The Honor of Spies

Frade had been home two days now and didn't have a clue as to what he should do with the Froggers. Although he was painfully aware that keeping them on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo was not an option. Sooner or later, their presence would be confirmed and someone would come after them, either the Argentine authorities or the Germans.

One of the peones--a boy of about fourteen--ran up to Julius Caesar. Clete tossed him the reins, then slid out of the saddle. He had been carrying his shotgun--adhering to his belief that you never need a gun until you need one badly--but now no longer needed it. Siggy Stein had a Thompson .45 ACP submachine gun hanging from his shoulder.

He walked back to one of the wagons in the column and handed the shotgun to one of the bird-boys. Bird-boys were responsible for taking the birds from the hunters when the pouches were full, and later--now--plucking and gutting the perdices. The bulk of the cleaned birds, save for a few that would be taken by the peones, would be roasted ritually over a fire at lunch.

Frade was surprised to see how many birds there were. A fifty-kilogram burlap potato bag was full, and another nearly so. Several families of peones were about to have a perdiz feast. The hunting had been great, but the afterglow of that had vanished when he saw the faces on Dorotea, El Jefe, and Stein.

As he walked to the verandah, the other hunters dismounted and followed him.

"Okay, what happened?" Clete asked as he walked onto the verandah.

"There's been a small problem," Dorotea said.

"I would never have guessed from your happy faces," Clete said. "What kind of a small problem?"

"Right after we got here, la Senora Frogger asked if she could go for a walk," Dorotea said.

Dorotea and Schultz had carried the makings of lunch from the big house, bringing the food, the wine, the tableware, cooks, and several maids in Schultz's Model A Ford pickup truck. That, too, was in case anyone was watching.

"And you said, 'Okay,' right?"

"I did," Chief Schultz said, more than a little uncomfortably. "I sent Dorotea with her."

He was now speaking of The Other Dorotea, who was euphemistically described as "El Jefe's housekeeper."

"And then what happened?" Clete asked softly.

"Well," Schultz began, and then stopped. He sighed, then went on: "Clete, I sent a couple of guys on horses with them. Told them to stay out of sight but to keep their eyes open. . . ."

"And then what happened?" Clete repeated softly.

"Well, I guess they were half a mile, maybe a kilometer, out in the boonies when Dorotea took a little break. . . ."

"What do you mean, 'a little break'?"

"She went behind a bush, so to speak, is what I mean," Schultz said uncomfortably. "You know?"

That triggered a mental image of the massive "housekeeper" Frade would just as well have not had.

"And then what happened?" Clete asked for a third time.

"Then the Kraut belted her behind the ear with a thing from the fireplace--you know, a poker. She must have had it hidden in her skirt."

Clete looked back to Schultz. "And then?"

"The Kraut took off running," Schultz said. He then remembered that three of the men listening to him were German and might consider that a pejorative term. He tried to justify his lack of tact by saying, "Jesus, she could have killed Dorotea with that goddamn poker."

"Is Dorotea badly injured?" Clete inquired.

"She's got a lump behind her ear the size of a baseball."

"Where did Frau Frogger think she was going?" Frade asked.

Schultz shrugged.

"She didn't get far," Schultz said. "Dorotea went after her."

"And where is she now?" Father Welner asked.

"In the house," Schultz said. "He's taking care of her."

"I presume you mean Herr Frogger?" Clete asked.

Schultz nodded.

"Define 'taking care of her,' " Frade ordered.

Schultz now looked even more uncomfortable.

"When she caught her, Dorotea did a job on her," he said. Then he added: "It took two of the guys to pull her off of her." There was another pause, this one a little longer. "And it took them a little time to get there to pull her off."

"May I see her?" Oberstleutnant Frogger asked softly.

"Perhaps it would be better if I went in to see her first," Father Welner said. When neither Frogger nor Frade replied, the priest added, "You said earlier, Wilhelm, that there was some difficulty between you two when you first saw her."

Frogger nodded. "Thank you, Father."

Welner reached down and unbuttoned several of the buttons on his plaid woolen shirt. Then he reached inside and pulled out a dickey to which was attached a clerical collar. In a few seconds, he had fastened the collar around his neck and rebuttoned the shirt.

He looked at Frade and the others, and asked, "All right?"

They nodded.

Frade said what he was thinking: "In that plaid shirt, she's going to think you're a Presbyterian."

Von Wachtstein chuckled. Everybody else gave him a dirty look.