A Death in Vienna

not hear of a murder without picturing the act, turned his gaze from Ramirez. “And the second?” he asked.
    “Gustavo Estrada. Killed two weeks later on a business trip to Mexico City. His body was found in his hotel room after he failed to show up for a breakfast meeting. Again, four shots to the head.” Ramirez paused. “Good story, no? Two prominent businessmen, killed in a strikingly similar fashion within two weeks of each other. The kind of shit Argentines love. For a while, it took everyone’s mind off the fact that their life’s savings were gone and their money was worthless.”
    “Are the murders connected?”
    “We may never know for certain, but I believe they are. Enrique Calderon and Gustavo Estrada didn’t know each other well, but their fathers did. Alejandro Calderon was a close aide to Juan Perón, and Martín Estrada was the chief of the Argentine national police in the years after the war.”
    “So why were the sons killed?”
    “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t a clue. In fact, I don’t have a single theory that seems to make any sense. What I do know is this: Accusations are flying among the old German community. Nerves are frayed.” Ramirez took a long pull at his beer. “I repeat, watch your step in Bariloche, Monsieur Duran.”
    They talked awhile longer as the darkness slowly gathered around them and the wet rush of the traffic filtered in from the street. Gabriel did not like many of the people he met in his work, but Alfonso Ramirez was an exception. He was only sorry he’d been forced to deceive him.
    They talked of Bariloche, of Argentina, and the past. When Ramirez asked about the crimes of Erich Radek, Gabriel told him everything he knew. This produced a long, contemplative silence in the Argentine, as if he were pained by the fact that men such as Radek might have found sanctuary in a land he so loved.
    They made arrangements to speak after Gabriel’s return from Bariloche, then parted in the darkened corridor. Outside, thebarrio San Telmo was beginning to come alive in the cool of the evening. Gabriel walked for a time along the crowded pavements, until a girl on a red motorbike pulled alongside him and patted the back of her saddle.
    25
    BUENOS AIRES • ROME • VIENNA
    THE CONSOLE OFsophisticated electronic equipment was of German manufacture. The microphones and transmitters concealed in the apartment of the target were of the highest quality—designed and built by West German intelligence at the height of the Cold War to monitor the activities of their adversaries in the east. The operator of the equipment was a native-born Argentine, though he could trace his ancestry to the Austrian village of Braunau am Inn. The fact that it was the same village where Adolf Hitler was born gave him a certain standing among his comrades. When the Jew paused in the entrance of the apartment house, the surveillance man snapped his photograph with a telephoto lens. A moment later, when the girl on the motorbike drew away from the curb, he captured her image as well, though it was of little value since her face was concealed beneath a black crash helmet. He spent a few moments reviewing the conversation that had taken place inside the target’s apartment; then, satisfied, he reached for the telephone. The number he dialed was in Vienna. The sound of German, spoken with a Viennese accent, was like music to his ears.
    AT THE PONTIFICIOSanta Maria dell’Anima in Rome, a novice hurried along the second-floor corridor of the dormitory and paused outside the door of the room where the visitor from Vienna was staying. He hesitated before knocking, then waited for permission before entering. A wedge of light fell upon the powerful figure stretched out on the narrow cot. His eyes shone in the darkness like black pools of oil.
    “You have a telephone call.” The boy spoke with his eyes averted. Everyone in the seminary had heard about the incident at the front gate the previous evening. “You can take it in the rector’s office.”
    The man sat up and swung his feet to the floor in one fluid movement. The thick muscles in his shoulders and back rippled beneath his fair skin. He touched the bandage on his shoulder briefly, then pulled on a rollneck sweater.
    The seminarian led the visitor down a stone staircase, then across a small courtyard. The rector’s office was empty. A single light burned on the desk. The receiver of the phone lay atop the blotter. The visitor picked it