A Quiet Flame

“Precisely,” affirmed Kammler. He turned to face a little Führer shrine I hadn’t noticed before. There were several photographs of Hitler, a small bronze bust of his distinctive head, a few military decorations, a Nazi armband, and a pair of Sabbath candlesticks that looked as if someone used them to keep the leader’s flame alight on the Nazi high holy days—January 30, April 20, April 30, and November 8. Kammler nodded reverently at his shrine. “Yes, indeed. German efficiency. German superiority. We have him to thank for always reminding us of that fact.”

I didn’t see it that way, of course, but for the moment, I kept my reservations to myself. We were a very long way from the comparative safety of Buenos Aires.

When I’d finished my champagne, Kammler suggested I might go upstairs and wash. The maid showed me to a bedroom where I found Anna lying on an elaborately carved wooden bed. She waited until the maid was gone, then sprang up.

“This is very cozy, isn’t it? His own private Berghof. Just like the Führer. Who knows? Maybe he’ll put in a guest appearance at dinner. Now, that would be interesting. Or how about Martin Bormann? You know, I always wanted to meet him. Only I ought to tell you now, I’m a little worried about dinner. I don’t know the words of the Horst Wessel Song. And let’s not beat around the burning bush. I’m a Jew. Jews and Nazis don’t mix.”

“I don’t mind you sticking it to me, Anna. But please try to cut the sarcasm in front of the general. He’s beginning to notice. And no confessions about who and what you are. That would really cook our goose.” I looked around the room. “Where’s the gun?”

“Hidden.”

“Hidden where?”

She shook her head.

“Still thinking of shooting him?”

“I know, he should suffer more. Shooting is too quick. Gas would be better. Perhaps I can leave the oven on in the kitchen before we go to bed tonight.”

“Anna, please. Listen to me. These are very dangerous people. Even now, Heinrich is carrying a gun. And he’s a professional. Before you can even cock that Smith, he’ll blow your head off.”

“What do you mean, ‘cock’?”

I shook my head. “See what I mean? You don’t even know how to shoot.”

“You could show me.”

“Look, those dead people in that camp. They could be anyone.”

“They could be. But they’re not. We both know who and what they are. You said so yourself. It was a camp created by order of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. What else would they want a camp for but to imprison foreign refugees? And your friend. The Scotsman. Melville. It was he who mentioned Directive Twelve. An order for barbed wire to be delivered to a German SS general called Kammler. Directive Twelve, Bernie. That implies something more serious than Directive Eleven, don’t you think?” She took a deep breath. “Besides, before we left Tucumán this morning, you told me it was Kammler who built the big death camps. Auschwitz. Birkenau. Treblinka. Surely you must agree that he deserves to be shot for that alone.”

“Perhaps. Yes, of course. But I can promise you, shooting Kammler here, today, isn’t the answer. There has to be another way.”

“I don’t see how we can arrest him. Not in Argentina. Do you?”

I shook my head.

“Then shooting him is best.”

I smiled. “See what I mean? There’s no such thing as a murderer. There’s just a plumber or a shopkeeper or a lawyer who kills someone else. Ordinary people. People like you, Anna.”

“This isn’t murder. This will be an execution.”

“Don’t you think that’s what those SS men used to tell themselves when they started shooting pits full of Jews?”

“All I know is that he can’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Anna, I promise you. I will think of something. Just don’t do anything rash. All right?”

She remained silent. I took her hand but she snatched it away again, angrily.

“All right?”

She let out a long sigh. “All right.”

A LITTLE LATER, the maid brought us some evening clothes. A black beaded gown that made Anna look stunning. A dinner jacket, dress shirt, and bow tie that somehow managed to fit me.

“Well, what do you know, we look almost civilized,” Anna said, straightening my tie. There was some perfume on the dressing table. She put some on. “Smells like dead flowers,” she observed.

“Actually, I rather like it,” I said.

“It figures. Anything dead probably smells good to a Nazi.”

“I wish you’d lay off that Nazi gibe.”

“I rather thought that was the point, Gunther. To make them think you’re one of them. So we can save our skins.” She got up and paused in front of the full-length cheval mirror. “Well, I’m ready for anything. Maybe even a killing or two.”

We went down to dinner. Besides Kammler, Grund, Anna, and me, there were three other people.

“This is my wife, Pilar, and my daughter, Mercedes,” said Kammler.

“Welcome to Wiederhold,” said Frau Kammler.