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“She didn’t have to. I’m a Jew. We pray a lot.”
“Start now,” Frade ordered.
He had then lain back down and closed his eyes.
Ten minutes after that, he opened them again, sat up, pushed himself off the bunk, and went looking for Stein, Boltitz, and von Wachtstein. He found them sitting in the seats for the backup crew, trying to doze.
He beckoned for them to follow him back into the sleeping section, motioned for the doors to the cockpit and the seating area to be closed, and then began, “We have a small problem. Belay that. We have a few small problems, plural.
“The Collins 7.2 is out. We can’t do without it. Siggie thinks he can fix it if he can get into the Army Air Forces’ radio maintenance facility at Val de Cans. The problem there is they may not let him in. The only reason we’re going in there is because the Argentine Foreign Ministry leaned on somebody. The Collins 7.2 is a classified American radio, and they’re going to wonder what the hell SAA is doing with one.”
“Show them the phony OSS credentials,” Stein suggested.
“The problem there—the problems—are that they are phony and that after I used them to get Karl and Hansel out of Fort Hunt, there’s a good chance that the Army has spread the word to be prepared to arrest on sight Area Commander C. Frade of the OSS.”
“So, what are you going to do?” von Wachtstein asked.
“Hansel, when you were a little boy back in the Schloss, did you ever act in a play?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, in a play, like Hansel und Gretel?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Try to remember what your teacher taught you. You’re going back on the stage when we get to Val de Cans. The play is called ‘Here come the mysterious, all-powerful heroes of the Office of Strategic Services.’ Starring Cletus Frade, All-American Boy. Now here’s how it’s going to work.”
He told them.
Karl Boltitz asked dubiously, “Cletus, do you really think that’s going to work?”
“It’ll either work or we’ll add new meaning to the Army Air Corps’ song.”
He then sang, “We live in fame or go down in flames, nothing can stop the OSS Air Corps . . .”
Frade now was standing between the pilot and copilot seats. The lights of the huge Brazilian airfield were in sight.
Mario Peralta had been in the pilot’s seat during the seven-hour flight from Buenos Aires, as Clete had instructed, and another SAA backup pilot was flying as copilot.
“Give it to him, Mario,” Frade ordered, “and then let me sit there.”
Peralta did as ordered, but it was obvious he had been looking forward to making the approach and landing himself.
When Frade had strapped himself in and put on the headset, he gave another order, this time to the copilot: “I’ll take it. You go back and send von Wachtstein up here.”
“Sí, señor,” the copilot said, his tone making it clear that he also had been looking forward to the approach and landing.
I knew that was going to piss them off. So why did I do it?
Because Peter needs more landing practice, and I’m the most qualified person to sit in the left seat to keep him out of trouble while he does it.
So fuck the both of you.
“Sit down, Hansel, and strap yourself in.”
Von Wachtstein complied.
“You feel qualified to land this?”
