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“Excuse me?” Habanzo asked.
“I was hoping there’d be some officers left who could tell us if the regiment took one of its famous road marches down south.”
“Probably not,” Martín said. “But I’ll bet there are soldiers who would know, and I would be surprised if Suboficial Mayor Rodríguez, Retired, would have trouble finding them.”
“What did Wattersly—or el Coronel Torrez—do with the Tenth’s suboficial mayor, Martinez?” Clete asked.
“After you shot Schmidt, you mean?”
Frade nodded.
“Nothing. We all knew how helpful he’d been after you shot Schmidt,” Martín said. “That he took the regiment back to San Martín de los Andes.”
“Bernardo,” Frade said, “Martinez and Enrico are old buddies. Martinez tipped us off when the Tenth Mountain was headed to shoot up my place in Tandil.”
“Well, getting Rodrí
guez together with Martinez would seem the solution to that problem,” Martín said. “But there are others.”
“May I ask a question?” Cronley asked.
Frade made a face, then considered the request a moment and nodded.
“How hard would it be to send people down there? I mean, maybe they could find some sign that a submarine had landed. From what I’ve heard, there’s absolutely nothing down there for hundreds of miles except this farm, or whatever it is.”
“Estancia Condor,” Major Habanzo furnished.
“What the hell does Estancia Condor grow?” Cronley asked. “If it’s all ice and snow down there?”
“I think it started, years and years ago, as a whaling station,” Martín said. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about, but I think I heard somewhere that it’s still sort of a frigorifico for seals. I mean, they kill the seals on the water, or the shore, and process the meat there.”
“There are people at this place?” Frade asked.
“A few people and a detachment of soldiers to operate the radio relay station and service the lighthouses,” Habanzo said.
“And they have reported no sighting of a submarine? Or even anything out of the ordinary?” Frade asked.
“Nothing,” Martín said. “And isn’t that interesting?”
“Possible scenarios?” Frade asked. “Anyone?”
There was no response.
“Then let’s see what we have,” Martín said. “Let’s start with ‘Mountain Troops’ being something of a misnomer. We think of the Tenth repelling a Chilean invasion of Argentina in the Andes. And that was their original mission. And they are trained and equipped to fight in the Andes, which means, most of the year, in ice and snow—”
“Which is what we have in the landfall,” Frade interjected.
Martín nodded. “So to whom would the Edificio Libertador turn if some military action—and operating a radio relay station qualifies as a military action—was necessary in that area of Argentina? The regiment equipped to operate in frigid conditions.”
Martín thought for a moment, then finished: “So, for the sake of argument, let us presume the operators of the radio relay station on Estancia Condor are from the Signals Company of the Tenth Mountain.”
“Which would have given German submarines a radio contact,” Habanzo offered.
“And given the Tenth Mountain an excuse to regularly dispatch truck convoys down there to supply their troops at Estancia Condor,” Frade put in.
“And who would think to search trucks returning from a supply mission?” Martín asked rhetorically.
“I don’t suppose there’s an airstrip on the estancia?” von Wachtstein asked. “Or, for that matter, anywhere down there where it would be useful to us?”
