The Honor of Spies

As far as he was concerned regarding Frogger, Allen Dulles apparently knew enough about him to trust him. Clete had had no choice but to go along with that. Moreover, unprofessionally, he had the gut feeling that Frogger was one of the good guys.

And he, of course, knew that Boltitz and von Wachtstein could be trusted.

The problem was that they didn't trust Frogger--they didn't know him, or that he was what he said he was. And the reverse was true. Clete thought that if he were in any of their shoes, he would have felt the same way.

That had to be changed.

If their conversation--mutual interrogation--went sour, as it very possibly would, Clete had a hole card in his chest pocket. It was a letter from General von Wachtstein that Captain Dieter von und zu Aschenburg, at considerable personal risk, had carried to Hans-Peter von Wachtstein shortly after von Wachtstein had arrived in Argentina.

In the letter, General von Wachtstein told his son that he had belatedly realized it was his duty to do whatever he could to rid Germany of Adolf Hitler.

He had begun the letter: The greatest violation of the code of chivalry by which I, and you, and your brothers, and so many of the von Wachtsteins before us, have tried to live is, of course, regicide. I want you to know that before I decided that honor demands I contribute what I can to such a course of action, I considered all of the ramifications, both spiritual and worldly, and that I am at peace with my decision.

Clete's father had read the letter. It had caused the tough old cavalryman to weep.

If things did not go the way Frade hoped they would--the way they had to go--Frade was going to show the letter to Frogger, even though this would enrage Peter, would make him feel that Frade had not only betrayed him but had sentenced his father to death by hanging from a butcher's hook by piano wire.

Frade raised his arm over his head and, fist balled, made the U.S. Marine Corps hand signal for Gather on me by making a pumping motion.

Whether that was also a hand signal of the Husares de Pueyrredon or not, Enrico Rodriguez, whom Clete was starting to think of as the wagon master leading the pioneers across the prairie, understood it. He and the wagons and horsemen, who had followed the hunters across the pampas, now headed for them.

"Leave the lunch wagon," Clete ordered when Enrico rode up, "and then take everybody far enough away so they won't be able to hear us talking."

"Si, senor."

Frade turned to Welner and said, "Father, I have no problem with you hearing this, but it's up to them, not me."

Frogger, von Wachtstein, and Boltitz looked at them.

"For what it's worth, I trust Father Welner with my life," Clete said. "And he already knows a hell of a lot; just about everything."

The three Germans looked among themselves.

"Father," Boltitz finally said, "are you sure you want to know about this?"

"I wish I didn't know any of it," the priest said. "What I am sure of is that what I would like to do is keep your parents alive. The more I know, the better chance I will have to do that. If I have to say this, I swear before God that nothing I hear here today will go any further."

The Germans looked at each other again. Finally, von Wachtstein and then Frogger nodded.

"Please stay, Father," Boltitz said. "And getting right to the point of this, what Peter and I have to do, with the lives of many people at stake, is determine that Oberstleutnant Frogger is who he and--no offense intended--Major Frade say he is."

"And the reverse is true, Herr Kapitan zur See," Frogger said stiffly. "The only person vouching for you is Major Frade. How do I know you are who you say you are?"

The irony of three traitors standing around a wagon in the middle of nowhere on the pampas drinking coffee and eating pastry while trying to determine that the others were also bona fide traitors was not lost on Frade. It would have been almost funny if so much, and so many lives, were not at stake.

It also made him consider treason and traitors. Until he came to Argentina, it had been simple: Anyone who is a traitor is a no-good sonofabitch. One beneath contempt.

But these three honorable men, these decent officers who actually tried to live by a code of chivalry that Frade thought was ridiculous in these times, were putting their lives on the line to be traitors. He admired them all, and doubted that he would have been able to handle being in their shoes.