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“But we have surrendered,” Frogger repeated. “We wish to be granted political asylum in Brazil.”
“Then you should have gone to the Brazilians. You didn’t.”
“I am prepared to cooperate,” Frogger said.
“Meaning what?”
“I have information which would be of value to you.”
“Information about Operation Phoenix, for example?”
“Excuse me?”
“Operation Phoenix.”
“I don’t know the term. I’m sorry.”
“Then you are either stupid or a liar, probably both. Stupid, certainly, for thinking you could come and expect help to desert your post, with nothing to offer us.”
“I have information . . .”
“But not about Operation Phoenix?”
“I know nothing about any Operati
on Phoenix.”
“You are lucky you brought your wife with you,” Frade said. “Otherwise, you would already be in an unmarked grave on the pampas. I don’t like to kill women unless I have to.”
“Then simply return us to Buenos Aires.”
“My God, you are stupid, aren’t you? You’ve already seen too much to be allowed to remain alive.”
He gestured with his hands, indicating Frogger should carry the suitcases into the living room. Gómez went next, then Frade followed them in.
“Open them and dump them on the floor,” Frade then ordered coldly.
“Those are our personal possessions!” Frau Frogger complained indignantly.
“Dump them on the floor,” Frade repeated.
When that had been done, he spotted the photo album, went to it, and picked it up. He flipped through it, then tossed it atop the pile of clothing and personal items.
In Spanish, he ordered Gómez to put “these swine” into the house-keeper’s room.
“If they look like they’re even trying to get away, shoot them,” Frade ordered, “put them in a hole in the pampas, pour gasoline on them, then set them afire and leave them for the buzzards.”
“I have information—”
“Shut your mouth, you slimy bastard!”
Staff Sergeant Stein met Frade’s eyes but said nothing.
“You ever watch cop movies, Siggie?” Frade asked when Gómez had led the Froggers away.
Stein nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Then you’re familiar with good cop/bad cop?”
