going to be a lot of money made putting it all back together.
Reconstruction money.'
'Suppose Germany winsT asked Craft, by the window.
'Goddamned unlikely,' answered Kendall. 'It's just a question of how much
damage is done to both sides, and we've got the hardware. The more damage,
the more it'll cost to repair. That includes England. If you boys are
smart, you'll be prepared to convert and pick up some of the postwar
change.'
'The diamonds. . . .' Craft turned from the window. 'What are they forT
.What difference does it makeT Kendall separated a page on his lap and
wrote on it. 'They ran out; their asses are in a sling. Same as yours with
the guidance system.... By the way, Howard, did you have a preliminary talk
with the minesT
Oliver was deep in thought. He blinked and raised his eyes. 'Yes. Koening.
New York offices.'
'How did you put itT
'That it was top secret, War Department approval. The authorization would
come from Swanson's office but even he wasn't cleared.'
'They bought thatT The accountant was still writing.
'I said the money would be up front. They stand to make a few million. We
met at the Bankers' Club.'
'They bought it.' A statement.
'Walter continued Oliver, 'you said Spinelli
before. 1
112
don't like it. He's a bad choice.'
Kendall stopped writing and looked up at the Meridian man. 'I didn't figure
to tell him anything. Just that we were buying; he was to clear everything
before we paid, make sure the designs were authentic.'
'No good. He wouldn't be taken off the project. Not now; too many
questions. Find somebody else.'
'I see what you mean.' Kendall put down the pencil. He picked his nose; it
was a gesture of thought. 'Wait a minute.... There is someone. Right in
Pasadena. He's a weird son of a bitch, but he could be perfect.' Kendall
laughed while breathing through his mouth. 'He doesn't even talk; I mean he
can't talk.'
'Is he any goodT asked Oliver.
'He's got problems but he may be better than Spinelli,' replied Kendall,
writing on a separate piece of paper. 'I'll take care of it.... It'll cost
you.'
Oliver shrugged. 'Include it in the overruns, you prick. What's next?'
'A contact in Buenos Aires. Someone who can deal with Rhinemann, work out
the details of the transfer.'
'Who?' asked Craft apprehensively, both hands clasped in front of him.
The accountant grinned, baring his discolored teeth. 'You volunteering? You
look like a priest.'
'Good Lord, no! I was simply...'
'How much, Kendall?' interrupted Oliver.
'More than you want to pay but I don't think you've got a choice. I'll pass
on what I can to Uncle Sam; I'll save you what I can.'
'You do that.
'There's a lot of military down in Buenos Aires. Swanson will have to run
some interference.'
'He won't touch it,' said Oliver quickly. 'He was specific. He doesn't want
to hear or see your name again.'
'I don't give a shit if he does. But this Rhinemann's going to want certain
guarantees. I can tell you that right now.'
'Swanson will be upset.' Craft's voice was high and intense. 'We don't want
him upset.'
'Upset, shit! He wants to keep that pretty uniform nice and clean.... Tell
you what, don't push him now. Give me some time; I've got a lot of things
to figure out. Maybe I'll come up
113
with a way to keep his uniform clean after all. Maybe I'll send him a bill.'
He wants to keep Mat pretty uniform nice and clean....
So devoutly to be wished, Mr. Kendall, thought Swanson as he approached the
bank of elevators.
But not possible now. The uniform had to get dirty. The emergence of a man
named Erich Rhinemann made that necessary.
Rhinemann was one of Hitler's flascos. Berlin knew it; London and
financial, political, military. For him all authority must emanate from a
single source and he would ultimately settle for nothing less than being at
the core of that source.
The fact that he was a Jew was incidental. An inconvenience to end with the
end of the war.
When the war was over, Erich Rhinemann would be called back. What might be
left of German industry would demand it; the world's financial leaders
would demand it.
Rhinemann would reenter the international market place with more power than
ever before.
Without the Buenos Aires manipulation.
With it his leverage would be extraordinary.
His knowledge, his participation in the exchange would provide him with an
unparalleled weapon to be used against all sides, all governments.
Especially Washington.
Erich Rhinemann would have to be eliminated.
After the exchange.
And if only for this reason, Washington had to have another man in Buenos
Aires.
114
10
DECEMBER 16,1943
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It was unusual for the ranking officer of Fairfax to leave the compound for
any reason, but Colonel Edmund Pace was so ordered.
Pace stood in front of General Swanson's desk and began to understand.
Swanson's instructions were brief, but covered more territory than their
brevity implied. Intelligence files would have, to be culled from dozens of
double-locked cabinets, a number examined minutely.
