The Honor of Spies

"Graves told me that when he went to J. Edgar Hoover, Hoover told him that when he tried to bring up the subject of Soviet spies in the Manhattan Project to the President, Roosevelt flashed his famous smile at him and said since the Russians knew nothing of the Manhattan Project, how could they have spies trying to penetrate it?"

They lapsed into silence for another long moment.

Finally, Dulles again broke it.

"I would say then that we are agreed we don't mention this to Donovan?"

Graham nodded.

"What about Hoover?" Graham asked.

"Hoover already knows about the Russian spies. I suspect J. Edgar has some of his best people keeping their eyes on them."

"Nevertheless, when von und zu gives us the names of his spies, I think we should pass them on to J. Edgar; his spies may not be the same as Canaris's spies." Dulles nodded, and Graham went on: "Slip them under J. Edgar's door in the dead of night; I don't think he should know they came from us."

"That leaves only two minor problems to be resolved," Dulles said. "Where do we get the one hundred thousand dollars immediately, and the million we will need later? Probably more than a million dollars. Estimates for this sort of thing are invariably far short of what is actually required."

"I don't see that as a problem. What's the other thing?"

"How do we get this officer of Gehlen's from here to South America? And the families von und zu is talking about? And subquestion a: What do we do with him--with, ultimately, all of Gehlen's women and children--once they are there? And why isn't a million dollars a problem?"

"I've been giving that some thought. If you and I suddenly spent even the hundred thousand from our nonvouchered funds, Donovan would be all over us wanting to know what we spent it on."

"Leaving us where?"

"With Cletus Marcus Howell."

"Who?" Dulles said.

"Cletus Frade's grandfather, a.k.a. Howell Petroleum. He's got that kind of money--more important, he's got it in Venezuela, out of sight of the Internal Revenue Service--and I'm sure that all I'll have to tell him is that his grandson needs to borrow it for the duration plus six months."

"And moving all these people to Argentina?"

Graham nodded and said, "Donovan told me the President is really happy that Juan Trippe is really unhappy that South American Airways has established--or is in the process of establishing--regularly scheduled service between Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, Santiago, Montevideo, and other places in South America. All I have to do is figure a way to make the President think of how utterly miserable Juan Trippe would be to learn that this upstart airline is offering . . . oh, say, twice-weekly service between Buenos Aires and Madrid? Or Lisbon? Or Casablanca? Or all three?"

"Which they could do if they had a 'surplus' Constellation?"

"I was thinking more on the lines of three Constellations," Graham said.

"Why am I getting the feeling that this Constellation idea didn't suddenly pop into your head in the last fifteen minutes or so?"

"Because you know how devious--some might say Machiavellian--I am beneath this polished veneer of refined Texas gentleman."

Dulles chuckled. "I have to say this, Alex: You realize that we are giving aid and comfort to the enemy, betraying our Russian ally, and agreeing to deceive not only our boss but the President?"

Graham's face was sober as he nodded his understanding.

But then he smiled.

"It's in a good cause, Allen. Now get on the phone and get von und zu back in here so we can tell him he's got a deal."

[THREE]

Aboard MV Ciudad de Cadiz

South Latitude 26.318

West Longitude 22.092

0625 11 September 1943

Kapitanleutnant Wilhelm von Dattenberg paused at the interior door to the bridge, waited to be noticed, and when that didn't happen, asked, "Permission to come onto the bridge, Kapitan?"

Von Dattenberg, a slim, somewhat hawk-faced thirty-two-year-old, was wearing navy blue trousers, a black knit sweater, and a battered, greasy Kriegsmarine officer's cap, which was sort of the proud symbol of a submarine officer.

Capitan Jose Francisco de Banderano, master of the Ciudad de Cadiz, who had been standing on the port flying bridge holding binoculars to his eyes, turned to look at von Dattenberg. Jose de Banderano looked very much like Wilhelm von Dattenberg--in other words, more Teutonic than Latin--but was a few years older. He was wearing blue trousers and a stiffly starched white shirt with four-stripe shoulder boards.

"You have the freedom of this bridge, Capitan," de Banderano said. "I thought I told you that. Four or five times."

"I must have forgotten."

Von Dattenberg walked onto the flying bridge and looked over the side. His vessel--U-405, a type VIIC submarine--lay alongside, the German naval battle flag hanging limply from a staff on her conning tower.