Chapter 3
"Your first assignment, Martin?" Carl Raitman asked after he had exchanged greetings with the new man sent down by Washington.
"Yes, sir," Pete Martin replied, making himself comfortable in the chair across from the man who was responsible for the intelligence operation in the embassy. "At least for the government, that is."
"Yes," Raitman responded with a hint of a smile, "we have your file here. Security advisor with ITT. Some brilliant work in the Chilean affair. Too bad it was such a rout for your company. ITT, I'm afraid, is a bad word in Latin America. I don't think I'd mention that part of your life to any Latin."
"A good deal of it has been exaggerated, sir," Pete began.
"Be that as it may, Martin," Raitman interrupted in a crisp tone that exerted without question his authority and command, "you'll find it wise to accept my advice."
"Yes, sir," Pete answered quickly, reminding himself of his new career and new loyalty.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting," Raitman said in a softer voice. "We've been in a bit of a flap around here this morning. How much do you know about Argentine politics?"
"Practically nothing," Peter replied.
Raitman lifted his eyes and studied the young man for a moment. An honest answer. He liked that, and he liked Peter Martin. He was young, in his mid-twenties, clean cut, perhaps a little too handsome for Raitman's taste, a political science graduate with honors, neat and well dressed, and he appeared to have an athletic body. Although this was Martin's first assignment, Raitman knew that his outstanding record as a security officer with ITT proved that he wasn't green to intelligence work. Raitman wondered briefly how an ex-ITT man was able to get a position with the government, particularly for a Latin American assignment. Someone obviously pulled some strings. He wondered if it was the young man's wealthy mother-in-law.
"That puts you on a par with the average Argentine," Raitman said with a broad grin. "They don't know anything about their own politics, either. Relax and I'll give you a thumbnail sketch. This will have to serve as a brief orientation because things are breaking too fast to go through the usual routine. As soon as you get a chance to look around, you'll see that Argentina is one of the most naturally beautiful countries in the world. It's somewhat like the States. Here you have the Andes, which many contend are more beautiful than the Swiss Alps, the Pampas, one of the most fertile areas in the world, the coast around Mar de Plata, which rivals the French Riviera, and spectacular varieties of scenery and climate."
"Will I be traveling?" Peter asked.
"That depends. In this business, Martin, you never know where you will be five minutes from now. At the moment, Argentina is in a political and economic crisis. I suspect that some of us will be putting in a number of eighteen-and twenty-hour days for a while. And you need to understand Argentina to know what's going on. Always remember that forty-two percent of the Argentines are Italian, forty percent are Spanish, and the other eighteen percent is a mixture of French, German and other Europeans. This is a country of immigrants."
"A good deal like the States," Peter commented, lighting a cigarette and settling back in his chair.
"Right. They have no Argentine national heritage, no long-established culture base. This is a nation of very independent people, and that's part of their problem. Like the French and Italians, they have a difficult time agreeing on anything. The Argentine government is very democratic, in some ways more democratic than ours. Instead of two major political parties, however, there are sixteen splinter parties in this country."
"I thought the Peronistas were the major power," Pete remarked.
"They are, at the moment, Martin," Raitman responded, "but the Peronistas are a bag of cats. Within the party itself there are eight different factions, communists, anti-communists, liberals, conservatives, nationalists, you name it."
"That sounds a little impossible," Peter said.
"It would be anywhere else but in Argentina," Raitman laughed. "But you have to understand the economy here. Argentina has almost unlimited natural resources, with the exception of metals. You'll never have better meat or wine than you'll find here. Yet the growth of the economy as a whole has been miserable, and that's a result of poor administration and political instability. Only two presidents in Argentine history have ever served out their full term. Juan Peron was one of them, and he accomplished it with a pistol. The rest, including Peron in his second term, have been tossed out by the military. In turn, the military has botched up the administration of government as only the military can."
"I thought Peron was a popular hero here."
"He was, and he is again. Peron raped the country at the richest point in its history. He and his gang made off with hundreds of millions after World War II, and the country has never recovered. He managed to leave the impression that the working man had never had it so good, however, and that partly accounts for his renewed popularity. The other factor is that Argentina has suffered through a series of military governments that produced incredible inflation and erosion of the value of the peso. Meanwhile, foreign companies have invested here and made substantial killings. The Argentines feel they need a national figure to rally behind, and Juan Peron is the only man who ever demonstrated that type of charisma."
"Does that account for the overwhelming victory of the Peronistas in the recent elections?" Peter asked.
