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“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.
[FIVE]
Estancia Santa Catalina Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2015 20 July 1943
Cletus Frade’s first reaction when he saw the black Mercedes drop-top sedan with a cuerpo diplomático license plate parked in front of the great house of the estancia was to think, Thank God, he’s here.
Frade was carrying the information outlining the workings and personnel of the German embassy that Stein had obtained from Frogger. If Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein had not been at his wife’s mother’s home, Frade would have had to have given the papers to La Señora Alicia Carzino-Cormano de von Wachtstein to pass to her husband.
Clete didn’t want to do that.
Alicia was not Dorotea. And that was something Clete had known long before Dorotea had manifested that cold ruthlessness at Casa Chica that he hadn’t suspected she was capable of. The less Alicia was involved in the business between Clete and Peter, the better. For a number of reasons, not limited to her inability to handle—it bordered on sheer terror—what her husband was doing.
And that presumed Alicia would be here. If
she wasn’t, that would have meant he would have had to give the material to Alicia’s mother, and have her pass it to Alicia to pass it to Peter. And he would have had to tell Claudia what it was, and how he had come by it. He didn’t want to do that either. Claudia Carzino-Cormano was tough, but there was no reason to bring her into a potentially dangerous situation unless it was absolutely necessary.
Clete had another unpleasant thought. The Mercedes was the car assigned to the military attaché of the German embassy. It had been Peter’s to use—after Oberst Grüner, the military attaché, had been killed at Samborombón Bay— as the acting military attaché. But that had changed with the arrival of Korvettenkapitän Karl Boltitz, who had been named the military attaché.
Is Boltitz here with Peter?
As if reading his mind, Dorotea said, “That’s the official car. That means Boltitz is probably here, too.”
“Yeah,” he said, and looked at her.
Jesus Christ, she even thinks like I do!
When they walked up on the verandah, they could see Korvettenkapitän Boltitz through the sitting-room window. He was in an armchair. La Señorita Isabela Carzino-Cormano was sitting on a footstool next to him, hanging on his every word.
Looks like El Bitcho has become just another goddamn Nazi, Clete thought. She’s as bad as Frau Frogger.
Alicia saw them through the same window and seemed less than overjoyed at their arrival. Although she and Dorotea had been close friends since childhood, and although she knew that if it hadn’t been for Clete going to El Coronel Perón, who had gone to some of his high-ranking Nazi friends to request a favor, right now Peter von Wachtstein would be in Germany flying the Me-262 jet fighter instead of here safe—relatively—in Argentina.
Alicia got off the couch and was standing behind the Carzino-Cormano butler when he opened the door.
“Peter is here,” she greeted them. “And Karl Boltitz.”
