he consoled himself with thinking that it was his duty, as a cavalry officer, as former colonel commanding, and commander-in-chief.
“Mi general?” Teniente Coronel Ricardo Fosterwood, his aide-de-camp, called from the office door.
Pistarini waved him into the office without turning around or taking his boots off the windowsill.
“Mi general, el Coronel Stumpff is in the office, and asks to see you.”
Colonel Hans-Friedrich Stumpff was the military attaché of the German embassy.
“Do I have an appointment with him?” Pistarini asked.
“No, sir.”
“Can’t you deal with him?”
“Sir, he apologizes for the intrusion, but says that it is important that he see you personally at your earliest convenience.”
“Give me a minute, then send him in. Bring him in. And after three minutes, if he is still here, remind me of a meeting.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pistarini reluctantly took his boots off the windowsill, turned around, opened a drawer in his desk, put the coffee cup and saucer into it, and then opened one of the folders on his desk and pretended to read it.
Colonel Stumpff marched into the office, came to attention, and saluted.
He was in uniform. Pistarini privately thought the two-tone blue uniform of German officers made them look like pilots of some third-rate airline.
Pistarini returned the salute.
“Thank you for seeing me, mi general,” Stumpff said in Spanish.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Colonel,” Pistarini replied, then, extending his hand, switched to German. “Wie geht’s, Hans?”
The German was another inheritance from his maternal grandmother, who to her dying day proclaimed that German was the only language of precision, and that someone who did not speak German could not consider himself educated.
“Gut, und Sie?” Stumpff said, smiling, as he shook Pistarini’s hand.
Then he reached into his briefcase and took from it a large manila envelope. He opened this and took from it a smaller, letter-size envelope and handed it to Pistarini.
“What have we here?” Pistarini asked.
“It was in this morning’s diplomatic pouch, General,” Stumpff said.
Pistarini tore open the crisp, expensive embossed envelope.
Schlöss Greiffenberg Marburg an der Lahn
22 December 1964
Teniente General Don Pascual Angel Pistarini
Commander-in-Chief
Argentine Army
Edificio Libertador
Buenos Aires
By Hand of Officer Courier
My dear friend Pascual:
I had the privilege of receiving here over the weekend my dear American friend Sanford T. Felter, and Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell, U.S. Army.
It came out that Colonel Lowell will shortly be visiting the military attaché of the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires, and I would regard it as a personal service if you would receive him while he was there, and perhaps even see that he has the opportunity to sample some of your magnificent Argentine beef.
Colonel Lowell, as you and me, is a Cavalry /Armor officer and very nearly as good a polo player as you are. I’m sure you will find that you have many interests in common.
With the warmest possible fraternal greetings, and my most sincere best wishes for a joyous Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year,
Von Greiffenberg
VON GREIFFENBERG
Pistarini’s eyebrows rose, and his lips pursed thoughtfully as he read the letter.
“It was very kind of you to bring me this, Hans,” he said.
“Not at all, General.”
“May I offer you cup of coffee?”
“I won’t take any more of your valuable time, mi General.”
“Well, if I can’t get you to change your mind, then auf Wedersehn, Hans,” Pistarini said, putting out his hand.
Fosterwood showed Stumpff out of office and then returned. Pistarini held out the letter to him. Fosterwood read it.
“I don’t believe I know this gentleman, sir,” he said.
“It would perhaps be a good idea, Ricardo, if you remembered that my good friend Lieutenant General Count Peter-Paul von Greiffenberg is the chief of West German intelligence. Sometimes knowing odd little facts like that can be useful.”
Fosterwood flushed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Call the American attaché—what’s his name?”
“Colonel McGrory, sir.”
“No. Not him. McGrory’s that Irish Air Force idiot. The other one.”
“Colonel Harris, sir. The American army attaché.”
“Right. See when he expects this Colonel Lowell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From today, any invitations to the American military will include Colonel Lowell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call the Círculo Militar and have them prepared to put Colonel Lowell in the best available of the general officer’s suites.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And call SIDE and see what they have on Colonel Lowell, in addition to what you’re going to find out for me by checking the U.S. Army Register.” SIDE was the acronym of the Argentine Secret Intelligence Service.
“Yes, sir.”
“And have the sergeant bring me another coffee, would you, please?”
“Yes, sir. Sir, may I ask a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Would it be helpful for me to know something about the other gentleman in the letter,