“I don’t think that would work. I think you’re even going to have a hard time getting her to believe you’re a major.”
Frade didn’t reply directly; he had had another thought.
“Did you bring any gas with you?”
Stein nodded. “Four jerry cans from the hangar. I hope it’s avgas.”
“If you got it from the hangar, it is,” Frade said. “Enrico, gas it up. I want to get out of here while it’s still light.”
Frade looked at Stein, who waved him up the steps to the house.
Commercial Attaché and Frau Frogger were sitting side by side on a couch in the living room. The couch faced a large plate-glass window offering a view of the valley and the next range of hills.
Frade could imagine his father and Claudia sitting there—maybe Claudia had had her head in his father’s lap as he smoked a cigar and they shared a glass of wine watching the sunset.
He felt a wave of anger at the two Germans sitting on his father’s and Claudia’s couch.
This is not the time to do something stupid!
Frogger, after a moment, stood. His wife clutched her briefcase-sized purse against her stomach and looked at Frade coldly.
“All right, Herr Frogger,” Frade said in German. “What have you got to offer me?”
“Who are you, please?” Frau Frogger demanded.
Frade ignored her.
“Well?” he pursued.
“I don’t really know what you mean,” Frogger said.
“We insist on dealing with an officer of appropriate rank,” Frau Frogger said.
“You are in no position to insist on anything,” Frade said. “Major, did you find anything interesting in their luggage?”
Staff Sergeant Stein accepted his promotion without question. He popped to attention and said, “No, sir. I thought I would wait until you got here, Colonel.”
“Where is it?”
“I put the bags in the housekeeper’s room, sir.”
Frade switched to Spanish and turned to Gómez. “Take the man to get their luggage,” he ordered.
"Sí, mi coronel,” Gómez said, and gestured with the muzzle of the Mauser for Frogger to start moving.
“Let’s have a look at what she’s got in that purse,” Frade said in English, as much to see from her reaction whether or not she spoke English. He saw that she both spoke English and was very unhappy with the notion of having him see what her purse contained.
You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, Frade!
“Please empty the contents of your purse on the table,” he said in German, pointing.
“Nothing but personal items,” she said.
“Empty the purse on the table,” Frade said coldly.
“We have diplomatic immunity,” she protested. “This is an outrage.”
For a moment, Frade thought of ordering Stein to take her purse, but one look at Stein’s face showed that the last thing he wanted to do was snatch a purse from someone—Nazi bitch or not—who looked like a grandmother.