AARON WENT OVER TO the window, the crack at the edge of the blind. No one in the street. What else? Think it through. Once they were on the plane they were safe. Then a taxi to the embassy, Otto still dreaming of Madrid. But first the plane. The tree below still a dark canopy. Car lights turning in to Casares at the foot of the park, climbing the hill. In a second, they’d turn on Alvear, maybe head for the hotel. Instead the car pulled into the curb, catty-corner to Hanna’s building, and parked, killing the lights. Aaron waited to see who got out, but no one did. A few more minutes, still nobody. Who parked and sat in a dark car? He made his eyes into slits, peering, trying to see inside the car, but there wasn’t enough street light to make out the driver. Or anyone else. How many? His mind clicked over, shuffling. Jamie didn’t need to find Otto—he had Aaron doing it for him. No reason to think otherwise. Nathan may have got restless at Goldfarb’s, waiting for Aaron to check in, and sent another man to have a look. Or come himself, suspicious. But he wouldn’t have sent a full car, a team. They were down a man, with a few locations to cover. So someone alone, maybe two. Or no one at all, Aaron’s imagination running away. But no one got out of the car.
“Hanna tells me you want to move him,” Bildener said, coming in. “He’s in no condition for that.”
“Is he awake? Can he walk?”
“With help, maybe. But he’s—”
“I think the Israelis are outside.”
“What?” Hanna said.
Bildener had gone pale. “The Israelis? You understand, I can’t be involved in—”
“You’re already involved. Now help us save him. Nobody’s after you.”
“How do you know? Any of this.” He turned to Hanna. “Israelis outside and you trust him?”
Hanna looked at Aaron. “What do you want to do?”
“We have to change the plan.” He looked down, absorbed in his own thoughts, then back out the window. “There’s probably only one. If they had a full car, they’d already be up here searching the apartment.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Bildener said, skittish.
“They’ll kill him,” Hanna said. “Markus.”
“And if there’s only one?” Bildener said. “So what?”
“It means we have a chance. But I can’t carry him. So, can he walk?”
“If he has to. A strong man. But he’s lost some blood. I can’t guarantee—”
“Is there a back way out?” Aaron said to Hanna.
Hanna nodded. “To an alley. Behind the building.”
“Where does it come out?”
“Around the corner. On Ayacucho. Near the middle of the block.”
“Get a suitcase. Something Otto would use.” He turned to Bildener. “You have a hat, right? If you keep your head down—”
“What?”
“You could pass. You’re about the same size.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, nobody knows who’s here. If Hanna’s alone. But they see her coming out with an old man and a suitcase—what are they going to think? You’re taking him to the airport.” He looked at Bildener. “You’re the decoy.”
“Decoy?” Bildener said, apprehensive.
“Don’t worry, not the kind they shoot at. Not on Alvear. If nobody follows you, it’s a false alarm. Maybe some kids necking in the car. But if he does follow, then we know.”
“And what if it’s more than one?” Hanna said.
“They could try to take you in the street.”
“And get Markus. And then?”
“I’ll get to the airport some other way. We have to chance it.”
“But when he sees you—” Hanna said.
“They don’t. They see you and Bildener coming out. I’ll be with Otto in the alley. You pick us up. They can’t tail you that closely around the corner, so they don’t see it. We keep down and it’s still just you and Otto on your way to the airport.” He stopped. “If we can get the real Otto moving. You want to give me a hand?” he said to Bildener.
Bildener, dazed, looked to Hanna, a child asking permission. She nodded, then said, “I’ll pack.”
“Don’t bother. Just the suitcase. It’s a prop. You’d better bring your gun, though. Just in case,” he said, motioning toward the drawer where she kept it.
Hanna stopped, staring at him. Only one way to have known that. A silent exchange, surprised and then refusing to be surprised, undressed again.
“A gun?” Bildener said, a tremor in his voice.
Hanna touched his arm. “He’s just being careful,” she said, shooting a look at Aaron. “We’d better hurry. Is the car still there?”
Aaron moved the blind. “Yes.”
She reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a passport. “Here, you keep it. In case we’re separated.” She handed it to him. “Take care of him.”
Otto was drowsy but awake, slightly confused by the activity around him. Bildener had covered the wound with a bandage, and now Otto had to be dressed again, shirt buttoned, the bloodstain dry, hidden by his jacket.
“Why can’t I sleep?” he said to Hanna. “You don’t want me here?”
“We don’t want the Israelis to find you.”
“No. They knew about Ortiz’s. You were right. It didn’t matter if I was dead. They found me anyway.”
“Well, now we’ll get you away.”
“With him?” he said, pointing, as if Aaron had been out of focus and now was coming into view. “He’s one of them.”
“No. He’s going to help you.”
“Like at the cemetery,” he said, vague, trying to remember.
“That’s right. He’s going to get you out. Can you stand? Walk a little?”
She helped him to his feet, bracing him as he found his balance.
“Can you walk? It’s important.”
“Markus gave me a pill. For the pain.”
“I know. But you can do it. There, another step. Are you dizzy?”
“No. Where are we going?”
“The airport.”
“Markus too?” he said, seeing the suitcase next to him.
“All of us. You go down with Aaron and we’ll pick you up. Then the Israelis won’t see.”
“We outsmart them.”
“That’s right,” she said, looking at Aaron.
“And we go to São Paulo.”
“No, a change. Montevideo.”
“Montevideo.”
