Delgano gestured with his hand toward Frade. “Why don’t you tell me about Operation Phoenix?”
“I will if you tell me whether or not you’ve heard about it, Major Delgano.”
Delgano shrugged. “Very well. I’ve heard about it.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you everything I know about it, and you can then tell me if it’s what you’ve heard.”
“Fair enough.”
“Just about everybody in Hitler’s circle but Hitler himself has realized that the war essentially is over, and that most of them are going to get hung. So Martin Bormann came up with a plan—Operation Phoenix—to buy a sanctuary in South America. Primarily in Argentina, but also in Brazil, Paraguay . . .”
“That’s pretty much what we’ve heard,” Delgano said when Frade had finished.
“What have you heard about the ransoming of Jews out of the concentration camps and arranging for them to get out of Germany and come to Argentina and Uruguay?”
Delgano didn’t reply immediately.
“Nothing,” he finally said. “But it would certainly explain something that’s been bothering us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Two things: Where all those pathetic ‘Spanish and Portuguese’ Jews are coming from—pathetic meaning undernourished, showing signs of abuse, and looking very frightened. And with numbers tattooed on their inner arms.” He pointed to his own arm. “We checked their passports. They’re valid.”
“You said two things,” Frade said.
“And the passage of large amounts of dollars and pounds sterling through Argentina and into Uruguay.”
Frade smiled knowingly. He said, “The operation is run by Himmler’s adjutant, SS-Brigadeführer Manfred von Deitzberg, who was recently in Argentina wearing the uniform of a Wehrmacht major general.”
“We knew that—that he was really SS—but never quite understood what he was doing in Argentina.”
“Looking for Galahad and protecting the ransoming operation.”
“From you?”
Frade nodded, and said, “But he really has nothing to worry about for the moment. President Roosevelt has decided that my shutting it down would have the effect of sending more Jews to the ovens or being worked—or starved—to death. So the plan is that we’ll deal with those bastards once the Germans have surrendered.”
“One of the problems you—the United States and England—have in Argentina, Cletus, is that very few people are willing to believe the Germans are capable of cruelty—mass murder—on that scale.”
“Yeah, I know,” Frade said, and went on: “My orders are to keep track of both Operation Phoenix and the ransoming money.”
“This is where you have to tell me about South American Airways. Alejandro Martín doesn’t believe much—in fact, anything—about the story you’ve given about why the U.S. suddenly is willing to provide us airplanes that Brazil—and other of your allies—would very much like to have.”
Delgano paused, chuckled, then went on: “But his philosophy is much like yours, Cletus: Let the bastards get away with whatever it is for now. We’ll deal with them later, and in the meantime we’ll have the airplanes.”
“And Gonzo Delgano is watching the bastards like a condor?”
Delgano smiled and nodded.
“The true story is pretty incredible,” Frade said. “You want to hear it anyway?”
Delgano nodded.
“You know who Colonel Charles Lindbergh is?”
Delgano’s face showed he found the question unnecessary to the point of being insulting.
“Well, Lindbergh went to Germany, where Göring gave him a medal, then Lindbergh came home and announced that the Luftwaffe was the most advanced . . .”