“Cortina’s a light colonel?” Schultz asked rhetorically. “Who’s General Nervo?”
“He runs the Gendarmería Nacional.”
“One of these days you are going to tell me what the hell’s going on, right?”
“Just as soon as I get back from Buenos Aires.”
The door from the library opened and Strübel—now Möller—came out. He was wearing a shirt and trousers Schultz had liberated from Rodríguez’s wardrobe. They were much too large for him. Clothespins still in place at the back of the collar and on the rear of the suit jacket made them fit well enough for the camera.
“May I have a private word with you, Major Frade?” he asked politely.
“I already told Herr Körtig, Herr Möller, never to use my rank. Please don’t do so again. And anything you have to say to me can be said before my men.”
Möller considered that and nodded.
“Presumably, you have a means to communicate with either Colonel Graham or Herr Dulles?”
Clete nodded.
“I have a message that I would like to send to either, for transmission to Colonel Gehlen.”
“We can arrange that,” Clete said. “But Gehlen’s another name I don’t want used here. Any suggestions, Herr Möller?”
“I never gave that any thought,” Möller confessed after a moment.
“Who’s Colonel Gehlen?” Schultz asked.
“He runs Russian intelligence for the German General Staff; he’s Herr Möller’s boss. I’ll tell you all about that, too, when I get back from Buenos Aires.”
“The first Russian thing that comes to my mind is ‘Samovar,’” O’Sullivan offered. “You know, that big tea kettle?”
“Too close,” Clete said. “But there’s nothing wrong with ‘Teapot.’ Make it ‘Big Teapot’ for Gehlen, ‘Teapot’ for Herr Möller.”
“And the other one?” O’Sullivan asked.
“Teacup,” Schultz said, smiling.
“Done,” Clete said.
“Let’s have your message, Herr Teapot,” Clete said, smiling. “Just as soon as I get back from Buenos Aires, I’ll be in touch with Washington; I’ll include your message.”
Möller was not amused.
He handed Clete a sheet of paper on which was written a series of characters in five-character blocks. It looked like gibberish, but Clete immediately recognized it for what it was: an encoded message.
“Three things, Herr Möller,” Frade said coldly. “One, you are not going to send any messages in code to anybody. I don’t want you reporting to Big Teapot anything that you or Teacup might hear or see here unless I know what it is. Two, you will give El Jefe your codebook just as soon as you can. Don’t even think of trying to either hide or destroy it . . .”
“This was not my understanding of how things were to be done,” Möller said.
“Three, if I learn that you or anyone else has tried to send a message to anyone without my knowledge, I’ll have you shot.”
Möller looked at him with cold eyes but didn’t reply.
“Do we understand each other?” Clete asked.
Möller nodded. “But there is one thing I think you should understand, Herr Frade: Despite the circumstances, I consider myself and Körtig to be soldiers obeying the orders we have been given. Not traitors.”
“Consider yourself anything you want to,” Clete said. “Just as long as you don’t endanger in any way anything I’m doing here.”