“I suppose,” Cranz said with a smile, “that the first thing most arriving passengers will want to do is answer the call of nature.”
When a waitress came into the room, she offered them coffee and very sweet biscuits.
“When the plane lands, I’ll have a word with the crew about unloading their luggage,” Cranz said. “And you explain to them that their travel plans have been changed.”
Boltitz nodded, at the last second restraining his impulse to acknowledge the order by saying, “Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannführer.”
If Cranz wants to think that he has convinced me we’re pals, fine.
As soon as the ground handlers had rolled the st
airway up to the Condor, Cranz left the terminal and walked toward the airplane without speaking to any of the arriving passengers as they came off the airplane.
And he knows who they are as well as I do. There are photographs in all their dossiers.
The first man off the plane was First Secretary Gradny-Sawz. Boltitz followed Cranz’s example and let him pass into the transient room without giving him any sign of recognition. Sturmbannführer Werner von Tresmarck, in uniform, followed him. As he passed, he looked at Boltitz carefully, obviously suspecting he was German and wondering why he was there.
Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein came in next.
Although Boltitz knew from his dossier that von Wachtstein had won the Knight’s Cross—indeed, had gotten it from the hands of Adolf Hitler himself—it was a little strange to see the man in person. The Knight’s Cross was one of the few decorations that still meant something. It was awarded only in cases of really unusual valor in the face of the enemy, not as a reward for long and faithful service to the Nazi party.
“Major von Wachtstein?”
Von Wachtstein looked at him carefully. One eyebrow rose just perceptibly before he nodded.
“I’m Karl Boltitz of the embassy,” Boltitz said.
Von Wachtstein waited expressionless for him to go on.
“Actually, Major, I’m Korvettenkapitän Boltitz.”
“Oh, the new naval attaché,” von Wachtstein said, and offered his hand. “How do you do?”
Von Wachtstein’s grip, not surprising Boltitz, was firm.
“What are you doing here?” von Wachtstein asked.
“The opportunity came up, and I thought it might be valuable to have a word with you before I went to Buenos Aires.”
Von Wachtstein’s eyes showed his disbelief.
If he’s involved, he’s doomed. You can read his face like a newspaper.
“Actually, I’m here—”
“Will this wait, Boltitz, until I take a piss?”
Well, he’s obviously not afraid of me. Is that an indication of innocence? Or ignorance?
“Absolutely,” Boltitz said with a smile.
The first of the three to come out of the men’s room was Sturmbannführer von Tresmarck. He marched purposefully to Boltitz. “I understand you’re from the embassy?”
“That’s right,” Boltitz said. “And you’re…?”
“Sturmbannführer von Tresmarck,” he replied, and then went on: “I…uh…had rather expected someone from the SS would meet us.”
“Obersturmbannführer Cranz is here,” Boltitz said with a nod toward the window and the Condor outside, “arranging to have your luggage removed from the airplane.”