There was, of course, always Frau Nussl. She had said to come back.
Her maid! Certainly her maid could press my pants!
He drove back down Onkel Tom Allee and ultimately to 35 Beerenstrasse.
This time Frau Nussl herself opened the door to him.
"I couldn't have you in with Frau Leiss here," Frau Nussl greeted him.
"I understand," Peter said.
"The cognac is marvelous!" Frau Nussl said. "I started without you, the minute she was out of the door."
"I have a friend in Paris who sends it to me," Peter replied idly, and then asked, "Your maid is gone, I take it?"
"You seem disappointed," Frau Nussl said.
"I have to have my trousers pressed," Peter said.
"Really?"
"Really. Is there a cleaner's shop nearby?"
"It's probably closed," she said. "But there's an iron somewhere. AH we have to do is find it. Can you do it yourself?"
"Sure."
"It's probably in one of the closets upstairs, it and the board," she said. "Let's go see. One of those lovely bottles of cognac is already up there."
There was, in fact, a small but completely equipped linen closet Peter set up the folding ironing board and plugged the iron in.
Frau Nussl handed him a snifter generously served with cognac.
"I'd offer to do that for you, but I honestly don't know how," she said.
"Is there a robe or something I could borrow? You lose the crease unless you let them cool for fifteen or twenty minutes."
"ThatI can arrange," she said, and went down the corridor.
Peter took a healthy swallow of the cognac and felt it warm his body.
Argentina? Assistant Military Attach? for Air? Accompanying a body? What the hell is going on?
Frau Nussl returned with a heavy silk robe.
"It's Alois's. Almost unworn," she said. "When he puts it on, it drags on the floor."
"It'll do fine," Peter said. "It won't take me long. Thank you."
He closed the door, took his trousers off, and laid them on the board while he waited for the iron to grow warm.
The door opened.
"I wondered," Frau Nussl said, "what you would look like without your pants."
Frau Nussl had changed into a dressing robe.
"Oh, really?"
"And I thought you just might be idly curious to see what I looked like without mine," Frau Nussl went on, flicking the opening of her gown back and forth to give him, however briefly, that opportunity.
"Won't that wait?" she asked. "Isn't there something I could do to get you to put that off for a while?"
"You just did it," Peter said, and unplugged the iron.
Chapter Four
[ONE]
The Diplomatic Reception Room
The Foreign Ministry of the German Reich
Berlin
1205 30 October 1942
"There he is," Wilhelm von Ruppersdorf, Deputy Foreign Minister for South American Affairs, said softly to the three men sitting with him at a small table, and rose to his feet.
The others followed suit. Hauptmann Hans-Peter von Wachtstein looked toward the door. A uniformed guard was leading a tall, dark-haired, and dark-skinned man in a business suit across the marble-floored reception area toward them.
Von Ruppersdorf took a few steps forward, smiled, and put out his hand.
"Buenas tardes, mi Coronel," he said.
Von Ruppersdorfs Spanish, Peter had learned three quarters of an hour before, was impeccable. He had served for three years at the Embassy in Buenos Aires, he informed Peter then.
The tall, dark-skinned man smiled, showing a handsome set of teeth, and shook von Ruppersdorfs hand.
"Colonel Per?n, may I present Brigadefiihrer von Neibermann, Oberst Susser, and Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein?" von Ruppersdorf said. Gentlemen, Colonel Juan Domingo Per?n, of the Argentine Embassy."
Per?n shook hands with each of them in turn. He seemed to look askance at Peter, which Peter felt was understandable.
Despite my new shoes and pressed pants, compared to these three, I look like a bum.
Von Ruppersdorf was wearing a morning coat, Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann was wearing an SS dress uniform, complete to dagger suspended from a silver brocade belt, and Colonel Susser was in the prescribed Luftwaffe walking-out uniform. Peter was wearing a leather uniform jacket which showed signs of having spent some time in a cockpit.
Another usher appeared, carrying five glasses of champagne on a tray. One by one the men took a glass.
"The late Captain Jorge Alejandro Duarte," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann said, raising his glass.
He mispronounced every other syllable, Peter noticed, despite the coaching he'd been given by von Ruppersdorf before they came into the reception room.
"Hear, hear," Colonel Susser said.
"A tragic loss," von Ruppersdorf said.
"El Capitan Duarte," Peter said, raising his glass and then taking a sip.
Not bad,Peter thought. German Sekt, of course, not as good as French champagne, but the Foreign Ministry of the German Reich certainly could not serve French champagne in its reception room.
He was more than a little hung over and as dry as a bone, and had to resist the temptation to drain his glass and hold it up for another. He sensed Colonel Juan Domingo Per?n's eyes on him.
"I would like to apologize for my appearance, mi Coronel," Peter said. "When I was summoned to Berlin, I had no idea it was to take lunch with a distinguished foreign statesman."
"I'm not a 'distinguished statesman,' Captain," Per?n said with a smile. "Like you, I am a soldier. I am here to learn something about your social services. And if I was looking closely at you, it was to see if that is indeed the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross."
"Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein received that decoration from the hands of the Fuhrer himself," Brigadefiihrer von Neibermann gushed.
"Where did you learn your Spanish, Captain?" Colonel Per?n asked Peter, ignoring von Neibermann. "You speak it extraordinarily well."
"In school, mi Coronel," Peter replied, "and then I served in Spain."
"With the Condor Legion," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann furnished.
"You will have no trouble making yourself understood in Argentina, Captain," Per?n said.
"You think the Freiherr would be suitable, then, for the sad duty of escorting the remains of Captain Duarte, mi Coronel?" von Ruppersdorf asked.
"I should think that Captain Duarte's familywe are acquaintedwould be honored that such a distinguished officer would be spared from his duties for the task," Per?n said.
"It is a token of the respect of the government of the German Reich for Captain Duarte," von Ruppersdorf said. "His loss is deeply regretted."
"We feel that Captain Duarte fell for the Fatherland," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann said solemnly. "That he was one of us."
Per?n looked at him. Peter saw the sudden hardness in his eyes.
That was going a bit too far, Herr Brigadefuhrer.
"Did I understand you to say that you know Captain Duarte's family, Colonel Per?n ?" von Ruppersdorf asked quickly.
"I am acquainted with his parents," Per?n said. "His uncle, Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade, is an old friend. We shared a room at the School of Cavalry as lieutenants, and we were at Command College together."