The Honor of Spies

Wardroom

MV Ciudad de Cadiz

0915 11 September 1943

SS-Brigadefuhrer Manfred von Deitzberg, now attired in an ordinary seaman's blue shirt and trousers, was eating--wolfing down--his breakfast of ham steak and eggs and fried potatoes at the master's table in the wardroom.

"You were hungry, weren't you?" Capitan de Banderano asked, smiling.

Von Deitzberg, obviously making an attempt to pour some oil on what he recognized as troubled waters, smiled at both von Dattenberg--who was sitting across from him at the table--and de Banderano, who was tilted back in his chair at the head of the table.

"Obviously, I am not cut out to be a mariner," he said. "I haven't had much to eat but crackers and tea for days."

"So Capitan Wertz said," de Banderano said. "Well, you can make up for that now."

"You have a dry cleaning facility on here? The steward said something . . ."

"There is a dry cleaning machine aboard," de Banderano said. "And a laundry. And stocks of uniforms for the men from the Unterseebooten. Unfortunately, no SS uniforms. We don't see many SS men."

"And the food! This is marvelous ham! And fresh eggs! Where do you get all this?"

"Either in Montevideo or Buenos Aires. We enter those ports, usually alternately, every two weeks or so. We top off our fuel tanks and take on stocks of fresh food."

"With which you replenish the Unterseebooten," von Deitzberg said.

"We do."

"And you have no trouble getting into and out of those ports?"

De Banderano shook his head.

"Let me ask you this, Kapitan. Could I leave your ship in either port without being noticed?"

"My orders--you gave them to me, didn't you read them?--say that I am to land you and your men and that crate at Samborombon Bay in the River Plate estuary."

"I'm not talking about the SS men. I meant just me."

"I'm not saying it would be impossible, but I don't think I want to take that risk. The authorities watch me pretty close in both places. They suspect--know--what we're doing. But so long as I don't violate their neutrality, they leave me alone. If I was caught smuggling something ashore--you, for example--they wouldn't let me into their ports again. That would mean there would be no fresh food, and, more importantly, no diesel fuel for the Unterseebooten."

When von Deitzberg didn't reply, de Banderano went on: "And then we have our orders. You and your men are to be put ashore on Samborombon Bay."

"Orders are subject to change," von Deitzberg said. "Presumably you are in radio contact with Berlin?"

"Let me explain how that works," de Banderano said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "With rare exceptions, we do not communicate with the station. It's in Spain, by the way. It used to be in North Africa, but now the Americans are there. There was such a transmission today. One word. The code word for 'shipment received; proceeding.'

"We don't want anyone finding us out by triangulation, which they would most likely do if we sent long messages. We receive our orders, which are encrypted by an Enigma machine, from the station in Spain. The enemy cannot locate a radio receiver by triangulation.

"Tomorrow, when you and your men are aboard U-405, and she has sailed for Samborombon Bay, and U-409 resumes patrol, I will transmit a two-word message. One will be the code word for U-405 proceeding according to orders, and the second the code word for U-409 resuming patrol.

"En route to Argentina, the station will transmit specific orders to Capitan von Dattenberg giving him the details regarding where you and your men are to be put ashore in the rubber boats.

"I don't intend to jeopardize this system by transmitting a long message in which you will attempt to justify to Admiral Canaris putting you ashore in Montevideo or Buenos Aires despite the risks that would pose to not only your mission, but also mine. Do you understand, Senor von Deitzberg?"

After a long moment, von Deitzberg smiled. "Of course. I simply didn't understand. As I said before, I am not a mariner."

[FIVE]

ABC Restaurant

Lavalle 545

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1320 18 September 1943

"There it is, on the left," Anton von Gradny-Sawz said, pointing as he leaned forward in the rear seat of the embassy's Mercedes.

"Jawohl, Herr von Gradny-Sawz," Gunther Loche said crisply.

"Pick me up in an hour and a half, Gunther," von Gradny-Sawz ordered as Loche pulled into the curb. "At ten minutes before three."

"Jawohl, Herr von Gradny-Sawz."