Von Deitzberg chuckled. “Maybe he is,” he said.
“He’s an idiot,” Raschner said. “They must have sent him here to get rid of him. Or does he have highly placed friends we don’t know about?”
“Not as far as I know, and I think I would,” von Deitzberg said.
“He told me he has strong suspicions that von Tresmarck is queer.”
“Only suspicions?” von Deitzberg said, unable to restrain a smile.
“His investigation is continuing,” Raschner said sarcastically.
“Does he have names?”
“He has a dossier,” Raschner said, holding his hands three inches apart to indicate the thickness of the dossier. “He can’t wait to show it to me.”
“You better have a look at it, Erich,” von Deitzberg said. “You have the embassy roster for me?” Raschner took an envelope from his suit pocket and handed it to him. “What do you think he knows about Operation Phoenix?” von Deitzberg asked.
“He further suspects that von Tresmarck has been investing in the local economy; in fact, that the local real estate man is one of his good friends. He even has a price on a farm that he thinks von Tresmarck has bought.”
“So he’s not entirely stupid, eh?”
“And he suspects von Tresmarck has bank accounts he hasn’t listed with the embassy.”
“They say there is nothing more dangerous than a zealous stupid man,” von Deitzberg said, as much to himself as to Raschner. And then he added, “Does he have any idea where von Tresmarck is getting the money?”
“I’ve only been with him an hour,” Raschner said. “But if you’re really asking, does he know about the concentration-camp connection, I don’t think so.”
“Or he can have decided he knows something he doesn’t think you should.”
“That’s possible.”
“Spend as much time with him as you think necessary,” von Deitzberg ordered. “The priorities—in this order—are who knows about the special business; Operation Phoenix; and—in connection with number two—who here in Uruguay knew about the details—for that matter, the operation itself—of landing the stuff from the Océano Pacífico.”
Raschner nodded.
Von Deitzberg went on: “Going further on that, find out what he knows about what happened on the beach at Samborombón Bay, and, as important, where he got that information.” Raschner nodded again. Von Deitzberg waved him back into the suite.
Hauptsturmführer Konrad Forster was standing where they had left him, in the center of the sitting room. When he saw them, he came to attention.
“We have a somewhat delicate situation here, Hauptsturmführer,” von Deitzberg said. “Herr Raschner and myself have been sent by Reichsprotektor Himmler himself to look into certain matters here and in Buenos Aires. These matters concern a state secret of great importance. That state secret is none of your concern. Or that of Ambassador Schulker.”
“Jawohl, Herr Oberfu…Generalmajor.”
“The very next time you use either my or Herr Raschner’s SS rank, Hauptsturmführer Forster, I will see that you are relieved of your duties here and assigned to the East,” von Deitzberg said matter-of-factly.
“It will not happen again, Herr Generalmajor,” Forster said.
“Herr Raschner and I believe that you, quite innocently, may possess certain information of value to our inquiry, acquired during the course of your normal duties. As Ambassador Schulker may also. Consequently, Raschner will interview you at length, and I will interview the Ambassador and some others. The questions we put to you may not seem to make much sense, but you will not only answer them as fully as possible, but volunteer any other information you have that may have a bearing. Do you understand me?”
“I understand you, Herr Generalmajor.”
“To avoid drawing attention to these interviews, I would rather not conduct them i
n the embassy. Have you a secure room in your quarters?”
“I have a small office in my home, Herr Generalmajor.”
“And it is secure?”