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“You believe all this, Cletus?”
“All I know for sure is that I am about to own three Constellations with which I hope to make a lot of money.”
“That presumes the Argentine Civil Aviation Dirección gives you—gives SAA—permission.”
“Come on, Alejandro. The airplanes are owned by an Argentine company—”
“There is a nasty rumor going around that the major stockholder in that company is in the OSS,” Martín interjected.
“—and will be flown by Argentine pilots, many of whom”—Frade turned to look Martín in the eyes—“a nasty rumor has it, are actually military officers assigned to the Bureau of Internal Security.” Frade looked back to the road and went on: “As will be, I suspect, the Immigration and Customs officers who will carefully check each plane before it takes off, and when each one lands. This has nothing to do with the OSS, Alejandro.”
“So you say, Major Frade. Or did a promotion come with your added responsibilities to the OSS?”
“And then there’s that other thing,” Frade said, ignoring the comment. “I somehow got the impression just now that General Rawson thinks this is a lovely idea, that offering intercontinental air service will add to the prestige of the Argentine Republic.”
“Since we are still off the record, Cletus, I will admit that was brilliant, what you did at the airfield.”
“You are too kind, Alejandro.”
And it was.
Colonel Graham actually orchestrated that entire arrival business like a symphony conductor.
But, Alejandro, if you want to think I’m that clever, help yourself!
“What did you say about borrowing money?”
“My grandfather, who always knows a bargain when he sees one, has elected to make a substantial investment in South American Airways.”
“Wouldn’t that make it a mostly North American-owned company?”
“Not at all. As you know, I am an Argentine by birth. And many years ago, when he first started looking for oil in Venezuela, my grandfather became a citizen of that splendid South American country. Something to do with excessive taxes laid on foreigners. You know, dual citizenship. Like me. SAA is entirely owned by South Americans.”
Martín shook his head.
“You’re good, Cletus. This round goes to you.”
“That suggests there will be other rounds.”
“You and I both know there will be,” Martín said.
“All I can do is hope that your careful scrutiny of every little detail of our operations, which I fully expect will finally convince you that my motive in this is solely to make a lot of money. And, of course, to add a little prestige to the country of my birth.”
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“You already have a lot of money.”
“Money is like sex, Alejandro,” Frade said solemnly. “You can never get too much of it.”
Martín laughed, but then said: “I already warned you that I’ve learned you are most dangerous when you’re playing the clown.”
“Can we turn to this ‘you have to see me on a matter of life-and-death importance’?” Frade said. “I never clown about things like life and death.”
“Neither do I,” Martín replied. “Okay. Here it is: The Germans may be planning to kidnap your father-in-law, your mother-in-law, and your brother-in-law, and exchange them for the Froggers.”
Frade didn’t say a word.
After a long moment, Martín said, “For God’s sake, Cletus, don’t pretend you don’t have the Froggers.”
