on his heel and strode to the door of the office. The infantry captain, who had been standing next to the door all during the interview, stiffened at his approach. Willy saw the captain’s eyes glance toward his master. Willy knew he’d reach for the doorknob or for his sidearm, depending on what gesture he’d receive from Galtieri. Willy paused at the doorway, staring at the captain…who reached for the doorknob.
Five minutes later, Willy was on the street outside the building, breathing in the hot, somewhat acrid air of Buenos Aires, sucking it in deeply. After a moment, he walked down the block, past the military guards, and crossed the street to where Heinz was leaning on the parked Mercedes. Heinz did not greet him, but simply opened the door to the driver’s side and got in. Willy entered on the passenger side. The engine was running, with its blessed air conditioning, and Heinz quickly turned on the radio, tuning it to a special frequency that was in fact designed to produce a background of white noise to foil any listening devices that might have been planted inside or trained on them from outside.
“How did it go?” Heinz asked.
“Not good,” Willy replied. He reached for the portable telephone and punched in a number as Heinz pulled the powerful car out into traffic. Willy heard a male voice on the other end of the line say a single word: “ Ja ?”
“This is Oberst Baumann,” Willy replied. “Authentication Friedrich seven-three-nine. Initiate Condition Yellow.”
“ Verstehen ,” the voice said. Understood. The line went dead.
***
The clock down the hall chimed two a.m. as Leopoldo Galtieri lurched from his bed to the adjoining bathroom. He had been asleep maybe two hours, and his bladder roused him again. Too much champagne at dinner, although fortunately not enough to prevent him from enjoying the pleasures of his mistress later on. The raven-haired Carlotta, only twenty-two, and what a tigress she was! He had thought of eventually getting someone younger, but he would never stoop to what Perón had done, bedding young teenagers until he was bewitched by the siren Evita. Carlotta would do for the time being. She was gone now, no longer allowed to spend the night. He was the president, and some sense of propriety had to be maintained.
As he washed his hands, he chuckled at the fresh memory of that young pup Baumann, in his office hours before. Threatening the president of Argentina! Who did these Germans think they were, anyhow? They might have been able to intimidate Viola, but Viola was not in the Pink House now, was he?
Scratching his hairy chest, Galtieri flicked off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom. If his senses hadn’t been dulled by champagne and sex and then sleep, he might’ve noticed something different in the room, some slight change. He climbed back onto his four-poster bed, drank in the smell of Carlotta’s perfume and the musk of their recent coupling, and rolled onto his side, pulling the covers back up over him. The great man’s head hit the pillow and he was almost asleep when something prompted him to shift his head. That’s when he felt it underneath the pillow, something hard, something that hadn’t been there before.
He reached over to the night stand and switched on the light, then flipped the pillow aside. The light glinted off the blade of the dagger. The polished blade was a good eight inches long, and the wooden handle bore the German eagle clutching a swastika in its talons. With shaking hands, Galtieri turned the dagger over. On the opposite side of the blade, the words Alles für Deutschland sent a message that got through loud and clear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Estancia Valhalla, Argentina
December 1981
It was nearly ten at night when Willy arrived back at the estancia. He’d put in three hours at the Bund’s offices in Buenos Aires after leaving the Pink House, most of that time on the
Five minutes later, Willy was on the street outside the building, breathing in the hot, somewhat acrid air of Buenos Aires, sucking it in deeply. After a moment, he walked down the block, past the military guards, and crossed the street to where Heinz was leaning on the parked Mercedes. Heinz did not greet him, but simply opened the door to the driver’s side and got in. Willy entered on the passenger side. The engine was running, with its blessed air conditioning, and Heinz quickly turned on the radio, tuning it to a special frequency that was in fact designed to produce a background of white noise to foil any listening devices that might have been planted inside or trained on them from outside.
“How did it go?” Heinz asked.
“Not good,” Willy replied. He reached for the portable telephone and punched in a number as Heinz pulled the powerful car out into traffic. Willy heard a male voice on the other end of the line say a single word: “ Ja ?”
“This is Oberst Baumann,” Willy replied. “Authentication Friedrich seven-three-nine. Initiate Condition Yellow.”
“ Verstehen ,” the voice said. Understood. The line went dead.
***
The clock down the hall chimed two a.m. as Leopoldo Galtieri lurched from his bed to the adjoining bathroom. He had been asleep maybe two hours, and his bladder roused him again. Too much champagne at dinner, although fortunately not enough to prevent him from enjoying the pleasures of his mistress later on. The raven-haired Carlotta, only twenty-two, and what a tigress she was! He had thought of eventually getting someone younger, but he would never stoop to what Perón had done, bedding young teenagers until he was bewitched by the siren Evita. Carlotta would do for the time being. She was gone now, no longer allowed to spend the night. He was the president, and some sense of propriety had to be maintained.
As he washed his hands, he chuckled at the fresh memory of that young pup Baumann, in his office hours before. Threatening the president of Argentina! Who did these Germans think they were, anyhow? They might have been able to intimidate Viola, but Viola was not in the Pink House now, was he?
Scratching his hairy chest, Galtieri flicked off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom. If his senses hadn’t been dulled by champagne and sex and then sleep, he might’ve noticed something different in the room, some slight change. He climbed back onto his four-poster bed, drank in the smell of Carlotta’s perfume and the musk of their recent coupling, and rolled onto his side, pulling the covers back up over him. The great man’s head hit the pillow and he was almost asleep when something prompted him to shift his head. That’s when he felt it underneath the pillow, something hard, something that hadn’t been there before.
He reached over to the night stand and switched on the light, then flipped the pillow aside. The light glinted off the blade of the dagger. The polished blade was a good eight inches long, and the wooden handle bore the German eagle clutching a swastika in its talons. With shaking hands, Galtieri turned the dagger over. On the opposite side of the blade, the words Alles für Deutschland sent a message that got through loud and clear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Estancia Valhalla, Argentina
December 1981
It was nearly ten at night when Willy arrived back at the estancia. He’d put in three hours at the Bund’s offices in Buenos Aires after leaving the Pink House, most of that time on the
Similar Books