Another glance to Aaron. Now this. “For Madrid, remember? We were talking before.”
“Yes, Madrid. Erich Kruger. I remember. A new place. You can come and see me. We’ll be safe there. With the Americans. You could come. No one would know.”
Hanna said nothing, deliberately not reacting to this.
“Now try it with Aaron,” she said, slipping his arm through Aaron’s. “He’ll get you down to the car. Lean on him if you have to. Then it’s easy.”
“You know he’s Max Weill’s boy,” Otto said.
Bildener looked up.
“Yes,” Hanna said. “That doesn’t matter now.”
“So why does he help me?”
“He works for the Americans. He wants you in Madrid.” Looking away as she said it.
“I said he was with the Americans,” Bildener said, vindicated. “Bariloche. Such nonsense.”
“They protect you, the Americans. Look at Barbie. The way he lives—out in the open. Gehlen, after the war. Now me. It’s better than Brazil.”
“Brazil would be safer,” Bildener said.
“My old friend. So careful,” Otto said, putting his hand on Bildener’s arm, a good-bye. “We did good work together. Good science,” he said, believing it. “Someday they’ll use the research. If we live to see it.” He turned to Aaron, another good-bye. “I saved his life. Max. He didn’t understand that. How I saved his life.”
“It’s a long time ago now,” Hanna said. “Here, put on this coat.” She smoothed the back of his shoulders.
“It’s too warm for a coat.”
“I know, but it’s winter there,” she said quickly. “Markus and I will get the car. What do you think? Can you do it?”
“You’re leaving me with him?”
“He’ll get you to the car.” She touched his hand, an encouragement. “He’ll get you to Madrid.”
Otto smiled faintly. “Then you come. No one will know. You know, with your hair like that, you look so like your mother. When I met her.”
Hanna stopped, hand still on his, eyes not moving.
“It’s the medicine,” Bildener said. “It has an emotional effect.”
Aaron looked at him, disconcerted. Bildener science. But now Hanna was moving again.
“You go first,” she said to Aaron. “It’ll take you longer.”
“Let them get a good look. So they know it’s you. And the suitcase.”
“Take the service elevator. The stairs are too hard for him like this. Go left out the back door and follow the alley. Wait for us.”
“What’s in the alley?”
“Garbage. Rats. Stamp your feet. Go, go.” She shooed them to the door
“Hanna—” Otto said.
“Go,” Hanna said, not looking at him, all business.
In the elevator Otto leaned back against the wall, looking at the mop and bucket in the corner. “So now I’m the janitor,” he said, amused, and then, his mind jumping, “You know all the money is at Ortiz’s. There was no time—”
“I have money.”
“Dollars. The rich American. And who pays you, I wonder.”
“The same people who are going to pay you,” Aaron said, playing with it, another twist.
“And make me rich?”
“No, just enough to keep you on a leash. That’s how they do it.”
“But my money. Not my daughter’s. I won’t have to ask.”
Aaron said nothing.
“And you’re taking me there? You’re the delivery boy?”
“That’s the idea.”
“And Hanna says to go. She trusts you. I don’t. You believe all those things. Max’s stories. Exaggerations.”
Aaron looked at him, about to speak, then dropped it.
“Here we go,” he said, as the elevator door opened. “If we run into anybody, let me do the talking. You’re not feeling well and I’m getting you to the hospital.”
“Through the service alley. With no Spanish. Wonderful. To be in such good hands.”
“Take my arm. And stay out of the pockets. That only works once.”
The alley was dim, most of the light secondhand, coming in from the street. Big metal trash collectors, the backs of apartment buildings.
“You all right? Am I going too fast?”
“No, it’s fine,” Otto said, but short of breath, making an effort. More steps, Otto’s shuffle scaring off anything scurrying in the dark. “It’s useful that I learned.”
“What?”
“Spanish,” Otto said, somewhere else.
Lights now, closer to the street.
“I don’t think she’ll come to Madrid,” Otto said, mostly to himself. “Maybe it’s better. But you know, your child. The love for a child—”
Waving his hand at Daniel. You’ll see him later.
“You could bring her,” Otto said.
“Me?”
“She has a fondness for—” A clanging, tripping on a garbage can top. “Ouf.”
Aaron held him closer, hand on his chest to prevent him from pitching forward. “Almost there.”
“For your people,” he finished. “So you make allowances. Your child. And it’s another world now. What happened in the war, that was a political situation. Not personal.”
“Not personal,” Aaron said, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
“Not for me, no. A political situation. Of course, also racial. It was a serious problem then, at that time. Now it’s different.”
“How?”
“We were threatened then, the German people. By the Jews. Like a cancer. You have to cut it out to survive.”
“And you did,” Aaron said, hearing him on the stand, unrepentant, not Eichmann mumbling about orders, a doctor operating.
“But the numbers, that’s an exaggeration. There weren’t so many.”
“How many, then?” Leading the witness.
“I don’t know, but not what they say. It wouldn’t have been possible, so many. Anyway, it was wartime.”
Sterilizing with X-rays, burned scrotums, children. The war effort.
They had reached the end of the alley.
“OK, wait here.” A quiet street, no cars. “It shouldn’t be long.”
Hanna would be coming out the door with Markus, solicitous, carrying his bag, getting him into the car. Now behind the wheel, putting the car in gear. Then what? Looking in the rearview mirror. But if the other car was any good, he wouldn’t pull out right away. He’d wait for Hanna to turn the corner.
