The QE2 Is Missing

The hall had subtle indirect lighting and soft carpeting underfoot. One wall was covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves and Diaz glanced at one of the titles on a ponderous tome as he passed. Yearbook of Revisions In Riparian Rights—1957 it read. A law firm, at least he knew that much now. He knocked lightly on the door, opened it and entered.

“Mr. Diaz,” the man said, rising from behind the large desk. “I’m Hank Greenstein.”

They sized each other up as they shook hands. Green-stein was in his mid-twenties, tanned, over six feet tall, with pale blue eyes peering through the dark-rimmed spectacles. He was either an athlete, or had been one so recently that the muscle had not yet turned to fat.

“Please take that chair,” he said, pointing. “It’s the most comfortable.” He dropped into his own chair, resting comfortably on the end of his spine and hooking one foot over the corner of the desk. “Now, before we have our discussion, I want to tell you a few things. Firstly, this business is just what it looks like, a respectable international law firm with branches around the world. It has no connection whatsoever with the Israeli government. In fact if my father — or any of his partners — found out what I was doing they would skin me alive. I’m helping the Israelis in a strictly private capacity.”

“You work for them?”

“Call me a volunteer. I’m a Jew, Mr. Diaz, and I feel quite strongly about the existence of the national homeland. So you see you can’t blackmail me or threaten me or anything like that. I’m sorry to have to phrase it that way. But precautions must be taken.”

“I am not an Arab, Mr. Greenstein.”

“Neither were the Japanese who shot up Lod Airport. But don’t get me wrong. I want to talk to you about these photographs.” He tapped the envelope on his desk. “Perhaps we can help each other. Please try to understand that.”

“I do. No offense taken. Do you know who the men are in the pictures?”

“Two of them have been identified. Where and when were the pictures taken?”

“In South Africa, less than forty-eight hours ago.”

“Do you know where the men are now?” He spoke the question easily, but there was a sudden feeling of tension in the air.

“Yes. We know exactly where they are — and where they will be for the next few weeks.”

Greenstein’s feet crashed to the floor and he jumped up, fists clenched on the desk before him. “That’s great, really great! We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Diaz.”

“Yes, you can. You can tell me who they are. We thought they might be Germans.”

“You’re right, at least about the two older men. The young ones haven’t been identified yet. But the first two are Nazis, two very important sons of bitches who dropped from sight a few years ago. Look, please, can you tell me just who you are and how you got onto this?”

Diaz shrugged. “I suppose I will have to. Are you recording this conversation?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. But we both could be, couldn’t we? I will just have to trust you, Mr. Greenstein. But please understand — what I am going to tell you affects the lives of a number of people. What do you know about Paraguay?”

“I’m sorry to say — very little. South America, near Brazil as I remember, stable government. That’s about it.”

“Unhappily, as far as the rest of the world knows, that is it. We are the Cinderella of South America and enjoy the blessing of the tightest little dictatorship in that continent. Since the army took over in 1954 they have ruled with an iron hand. Our lifetime President, Alfredo Stroessner, does not believe in competition. In the 1960s international pressure, mostly North American, forced him, for the first time, to allow an opposition party in politics. But as soon as they began getting votes he put all of the leaders in jail. He has winning ways, our President. He declared a state of emergency and repressed all individual rights until the emergency was over. Of course the emergency only lasted three months. Not too bad. But at the end of the emergency period he declared another emergency and then another — and this has been going on since 1954.”

“It doesn’t sound a happy place.”

“It isn’t. But why should the world care about this little land-locked country of a few million people? The military are very efficient in their security — they should be, since they were trained by escaped Nazis and SS guards who fled there after the war. So all of the opposition is either dead, in jail — or has fled the country. There are over six hundred thousand of us living in exile, well over a fifth of the population.”

“These photos you gave me — are they of Paraguayan Nazis?”

“No, we are sure of that. Most of our Nazis are gone now. Your CIA has taken over the training in their place and has introduced sophisticated tortures such as psychological deprivement and mind-distorting drugs.

“Is that true?” Greenstein asked angrily, “Or are you just parroting the old anti-American line?”