by Blood
"Where do you think?"
"Yeah," Clete said.
"You might consider that in the United States, there are probably many thousands of young women with child, whose husbands are off fighting a war. Is Dorotea's situation so different?"
"Hell, yes, it's different. I don't want her, or our baby, killed because the Germans are after me."
"Then you will have to make provisions for her. Bring her out here, for ex-ample, after you're married."
"The immediate problem is to get married," Clete said. "How do I go about that? Show up at his door? 'Buenos dias, Se¤or Mallin, you're about to be a grandfather, and I'm the sonofabitch who did it?"
Welner chuckled.
"You're asking for my advice?"
"I guess I am," Clete said after thinking it over.
"Well, then, I would suggest you first tell your uncle Humberto, and then Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano. Overlooking the missing sacrament, she is de facto your father's widow. She would want to know; she would be deeply hurt if you didn't tell her. If that bothers you, I'll be happy to talk to them for you."
"And then what?"
"And then Humberto and Claudia and I will call upon Se¤or Mallin to dis-cuss the problem we have regarding the children."
" 'The children'? And then what?"
"What can he do, Cletus?" Welner asked. "Shoot you... ?"
That's the first time he called me by my Christian name.
"Throw Dorotea out on the street? You and Dorotea are not, you know, the first two young people in history who let their glands overwhelm their brains. He loves Dorotea, and in time he may even learn to tolerate you."
"That'll be a cold day in hell," Clete said.
"A newborn, they say, can melt stone hearts."
"You really think there won't be a problem?"
"There is a problem. We can deal with it. And I'm sure the bishop, after prayerful consideration, would be willing to accept my suggestion that he waive the customary banns for the Patron of Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. You could be married here at the chapel. Possibly as soon as next week."
"By a Catholic priest? The Old Man will shit a brick when he hears about that!"
"Now, there's a colloquialism I never heard before," Welner said. "'The 'Old Man'-presumably you mean your grandfather-will 'shit a brick'?"
Clete nodded, smiling.
"A little vulgar, I suppose, but accurately descriptive."
"I am sure that Dorotea, or her mother, knows one of my erring brother priests of the Anglican persuasion who could be induced into performing, qui-etly, one of your pagan rituals. You could tell your grandfather about that cere-mony."
"I'll be damned," Clete said.
"Not for getting married, I wouldn't think."
"I mean, that's all there is to it? It can be arranged?"
"It can be arranged, because it has to be arranged. Would you like me to speak with Claudia and your uncle Humberto?"
Clete nodded. "I'd be grateful. I'm a coward."
"No," Welner said. "A confused young man, perhaps, but not a coward." He looked at his watch. "I'll have to telephone Buenos Aires and break an appoint-ment," he said. "No problem. I really didn't want to drive in there and then have to drive right back. Humberto and your aunt Beatrice will probably arrive here in time for tea. I'll go see Claudia now, and come back in time to be here when they arrive."
"I'm very grateful," Clete said. "Thank you."
"That's what priests are for, you know. Trying to help people follow God's commandments."
He shook Clete's hand firmly and walked out of the library.
That's one clever sonofabitch, Clete thought. A used-car salesman in a clerical collar. I should check to see if I still have all my fingers after that politi-cian 's handshake, and then see if I still have my wristwatch and wallet. I don't have the foggiest idea what, but he wants something from me.
That said, why do I feel a hell of a lot better right now than I have since I came down here? Because he said he's going to fix things about Dorotea. And I think he will. And if he can, he can have anything he wants.
Within reason.
Chapter Twelve
[ONE]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1125 11 April 1343
Enrico rose to his feet when Clete came out of the library. He had been sitting in one of the massive wooden armchairs that lined the wide corridors of the house, spaced every ten feet in nearly military precision, like soldiers guarding a perimeter. They were nearly square, and their only upholstery was thick, deeply tooled cowhide saddle leather nailed to the backrests, seats, and arm-rests.
"Whose airplane did I hear landing?" Clete asked.
"I have sent Rudolpho to find out."
The logical thing is to be patient. Rudolpho will be back in a minute with an explanation. What difference does it make, anyway?
To hell with it.
Enrico caught up with him as he walked down the verandah steps.
"Are there any more airplanes around here that I don't know about?"
"That was not one of our airplanes, Se¤or Clete."
"Who the hell could it be?"
Enrico shrugged.
"Tell me about my father and Padre Welner," Clete said.
Enrico looked uncomfortable, reminding Clete of Welner's statement that he was "no more opaque" than his father.
"Come on, Enrico!"
"El Coronel did not treat the Padre with the proper respect," Enrico said. "They often argued. Many times, your father raised his voice to him. He even called the Padre by his Christian name, sometimes even in my presence."