“The Israelis are waiting for us?”
“We’re not sure.”
“But you’re with them.”
“They think I am.”
“You were there. Where they kept me,” he said, still trying to work it out.
“Here we go,” Aaron said as the car stopped at the alley. “Quick.”
He pulled Otto into the street, one arm around his shoulders, flinging open the back door, a push, then throwing himself in after, bumping up against the suitcase, lifting it out of the way, the car beginning to move before he could close the door.
“Keep down,” he said to Otto. “Did they follow?”
“I don’t know yet.” She looked up into the mirror. “Yes. That’s the car.”
She kept going down the hill, residential streets, then turned onto Las Heras, a wide avenue with buses, where it would be harder to follow.
“More than one?” Aaron said.
“I can’t tell. Maybe two. Does it matter?”
“Two and they might think about cutting you off. Jump you at a light or something. One, you’ve just got a tail.”
“Jump us?” Bildener said.
They passed the turnoff for the cemetery, where Julio’s body was lying under a tarp, waiting to be found. After Aaron had gone. If they made the plane.
“They’re not coming any closer,” Hanna said.
“Where are we going?” Otto said vaguely.
Aaron looked at him. “The airport. For the plane.”
“That’s right,” Otto said, as if a name had slipped his mind and then come back. He lifted his head slightly, looking to see where they were. “This way?”
“The old airport. Aeroparque.”
“And then Brazil,” Otto said, going over an itinerary in his mind.
Bildener turned around, concerned. “It’s the medicine.”
“How much did you give him?”
“Enough to dull the pain,” Bildener said, defensive, not used to being questioned.
“He going to make it through passport control?”
“I can do it,” Otto said, trying to sit up.
“Keep your head down.”
“Erich Kruger’s first stamp. My new life.”
“Are they still there?” Aaron said to Hanna.
“Yes, same distance.”
She turned right into Castilla and a minute later was at Libertador, waiting at the light, then shooting past the stopped traffic, lined up like horses at a starting gate.
“Look where we are,” Otto said, the quiet winding street of mansions instantly familiar. “You wanted to see the house, one last time. Calle Aguado.”
“They’re still behind,” Hanna said, heading into a dark curving road, a spoke off a circle.
“It was a beautiful house,” Otto said to Aaron. “An embassy now.”
“A nice life,” Aaron said.
“Yes, it was,” Otto said, not hearing any irony.
“Don’t try to lose them.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll go to the airport anyway, now that they see where we’re going. But this way we know where they are. No surprises.”
“There’s the house,” Otto said. “See the lights?”
“Such happy times there,” Bildener said.
“It’s a shortcut to Alcorta,” Hanna said. “They won’t suspect anything.”
“OK. How many? Can you see now?”
“Two.”
“Don’t go near the docks, then. That’s asking for trouble.”
“No, through the park. The way a taxi would go.” She glanced back at Otto, still peeking out the window. “How is he?”
Aaron made a so-so gesture.
“I don’t think I’ll come back here,” Otto said.
“You knew that when you started all this,” Hanna said. “Go to Brazil, be someone else.”
Otto nodded. “So they’d leave me alone. Who looks for a dead man? But they found me anyway. At Ortiz’s. How? They must have people everywhere.” Hanna glanced at Aaron in the mirror. “Look how they found Eichmann. All those years.”
“Did you ever meet him?” Aaron said.
“Once,” Bildener said. “At the ABC restaurant.” Aaron thought of Fritz, attacking his wurst, the Gasthaus wood paneling. “Not a very impressive man. Ordinary. Lower class, even. You could see it in the table manners.”
“But if they could find him,” Otto said, “a nobody, then it was dangerous for the rest.”
“Maybe they just got lucky. A tip.”
“No,” Otto said. “They’re methodical. Dangerous.” Something he needed to believe, the worthy adversary.
“They’re still behind,” Hanna said. “One car away.” She turned right on Sarmiento, heading toward the river. An arrowed sign for Aeroparque Jorge Newberry.
“Who was he? Newberry,” Aaron said.
“An aviator. Argentine. His father was American.” Making conversation, their eyes meeting in the mirror, wanting to say something else, but not saying it, focused on the drive now, the car racing around a traffic circle.
“Almost there,” Hanna said. “What should I—?”
“Just do what you’d normally do. If you weren’t being followed. Drop him at Departures. He takes his suitcase and goes in. You pull out, as if you were leaving, then farther up, get back into the drop-off area. They’ll have to go after him, not you, so they won’t see you, with all the taxis and everything. By the time they realize he’s not Otto, they come out and you’re gone. You’re still their only lead to Otto, so I’m betting they’ll want to go after you, try to pick up the car again before you leave the airport.”
“And meanwhile what am I supposed to do?” Bildener said. “If they don’t shoot me.”
“Nobody’s shooting anybody. Not at the airport. You just go about your business while they panic because you’re not Otto, and now what do they do?”
“My business.”
“Buy two tickets. Get the gate number. When they leave, come back out to where Hanna’s waiting and Otto and I scram.”
“And if they don’t leave?”
“They will. They have to.” He paused, thinking. “But if they don’t, then find the men’s room. If you’re not back in ten minutes, we’ll have to come to you.”
There were parking lots on the left now, the terminal up ahead. On the right, the riverfront, restaurants and yacht clubs, and stretches of park, the dark water beyond, the industrial port somewhere behind them.
