[FOUR]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 0915 20 July 1943
They had gone a little over a mile onto Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo when a gaucho, where the road passed close to a thick grove of ancient eucalyptus trees, moved his horse onto the road.
Frade braked the Horch with a sinking feeling. There was no immediate danger, but he felt sure the gaucho had been sent to tell him that at the big house were agents of the Bureau of Internal Security—or the Policía Federal— and that he was about to have to start running.
If not running for his life, then running away from spending a long time in a miserable prison cell.
The gaucho politely nodded when Frade had stopped, but didn’t say anything.
Frade looked into the grove, expecting to see saddled horses. What he saw in addition to three saddled horses and three horse-borne gauchos and the Model A Ford pickup that Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USN, used for his transportation over the pampas was Schultz himself, wearing his gaucho outfit and walking toward the road.
Clete turned off the ignition. If he was going to go riding off into the pampas, Dorotea would drive the car to the big house.
Dorotea reached for his hand and held it.
“Well, I’ll tell you what’s happened,” Schultz said, quite unnecessarily.
“Thanks,” Clete replied sarcastically, and was immediately sorry, even though the sarcasm had sailed over Schultz’s head.
“Delgano is at the big house,” Schultz said. “He’s been there since half past seven. He’s alone, and nobody else has come onto the estancia.”
“He’s alone?”
Schultz nodded.
“They told him you and Dorotea were off somewhere on the estancia.”
“He didn’t think that was odd?”
“Your butler—what’s his name?”
“Antonio,” Clete furnished.
“Lavallé,” Dorotea furnished.
Antonio Lavallé had been El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade’s butler, at both the “money sewer” mansion on Avenida Coronel Díaz in Buenos Aires and the big house at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, for longer than Clete and Dorotea were old.
“Yeah,” Schultz continued, “he managed, without coming right out and saying it, to tell him that you and Dorotea went off to find a little romantic privacy, if you take my meaning.”
“And?” Clete said.
“He asked when you would be back, and Antonio said, ‘Probably before lunch.’ Delgano said that he really had to see you, and that he would just wait.”
“And?”
“Antonio gave him coffee and rolls, and according to the last word I got, Delgano’s sitting on your verandah waiting for you to come home.”
“When was your last word?”
“Just before we heard you’d come onto the estancia. Maybe ten minutes ago.”
Frade, obviously in thought, didn’t reply.
“Come on, my darling,” Dorotea said. “Give us your worst-case scenario; you’re very good at that.”
“Okay. I will. He’s going to tell me that the Bureau of Internal Security would prefer that we handle the unfortunate situation in a civilized manner.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he would rather that I just get in his car with him and go to Buenos Aires, thereby avoiding a shoot-out with my army of gauchos.”
“That’s absurd,” Dorotea said.
Clete didn’t think she really thought it was absurd.
“Possible, but I don’t think so,” Schultz said.
“Why not?” Frade challenged.
“I just don’t think so,” Schultz said. “I think if that was the case, he’d have at least brought one guy with him.” He paused, then explained: “In case you changed your mind on the way to Buenos Aires.”
“So what’s he doing here? Just paying a social call?” Frade asked.
“I think you have to find out,” Schultz said. “You open to a suggestion?”
“Wide open.”
“I take Fischer with me. Can you handle a Thompson, Fischer?”
“No,” Fischer said simply. “The only weapons I’ve ever fired was in Basic Officers’ School—the .45 and the M1 Garand.”
“Okay, I’ll give you my .45,” Schultz said, and took his pistol from his waistband. “Watch it; it’s locked and cocked.”
Fischer looked at him in confusion.
“All you have to do is take the safety off,” Schultz said. “Push this down.” He demonstrated. “There’s a round in the chamber, ready to fire.”
“Okay,” Fischer said without much enthusiasm as Schultz locked the weapon and handed it to him.
“Now that he’s got a loaded pistol, what’s he going to do with it?” Frade asked.
“He’s coming with me in the truck. To the house. Give us a ten-minute head start, then drive slow. See what Delgano’s up to. If he gives you the ‘come with me’ business, you make a signal—scratch your ear, something like that—and we come out of the garden and tie him up. Then you take off.”
“That’s your suggestion?” Dorotea asked, her tone on the edge of sarcasm.
“You got a better one, Dorotea?” Schultz asked.
“You come out of the bushes,” Frade added thoughtfully, “tie Delgano up, and then you go out to the house, torch the radar, bring everybody to the hangar, and I fly everybody to Uruguay.”
“That’d work,” Schultz said.
“Everybody presumably includes me?” Dorotea asked.
“Of course,” Frade said. “Jesus! Did you think I’d leave you here?”
She didn’t respond directly.
“And the Froggers?” she asked softly.
Enrico said, “I will send a gaucho to Casa Chica and have Rodolfo take them out on the pampas. For the time being, Sargento Stein can stay there.”
Frade looked doubtful.
“We don’t have time to go back and get them,” Dorotea said. “And if we did manage to get them to Uruguay, what would we do with them there?”
Clete felt a chill.
She’s right. But I’m supposed to make that decision, and she’s supposed to be horrified.
“When we get to Uruguay, I’ll contact the OSS guy in the embassy there,” he said, speaking slowly. “Maybe he can think of some way to get them to Uruguay, and what to do with them there. They’re important to Dulles, and I don’t want to kill them unless I have to.”
Did I mean that? Or am I just unable to order their assassination?
“That’s risky, Cletus,” Dorotea said.
“Maybe. But the last time I looked, I’m in charge. Enrico, you will stay on the estancia. I’ll get word to you one way or the other.”
“I will go with you,” Enrico said.
“No one will be trying to kill me in Uruguay. And once this is over, one way or the other, you can come to Uruguay with Sargento Stein.”
“Don Cletus . . .”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Enrico. You will do what I say.”
After a long moment, Enrico said, "Sí, señor.”
“Okay, let’s do it,” Frade said. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. If, when you get to the big house, something smells, send somebody to warn us.”
Enrico nodded.
“Don’t shoot yourself in the foot with that .45, Fischer,” Frade said.
Captain Gonzalo Delgano, chief pilot of South American Airways, who was sitting in a wicker chair on the verandah of the big house and resting his feet on a wicker stool, got up when he saw the Horch with Don Cletus Frade at the wheel and Doña Dorotea Frade beside him roll majestically up the driveway.
Clete saw that Delgano was wearing a well-cut double-breasted suit.
Implying that he’s really not Major Delgano of the Argentina Army Air Service, Retired.
Except that he’s not—and never has been—retired from the army and, more important, has never severed his connection with the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security.
And that, charming or not, he is one dangerous sonofabitch.
Dorotea waved cheerfully at him as Clete stopped the car.
Delgano came down the shallow flight of stairs from the verandah.
“Gonzalo! What a pleasant surprise!” Dorotea said.
“I’m sorry to intrude, Doña Dorotea,” Delgano said. “But something important has come up.”
“Oh, really?”
“What’s up, Gonzo?” Frade asked as they embraced and kissed.
“I had hoped to see Mr. Fischer,” Delgano said.
“He’s not here?” Dorotea asked.
Delgano shook his head.
“Well, he’s probably taking a ride,” she said. “He’s quite a horseman.”
“Why do you want to see Fischer?” Clete asked.
Antonio Lavallé appeared. He was wearing a crisp white jacket.
“May I get you something, Doña Dorotea? Don Cletus?”
“I’d like some coffee, please,” Dorotea said. “Darling?”
“That’d be fine,” Clete said.
“I was hoping Mr. Fischer would demonstrate his machine for me,” Delgano said. “The one that cuts the paper tapes so that air base transmitters can endlessly repeat the station identifier.”
“Why would you want him to do that?” Clete asked.
“Well, El Coronel Jorge G. Frade Airfield needs one,” Delgano said.
“Excuse me?” Dorotea asked.
“A tape that will permit the transmitter to endlessly send ‘JGF, JGF, JGF, JGF,’ ” Delgano said, meeting Clete’s eyes. “So that pilots can find the field.”
“You’ve lost me, Gonzo,” Frade said.
“After you left El Palomar yesterday, Cletus, El Coronel Perón and I drove over to the airfield. It’s amazing how much work has been done. One hangar is almost up and a good deal of work has been done on the terminal building. One runway is just about complete—not paved, but ready for the pavement, with whatever they call what goes under the concrete.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
“And El Coronel Perón said, ‘Delgano, this place needs a name. What would you suggest?’ ”
“And I said, ‘Mi coronel, only one name comes to me.’ And he said, ‘I wonder if we are thinking the same thing? I was about to suggest Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade.’ And I said, ‘I think that would be entirely appropriate, mi coronel,’ and he said, ‘I will have a word with the president.’ ”
Clete said nothing.
“I was very fond of your father, Cletus,” Delgano said. “And I hope it will not embarrass you if I tell you how much the two of you are alike, and how much I value your friendship.”
“Thank you,” Clete said.
“And I thought it would be very nice when you and I return from Pôrto Alegre with the next Lodestar in a few days or a week, if we could home in on JGF, JGF, JGF. And think of your father.”
“That would be very nice, Gonzo,” Clete said, his voice breaking.
He heard himself.
Shit, I can’t even talk!
The next thing he knew, he was embracing Delgano.
He found his voice ninety seconds later when Antonio appeared with a coffee service.
“Is there champagne in the refrigerator, Antonio? If so, get us a couple of bottles! We have something to celebrate!”
Dorotea went to Delgano and kissed him, then went to her husband and took his hand.