A Quiet Flame

“Why not? There’s a salary, a desk in the Casa Rosada, a car. There’s even a passport. A proper one. Not that piece of shit the Red Cross gave you. With a proper passport you could go back to Germany, perhaps. Without having to answer all sorts of awkward questions when you got there. After all, you would be an Argentine citizen. Think about it.”

“Perhaps if I had the original case files, it might have been possible.” I shook my head. “But it was almost twenty years ago. Probably the files were lost during the war.”

“On the contrary. They’re here in B.A. I had them sent from Berlin Alexanderplatz.”

“You did that? How?”

The colonel shrugged modestly, but still managed to look quite pleased with himself. As well he might have done. I was impressed with him.

“Actually, it really wasn’t very difficult. It’s the Americans who dislike Perón and the generals, not the Russians. Besides, the Delegation for Argentine Immigration in Europe has many friends in Germany. You should know that better than anyone. If the DAIE can get Eichmann out of Germany, a few old files are not going to present much of a problem.”

“My compliments, Colonel. You seem to have thought of everything.”

“In Buenos Aires it is better to know everything than it is to know too much,” said the colonel.

He crossed his legs and picked some fluff off his knee and waited patiently for my answer. I felt certain I was about to trump him, but he looked so cool I couldn’t help but think he still had something up his sleeve.

“Please don’t think that I’m not flattered by your offer,” I said. “But right now I have other things on my mind. You’ve thought of everything, it’s true. Except the one reason why I’m not going to work for you. You see, Colonel, I’m not well. I had heart palpitations on the boat. I thought I was having a heart attack. Anyway, I went to see Dr. Espejo, the one Perón recommended. And he says I don’t have a heart condition at all. The heart palpitations are the result of thyrotoxicosis. I have cancer of the thyroid, Colonel Montalbán. That’s why I’m not going to work for you.”

5 BUENOS AIRES, 1950

COLONEL MONTALBÁN TOOK OFF his glasses and began to clean their tinted lenses with the end of his woolen tie. He was trying not to smile so as not to hurt my feelings, but I could see that he really didn’t care if he did. As if he was trying only a little not to give the game away.

I guessed what this was.

“But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The colonel shrugged and went on polishing.

“What kind of a country is this? No banking secrecy. And no medical ethics. I suppose Dr. Espejo is a friend of yours.”

“Actually, no. Quite the reverse. Espejo is what we call a resentido. It means he has a chip on his shoulder. Espejo is a man who dislikes Perón intensely.”

“I wondered why he seemed to be the only person I’ve met in this city who doesn’t have a picture of the president on his wall.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Perón recommended a doctor who hates him?”

“Earlier on, you mentioned the oyentes.”

I smiled. “You have a listening device planted in his surgery.”

“Several.”

“I guess that’s one way of making sure you get an honest diagnosis.”

“Did you perhaps think you didn’t?”

“It sure didn’t feel like Espejo was keeping anything back. The man’s got quite a left hook on him. It’s been a while since anyone caught me one on the chin like that.” I paused. “Don’t tell me he was pulling his punches.”

“Not at all,” said the colonel. “Espejo’s a good doctor. But there are better ones. If I were you, Herr Gunther, I should want to have someone treating me who’s more of an expert in these matters than Espejo. A specialist.”

“Sounds expensive. Too expensive for my thousand dollars.”

“All the more reason to work for me. We have a saying here in Argentina. We say, ‘I can’t trust you until I tell you a secret.’ So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to trust you with one of the biggest secrets in the country. Then you will have to help me and I will have to help you. It will be a sign of good faith between us.”

“What if I prefer not to know what you know?”

“I can’t tell you B if I don’t also tell you A. I will tell you B first, and then perhaps you will guess A. Dr. George Pack is one of the leading cancer specialists in the world. He is a consultant at Sloan-Kettering in New York. He treats patients like the Rockefellers and the Astors. But quite often he also comes here, to Buenos Aires.”

“To treat someone equally important, no doubt,” I said. “The general?”

The colonel shook his head.

“The general’s wife?”

He nodded. “But even she does not know.”

“Is that possible?”