“You have to access the terminal from the other direction,” Hanna said as they flew by it, bright with lights, all the traffic turning at a circle up ahead.
“Everything is mixed up,” Otto said. “Why are you helping me?”
“We’ve told you that,” Hanna said, impatient, cars cutting in on both sides as they fed into the circle.
“Why are they chasing you? You’re with them.”
“I should be,” Aaron said. “Things got mixed up.”
They followed a line of taxis to the drop-off area, a curving sweep of pavement.
“Pull up here. Before it gets too crowded. That’s what you want later. Are they behind?”
“Yes.”
“OK, Bildener, say good-bye and grab your suitcase. Come back out down there. The far doors.”
“If I come out.”
“You will. They don’t want you.”
Bildener turned and said something to Otto in German, his voice affectionate.
“Viel Glück,” Otto said, reaching up to put his hand on Bildener’s shoulder, the hand speckled with age, frail, like Max’s at the end. No, not frail. Strong enough to hold the chain against Fritz’s throat while he’d kicked the coffee table, thrashing, gasping. A few hours ago.
Bildener looked at Hanna. “I suppose if they’re watching. A father’s good-bye.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then opened the door and took a breath, willing himself outside. Aaron handed him the suitcase from the back. An overnight bag, a short trip. Bildener started for the terminal doors. Luggage trolleys and porters and passengers saying good-byes. And then, like a flash, Nathan’s bald head, darting out from behind and moving into Bildener’s path, cutting him off, easier to do this outside, calling out a name, a quick stop as he saw the face, a look over Bildener’s shoulder to the car, eyes on Hanna, then to the backseat. He stopped, confused, something out of place, not where it should be. Aaron in the back, not getting out, maybe being held there, maybe a gun in his ribs. He lunged toward the curb.
“Pull out. Fast.”
Hanna jerked the wheel and screeched into the line of traffic, just missing another car. A blare of horns. Behind them, Nathan was racing back to his car.
“Move,” Aaron said. “We have to lose him.”
“What about Markus?”
“We can’t worry about him now. Can you go any faster?”
“There’s traffic.” Hanna gripped the wheel. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. You’re fine.”
“Like a gangster. The getaway car. Are they going to shoot at me?”
“They don’t want you. They want me. They think I’m in trouble. Why else would I be here?”
“With the Nazis. My god, I’m a Nazi now. With the Israelis after me. I can’t—” Shaking a little, eyes fixed on the road.
“Israelis,” Otto said. “Schwein.”
“And if we stop?” she said, her voice rising, an edge of hysteria.
“They take him,” Aaron said simply, deflating the moment. “Here’s the exit.”
She turned onto the waterfront road. “Now where?”
“Circle back to the airport. They won’t be expecting that.”
“We have to go to the end to turn around.”
“If they don’t see us, it might work. Might. What happens if you keep going straight?”
“The port. This hour, you’d be out of the traffic at least.”
“Like sitting ducks. Better to keep some cars around us.”
“The port?” Otto said. “For an airplane?”
“Ferries,” Aaron said, looking up. “They go to Montevideo, right? What is it, about an hour?”
“Three,” she said, her voice calmer, caught up in the logistics. “There’s a town straight across. Colonia del Sacramento. You can get to Montevideo from there. But the ferry leaves from the old port downtown. I don’t think I can outrun them. A drive that far.”
“You’re doing fine.”
But they couldn’t just keep driving. Aaron turned and looked out the back window. The gleam of Nathan’s head. Someone else at the wheel. After him. His people. Everything mixed up.
“A boat we could rent?” he said, throwing it out.
“At this hour?” Hanna said, then, half to herself, “A boat.”
“You know one?”
“I know one we could steal.”
Aaron looked at her in the mirror.
“Mine. Well, Tommy’s. One of his toys. I got it in the settlement. I keep meaning to sell it.”
“Where is it?”
“Back at the Pescadores. The yacht club.”
“Where you had lunch,” Aaron said.
Another look in the mirror.
“If it’s yours, why do we have to steal it?”
“I don’t have the keys. Carlos, at the club, takes care of it. But I can’t ask him to—”
“It’s what, a sailboat?”
“No, a motorboat. Tommy used to take it up to Tigre. Go around the islands. We could get across if it has gas. Decide. The traffic circle’s coming up. Turn around or back through the park?”
“Without the keys—”
“We can hot-wire it.”
Aaron looked at her, surprised.
“An old boyfriend taught me. He liked to steal cars.”
“In your wild days.”
“We always brought them back. It wasn’t really stealing.”
Up ahead cars and taxis were leaving the traffic circle at Sarmiento, back to town.
“OK,” Aaron said. “If we can lose them.”
They entered the circle, passing the exit branch for Sarmiento, then the road to the port, sweeping around until they were pointing back up the waterfront. Hanna turned left, doing the circle again, merging with new traffic from the airport.
“What are you doing?”
“Who goes around twice? They’ll think I’m back on the airport road. See anybody?”
“No.”
“That means we’ll be behind them now,” she said, pleased with herself.
“For a minute or two.”
“That’s all we need. The club’s right up here.”
A boathouse outlined in lights, a long dock with street lamps.
Hanna turned sharply into the driveway and went past a few parked cars before stopping and turning out the lights, her hands still on the wheel, taking short breaths.
“Give it a minute,” Aaron said. “Just in case.”
“No, now. They have to go up past the airport to turn around. That’s our minute.” She turned to Otto. “Ready?” In charge now.