"In part, and this is important, Martin. A hell of a lot of the votes cast for Peron were actually cast against the military government."
"And not for Peron himself?"
"Right. There are a lot of Argentines who can't stomach Juan Peron. And there are a hell of a lot of big foreign interests who are afraid of Peron. Our most recent reports indicate that there are no less than three serious plots underway to assassinate Juan Peron. And if any one of them succeeds, the United States will be blamed in one way or another. It's ridiculous because American money backed Peron in the elections, but it's a fact nonetheless."
"And, if I read you correctly, we want Juan Peron to stay very much alive?" Peter remarked.
"At all costs," Raitman said firmly. "Or, all else failing, to have concrete evidence that will leave absolutely no doubt who was involved and keep America's nose clean."
"Wow!" Peter exclaimed. "It looks like I've walked right into a hornet's nest."
"You have," Raitman agreed, "even more than you realize. And it's your job to help us see that no one gets stung-including yourself. I know you're on your honeymoon, and I apologize for pulling you in the minute you arrive, but a new problem reared its ugly head this morning. Have you ever heard of the Wolf?"
"I don't think so," Peter replied, shaking his head.
"I didn't expect you to have," Raitman continued, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "The Wolf is one of the top undercover agents in the world. We know next to nothing about him, but we do know he's dangerous and damned efficient. Here, this is the only known photo of him in existence," he said, handing Peter a snap shot.
"Who does he work for?"
"Would you believe, we don't know? I know it sounds ridiculous, but we don't know whom he works for. We suspect the Wolf works for various people."
"Free lance?"
"Something like that, but we're not sure. What we are sure of, Martin, is that the Wolf arrived in Buenos Aires this morning. And that makes us very nervous."
"Peron?"
"Could be," Raitman replied, standing and walking to the window. "The hell of it is we don't know the Wolf's role. He could be here to assassinate Peron, or he could be here to foil any attempt to assassinate Peron."
"Which sort of hangs us out to dry, doesn't it?" Peter remarked.
"Correction, Martin," Raitman said, turning to face his newest agent, "it hangs you out to dry. The Wolf is your assignment."
"Wait a minute!" Peter declared.
"No objections, Martin," Raitman said with a wave of his hand. "We've been on emergency status here for almost a year. We're so terribly understaffed we can't even stagger our loads. I've pleaded with Washington for more men. That's why they rushed you here, but I need half a dozen agents. Every man I have is up to his neck, so you'll have to take on the Wolf."
"Does he have a name?" Peter asked, resigning himself to what was virtually an impossible situation. He only hoped that Jenifer would be understanding.
"Negative. At least not verified. David Foster is one he has used, but we have no idea if it's his real name. Understand, our file on this man is non-existent. You'll be building the file yourself."
"How did he arrive in Buenos Aires? What passport is he using?"
"He came by air, but we don't know the flight. We know he has a Dutch passport showing Curasao as his home, but we don't know if he used it to enter Argentina. The name on that passport is Karl Ubing."
"Look," Peter said with a sinking feeling, "if you don't know what flight he arrived on, or what passport he used, how do you know he's even here?"
"I'll have to lean on the old 'reliable source' routine," Raitman replied, "but believe me when I say this is a very reliable source. The Wolf left New York last night. That's confirmed. He arrived in Buenos Aires this morning. An Argentine security agent saw him come out of the airport, but five flights had arrived in the half hour before the man saw him. This agent once worked with the Wolf in Cuba, so he knows him by sight. He tipped us. He followed the man downtown. The Wolf entered the Aurora Hotel, a third-class hotel just a few blocks from here, but when the agent checked the desk he found that no one had registered, this morning. End of trail."
"And I take it from there?" Peter asked. , "That's it," Raitman replied. "I know it's a tough one for your first assignment, but I can't help it. I'm giving you a good local man to help. Once you find him and get some idea of what he's up to, maybe I can free a team for surveillance. What I want right now is where he is and what he's doing, then we'll play it by ear."
The meeting ended abruptly as Raitman was summoned to the ambassador's office. Peter picked up the credentials that Raitman's secretary had waiting for him and took the elevator to the street level. He flashed his new credentials at the Marine guard at the entrance and stepped out of the building. The man who was to help him wasn't due in until three o'clock in the after noon. Peter considered going to the hotel to have lunch with Jenifer, then decided he had better get started at once on his assignment. Raitman had thoroughly impressed him with the urgency of the situation.
Peter Martin prayed for some break that would allow him to spend the evening with his bride. Then turned left on Lavalle Street and began walking toward the Aurora Hotel.