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Clete’s hand was then enthusiastically shaken by a dozen officers, none of whom he recognized, as a beaming Perón watched.
Everybody sat down but General Rawson.
“Gentlemen,” Rawson began, “in this very room—well, not exactly, in that little room . . .”
He pointed to the bar, and there was dutiful laughter.
“. . . my dear friend, the late Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade, whom God has seen fit to remove from our midst, talked many times to me of two things. One was the role he saw for light aircraft in the army. Frankly, I didn’t agree with him. But I never argued with him, because a wise man never argued with Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade. And he spoke with great pride of his son, Cletus, who was born here but raised by his mother’s family in the United States, after the tragic death of his mother when he was an infant.
“His son, Cletus, was an officer of the American Corps of Marines, a pilot. Jorge was not surprised. The blood of Juan Martín de Pueyrredón ran through his veins. Jorge told me with great and justifiable pride that Cletus had shot down seven of the enemy’s planes and been twice decorated with the Distinguished Flying Cross for his valor.
“And then Cletus was released from active duty for a physical problem, and came here to the land of his birth to be with his father. Then God in his wisdom took our beloved Jorge from us, just as he was about to lead us in the action we found it necessary to take in order to restore our beloved Argentina to democracy.
“Technically, that was none of Cletus Frade’s business. He was an American. But he knew that his father had been the principal author of Operation Blue. And when that action began, the blood of Pueyrredón, the blood of Jorge Guillermo Frade, coursing through his veins overcame consideratio
n of legal technicalities. He saw his duty.
“Cletus Frade flew his father’s airplane here to Campo de Mayo and placed it and himself at the service of the Ejército Argentino. If our action had failed, there is no question in my mind that he would have been standing beside me as we faced a firing squad.
“As our columns advanced on the Casa Rosada, I saw them. I saw them from a light airplane being flown with extraordinary skill by Cletus Frade. There was no longer any question in my mind about what El Coronel Frade believed about the role of light aircraft in the army.
“From the moment Cletus landed us back here on that historical day I wondered how I could recognize Cletus’s service to Argentina. He was not an officer in the Ejército Argentino, so I could neither promote him nor decorate him. Indeed, if I had decorated him, it would have gotten him in trouble with the U.S. government.
“And then, several days ago, El Coronel Juan Domingo Perón came to me and we talked about Juan Domingo’s godson, Don Cletus Frade. He told me that Cletus has actually become an Argentine. He has married an Argentine, and God is about to bless that union with a child. He has assumed control of his father’s business ventures. And El Coronel Perón told me that he is going to apply his aviation skills here in Argentina. South American Airways will soon take to the skies under our flag.
“And El Coronel Perón said, ‘What’s a little funny, Mr. President, is that Cletus will have to go through all the licensing examinations to get a pilot’s license, just as if he never flew before.’
“And at that moment, gentlemen, I knew how I could in some small way express my gratitude—indeed, that of the nation—to Don Cletus Frade for his valiant service to the republic.
“Gentlemen, as president of the Republic of Argentina, it is my pleasure to announce that Don Cletus Frade has been certified by the Aeronautics Division, Ministry of the Interior, Republic of Argentina, as a commercial aviation pilot. And more than that, his certificate will bear the signature of the president of the republic as the approving officer.”
He gestured to the aiguillette-draped major, then to Cletus to join him. The major now held a gold-framed document in his hands. As Rawson took it from him and handed it to Frade, the officers in the room stood and applauded.
General Rawson pumped Frade’s hand, then embraced and kissed him. Then Colonel Perón pumped Frade’s hand and kissed him.
“Thank you, Tío Juan,” Frade said.
Perón embraced him again.
Over his shoulder, Frade saw Colonel Alejandro Martín, chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security, looking at him and smiling.
Frade thought the smile was one of amusement, as if he and Frade shared a secret.
Colonel Martín showed up at the airfield as Frade was loading Enrico, the shotgun, the framed commercial aviation pilot certificate, and the twenty-liter can of aviation gas into the close confines of the rear seat of the cub.
Martín saluted Perón, shook hands with Delgano, and offered his hand to Frade.
“Congratulations on your certification, Don Cletus,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“May I ask a layman’s question?”
“Certainly.”
“Why are you taking gasoline with you?”
“To make sure that I have enough gasoline to get back to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.”