The marina was on the other side of the clubhouse.
“Which one is it?”
There were several walkways of wooden planks, boats bobbing next to them, tied and covered for the night, asleep.
“Oh god, I don’t know. Let me think. Down here maybe—unless Carlos put it somewhere else. Do they do that?”
“Not usually. You pay for your spot. Like a garage. Does it have a name?”
She looked at him. “Hanna I.” Then she took Otto’s arm. “Vati, come away from the light. You don’t want them to see. Here, put this on.” She took a life jacket from a pile on a bench.
“We’re taking a boat? To Brazil?”
“No, just across. No one will see. Here it is—I think. Help me with the tarp.”
The Hanna I had gas, a spare tank in the hold, and bench seats on either side, a boat designed for short excursions, fun, not the endless stretch of black water in front of them, with ships hidden in the dark, waiting their turn at the port.
“It’s nicer at night,” Hanna said, looking out. “The water. In the day, it’s brown. All the mud.”
She was attacking the wiring under the controls while Aaron watched, fascinated. A spark, the engine turning over, surprisingly loud in the empty marina. Two headlights appeared in the parking lot.
“It might be them. Come on. No lights.”
He threw the tie-up rope onto the planks.
“We have to have lights,” Hanna said. “We’ll run into something.”
“Get out past the dock first.”
“It’s probably just someone late for dinner,” Hanna said, backing the boat away and then heading out to open water, some moonlight catching the small waves, the reflective sheen of ink.
“Can you go faster?”
She was standing at the wheel, peering over the windshield, the marina lights behind them now.
“Not in the dark.”
“We don’t want anybody to see a light. Not yet.”
She shrugged. “I should be used to it with you. Not knowing where I’m going. And then it’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She switched on a lamp at the front of the boat, lighting up the water ahead. “I’m not going to drive into a freighter. It’s pitch dark out here.”
But in fact the city behind them was filling the sky with the milky haze of a million lights, the waterfront ribboned with them, the massive cranes at the port outlined in bright bulbs, like rides at a fair.
“Do you know how to get there?”
“It’s a straight shot across. We’ll see the shore lights.” She jerked her head back. “How’s he doing?”
Otto was sitting on the side bench, looking out at the city, his head tilted up, almost military, an admiral.
“All right. How are you doing?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He stood closer to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “When this is over—”
She stiffened, backing away from his touch, retreating. “What? We’ll be lovers again? Kiss and make up? What a little boy you are.”
“You know I—”
“Don’t say it.” She looked at him. “I think you do. Whatever that means to you. But it doesn’t matter. Now it’s never going to be over, all this. Not for me. I know,” she said, waving off any interruption. “It’s the right thing. Don’t tell me again. So, the right thing. But what about me? What do I do during the trial? Sit there and watch? And they’re watching me. Hide? All you see is him. But think what it means for me.”
They were going more slowly now, away from the shore, the motor a softer purring than before.
“I can’t change what happened,” Aaron said. “What he did.”
“No. Or forget it. You’re going to make sure we don’t do that.”
“We can’t forget it. We owe it to them.”
She looked over at him. “The trial won’t be the end for you either.”
“What trial?” Otto said from the stern, suddenly alert. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Hanna said. “Just talk. Are you warm enough?”
Otto touched his sleeve. “You were right about the coat. It gets chilly on the water.” He looked up. “But how did you know we’d be on the water? We were going to the airport.”
“The Israelis found us. We had to go a different way.”
Otto thought about this for a second. “How do they know everything? They must have someone working for them. One of us.”
“Don’t talk crazy. Who? Markus?”
“No, not Markus. I don’t know. Maybe Julio. Except you killed him,” he said, looking at Aaron. “And you were with them at that place where they kept me.”
“Vati, enough.”
“How do you know who he is? You trust people. And look where we are,” he said, turning his head. “In the middle of the ocean. He could kill me here and no one would know.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“One shot and over the side. Mission accomplished.”
“Then why didn’t I kill you in the cemetery?”
“I don’t know. It’s confusing.”
“That’s not who he is,” Hanna said.
“No. Max’s boy,” Otto said, vague again. “I sent him to the gas. Did you escape? But that’s not possible. Nobody could. We made sure of that. The times for the gas were exact. And then the capos checked—that everyone was dead. It didn’t take long. And it was easier for them. A few minutes and—”
“Stop,” Hanna said, staring at him.
“Yes, I know, nobody wants to hear now. But how else to do it? We couldn’t afford to be sentimental. Max,” he said, looking at Aaron, Max’s boy again. “I made him do it. The experiments. I saved him to do it. He thought he was too good for that, our work. But you have to do it, like the rest of us. What could he do? Object? Nobody objected there. That’s why it worked so well. But he never understood about you.” He looked up at Aaron. “How I made it easier for you.”
“That’s what you want?” Hanna said to Aaron. “For everybody to hear him talking like this?”
“And now he’s sent you to kill me. He said he would find me someday, but he died. So he sent you. And you,” he said to Hanna. “You believe him. He tricked you, just like your husband, if you call him that. They’re all alike. Their pound of flesh. Of course he blamed me. From university even, he was jealous. My fault, my fault, that he wanted to save his own skin. Did he say no? He did it.”
“Stop,” Hanna said softly, her body tense, a clock winding tighter. She put her hand on the control, idling the engine, and they began to drift, the motor less audible, as if calming the boat would slow down the flow of words.
