to say, Colonel, that will probably upset my wife."

Frogger waited for him to go on, but didn't say anything.

"Your mother, sir, apparently believes that Hitler is a great man and that National Socialism is the hope of the world; she would, I am sure, do whatever she can to make her way back to the German Embassy. You'll understand I couldn't permit that to happen before you came here. Now that you are here, I must presume that she will know or learn--or guess--something of your relationship with Colonel von Stauffenberg, Major von Wachtstein, and Kapitan zur See Boltitz. Something, in other words, about Operation Valkyrie. I think your father shares your opinion of Hitler, but I'm not sure of that, and I can't take any chances. I absolutely cannot take the risk that your mother or father ever find themselves talking to any Germans under any circumstances. You take my meaning?"

Frogger met his eyes, then nodded. "I understand, Major."

Dorotea asked, obviously surprised, "He knows Peter? And Karl? And what's Operation Valkyrie?"

"I'll explain later," Frade said.

Her face showed she didn't like the response, but she didn't challenge it.

"I have to be absolutely sure we understand each other, Colonel," Frade said.

"I know the rules of the game we're playing, Major."

"That's a poor choice of words. It isn't a game."

"We understand each other, Major," Frogger said. "When will I be permitted to see my parents?"

"They're about three kilometers from here. But it's late, and I think it would be better if we went there first thing in the morning."

Frogger nodded but did not reply.

"Can you ride?" Frade asked.

"Of course."

"All right, then. I'll have Rodriguez have horses brought here at first light. Too early?"

"First light will be fine with me."

"Rodriguez and I'll go with you. I think that you should know that if it wasn't for Rodriguez, your parents would be dead, at the hands of some SS troops who came ashore from the U-405. He saved your parents' lives at no small risk to his own."

"Then I am, of course, grateful beyond--"

Frade silenced him by raising his hand.

"Rodriguez is a retired Argentine sergeant major who is not very fond of Germans. This is largely--but not entirely--because he was seriously wounded in the successful assassination attempt on my father, with whom he served all of his adult life. The assassination was ordered by either Himmler himself or someone close to him. Argentines carry grudges a long time."

What the hell, I'm going to have to tell her sooner or later--why not now?

Get it over with. . . .

"But while we're on the subject, Colonel, the Germans have twice attempted to assassinate me, most recently a couple of hours ago."

"Cletus, my God!" Dorotea exclaimed.

Frade looked at her and said, "All they managed to do was shoot up the Ford station wagon pretty badly."

He turned back to Oberstleutnant Frogger.

"I've just jumped on you, Colonel, for using the word 'game.' This is why; this isn't a game."

"Where did they try to kill you?" Dorotea asked softly.