Swanson knew that at first Pace disapproved. The Fairfax commander could
not conceal his astonishment - at first. The agent in question had to be
fluent in both German and Spanish. He had to have a working knowledge - not
expert but certainly more than conversational - of aircraft engineering,
including metallurgical dynamics and navigational systems. He had to be a
man capable of sustaining a cover perhaps on the embassy level. That meant
an individual possessing the necessary graces to function easily in monied
circles, in the diplomatic arena.
At this juncture Pace had balked. His knowledge of the Johannesburg probe
and the Geneva conduit caused him to object. He interrupted Swanson, only
to be told to hold his remarks until his superior had finished.
The last qualification of the man for Buenos Aires - and the general
conceded its inconsistency when included with the previous technical
qualifications - was that the agent be experienced in 'swift dispatch.'
115
The man was to be no stranger to killing. Not combat fire with its
adversaries separated, pitched into frenzy by the sights and sounds of
battle. But a man who could kill in silence, facing his target. Alone.
This last qualification mollified Pace. His expression conveyed the fact
that whatever his superiors were involved in, it was not wholly what he
suspected it to be - might be. The War Department did not request such a
man if it intended to keep surface agreements.
The ranking officer of Fairfax made no comment. It was understood that he,
alone, would make the file search. He asked for a code,
a name to which he
could refer in any communications.
Swanson had leaned forward in his chair and stared at the map on his desk.
The map that had been there for over three hours.
'Call it "Tortugas,"' he said.
DECEMBER 18,1943
BERLIN, GERMANY
Altmiffler stared at the unbroken sea] on the wide, brown manila envelope.
He moved it under his desk lamp and took a magnifying glass from his top
drawer. He examined the sea] under the magnification; he was satisfied. It
had not been tampered with.
The embassy courier had flown in from Buenos Aires - by way of Senegal and
Lisbon - and delivered the envelope in person, as instructed. Since the
courier was based permanently in Argentina, Altmaller did not want him
carrying back gossip, so he indulged the man in innocuous conversation,
referring to the communication several times in an offhand, derogatory
manner. He implied it was a nuisance - a memorandum concerned with embassy
finances and really belonged at the Finanzministerium, but what could he
do? The ambassador was reputed to be an old friend of Speer's.
Now that the courier was gone and the door shut, AltmtWer
H6
riveted his attention on the envelope. It was from Erich Rhine. mann.
He sliced open the top edge. The letter was written by hand, in Rhinemann's
barely decipherable script.
My Dear AltmOller:
To serve the Reich is a privilege I undertake with enthusiasm. I am, of
course, grateful for your assurances that my efforts will be made known to
my many old friends. I assumed you' would do no less under the
circumstances.
You will be pleased to know that in the coastal waters from Punta Delgada
north to the Caribbean, my ships are honored under the neutrality of the
Paraguayan flag. This convenience may be of service to you. Further, I have
a number of vessels, notably small and medium-sized craft converted with
highperformance engines. They are capable of traveling swiftly through the
coastal waters, and there are refueling depots, thus enabling considerable
distances to be traversed rapidly. Cert-, ainly no comparison to the
airplane, but then the trips are made in utter secrecy, away from the
prying eyes that surround all airfields these days. Even we neutrals must
constantly outflank the blockades.
This information should answer the curiously obscure questions you raised.
I beg you to be more precise in future communications. Regardless, you may
be assured of my commitment to the Reich.
Along these lines, associates in Berne inform me that your Fiffirer is
showing marked signs of fatigue. It was to be expected, was it not?
Remember, my dear Franz, the concept is always a greater monument than the
man. In the current situation, the concept came before the man. It is the
monument.
I await word from you.
Erich Rhinemann
How delicately unsubtle was Rhinemann! . . . commitment to the Reich ...
associates in Berne ... marked signs offatigue ... to be expected...
a greater monument than the man....
117
Rhinemann spelled out his abilities, his financial power, his 'legitimate'
concerns and his unequivocal commitment to Germany. By including,
juxtaposing these factors, he elevated himself above even the Fiffirer. And
by so doing, condemned Hitlerfor the greater glory of the Reich. No doubt
Rhinemann had photostats made of his letter: Rhinemann would start a very
complete file of the Buenos Aires operation. And one day he would use it to
maneuver himself to the top of postwar Germany. Perhaps of all Europe. For
he would have the weapon to guarantee his acceptance.
In victory or defeat. Unswerving devotion or, conversely, blackmail of such
proportions the Allies would tremble at the thought of it.
