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“What did you say?”
Marjie walked quickly to Jimmy, grabbed his ears, pulled his face to hers, kissed him wetly on the mouth, and said, “Have a nice flight, Jimmy!”
“I’ll be a sonofabitch!” Clete said. “The Squirt is nuts!”
“Yeah,” Marjie said.
XIV
[ONE]
El Plumerillo Airfield
Mendoza, Mendoza Province, Argentina
0810 22 October 1945
As the red Lodestar reached the end of its landing roll, Second Lieutenant James D. Cronley Jr., who was sitting in the left seat, turned to Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, who was sitting in the right seat, and announced, “Well, Hansel, as Clete likes to say, it would seem that we have cheated death again.”
“One, you are not Cletus. And, two, I don’t recall giving you permission to call me Hansel,” von Wachtstein said with a smile. “But that aside, that was a nice landing. Not as smooth as one of my own, of course, but just as smooth as Cletus ever makes. What’s this business about you hating to fly?”
“I hate to fly alone,” Jimmy said, turning the Lodestar onto the taxiway. “I refuse to fly alone. But as long as I have someone like you sitting in the other seat, I’m Lucky Charlie Lindbergh.”
“What’s that all about?”
“Very simple. I acknowledge my cowardice.”
Von Wachtstein shook his head, and then, pointing, said, “There they are.”
Cletus Frade and Enrico Rodríguez were standing in front of one of the hangars.
—
Eighteen ex–Húsares de Pueyrredón, wearing SAA security uniforms and carrying a variety of weapons—mostly Thompsons—and canvas bags, got off the Lodestar. They formed ranks as automatically as if they were still on active duty with the Húsares de Pueyrredón. Von Wachtstein and Cronley disembarked last.
One of the SAA security men saluted Clete, and said, “Mi Coronel.”
Clete returned the salute.
“Welcome to Mendoza,” he called out. “Suboficial Mayor Rodríguez has breakfast for you in the hangar. Bread and water. No wine.”
There were the expected chuckles from the group.
The man who had saluted Clete went to Enrico, hugged him, then motioned for the others to follow him into the hangar.
“Are the other planes far behind?” Cletus asked Jimmy and Hansel. “How many of them are there?”
Jimmy shook his head.
“Zero. Zilch. Zip. In other words, none.”
“What the hell?”
“There were no available aircraft, Cletus,” von Wachtstein said. “Half a dozen were down for maintenance until this afternoon, and the others were all scheduled. And since they weren’t going to be needed, Martín’s pilots—the ones who are BIS—took the day off. The only way we could have gotten one Lodestar, much less two, was to cancel a scheduled flight or flights—and they weren’t about to do that without a reason, and I didn’t think you would want us to give one.”
“Damn, that’s bad news,” Clete said. “Okay, let’s have all the bad news. What about Welner, O’Reilley, and my Tío Juan?”
Von Wachtstein looked at his watch.