“Why are we stopping?” Otto said, getting up, his voice frantic. “Is this where you plan to do it? Out here? And you, my own child. But weak, like your mother.”
“Enough.”
“To listen to a man like this. Max’s boy. Why else would he be here, except to kill me? So Max has his revenge. Years it took him. I was too clever for him. But now—”
“He’s taking you to Uruguay. And then to Germany.”
“No, Madrid,” Otto said, correcting a minor error.
“No, Germany. No more lies. To Germany. To stand trial.”
Otto drew himself up, an admiral again.
“And you knew this?”
“Yes.”
“He made you do this?”
“The Israelis will kill you if you don’t get away. There’s no choice. Now sit. Calm down.”
“You did this,” Otto said to Aaron. “Assassin. Why didn’t you die in the gas? How did you escape? One of the capos must have—” He stopped, losing the thread, waiting for his thought to catch up.
Hanna looked at him, her eyes darting, dismayed.
“I was making it easier for you,” Otto said, a plea. “Don’t you understand that?” And then he blinked, back on the boat, taking Aaron in, and ran toward him, knocking him back against the control panel.
“Stop!” Hanna yelled, backing out of the way.
Aaron felt the hands on his throat, holding the chain on Fritz. Suddenly tighter. Not even another second. Now. He punched at Otto’s bullet wound, hearing the scream of pain tear out of the boat and over the water. Otto doubled over, holding his side.
“Stop! Now. I’ll shoot,” Hanna said, a gun in her hand.
Aaron and Otto went still, both staring at her.
“What are you doing?” Aaron said quietly.
“What has to be done. You said to bring it. You were right. I need it.”
“What for?”
“You didn’t think I could let you do this, did you? Put him on trial. Put me on trial. Go through that all over again. Never an end. He’s dead once, let him stay dead.” She lowered her voice. “He’s my father. The same blood.”
“That’s right,” Otto said. “German blood.”
“Oh, German,” she said, her voice weary. “Again with that. It never ends. Not here. Not in Madrid.”
“Blood doesn’t mean anything,” Aaron said.
“Then why do you look at me like that? You think I’m weak?” she said to Otto. “No. Strong. Like you.”
She raised the gun. Aaron felt a tingling in his hands, some fragment of reflex to hold them up, but they stayed at his sides, locked in place, his whole body unable to move.
The sound exploded in his ear, booming on the water. He waited for the thud in his chest, the searing pain that would knock him over, but it was Otto who was pitching forward, mouth open in surprise, crashing down onto the deck in a heap. The boat rocked back and forth, then steadied, but Hanna’s shoulders kept moving, the winding mechanism finally snapping.
“My god,” she said, still shaking, dropping the hand with the gun to her side.
Aaron looked at her, too startled to speak.
“Is he dead?” she said finally.
Aaron stooped down and turned Otto over, checking his neck for a pulse. “Yes.”
“So now I’ve done this. What kind of person does this? My god.”
“Hanna—” he said, getting up, turning to her, but she was shaking her head, shoulders still heaving. She drew a breath, some audible sign of control.
“Take off the life jacket. We don’t want him to float.”
“What?”
“The life jacket.” She looked up. “Help me. Do you think this is easy for me?”
He nodded to the gun, still in her hand. “Were you planning to do this?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. He kept talking. Talking. That’s what it’s like now. Imagine in court.” She looked up. “I couldn’t. So he’s killed by his own child. Can you think of anything worse? Is that enough revenge for you? To be killed by your own?” Her voice breaking now. She looked down at the gun, surprised to see it, then lifted her hand and tossed it over the side, the splash like a starting sound, bringing her back. “Help me. Check his pockets.”
“You can’t just—”
“What? Put him in the water? Why not? He’s dead.”
“They’ll find him. The body.”
“No, the currents will take him. And if they do, who do they find? Otto Schramm died two years ago. The police say so. Everybody says so. So who is this?”
She knelt, taking papers out of his breast pocket and tearing them, then tossing them into the water.
“You have to help me with him. He’s too heavy for me.”
Aaron looked down at Otto’s face, gray and inert, his mouth still open in surprise. What had he seen at the end? Hanna with a gun or some phantom in his mind, still tracking him all the way from Poland, finally here.
“I’ll take his feet,” Hanna said, the words waking him, tapping him on the shoulder.
He hooked his arms under Otto’s and lifted him from behind. “Put his legs over.”
And then the body was sliding, Otto’s weight doing the work, Aaron spreading his legs apart to steady the boat as he heaved, waiting for the splash, oddly muffled, the water closing over the gray head.
Hanna stood for a minute looking at the water, until the ripples had gone.
“I don’t know why I feel so bad. Somebody had to do it. You wanted to make a spectacle, show everybody how crazy he was.”
“I never—”
“So somebody had to. You could see that tonight—he wasn’t himself anymore. It’s just—you don’t expect to feel like this. You put a dog down. It’s time. It’s better for him. For everybody. But it’s your dog.” She turned to Aaron. “He was good to me. But he did those things. How do you make sense of that? How do you live with that?” Her mouth turned up, a wry gesture. “And now look. I didn’t think I could do it. And then, when I had the gun, it wasn’t hard. So, the father’s daughter.”
“You’re not—”
“I saw your face and I knew. You thought I would do it. Kill you. Like him. Another Nazi. You change your name and you’re still Otto Schramm’s daughter. The same blood.” She stopped, reminded of something, suddenly practical. “We have to clean up. Is there blood?”