So be it, thought Altmillier. He had no brief with Rhinemann. Rhinemann was
an expert at whatever he entered into. He was methodical to the point of
excess; conservative in progress - only in the sense of mastering all
details before going forward. Above everything, he was boldly imaginative.
Altmiffler's eyes fell on Rhinemann's words:
I beg you to be more precise in future communications.
Franz smiled. Rhinemann was right. He had been obscure But for a sound
reason: he wasn't sure where he was going; where he was being led, perhaps.
He only knew that the crates of carbonado diamonds had to be thoroughly
examined, and that would take time. More time than Rhinemann realized if
the information he had received from PeenemOnde was accurate. According to
PeenemUnde, it would be a simple matter for the Americans to pack thousands
of low-quality bortz that, to the inexperienced eye, would be undetectable.
Stones that would crack at the first touch to steel.
If the operation was in the hands of the British, that would be the
expected maneuver.
And even the Americans had decent Intelligence manipulators. If the
Intelligence services were intrinsic to the exchange. Yet Altmillier
doubted their active involvement. The Americans were governmentally
hypocritical. They would make demands of their industrialists and expect
those demands to be met. However, they would close their eyes to the
methods; the un sophisticated Puritan streak was given extraordinary lip
service in Washington.
Such children. Yet angry, frustrated children were dangerous.
118
The crates would have to be examined minutely.
In Buenos Aires.
And once accepted, no risks could be taken that the crates would be blown
out of the sky or the water. So it seemed logical to ask Rhinemann what
avenues of escape were available. For somewhere, somehow, the crates would
have to make rendezvous with the most logical method of transportation,
back to Germany.
Submarine.
Rhinemann would understand; he might even applaud the precision of future
communications.
Altmillier got up from his desk and stretched. He walked absently around
his office, trying to rid his back of the cramps resulting from sitting too
long. He approached the leather armchair in which Johann Dietricht had sat
several days ago.
Dietricht was dead. The expendable, misfit messenger had been found in a
bloodsoaked bed, the stories of the evening's debauchery so demeaning that
it was decided to bury them and the body without delay.
Altmifller wondered if the Americans had the stomach for such decisions.
He doubted it.
DECEMBER 19,1943
"I
14-1
FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
Swanson stood silently in front of the heavy steel door inside the Quonset
structure. The security lieutenant was on the wall intercom for only the
length of time it took for him to give the
-general's name. The lieutenant nodded, replaced the phone, saluted the
general for a second time. The heavy steel door clicked and Swanson knew he
could enter.
The Fairfax commander was alone, as Swanson had ordered. He was standing to
the right of his table-desk, a file folder in his hand. He sa
luted his
superior.
'Good morning, general.'
119
'Morning. You worked fast; I appreciate it.'
61t may not be everything you want but it's the best we can come up
with.... Sit down, sir. I'll describe the qualifications. If they meet with
your approval, the file's yours. If not, it'll go back into the vaults.'
Swanson walked to one of the straight-backed chairs in front of the
colonel's desk and sat down. He did so with a touch of annoyance. Ed Pace,
as so many of his subordinates in Clandestine Operations, functioned as
though he were responsible to no one but God; and even He had to be cleared
by Fairfax. It struck Swanson that it would be much simpler if Pace simply
gave him the file and let him read it for himself.
On the other hand, Fairfax's indoctrination had at its core the possibility
- however remote - that any pair of eyes might be captured by the enemy. A
man could be in Washington one week, Anzio or the Solomons the next. There
was logic in Pace's methods; a geographical network of underground agents
could be exposed with a single break in the security chain.
Still, it was annoying as hell. Pace seemed to enjoy his role; he was
humorless, thought Swanson.
'The subject under consideration is a proven field man. He's acted as
independently as anyone in one of our touchiest locations. Languages:
acceptable fluency. Deportment and cover: extremely flexible. He moves
about the civilian spectrum facilely, from embassy teacups to bricklayers'
saloons - be's very mobile and convincing.'
:You're coming up with a positive print, colonel.'
If I am, I'm sorry. He's valuable where he is. But you haven't heard the
rest. You may change your mind.'
'Go on.'
'On the negative side, he's not army. I don't mean he's a civilian - he
holds the rank of captain, as a matter of fact, but I don't think he's ever
used it. What I'm saying is that he's never operated within a chain of
command. He set up the network; he is the command. He has been for nearly
four years now.'
:Why is that negativeT
There's no way to tell how he reacts to discipline. Taking orders.'