The Honor of Spies (Honor Bound 5) - Page 108

Martín nodded his understanding or agreement, or maybe both.

I’ve got him, von Gradny-Sawz decided. El Coronel Martín not only took the bait but swallowed it whole.

Kidnapping Don Cletus Frade’s mother-in-law and brother-in-law to exchange them for the Froggers would be a clever thing to do, the sort of thing Cranz—if he were considerably more intelligent than he believes himself to be—would dream up.

“Do you have any idea when this kidnapping is supposed to take place?”

Since it exists only in my imagination, Alejandro, I know it will never be attempted.

Von Gradny-Sawz shook his head.

“If I am able to learn more, Alejandro, I’ll let you know.”

I have just given him several problems.

What is he to do?

Put guards on Señora de Mallín and the boy, which would carry with it the risk that questions would be asked that he wouldn’t want to answer? Such as who told him?

Tell Don Cletus Frade, which could pose all sort

s of problems?

Tell his superiors, who might decide to have a quiet word with von Lutzenberger, pointing out the risks of kidnapping a very prominent Argentine woman?

Would von Lutzenberger decide that Cranz, who was capable of such a scheme, was again acting behind his back?

Would any of these scenarios raise questions about Anton von Gradny-Sawz in von Lutzenberger’s mind? Or in Cranz’s or Boltitz’s?

I think not.

This is the second time I have crossed the Rubicon. It becomes easier if one has done it before.

Von Gradny-Sawz raised his hand over his shoulder, snapped his fingers, and called, “Herr Ober!”

The waiter appeared and von Gradny-Sawz mimed for him to open the second bottle of Don Guillermo Cabernet Sauvignon.

VIII

[ONE]

Office of the Managing Director

Banco de Inglaterra y Argentina

Bartolomé Mitre 300

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1430 19 September 1943

“You have an international call, Señor Duarte,” Humberto Duarte’s secretary announced at his office door. “It is Señor Frade calling from Brazil.”

“Put it through, put it through,” Duarte said impatiently.

He had the handset of his ornate, French-style telephone to his ear before his secretary had moved from the door.

It took ninety seconds before Frade came on the line.

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