The Honor of Spies

That scenario had not sat well with Cranz--and with his superiors in Berlin--because it would have meant that one of their own, Frau Frogger, had been a traitor. That would have damaged the image of the Sicherheitsdienst, and that couldn't be tolerated.

The arrow was again pointing at Anton von Gradny-Sawz, and, having come to that conclusion, he had understood he really had no choice in the matter; he had to do what he was about to do.

El Coronel Alejandro Martin, chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security, was sitting in a booth halfway down the right side of the ABC, buttering a chunk of rye bread.

He was wearing a tweed suit that von Gradny-Sawz thought was "cut on the English style" and didn't look much like what came to mind when thinking of someone who was Argentina's senior intelligence--and, for that matter, counterintelligence--officer.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting, el Coronel?"

Martin rose and offered von Gradny-Sawz his hand.

"Actually, I came a bit early. How are you, Mister Secretary?"

"I thought we'd agreed you weren't to call me that?"

"At the time, we agreed you wouldn't call me 'Coronel.' "

"Touche, Alejandro," von Gradny-Sawz said. "Shall I go out and come back in and do it right?"

"Sit down, Anton, and as soon as we decide which of our governments is paying for our lunch, we'll have a look at the wine list."

Von Gradny-Sawz managed to slide onto the opposing bench, and he reached for the red-leather-bound wine list.

"Before we allow the subject to get in the way of our lunch, Anton," Martin said, "I regret that I have been unable to turn up any trace of Senor Frogger. Or Senora Frogger."

"They seem to have simply fallen off the edge of the earth, haven't they?" von Gradny-Sawz said. "But now that we have talked business, diplomatic protocol gives me no choice in the matter. Our luncheon is on the Foreign Ministry of the German Reich."

"I will not argue with diplomatic protocol," Martin said. "And since I know nothing of German wines, I'm happy to bow to your expertise."

"Have you thought of what you would like to eat?"

"They do a marvelous sauerbraten here."

"Yes, they do," von Gradny-Sawz agreed cheerfully. "And that would call for a red." He looked up from the wine list, smiled happily at Martin, and announced, "And here it is!"

He pointed. Martin looked.

"That's Argentine," Martin said.

"Yes, I know," von Gradny-Sawz said. "And since, with all modesty, I am something of an expert on German wines--which range from the tolerable to the undrinkable--I will confess--trusting in your discretion--that I never drink them unless it is my diplomatic duty to do so."

Martin smiled at him but didn't reply.

"Hungarian wines are marvelous," von Gradny-Sawz began, interrupting himself when a waiter appeared. Then, switching to German, he ordered: "Be so good, Herr Ober, as to bring us a bottle of the Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon 1939 if you have it. If not, 1941."

"Jawohl, Exzellenz."

"And then make sure there is another; I suspect it may be necessary."

"Jawohl, Exzellenz."

The waiter bowed and backed away from the table.

"An ethnic German, I would suppose," von Gradny-Sawz said, switching back to Spanish. "What is it they say about converts to Roman Catholicism? 'They become more Papist than the Pope.' I suspect we are being served by a devout follower of the Fuhrer."

Martin chuckled.

"Where was I? Oh. Hungarian wines. They really are wonderful. Something else the Bolsheviks are going to wind up with. Including a vineyard that's been in my family since the Romans."

"That sounds as if you think the Allies are going to win the war," Martin said carefully.

"As a loyal German, I of course have absolute faith in the ultimate Final Victory."

Martin smiled and shook his head. Von Gradny-Sawz smiled back.

"Changing the subject," Martin said, "I know something about that Don Guillermo Cabernet I suspect you don't."

"The initial pressing is by the bare feet of nubile virgins?"

"The 'Don Guillermo' makes reference to Don Guillermo Frade, granduncle of the present owner, Don Cletus Frade. He established the vineyard in Mendoza."

"And now it's in the hands of an American! War is really hell, isn't it, Alejandro?"

"Yes, I think it is," Martin said seriously. "But speaking of the war, may I ask you a question, friend to friend?"

"Certainly."

"What's going on with Mussolini? What was that all about?"

"You saw the story in La Nacion?"

"And we heard from our embassy in Berlin that the newspapers there reported that after his brilliant rescue he's on his way to see Hitler."