strong shoes and sturdy clothes, and a big hat and dark glasses for the sun. Other necessary equipment would be supplied by the courier. The rendezvous was to be the house of Mr. Ernest Head.”
I studied her for a moment. I took a chance and commanded, “If you know so much, tell me the real name of Ernest Head.”
“It used to be Schwarzkopf. Ernest Schwarzkopf. And his wife’s name, in those days, was Gerda Landwehr.”
“You’ve done your homework well,” I said. “But then, an impostor would, wouldn’t she?”
She drew herself up. “I was no impostor, Mr. Evans. Let me show you my—”
“I’m not interested in your credentials. I’m sure you have them or you wouldn’t be trying to wave them under my nose. And I’m not about to travel to Argentina to check up on them. And if I put in a call, I’ll have to ask you for the number, won’t I? And I’m sure you’ll have arranged to have the right person answer. Why didn’t you present these pretty papers at the house over there?”
“When I telephoned, I was told to stay away,” she said. “There was trouble, I was told. The courier had been followed on his previous trip. He’d had to run for the border. He had been caught, and had killed himself. It was not yet known how much of the local apparatus had been compromised. Everybody was sitting very tightly. I was a complication; I was not wanted; I was told to go away and not make things worse.”
“And instead you bought this house and started playing the Horst Wessel with the window open.”
“I asked to be put in touch with someone in authority. My request was refused.” She faced me defiantly. “Your local troubles are not mine, Mr. Evans. I have my mission. I have come a long way to carry it out. I was supposed to get cooperation here. I intend to get it, one way or another.”
She was quite a girl. I said, “You could get something else, honey. Like a fist or a bullet.” She did not react. I asked, “Just what’s supposed to be your purpose in making this long and difficult journey?”
“That can be told to only one man,” she said. “The man I am to meet in Mexico.”
“His name?”
“You know his name.”
“I know it,” I said. “Let’s hear if you do.”
“In Germany he was known as Heinrich von Sachs.” She looked up at me coldly. “Perhaps, in return, you had better tell me the name he uses in Mexico before we talk any more. So I have some way of knowing I’m talking to the right man.”
I said, “You’re in no position to make demands or set conditions, honey. But the name is Kurt Quintana.” I saw her relax slightly, reassured. I went on, still playing it by ear, “And I don’t believe Señor Quintana is interested in dealing with a bunch of South American hoodlums, male or female. And if he were, we’d have been notified that you were coming through here.”
“You were notified,” she said quickly, and I knew I’d made a mistake. “The message was sent and acknowledged.”
“From here? We received no such message.” I was bluffing hard now.
“No, the acknowledgement came from Mexico City.” It was a break. I was still safe. She grimaced. “I am not responsible for the inefficient communications between your various cells, Mr. Evans. And I am neither a hoodlum nor am I a South American. There are a great many of us, of German extraction, down there; many of us who have memories in common.”
I said scornfully, “Memories! Hell, you were learning the multiplication table when Der Fuehrer marched his troops into Poland. You were probably just learning about men when he...” I put a little catch into my voice... “when he died in the Bunker in Berlin. What memories can you have?”
“I was old enough to see both victory and defeat,” she said. “I remember. The tradition lives, Mr. Evans. The new generation is ready. There are two continents here for the taking. I do not believe General von Sachs will scorn our help. After all, for
I studied her for a moment. I took a chance and commanded, “If you know so much, tell me the real name of Ernest Head.”
“It used to be Schwarzkopf. Ernest Schwarzkopf. And his wife’s name, in those days, was Gerda Landwehr.”
“You’ve done your homework well,” I said. “But then, an impostor would, wouldn’t she?”
She drew herself up. “I was no impostor, Mr. Evans. Let me show you my—”
“I’m not interested in your credentials. I’m sure you have them or you wouldn’t be trying to wave them under my nose. And I’m not about to travel to Argentina to check up on them. And if I put in a call, I’ll have to ask you for the number, won’t I? And I’m sure you’ll have arranged to have the right person answer. Why didn’t you present these pretty papers at the house over there?”
“When I telephoned, I was told to stay away,” she said. “There was trouble, I was told. The courier had been followed on his previous trip. He’d had to run for the border. He had been caught, and had killed himself. It was not yet known how much of the local apparatus had been compromised. Everybody was sitting very tightly. I was a complication; I was not wanted; I was told to go away and not make things worse.”
“And instead you bought this house and started playing the Horst Wessel with the window open.”
“I asked to be put in touch with someone in authority. My request was refused.” She faced me defiantly. “Your local troubles are not mine, Mr. Evans. I have my mission. I have come a long way to carry it out. I was supposed to get cooperation here. I intend to get it, one way or another.”
She was quite a girl. I said, “You could get something else, honey. Like a fist or a bullet.” She did not react. I asked, “Just what’s supposed to be your purpose in making this long and difficult journey?”
“That can be told to only one man,” she said. “The man I am to meet in Mexico.”
“His name?”
“You know his name.”
“I know it,” I said. “Let’s hear if you do.”
“In Germany he was known as Heinrich von Sachs.” She looked up at me coldly. “Perhaps, in return, you had better tell me the name he uses in Mexico before we talk any more. So I have some way of knowing I’m talking to the right man.”
I said, “You’re in no position to make demands or set conditions, honey. But the name is Kurt Quintana.” I saw her relax slightly, reassured. I went on, still playing it by ear, “And I don’t believe Señor Quintana is interested in dealing with a bunch of South American hoodlums, male or female. And if he were, we’d have been notified that you were coming through here.”
“You were notified,” she said quickly, and I knew I’d made a mistake. “The message was sent and acknowledged.”
“From here? We received no such message.” I was bluffing hard now.
“No, the acknowledgement came from Mexico City.” It was a break. I was still safe. She grimaced. “I am not responsible for the inefficient communications between your various cells, Mr. Evans. And I am neither a hoodlum nor am I a South American. There are a great many of us, of German extraction, down there; many of us who have memories in common.”
I said scornfully, “Memories! Hell, you were learning the multiplication table when Der Fuehrer marched his troops into Poland. You were probably just learning about men when he...” I put a little catch into my voice... “when he died in the Bunker in Berlin. What memories can you have?”
“I was old enough to see both victory and defeat,” she said. “I remember. The tradition lives, Mr. Evans. The new generation is ready. There are two continents here for the taking. I do not believe General von Sachs will scorn our help. After all, for
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