by Blood
"Is that the safe Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano was asking you about, Enrico? The one you said only el Coronel had the combination to?"
"S¡, Se¤or Mayor."
"Forgive me, Suboficial Mayor," Mart¡n said. "But not only do I think that you know the combination to the safe, but el Coronel Per¢n thinks you do, too. He told General Ramirez that last night."
Enrico looked very uncomfortable.
"You were telling me why it would be in your best interests if I gave it to Rawson, if I had what you're talking about," Clete said.
"Again, I said, 'everybody's best interests,'" Mart¡n said.
"OK, everybody's," Clete said.
"A good many officers, friends of your father's, who feel as he did that the present government of Argentina must be replaced..."
"Let's stop the fencing," Clete said. "What's in it for you, mi Coronel, if I hand over Outline Blue, and the money, to you?"
Mart¡n met Clete's eyes.
"It would keep me from receiving an order I would much prefer not to carry out."
"What order would that be?"
"To take whatever steps are necessary to obtain Outline Blue and the money."
"And what would be in it for me?" Clete asked.
"Aside from my profound gratitude, you mean?" Mart¡n asked, smiling.
"Aside from your profound gratitude."
"What did you have in mind?"
Christ, he called my bluff. He's a professional, and he knows when to call a bluff. So what do I say now? Think, for Christ's sake!
That SS colonel!
"An SS colonel arrived on the same plane as el Coronel Per¢n from Ger-many-" Clete said.
"Goltz," Mart¡n interrupted. "Josef Goltz. What about him?"
"I'm a curious man, mi Coronel. Who is he, and what does he want here?"
"He's in the secret service of the SS," Mart¡n said. "I have no idea what he's doing here. What's your interest in him?"
"I'm wondering if he's the man who ordered my father's murder."
"A moment ago you suggested we stop fencing. Very well. I don't really know if he ordered your father's assassination, but it's probable. I do know that early this morning he ordered the assassination of your man Ettinger. I learned that just before we took off."
Ettinger? And not me? What the hell is that all about?
"I don't suppose you'd want to tell me who told you that? From General Ramirez?"
Mart¡n shook his head and smiled. "A reliable source," he said.
"I don't suppose your reliable source had any specifics on when and where? Or, for that matter, why?"
Mart¡n shook his head.
"Only the sooner the better. I would regard the threat as very real if I were you, Se¤or Frade."
I believe him. And if he knows about that, it's one more proof that he's a professional, and I am out of my league trying to play match wits with him. I don't have any choice but to trust him.
"Where is it, Enrico?" Clete asked.
"Where is what, Se¤or?"
"Outline Blue."
"In el Coronel's... in your apartment, Se¤or Clete."
Clete gestured with his hand for Mart¡n to rise, then led him out of the li-brary, down the corridor, and into what was now his room.
"Is there a safe in here, too?" Clete asked.
"No, Se¤or," Enrico said.
He went to the bed, pulled up the bed cover, and shoved his hand under the mattress. He came out with the blue folder, walked to Clete, and handed it to him.
Mart¡n chuckled.
"Since I can't believe that el Coronel Frade really hid that under his mat-tress, would it be reasonable for me to assume you've been in the safe?"
Clete didn't answer. He simply handed Mart¡n Outline Blue.
"Thank you," Mart¡n said. "Believe me. This is the right thing to do."
"I hope so," Clete said.
"The money?"
"That's in the safe."
"Is it all still there?"
"I would suppose so. I don't think anybody else has been in there."
I know nobody else has been in there. If anybody had, the money would be gone, and so would Peter's papers and money.
"Have you read this?"
"Just glanced through it."
"But enough to tell you how dangerous this would be in the wrong hands?"
Clete nodded.
"I really am grateful," Mart¡n said. "So will a number of other people be grateful."
"Just keep me up to date on Colonel Goltz's plans for Ettinger." Clete said. "and we'll call it square."
"I would have done that anyway," Mart¡n said. "I am offended at the notion of a foreigner coming into my country, cloaked in diplomatic immunity, and or-dering someone killed. Are you sure there's nothing else I can do for you?"
"How good are you at obtaining import permits?"
"What kind of import permits?"
"For an airplane, for example."
"What kind of an airplane?"
"My father's airplane seems to be missing."
"A rumor is going around that it's on the bottom of Samboromb¢n Bay, near where the Reine de la Mer blew up."
"I hadn't heard that," Clete said. "Anyway, I need an airplane."
"Why?"
"For someone obviously aware of the advantages of having a light airplane at your disposal, that's an odd question, wouldn't you say?"
"Indulge me."
"I have recently learned that I have a vineyard in Cordoba...."
"Of course, San Bosco."
"And other property around the country."
"And you'd like to be able to fly around and look at it from time to time, is that it?"
"Right."
"Well, import permits are a little out of my line, but I'll look into it for you."
"Thanks."
"What kind of a plane did you have in mind to import? Another stagger-wing?"
"They don't make stagger-wings anymore, unfortunately. But I happen to know where I can lay my hands on a twin-engine Beech-same manufac-turer-in Brazil."
"In Brazil? You mean you could fly it in? It wouldn't have to be brought in by ship?"
"It could be flown in."
"That might make things a good deal simpler. Let me ask some questions."
"Discreet questions, please, mi Coronel."
"Of course, discreet questions," Mart¡n said. "And now I am somewhat em-barrassed to find myself imposing on your generosity again."
"How is that?"
"Do you think you could find a briefcase, or a small suitcase, to carry Out-line Blue in?"
"Enrico?"
"S¡, mi Coronel," Enrico said. "There are several briefcases here. There's probably one in the sitting closet here."
"See if you can find one, would you, please?" Clete asked.
Enrico nodded and left the bedroom.
"Do you want the money, too?" Clete asked.
"I've been thinking about that," Mart¡n said. "If you don't mind, I'll leave it where it is for the time being. Money by itself is not incriminating."
"Whatever you say," Clete said. "What if General Rawson asks for it?"
"I'd give it to him, or if he should send his aide for it, Capitan Lauffer- you've met him-I'd give it to him. No one else, I would think."
Clete nodded. Enrico came back into the room carrying a somewhat worn-looking briefcase.
"Perfect," