by Blood
Peter looked at him again for a long moment, and Clete saw acceptance come into his eyes.
"I'll see what I can find out."
"If I'm right, that means that you and Uncle Humberto will have to be damned careful to make sure what you're doing here isn't lumped together with the Nazi property."
"I'll see what I can find out," Peter repeated.
"When are you going back?"
"Tonight," Peter said. "Von Lutzenberger said Goltz will probably want to go to Uruguay first thing Monday morning. I told you he wants me to fly him over in the Storch.
"When are you coming back?"
"Maybe the same day. But I'd bet no later than Tuesday."
"I'd like to know who Goltz sees in Uruguay."
"I'll see what I can find out."
"I won't be back in Buenos Aires before Tuesday at the earliest. You want to meet at The Horse-The Fish-Wednesday night?"
"We better set up a time now," Peter said. "That would save a telephone call. Ten o'clock? If either of us can't make it, say by ten-thirty, we'll try some-thing else."
"Ten's fine with me," Clete said.
"Is a personal question in order?" Peter asked.
"Certainly."
"Dorotea?"
"The idea of having Dorotea sit beside me on the royal thrones-that is what you're asking?" Peter, smiling, nodded. "... was to convey the idea to our loyal subjects and the upper strata of Argentinian society that we have been en-gaged for some time, with the blessing of our parents. That will further explain why we will be married here, quietly, in about two weeks."
"I heard that much from Alicia, who heard it from her mother," Peter said, but it was a question.
"She's pregnant, Peter."
"In that case, congratulations."
"Yes, it was, Peter."
"Yes, it was what?"
"Grossly irresponsible of me."
"I didn't think that."
"Yes, you did."
"Yes, I did," Peter confessed. "And it puts me on a hell of a spot, you un-derstand."
"Alicia wants to get married?"
"Yes."
"I'm in no position to offer anyone any advice."
"Or me," Peter said, and put out his hand. "Good luck, my friend."
Chapter Fifteen
[ONE]
The Reception
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1645 12 April 1943
Clete was standing with Humberto Duarte, holding a cup of coffee, in a circle of seven men. Each of them, he had come to understand, either managed one Frade enterprise or another or had business dealings with it. They had come from all over Argentina to pay their final respects to el Coronel, and of course to meet the new Patron.
It was something like a one-man reception line, the difference being that those passing through it felt they had either the right or the obligation-he wasn't sure which-to join the half dozen or so standing around el Patron for a cup of coffee and four or five minutes of conversation. As one man joined the group, and a maid offered him a tiny white gold-rimmed coffee cup and saucer, another left the group and placed his coffee cup and saucer on the maid's tray.
There was a steady stream of them all afternoon, either employees of what Clete had started to think of as El Coronel Incorporated, or representatives of businesses that bought from, or sold to, one El Coronel Inc. subsidiary or an-other.
Humberto, for example, introduced him not only to the man who ran the San Bosco vineyards in Cordoba, but the men who sold San Bosco the wine bottles; the corks that sealed San Bosco's bottles; and the bottle labels-this one also sold San Bosco the cases in which the wine bottles were packed. One man told him his father had begun carting San Bosco wine with horse-drawn wagons. And a somewhat effete gentleman told him that with the exception of Buenos Aires Province, he handled distribution of San Bosco products through-out the country.
The same thing was true of the people connected with Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo itself, and with the other estancias and enterprises of El Coronel Inc. around the country. In some place called Bariloche-he had never previ-ously heard of it-he learned El Coronel Inc. owned both a trout farm and a dairy farm, which also manufactured cheese. He found the trout farm fascinating, for he had previously believed the only way to harvest trout was by stand-ing in a stream with a fly-casting rod.
Several people blurted that they had not known that el Coronel had a son. Yet there was an almost universal surprised relief that el Patron spoke Spanish. Which meant, of course, that everyone knew that he was a norteamericano. He wondered if any of them had heard the rumors that el Coronel was killed by the Germans because his son was an American OSS agent. If anyone had, no one was tactless enough, or careless enough, to make reference to it.
Humberto stood at his side throughout the ordeal. Claudia had left an hour after the requiem mass with what Clete thought of as the Military Delega-tion... but only after telling him what was expected of him in "receiving" the managers and the businesspeople. Humberto, she went on to explain, would suggest how to deal with "the people in Buenos Aires"-he inferred she meant lawyers and bankers and their ilk. He would have to start doing that no later than Wednesday.
He had only a rare glimpse of Dorotea. She and her mother mingled in the reception with the wives of the men who spoke to Clete. But he didn't have a chance to talk to her. Earlier he had sent Little Henry off riding with the good-looking kid-whose name, he learned, was Gustavo, which almost certainly confirmed that Gustavo was German. He firmly admonished Gustavo to put Lit-tle Henry on a horse he would have minimal chance of falling from. He didn't see Henry Mallin, and wondered if this was because Dorotea's father didn't want to see Cletus H. Frade, or whether he was sleeping off the effects of the night before.
Clete sensed that Antonio had walked up behind him.
"Se¤or, your guests are leaving," Antonio said.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, please," Clete said, and placed his coffee cup on the maid's tray.
When Clete reached them, the Mallin family was already on the verandah, their luggage stacked around them, waiting for someone to bring their car. Lit-tle Henry, Clete noticed, showed no signs of a fall from a horse. Dorotea had changed from the black suit she had worn all day into a skirt and blouse.
"Thank you for coming, Henry," Clete said.
"So kind of you to have us," Mallin replied with a smile that would freeze a West Texas water hole in the middle of August.
"I suppose we'll see you very soon, Cletus," Pamela said. "We really have no time at all, do we?"
"I'm going into the city either Tuesday or Wednesday," Clete said. "Clau-dia said she'd help with things out here."
"That's my responsibility-mother of the bride-but it was sweet of you to think of asking her, and I will need her."
"Thank you for the ride, Clete," Little Henry said.
"What ride?" Henry Mallin asked.
"Clete sent Henry riding with one of his gauchos," Pamela replied. "Wasn't that nice of him?"
Henry did not reply.
Rudolpho pulled up before the verandah in the Mallins' Rolls Royce drop-head coupe, stepped out, and started to load the luggage in the trunk.
"Thank you for my ring, Cletus," Dorotea said, and with her father watch-ing in evident discomfort, kissed him on the lips with slightly less passion than she might have kissed Little Henry.
Henry Mallin walked around the front of the car. Clete went to the passen-ger side with Dorotea, ushered Little Henry into the backseat, and waited for an opportunity to kiss Dorotea again. It did not present itself. She slumped against the seat and smiled at him demurely.
"Oh, damn," she said. "I think I left my compact on the roof!"
"Great!" her father said.
Clete surveyed the roof. Dorotea moved forward on her seat to see if he could locate the compact. This movement placed her close to Clete's midsection in such a way that her body concealed the movement o
f her hand, which she used to possessively squeeze Clete's reproductive apparatus.
"It's not here!" Clete cried, referring to Dorotea's compact.
"Well, perhaps I was mistaken," Dorotea said, sliding back onto the seat. From there she smiled demurely at Clete again, waved her fingers at him, and admonished him to "be a good boy, Cletus."
"Goddamn," Clete blurted, "you're really something!"
"Would you please close the door?" Henry Mallin asked impatiently.
Clete watched the Rolls Royce until it was out of sight, then turned to reenter the house.
"Excuse me, Se¤or Frade," a short, muscular man of about forty asked. "Do you remember me? Capitan Delgano?"
Oh, yeah, I remember you, you sonofabitch! You were my father's pilot, and he trusted you, and you were all the time working for Mart¡n and the god-damned BIS!
"I remember you," Clete said.
"I wonder if I might have a moment of your time, Se¤or Frade?"
"I can't think of a thing we might have to say to one another, Capitan," Clete said coldly.
There was hurt in Delgano's large dark eyes.
"I would prefer to talk with you somewhere we would be less likely to be overheard," he said, and gestured toward the English garden.
"I have nothing to say to you," Clete repeated, and started up the steps. En-rico was standing by the door.
"I am here at the direction of Coronel Martin," Delgano said softly.
Clete turned and looked at him, then gestured toward the garden.
Delgano walked down the red-gravel path until almost at the center of the garden, then stopped.
"Mart¡n sent you? You're still working for him?"
Delgano did not reply directly, but the question was answered.
"I would ask you to consider that people in our profession are sometimes required to do things that are personally repugnant, Mayor Frade. Your father, for whom I had the greatest respect, came to understand that I was, and am, a serving officer, carrying out my orders."
"I thought you were supposed to be retired," Clete challenged.
Why am I talking to this sonofabitch?
"And you are supposed to have been discharged from the Corps of Marines, mi Mayor."
"What did Mart¡n send you out here to say, Delgano?"
"I have been here all along, mi Mayor."
Clete's surprise, or disbelief, showed on his face.
"Your father reemployed me a week after you went to the United States," Delgano said. "At the request of Coronel Martin, after your father understood that Coronel Mart¡n had allied himself with the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos."
That's what Enrico meant when he said "Mart¡n is now one of us."
"What's on your mind, Capitan?"
"I have two missions," Delgano said, "which should make you believe me. The first is to provide any protection I can for your man Ettinger against the German problem."
"How will you do that?"
"If you will let me know when he leaves the estancia, I will see that he is not alone," Delgano said. "The more notice you can give me, of course, the bet-ter. The second is to deal with the problem of the aircraft you wish to import. We have to reach an understanding about the airplane."
He could have heard about the assassination order someplace else, but the only place he could have heard about the airplane is from Martin.
"What's the understanding? That every time I get in it, you're my copilot?"
Delgano smiled.
"I'm sure our mutual friend would like that, and I am equally sure he real-izes that would not be possible," he said. "My orders are to assist you in bring-ing the airplane here from Brazil, on condition that you teach me how to fly it, and that the airplane be placed at Coronel Martin's disposal at a time he has specified-he has a three-day period in mind."
What the hell is that all about? OK!
"In case Outline Blue goes wrong? To take certain people out of the coun-try in a hurry?"
Delgano held up both hands, palms outward, and shrugged.
What did I expect him to say ?
"Are those conditions acceptable, mi Mayor?"
Clete nodded.
"Then let's try to bring the airplane here," Delgano said. "Where is it now?"
"Somewhere in Brazil."
"You don't know where?"
Clete shook his head, "no."
"But you can find out? We'll need to know that."
"I can find out."
"The scheme is to put the registration numbers of the stagger-wing on the new plane. And then to change the fuselage serial number-and the number of engines-on the Argentine registration documents. The numbers can be put on here, or where the aircraft is now. The question then becomes how to fly the air-craft from where it is in Brazil to an airfield in Argentina. That airfield will ob-viously depend on where the aircraft is in Brazil and its range."
"Changing the registration papers will be that easy?"
"I don't know how easy, but I'm sure Coronel Mart¡n can arrange it."
"I don't know the stagger-wing's numbers."
Delgano reached in his pocket and handed him a slip of paper. "If it could be done, it would be helpful to have the aircraft painted the same color-which I understand is called 'Beechcraft Stagger-wing Red.'"
"Yeah," Clete said. "Let me look into that."
Delgano put out his hand. Clete looked at it.
"The sooner this can be done, the better," Delgano said. "Can I tell Coronel Mart¡n that I expect to hear from you soon?"
"We're about to have a revolution, are we?" Clete asked.
Then he took Delgano's hand.
"I really didn't expect you to answer that," he said, then turned and walked away from Delgano.
Enrico was standing at the entrance to the path through the garden. "Why didn't you tell me Delgano was here?" Clete asked.
"You didn't ask me," Enrico replied.
[TWO]
Office of the Director
The Office of Strategic Services
Washington, D.C.
0830 13 April 1943
"This came in overnight, Bill," Colonel A. F. Graham, USMCR, said to OSS Director William J. Donovan, and laid a large manila envelope on his desk. "I thought you better have a look at it."
Donovan took the manila envelope, removed from it a slightly smaller white envelope stamped TOP SECRET in large letters, from that took two sheets of neatly typed paper, and then started to read them.
To judge by his expression, his initial reaction was not favorable.
TOP SECRET LINDBERGH
URGENT
PROM STACHIEP AGGIE
1605 GREENWICH 12APR43
MSG NO OOO2
TO ORACLE WASHDC EYES ONLY
FOR DDWHO GRAHAM
1. IN RE LINDBERGH.
A. RELIABLE SOURCE (HEREAFTER GALAHAD) REPORTS REINE DE LA MER REPLACEMENT IS SPANISH REGISTERED COMERCIANTE DEL OCEANO PACIFICO (HEREAFTER GROCERYTWO) EN ROUTE ARGENTINA CARRYING LARGE AMOUNTS OF MONEY AND VALUABLES (UNCONFIRMABLE FIGURE 100 REPEAT 100 MILLION DOLLARS) PURPOSE ACQUIRING SAFE HAVEN FOR FUNDS AND/OR ACQUIRING REAL ESTATE FOR POSSIBLE POSTWAR HAVEN FOR SENIOR NAZIS. INVESTIGATING.
B. POSSIBILITY EXISTS LINDBERGH RANSOM FUNDS INTENDED FOR SAME PURPOSE. INVESTIGATING.
"There he goes again," Donovan said.
"Excuse me?"
"Another unidentified 'reliable' source. Who the hell is 'Galahad'?"
"He doesn't say," Graham said.
Donovan ran his eyes down the rest of the message.
"And he hasn't identified the other one, 'Cavalry,' either. You did ask for that information, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Do you think he forgot to send it?" Donovan asked sarcastically. "I would hate to think he's ignoring you, Alex."
"Frade may have his reasons."
"For example?"
"It comes immediately to my mind that he doesn't want the others on the team to know the identities of these people
in case they find themselves inter-rogated."
"And what if something happens to Frade and nobody else knows who Cavalry or Galahad are? They would then be lost to us."
