Cranz nodded.
“Then get on it, and have this Café Flora bring us some coffee with cream, real cream; make sure they bring enough, and some sweet rolls. Lots of both—what we have to discuss may take some time.”
“Raschner,” Cranz ordered, and pointed toward a telephone on the table.
“Herr Obersturmbannführer,” von Deitzberg said icily. “I told you to get on the phone.”
Cranz’s face flushed, but he walked quickly toward the telephone.
“The number is on the first page of that little phone book, Herr Obersturmbannführer,” Raschner said, helpfully.
“So, Erich,” von Deitzberg said. “What can you tell me about the Froggers?”
“So what you are telling me,” von Deitzberg said, “is that the Froggers may be on Frade’s estancia or they may be in the foothills of the Andes, on another of Frade’s estancias—no one knows for sure?”
“Oberst Schmidt is working on an idea to see if they are in Mendoza,” Raschner said.
“And how close is Oberst Schmidt to putting his idea into play?” von Deitzberg asked.
As Cranz opened his mouth, von Deitzberg went on: “Well, let me tell you why I am so interested in the Froggers: I am, of course, determined to comply with my orders from Reichsführer-SS Himmler to eradicate them wherever and whenever found.
“But there is more to it than that. One of the things I did in Montevideo was to shut down the confidential fund operation. I can tell you now that the Reichsführer never knew anything about it.
“Both of you know the Reichsführer well enough to guess how he would react to learning that some of his closest subordinates were involved. . . .”
“Jesus Christ!” Raschner blurted. “Himmler didn’t know?”
“Do you think he will find out?” Cranz asked.
“One of the ways to make that less likely is to comply with his orders that the Froggers be eliminated,” von Deitzberg said. “Wouldn’t you agree? Wouldn’t you say that should be our highest priority?”
“Von Tresmarck!” Raschner said. “That queer sonofabitch has to go! And that whore of a wife of his! She has to know a lot about the confidential fund.”
“If you will do me the courtesy of hearing me out, Erich, I was about to get to the von Tresmarcks.”
“Sorry.”
“If von Tresmarck were to be eliminated, our colleagues in Germany would wonder why that was necessary under the circumstances. They would also wonder what was going to happen to their share of their assets in the confidential fund. . . .”
The doorbell rang.
“Ah, that must be our Kaffee mit schlagobers!” von Deitzberg said. “Be so good as to answer the door, Erich.”
“I was thinking just before,” von Deitzberg said as he set his coffee cup down, “in the Café Colón, when I had one of these, that it will probably be a very long time before Kaffee mit schlagobers is again available in Demel in Vienna. There might not even be a Demel in Vienna after the war. Or, for that matter, a Vienna—or a Berlin—that any of us would recognize.”
He picked up and took a healthy bite from a jelly-filled roll sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar.
“Or one of these,” he said. He paused. “Except, of course, here in Argentina.” He took another bite of the roll, and when he had finished swallowing, said, “Erich, a moment before, you referred to Frau von Tresmarck as a whore.”
“Isn’t she?” Raschner replied.
“There are some things about her you didn’t need to know. Until now. Were either of you aware that she is the widow of a distinguished brother officer of ours?”
He looked between them and, after both had shaken their heads, he said, “Obersturmbannführer Erich Kolbermann, of the Waffen-SS, gave his life for the Fatherland in the east, shortly before von Paulus surrendered the Sixth Army at Stalingrad. You were not aware of this?”
Again, both shook their heads.
Like schoolboys, he thought, who don’t have any idea how to spell “potassium.”