“I’ll look.”
“We should get the boat back before anyone sees it’s gone.”
“What about Markus?”
“Well, Markus,” she said, thinking out loud. “The Israelis. He’ll believe that—he’s afraid of them.”
“And Julio? He worked for—”
“More Israelis. And now a case for the police. He won’t want to go near that. Was anyone there besides you and my father?”
“No.”
“Then no one knows.”
“Except you.”
She looked down, nodding to the water where Otto had disappeared.
“Or you with him. So that’s useful.” She stopped, looking away. “Isn’t that what we do? Use each other.”
“No.”
“And now more lies. Worse.”
“I didn’t want this to happen.”
“No? I did. And now he’s dead and I’m still his daughter.”
“The trial would have—”
“Oh, the famous trial. With all the world watching. And after? You think it would be over? For you?” She shook her head. “You think you’re him. That boy. The one he kept seeing.”
“Max’s son.”
“Yes, him. You think you’re him. But he’s dead.”
“So we just forget about him?”
“I don’t know. The way he died—what would be enough for that? But this business—you found my father, but look what you did to do it. Now what, another Otto? Then another? So many others.”
“Otto was different.”
“Maybe not.” She looked at the water. “Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. My father. So now what?” She turned to face him. “Would you do something for me?”
He waited.
“Talk to Jamie.”
“What?”
“I can’t stay here now,” she said, moving her hand toward the water. “It’s finished for me. Markus, whatever I say to him, he’ll be suspicious. It’s better to go.”
“Back to New York?” he said, not following.
“No. You gave me an idea.”
“Me?”
“I can’t get rid of the name, who I am, so where would I be welcome? Not here anymore. Not Germany. But Otto Schramm’s daughter would be welcome in Madrid. Perón always liked him. And the others? A new face. And if I work for Jamie, I’m protected. Markus wouldn’t dare make trouble for me. Or your Israelis. I’d be safe. Jamie wanted my father, but he gets something better. I’m a woman. I can do things my father couldn’t do.”
“Sleep with someone.”
“If I have to. I’m easy. You ought to know.”
“Hanna—”
“All you have to do is be nice to me. Don’t look so shocked. Madrid’s not bad. For once I’d be doing the right thing. Helping Uncle Sam. We’d be on the same side.”
“No, we wouldn’t.”
“But we never have been, have we?”
He stared at her for a second, then took her by the shoulders. “You don’t mean this. I won’t—”
“Oh, and what? Save me for a better life? With you? It’s too late for that. He ruined that for me too. I killed him but he’s still in my head. And yours now. You’d only make it worse. Just seeing you. Both of us knowing. This way, sometimes I’ll forget.” She moved away from his hands, turning to the control knob to increase their speed, heading back to the club. “If you really want to help me, talk to Jamie. Soon.”
“What do I say about this? He thinks Otto’s alive.”
“Because you did. But you were wrong. Otto died two years ago. You’ve been chasing a ghost.”
Nathan was waiting at the marina, leaning against one of the dock lights, smoking, his head shining under the lamp. When Hanna steered the boat in and cut the engine, he moved toward them slowly, tossing the cigarette into the water, a forced casualness.
“Good trip?” he said.
“You’ve been waiting all this time?”
Nathan shrugged. “Nobody leaves a car out in Buenos Aires. They disappear. So I figured you’d be back.” He nodded to Hanna. “You’re quite a driver. Boats too?” He turned to Aaron. “Where is he?”
“He’s dead.” Aaron looked over at him. “I wanted to do it. For Max.”
Hanna turned to him, staring.
“You shouldn’t have done that. People think they know what they’re doing and they make a mess of it.”
“I didn’t. He’s gone. In the water.”
“Bodies wash up.”
“John Does. Otto’s already dead.”
“They’re going to think we did it. All his pals.”
“Then you get your message out anyway.”
Nathan looked at Hanna. “And you?”
“She was lucky to get away,” Aaron said. “When you snatched him. She thought you’d take her too, but you only wanted Otto, so she got away. In the car. It’s Bildener’s car.” He looked at her. “You’ll need something to tell him when you take it back. You don’t know where they took Otto. You can only imagine the worst. What you’ve always been afraid of. And now you’re frightened to stay here. Who’s next? Can you do it?”
She nodded, her eyes on him.
Nathan looked at both of them, assessing, trying to piece this together, then turned to Hanna. “You’d better get going, then. It’s late.” He jerked his thumb toward Aaron. “I assume you disappeared when we snatched Otto? Or are you one of us?”
“You don’t want any trouble with the Americans,” Aaron said. “You threw me out of the car. I had to walk to the airport to get a cab home. But I saw you. Your face. So the sooner I get out of Buenos Aires the better.”
“OK,” Nathan said. “Someday tell me another story. The one that explains you,” he said to Hanna.
“I would like to hear that one. That explains me.” She waited a minute. “Tell me something. Would you have killed him?”
“In a heartbeat,” Nathan said, his voice even.
“Then maybe it’s better. He always thought Max would get him. This is the way it made sense to him.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll cover the boat. Carlos will never know.”
She began to snap the tarp into place. Aaron had turned to help, but Nathan touched his arm, drawing him away, head close, private.
“Don’t do that again. I thought something had happened to you.”
“It was personal. For Max.”
“There’s no room for personal—”
“What’s the difference? Somebody was going to do it.”
“The difference is, now there’s a witness.”
