"I'll give you a hand," Peter said, and stood to one side so that the copilot could get out of his chair.
The copilot walked past him, and Peter started to follow.
"Peter?" the pilot called, and Peter turned. "Have a look at this, will you?"
Peter leaned over the pilot's shoulder. The pilot handed him a thick, well-sealed envelope. Peter glanced at it quickly, just long enough to recognize that the address-"H-P v. W."-was in the handwriting of his father, then stuffed it quickly into the inside pocket of his unifor
m tunic.
The letter from his father sent in the custody of Standartenf?hrer Goltz was obviously a decoy, sent because a Generalleutnant with connections in high places could be expected to ask someone like Goltz to carry a letter to his sole surviving son-despite specific prohibitions against doing so. It would be thought odd if he hadn't asked the favor.
The letter he had just taken from the pilot was a real letter. Its contents would probably get both of them shot, or more likely garroted, if it wound up in the hands of the SD or Gestapo.
"Thank you," he said.
The pilot nodded.
"Watch what you say around Nabler, Peter," the pilot said. "He still thinks Adolf pisses lemonade."
Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein nodded, then turned and left the cockpit.
[TWO]
Dr. Cosme Argerich Military Hospital
Calle Luis Maria Campos
Buenos Aires
1B55 9 April 1943
As the convoy of staff cars rolled through the gates of the hospital, Clete had several thoughts, some of them irreverent and on the edge of unkind.
There was absolutely no reason for all these brass hats to be following them. But they had apparently been told to accompany Ramirez to the Panagra terminal to meet him, and nobody had the balls to leave without further orders. And the term "brass hat" was really more appropriate here, where the headgear of the senior brass was both enormous and heavily encrusted with gilt decora-tion, than it was in the States, where most general officers he had seen had worn soft fore-and-aft caps.
I'll bet those hats weigh more than a steel helmet. These guys probably go home at night with one hell of a headache, groan loudly as they take off their caps, and then have their wives massage their necks.
The guards at the gates, wearing German-style steel helmets, wide-eyed at the parade of brass hats in their cars, snapped to the Argentine equivalent of Present Arms-holding their Mauser rifles vertically, at arm's length, in front of them, where Marines held their rifles so close to their chests that they nearly touched their noses.
I was no better. The first time I saw a general up close I was a little sur-prised he didn't have a halo.
This place is bigger than I remember. What the hell, it's the Argentine equivalent of Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington, so why not? The dif-ference, of course, is that probably the only wounded soldier in the whole place is Enrico. Unless some Argentine boot shot himself in the foot on the Known Distance Range.
"Mi General," Clete said, turning to Ramirez. "I know that you and your of-ficers are busy men. I can manage by myself from here."
"Se¤or Frade, with your kind permission, my officers and I would be hon-ored to accompany you to where your father lies in honor in the Edificio Libertador."
"Your kindness, mi General, honors both me and my father."
Ramirez nodded and then raised his left hand in a gesture Clete had learned was common in Argentina and signified, "it's nothing," or "don't be silly."
The Mercedes pulled up before the main entrance of the white masonry nine-story building. Two helmeted guards brought their Mauser bolt-action ri-fles to Present Arms. Ramirez's aide-de-camp jumped out of the front seat and opened the rear door for Clete. Meanwhile, a gray-haired man in uniform trousers and a white medical jacket he was still in the process of buttoning came through the ten-foot-high bronze and glass doorway.
He saluted Ramirez.
"A sus ¢rdenes, mi General," he said. "I had no word-"
"Se¤or Frade," Ramirez interrupted him, "may I present el Coronel-Medico Orrico, who commands Dr. Cosme Argerich Military Hospital? Coronel, this is Se¤or Frade."