appearance – were spaced equidistant from ,one another at the far end of
the blacktopped field. Above each stone post was a massive floodlamp, the
spills intersecting, throwing light over the entire area and into the woods
beyond. Between the huge posts was a thick-grilled iron fence, in the
center of which was a webbed steel gate, obviously operated electrically.
Men dressed in dark shirts and trousers – quasi~military in cut – stood
around, several with dogs on leashes.
Dobermans. Massive, straining at their leather straps, barking viciously.
Commands could be heard from the handlers and the dogs subsided.
The man in the white Palm Beach suit opened the door and got out. He walked
to the main gatepost, where a guard appeared at the fence from inside the
compound. The two men talked briefly; David could see that beyond the guard
stood a dark concrete or stucco enclosure, perhaps twenty feet in length,
in which there were small windows with light showing through.
The guard returned to the miniature house; the man in the white suit came
back to the Packard.
‘We will wait a few minutes,’he said, climbing into the rear seat.
‘I thought we were in a hurry.’
‘To be here; to let Herr Rhinemann know we have arrived. Not necessarily to
be admitted.’
‘Accommodating fellow,’ said David.
‘Herr Rhinemann can be what he likes!
Ten minutes later the steel-webbed gate swung slowly open and the driver
started the engine. The Packard cruised by the gatehouse and the guards;
the Dobermans began their rapacious barking once again, only to be silenced
by their masters. The road wound uphill, ending in another huge parking
area in front of in enormous white mansion with wide marble steps leading
to the largest pair of oak doors David had ever seen, Here, too,
floodlights covered the whole area. Unlike the outside premises, there was
a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, the reflection of the lights
bouncing off the spray of the water.
it was as if some extravagant plantation house from the antebellum South
-had been dismantled stone by stone, board by board, marble block by marble
block, and rebuilt deep within an Argentine forest.
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An extraordinary sight, and not a little frightening in its massive
architectural concept. The construction engineer in David was provoked and
stunned at the same time. The materialslogistics must have been staggering;
the methods of leveling and transport incredible.
The cost unbelievable.
The German got out of the car and walked around to David’s door. He opened
it.
‘We’ll leave you now. It’s been a pleasant trip. Go to the door; you’ll be
admitted. Auf Wiedersehen.’
David got out and stood on the hard surface before the marble steps. The
green Packard started off down the winding descent.
Spaulding stood alone for nearly a minute. If he was being watched – and
the thought crossed his mind – the observer might think he was an
astonished caller overwhelmed by the magnificence in front of him. That
judgment would have been partially accurate; his remaining concentration,
however, was on the mansion’s more mundane specifics: the windows, the
roof, the grounds on both visible sides.
Ingress and egress were matters to be considered constantly; the unexpected
was never to be projected as too unlikely.
He walked up the steps and approached the immense, thick wooden doors.
There was no knocker, no bell; he hadn’t thought there would be.
He turned and looked down at the floodlit area. Not a person in sight;
neither guards nor servants. No one.
Quiet. Even the sounds of the forest seemed subdued. Only the splash of the
fountain interrupted the stillness.
i Which meant, of course, that there were eyes unseen and whispers unheard,
directing their attention on him.
The door opened. Heinrich Stolz stood in the frame.
‘Welcome to Habichtsnest, Herr Spaulding. The Hawk’s Lair; appropriately –
if theatrically – named, is it notT
David stepped inside. The foyer, as might be expected, was enormous; a
marble staircase rose beyond a chandelier of several thousand crystal
cones. The walls were covered with gold cloth; Renaissance paintings were
hung beneath silver portrait lamps.
‘It’s not like any bird’s nest I’ve ever seen.’
‘True. However, Habichtsnest, I think, loses something in your translation.
Come with me, please. Herr Rhinemann is outside on the river balcony. It’s
a pleasant evening.’
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They walked underneath the grotesque yet beautiful chandelier, past the
marble staircase to an archway at, the end of the great hall. It led out to
an enormous terrace that stretched the length of the building. There were
white wrought-iron tables topped with spotless glass, chairs of varying
sizes with brightly colored cushions. A series of large double doors could
be seen on both sides of the arch; they presumably led to diverse sections
of the huge house.