"What did they argue about?"
"Matters that a man should not argue about with a priest," Enrico said.
"Such as?"
"Heaven, Hell, absolution. The sacraments. What happens between men and women."
In other words, el Padre and el Coronel were friends.
They were through the garden now, and through the windbreak.
A high-wing monoplane, a two-seater, painted in something like olive drab, with an Argentine military insignia-a blue bull's-eye with a white center-on its fuselage was parked alongside two of the Piper Cubs, dwarfing them.
What the hell is that thing? It looks like the Cadillac version of a Piper Cub. Christ, that's what it is. A military observation airplane. Probably Ger-man. I've never seen anything like it before, and they don't make airplanes in Argentina.
Standing beside it, their passage barred by Rudolpho, who was carrying a shotgun, were two men. One, in a baggy flight suit, was obviously the pilot. The other was wearing a cavalry officer's uniform, complete to highly polished rid-ing boots. Clete recognized him immediately, although he had seen him only twice before in his life.
What the hell is el Teniente Coronel Mart¡n doing here? The first thing that comes to mind, of course, is that he's after Outline Blue, and the money. I can't think of any other reason he'd be here. But who does he want it for? He's In-ternal Security-read counterintelligence-charged with protecting the gov-ernment from operations like Outline Blue. If he's working for Castillo, and I turn that over to him, that's the end of Outline Blue, and all the players are go-ing to find themselves blindfolded and tied to a stake in front of a wall.
Jesus, why did he show up here now ? I need time to think.
When he saw Clete and Enrico walking toward them, the pilot nudged Martin, who looked toward them.
The first time Mart¡n met Clete was the night of the incident at the Frade guest house on Avenida del Libertador. After being advised of the shooting by agents he had assigned to surveille the house, and by Frade himself, he had rushed to the house. He arrived on the heels of the Polic¡a Federal, who by then had arrested the OSS agent. They were about to take him to police headquarters for questioning, but Mart¡n used the superior authority of the BIS to take the "incident" under BIS control, which did not endear him to the Polic¡a Federal offic
er-in-charge.
In the kitchen he found the Frade housekeeper with her throat cut, bathed in her own blood. Upstairs he found two dead men, both shot to death by the man they had come to murder. From the evidence, he judged that one of them had been shot-killed instantly-by the OSS agent in self-defense. The second assassin was wounded in the first confrontation. Frade then went to check on the woman, found her with her throat cut, and then returned upstairs in a rage to dispatch the second assassin. Which he did with three shots-all that remained in the pistol-one of which blew the assassin's brains all over the bathroom, where he had crawled.
It was rather a surprising loss of control by a professional, he thought at the time.
The "incident" forced Mart¡n to abandon his neutral status as a BIS officer and choose sides between the government of President Castillo and the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos, led by el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade, who were plot-ting Castillo's ouster.
He still sometimes wondered if by choosing the latter he had righteously selected the forces of good over the forces of evil; or whether the notion that the Castillo-controlled Polic¡a Federal were charging with murder the intended vic-tim of an assassination paid for by the Germans had so outraged his sense of right and wrong that he just couldn't stand idly by.
Or, even less appealing, he wondered if he had chosen sides because he was aware that el Coronel Frade was likely to be the next President of the Argentine Republic and in a position to punish anyone who had assisted those responsible for the murder of his housekeeper and the arrest of his only son. Or to reward those who had been helpful.
After a good deal of thought, Mart¡n was able to conclude only that he had no one reason to act as he had. It was a combination of several reasons. He could only hope that time would show he'd acted in the best interests of Ar-gentina.
What he did was summon an Army ambulance from the Dr. Cosme Argerich Military Hospital and order the OSS agent confined there, incognito, un-til further notice, for "medical examination."
Afterward, it took some creative investigative techniques to develop the ev-idence necessary to support the conclusions in his Official Report of Investiga-tion that Victim Frade had acted in self-defense and had broken no laws. But two days later, Mart¡n was able to visit Frade in the hospital and inform him of-ficially that the incident was closed and he could now leave the hospital. He also suggested then, unofficially, that Frade leave the country as soon as possible.
Clete walked up to Mart¡n and put out his hand.
"How are you, mi Coronel?" he asked. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Please forgive the intrusion," Mart¡n said. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't think it was necessary."
"No intrusion at all," Clete said. "Very interesting airplane. What is it?"
"A Fieseler Storch, Se¤or," the pilot said. "German."
"Forgive me," Mart¡n said. "Mayor Frade, may I present Capitan Birra?"
"A sus ¢rdenes, mi mayor," the pilot said politely.
"I can't seem to get anyone down here to accept the fact that I am no longer a serving officer," Clete said.
"Is that so?" Mart¡n said.
"That's so," Clete said.
