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“Where is that?”
“We absolutely cannot take the risk of them hearing there are people here headed where they’re headed. I’m sure you understand.”
“Perfectly.”
“You can keep all of your men on the base until this is all over?”
“Absolutely. You have my word of honor, sir.”
Von Wachtstein solemnly shook Corvette Captain Aguirre’s hand.
Okay, Cronley thought. He’s swallowed everything Hansel told him.
For now.
But what’s he going to think in ten minutes, in an hour, when he’s had time to think it over?
The answer came ten minutes later, when von Dattenberg turned up a copy of La Nacíon and announc
ed, “Oh, here’s a picture of Don Cletus with el Coronel Perón on the balcony of the Casa Rosada.”
As Corvette Captain Aguirre examined the photograph, he said, “I had the privilege of meeting Don Cletus’s father, el Coronel Jorge Frade, when my father and I visited José at the regiment, shortly after José had joined the Húsares de Pueyrredón as a subteniente. My father was a great admirer of el Coronel Frade; he was hoping he would become president.”
Well, Cronley thought, we seem to have Corvette Captain Raphael Aguirre—and thus the whole situation here—under control.
What is that?
“God rewards the virtuous” or “God takes care of fools and drunks”?
Whichever, let’s hope it holds.
Odds are that any moment this mission will turn into a colossal clusterfuck . . .
[FIVE]
Almirante Marcos A. Zar Airfield
Trelew, Chubut Province (Patagonia), Argentina
0650 23 October 1945
The red Lodestar was at the end of the runway, with the SAA Lodestar on the taxiway next to it, when the engines of the red Lodestar stopped.
“Oh, shit!” Jimmy Cronley said.
He thought, And so the colossal clusterfuck has begun . . .
“What’s going on?” Willi von Dattenberg asked.
“Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
When the door of the red Lodestar opened a moment later, von Wachtstein came through it and headed for the SAA Lodestar.
Cronley shut down his engines. Then he started to undo the harness of the pilot’s seat. Before he could stand up, von Wachtstein appeared in the cockpit.
“I can’t pick up the signal from the Collins 7.2,” von Wachstein said.
“What does that mean?” von Dattenberg asked.
