AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dorotea had immediately fallen in love with Casa Montagna and shortly thereafter was using Clete’s bassinet and other items for their firstborn, Jorge Howell Frade, who was delivered in the Infirmary under the care of the Mother Superior of the Order of the Little Sisters of Santa María del Pilar.
—
After the Lincoln flashed past the pickup, its taillights quickly disappeared from Clete’s rearview mirror. He w
as afraid that, after being directed to the Little Sisters’ Hospital from the airfield and then not finding Clete there, Ashton would draw unwelcome attention to his presence simply by asking questions.
But shortly afterward, the bright headlights appeared in Clete’s rearview mirror. They grew, and moments later the Lincoln pulled alongside the pickup and Clete found himself looking at Major Maxwell Ashton III.
Clete gestured toward the estancia. Ashton nodded and pulled ahead of the pickup.
Clete followed him to the vineyards of the estancia, through them, and then up the steep road to the house enclave.
The gates were open when he got there, but there were machine guns trained on them, just in case.
—
They helped el Coronel Perón from the pickup truck and into the infirmary and into a bed.
Clete and Enrico, not without difficulty, had just finished getting Perón out of his blood-soaked uniform when Mother Superior, trailed by two nursing sisters, came into the room.
“Lie down, Juan Domingo,” the tiny nun ordered, “and let me have a look at that.”
He docilely obeyed.
She pulled the pad from his face.
“There are a lot of blood vessels in the face, and whatever did that to you cut many of them,” she announced. “You’ll live, and there won’t be much of a scar; jagged wounds leave less scar than neat ones. But before I sew you up, we’re going to get some of Cletus’s blood in you. You lost a lot.”
Frade thought, Cletus’s blood?
Mother Superior turned to one of the nuns. “We need another pressure pack on that. Get one. A proper one.” She considered what she had said. “But that one did a pretty good job, I must admit.”
Then she turned to Enrico.
“Drag that bed next to this one,” she ordered. “And you, Cletus, take your jacket and shirt off and get in it.”
“How do you know I have the right kind of blood?” Cletus asked.
“Because when you were an adorable baby I typed it. And then when your son was born, and I thought your poor wife might need a little blood, I went to your records and there it was. Any other questions, or have I your kind permission to get on with this?”
Clete got in the bed. Ninety seconds later, blood began to flow from his vein into his godfather’s.
Frade saw Ashton standing in the doorway, and motioned for him to come to the bed.
“Yes, sir?” Ashton said.
Mother Superior snorted.
“Get on the Collins to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo,” Clete ordered. “Tell el Jefe—”
“Colonel, it’s quarter to two in the morning. No one will be standing by the radio.”
“Then get on the telephone and call them and tell them—without mentioning my name—to get on it. When that happens—make sure this is encrypted—tell el Jefe to get out to the Jorge Frade airport and find out what happened there after we left. Specifically, what happened to General Martín. And also what happened to the nine-o’clock flight to Europe. Did it get off on time? Get off at all? If not, what happened? Don’t tell him Enrico and I are here, or that Colonel Perón is with us.”
“Colonel,” Ashton said hesitatingly, “if I call them on the Collins, el Jefe will know where you are.”
Frade considered that for a moment.