"At one time, Capitan, Se¤or Frade was an aviator in the norteamericano Corps of Marines," Mart¡n said. "Why don't you show him around the plane?"
"It would be my pleasure, Se¤or," Capitan Birra said, and motioned Clete toward the airplane.
"It was in this type aircraft, I believe, Se¤or Frade, that the late Capitan Duarte lost his life in Russia," Mart¡n said.
Clete was already sorry he had started the whole business, and it got worse. Capitan Birra was justifiably proud of his airplane. It was designed for the same purpose-liaison and artillery spotting-as aircraft used by the Army and the Marine Corps. The difference was that the aircraft more or less affectionately called "puddle jumpers" used by the Corps were Piper Cubs right off the civil-ian assembly line. This thing, Wildcat pilot Frade could not honestly deny, was a real airplane. It wasn't a Wildcat, of course, but neither was it a Cub.
And Capitan Birra lost no time in politely telling him the Storch had a 240-horsepower engine, a range of 800 miles, and a cruise speed of 115 m.p.h. The Cubs Clete had flown several times on Guadalcanal had 75-horse engines and a range of no more than whatever two hours at about 70 miles an hour added up to. Then Capitan Birra politely asked if it was really true that "Americans used 'little civilian planes like the Piper' in combat."
"If you are free, Se¤or Frade, I would be happy to give you a ride."
"That's very kind of you, Capitan," Clete said. "But I'm sure el Coronel Mart¡n is pressed for time."
"Perhaps some other time, Se¤or Frade," Mart¡n said. "Is there somewhere we could talk?"
"Certainly. Why don't we go up to the house?"
"May I offer my condolences on your loss?"
"Thank you very much."
Clete led him back through the windbreak and garden into the house. He told Rudolpho to see that Capitan Birra had whatever he needed, then took Mart¡n into the library. Enrico followed them in and stationed himself in a chair near the door.
Clete waved Mart¡n into one of the armchairs and sat down in another.
"I've never seen you in uniform before, mi Coronel."
"I wear it from time to remind myself that I am an officer, not a policeman," Mart¡n said. "I'm glad to find you here, Se¤or Frade."
"There's a memorial Mass for my father tomorrow. I had to be here for that, of course."
"I meant, arriving unannounced, that I was afraid that you might be out at your radio station," Mart¡n said. "And I don't have much time."
I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. That casual matter-of-fact reference to my supposedly secret radio station was purposefully made by a real profes-sional, and this goddamned amateur doesn't know how to reply.
"How may I be of service, mi Coronel?"
"General Rawson and Coronel Per¢n are coming to see you," Mart¡n said. "Probably before, but possibly after, your father's memorial service."
"I've heard something..."
"What they want is Outline Blue..."
"Excuse me?"
"Outline Blue," Mart¡n repeated, "and the money that has been collected in connection with Outline Blue."
"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Clete said.
Mart¡n did not even acknowledge the denial.
"The reason I wanted to see you before they came was to suggest to you- as one reasonable professional to another-that it would be in everybody's best interest for you to hand it over to them."
"Not, to repeat, that I have any idea what you're talking about, but if I did have something like that, why would it be in my best interests to hand it over to you?"
"What I said, Mayor Frade-"
"Se¤or Frade, if you don't mind, mi Coronel."
"Excuse me. My memory seems to be about as bad as yours. What I actu-ally said, Se¤or Frade, was that it would be 'in everybody's best interests,' not just yours, to turn over Outline Blue and the money to General Rawson. I can understand why you wouldn't want to turn it over to me."
"Not to you? I mean if I knew what you're talking about, and if I had it."
"You're a professional, as I am. You don't know who I'm really working for. If I were in your shoes..."
Clete remembered then that Enrico had said that Mart¡n "was now one of us."
Does this guy really think I'm a professional? Or is that el soft soapo?
"Tell me why it would be in everybody's best interests. Yours for example, mi Coronel."
"At half past nine this morning, General Ramirez went to your house on Libertador to meet with General Rawson and el Coronel Per¢n. The subject of their conversation was to be how to retrieve Outline Blue, and the money, from your safe."
"You seem pretty sure it's in my safe. How is that? And what safe are we talking about, mi Coronel?"
Mart¡n smiled at him and shrugged.
&n
bsp; "I didn't think this would be easy," he said. "But if you insist... Since Outline Blue and the money are not in the house on Coronel Diaz, or in the Libertador House, or in any of your father's safety-deposit boxes."
"You looked, did you?"
"Let us say I am confident about what I just said," Mart¡n said. "So, by the process of elimination, and because keeping it here would have made more sense to your father than keeping it anywhere else, I think we can all reasonably presume that it's here. Specifically, in the safe in your father's private study."