Having received no response to the ringing of the bell, Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein let himself into his apartment. “Hey, anybody home?”
“In here, Peter,” a familiar voice called.
Peter went into his sitting room, where he found Korvettenkapitän Karl Boltitz, in civilian clothing, behind his desk. His hand was resting on a folded copy of La Nación.
“Hello, Karl,” Peter said. “What are you doing here? Where’s my maid?”
“After she let me in, I gave her the rest of the day off,” Boltitz said.
“What’s going on?”
“Sit down, Peter,” Boltitz ordered coldly, pointing to a leather armchair.
“I’ll stand, thank you,” Peter said, his temper starting to flare.
Boltitz pushed the newspaper to one side. It had concealed a Luger 9mm Parabellum pistol. “Sit down, Peter,” Boltitz repeated.
“What’s going on?” Peter replied, but sat down.
“It says here—if we are to believe Reuters, and I do—that Rome was bombed by five hundred American planes last night. Is that what happened, Peter, you decided we will lose the war? And wanted to be on the winning side?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Peter said.
“While you were flying off on your honeymoon, I took a trip by car,” Boltitz said. “To Puerto Magdalena. There I spoke with Lothar Steuben and other members of his family. Now do you know what I’m talking about?”
Peter didn’t reply.
“Herr Steuben
reported that you left his home, ‘to conduct business,’ after you had convinced Herr Loche that you needed to know where exactly the boat from the Océano Pacífico would land on Samborombón Bay. That’s how the Americans—or the Argentines, it doesn’t really matter—knew where to be, and when. You told them, Major Freiherr von Wachtstein.”
Peter didn’t reply.
“Do you deny this, Peter?”
“No,” Peter said simply.
“Did you know the intention of your friends, vis-à-vis Oberst Grüner and Standartenführer Goltz?”
“No.”
“Why, Peter?”
“You know what they are bringing ashore, of course?”
“Radios to assist in the repatriation of the Graf Spee officers, you mean?”
“No, I mean cash, and gold taken from the mouths of Jews after they had been murdered in concentration camps, intended to provide sanctuary for the Bavarian corporal and his filthy friends after Germany loses this war.”
“You swore a personal oath, on your honor, to the Führer.”
“That was a terrible mistake. I spent time in Russia. I know what the Nazis really are.”
“The point is, Peter, I took the same oath you did, and I am honor-bound to adhere to it. By your own admission, you are a traitor.”
“All right,” Peter said, “now what?”
“Your treason, among other things, has kept German submariners on the high seas, starving, in great risk of being discovered and sunk, because the Océano Pacífico could not resupply them. Some of them are friends of mine.”