“She’s not—”
“Don’t be an idiot. A roll in the hay and you think she’s—? She’s his daughter. She’s a witness.”
Aaron looked at him, alarmed, Hanna now in Nathan’s crosshairs, the hunt never over.
“Don’t go near her,” he said flatly.
“I’ve got the others to think about. Something starts unraveling and—”
“She works for us. The Agency. Leave it.”
Nathan stopped. “You want to explain that to me?”
“Some other time. Right now, I just want to get out of here.”
Nathan looked up at him. “Your first time?”
Aaron said nothing.
“You need anything cleaned up? Goldfarb’s good at that.”
Aaron shook his head. “It’s done. He’s gone.”
Nathan was quiet for a moment. “It’s not easy. You think it’s going to be—” He took a breath. “But then it gets better. And you make them afraid. Every day they think, Is this the day? The day they come for me? It’s not justice, but it’s something.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “Not everybody can do this work. It takes a certain—”
“What?”
Nathan looked at him, not answering for a second, as if he was thinking this over. “Outrage, I think,” he said finally. “A sense of outrage. That people help them. Hide them. Somebody went into business with Mengele when he was here. Somebody protected him in Paraguay. Now they say Brazil, but who knows? Only the protectors. And these are people who have seen what it was like. All the pictures. The corpses. In piles. And still they protect them. So, what do you think, do you have this outrage?”
“Why? Are you trying to recruit me?”
“Recruit you? You’re already in it. You killed a man. I thought, at first—but I was wrong. You found him. You acted. Max would have been proud.”
“No. It’s not what he wanted.”
“Max had no life. He ate soup every night alone, reading those files. Over and over. To catch a few guards. You caught Otto.”
“But he got away. For good. He’ll never answer now.”
“So he answered to you.”
Aaron looked down to the marina. “In a way.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Do you? Every time you do it? Just curious.”
Nathan met his eyes, then looked away, toward the boats.
“You don’t want to start anything there. She’s a witness.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Good. Worry. Keep your eyes open. And when any of this makes sense, let me know. Meanwhile, you’d better say good-bye to Buenos Aires. Go sort out the files.”
“You can have the files. I’m out. I don’t want to feel better the next day. What does that make me? Like them, maybe.”
“Then who does it?”
“I don’t know. Somebody tough.” Looking at him.
“You want to know something? The first time, I threw up.”
Aaron smiled. “But you got over it.”
“So will you.” Nathan hesitated. “It’s something you don’t walk away from. Not now. There are other people to consider.” Staring at him. “You’re a witness too.”
Aaron stared back, seeing the rest of it, the door closing, everything that didn’t need to be said.
“Here’s your girlfriend.”
She was coming down the marina walkway, shoes clicking on the planks, the dock light behind her.
“That should do it,” she said. “Did you work things out? Am I free to go?” Brisk, the sarcasm a kind of poke.
Nathan, surprised, waved his arm in a maître d’ gesture.
“Walk me to the car,” she said to Aaron.
He followed her up the short flight of steps to the parking lot, dark, only a few security lights left on, a pale patch at the back of her neck, the first thing he had noticed.
“So thank you for that,” she said when they were out of earshot. “You didn’t have to say you did it.”
“I know. He’d never understand it. This way—”
“You’re protecting me again. You like that.”
“We both did it. I started. You just—finished it.”
She looked at him again. “Your accomplice. Or maybe you were mine. Isn’t it funny. After everything, all the lies—” She put her hand up to the side of his face. “Still. From that first night. At the Alvear.” Her hand stopped. “If it means anything to you, I wish it had been different. That we’d both been—somebody else.”
“But we weren’t.”
No,” she said, dropping the hand. “So here we are.” She looked up, eyes fixing on his.
“It’s not too late,” he said, wanting to stick out his hand, to catch something.
“Shh,” she said, hushing a child. “Do you know what I think, though? I’m the last. So that’s something. You’ll be like him now.” She nodded to Nathan. “Chasing Ottos. And missing—”
“Missing what?” he said quietly, stung, the words stopping his breathing.
She looked away. “But maybe I’m just imagining it. People do, when it’s over. The love of my life. Like a song. And was it?”
“Was it?”
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s pretend it was. So what do you think?” she said, a wry cheerfulness. “Will Perón tell me his secrets?” Her voice low with the old intimacy, speaking a language only they knew, and he looked at her, light-headed, suddenly feeling it slip away, the only thing that had ever happened to him, irretrievable, gone.
He nodded, trying to find the same voice. “Anybody would.”
She hesitated for a second, then she smiled, a last smile, and got in the car.
“What was that all about?” Nathan said, at his side.
“Good-bye,” Aaron said, watching her drive away, her voice still in his head.
“She looks like him. Imagine looking at him every day. After you—” He stopped. “Come on, let’s get you packed. Somebody’s going to start missing Fritz soon and you don’t want to be around to answer any questions.” In charge, taking care of his team.
“Fritz,” Aaron said, seeing him again, the splayed legs, the welts on his neck.
“Don’t forget who he was, Papa Schramm,” Nathan said, still following the car. He turned to Aaron. “You did the right thing.”
The words hung between them for a second. “Yes,” Aaron said, just to say something, not answering, his hand on the open car door, listening for her voice, head turned up as if the sound were really outside him, some private conversation in the air. But Nathan was talking again, his gravelly voice drowning out the whispering one, which grew fainter, more distant, until Aaron didn’t hear it anymore.