Bordering the terrace was a stone balustrade, waist high, with statuary and
plants on the railing. Beyond the balcony, in the distance, were the waters
of the Rio LujAn. At the left end of the terrace was a small platform,
blocked by a gate. Enormously thick wires could be seen above. It was a
dock for a cable car, the wires evidently “tending down to the river.
David absorbed the splendor, expecting his first view of Rhinemarm. There
was no one; he walked to the railing and saw that beneath the balcony was
another terrace perhaps twenty feet below. A large swimming pool – complete
with racing lines in the tile – was illuminated by floodlights under the
blue green water. Additional metal tables with sun umbrellas and deck
chairs were dotted about the pool and the terrace. And surrounding it all
was a manicured lawn that in the various reflections of light looked like
the thickest, fullest putting green David had ever seen. Somewhat
incongruously, there were the silhouettes of poles and wickets; a croquet
course had been imposed on the smooth surface.
‘I hope you’ll come out one day and enjoy our simple pleasures, Colonel
Spaulding!
David was startled by the strange, quiet voice. He turned. The figure of a
man stood in shadows alongside the arch of the great hall.
Erich Rhinemann had been watching him, of course.
Rhinemarm emerged from the darkened area. He was a moderately tall man with
greying straight hair combed rigidly back -partless. He was somewhat stocky
for his size -‘powerful’ would be the descriptive word, but his stomach
girth might deny the term. His hands were large, beefy, yet somehow
delicate, dwarfing the wineglass held between his fingers.
He came into a sufficient spill of light for David to see his face clearly.
Spaulding wasn’t sure why, but the face startled him. It was a broad face;
a wide forehead above a wide expanse of lip
292
beneath a rather wide, flat nose. He was deeply tanned, his eyebrows nearly
white from the sun. And then David realized why he was startled.
Erich Rhinemann was an aging man. The deeply tanned skin was a cover for
the myriad lines the years had given him; his eyes were narrow, surrounded
by swollen folds of age; the faultlessly tailored sports jacket and
trousers were cut for a much, much younger man.
Rhinemann was fighting a battle his wealth could not win for him.
‘Habichtsnest ist prdchtig. Unglaublich,’ said David politely but without
commensurate enthusiasm.
‘You are kind,’ replied Rhinemann, extending his hand. ‘And also courteous;
but there is no reason not to speak English.
. . Come, sit down. May I offer you a drink?’ The financier led il~e way to
the nearest table.
‘Thank you, no,’ said David, sitting across from Rhinemann. ‘I have urgent
business in Buenos Aires. A fact I tried to make clear to Stolz before he
hung up.’
Rhinemann looked over at an unperturbed Stolz, who was leaning against the
stone balustrade. ‘Was that necessary? Herr Spaulding is not to be so
treated.’
‘I’m afraid it was necessary, mein Herr. For our American friend’s own
benefit. It was reported to us that he was followed; we were prepared for
such an occurrence!
61f I was followed, you were doing the following!
‘After the fact, colonel; I don’t deny it. Before, we had no reason.’
Rhinermann’s narrow eyes pivoted to Spaulding. ‘This is disturbing. Who
would have you followed?’
‘May we talk privately?’ David said, glancing at Heinrich Stoltz.
The financier smiled. ‘There’s nothing in our arrangements that excludes
the Botschaftssekretdr. He is among my most valued associates in South
America. Nothing should be withheld!
‘I submit that you won’t know unless we speak alone.’
,our American colonel is perhaps embarrassed,’ interrupted Stoltz, his
voice laced with invective. ‘The man from Lisbon is not considered
competent by his own government. He’s placed under American surveillance.’
David lit a cigarette; he did not reply to the German attach6.
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Rhinemann spoke, gesturing with his large, delicate hands.
‘If this is so, there is no cause for exclusion. And obviously, there can
be no other explanation.’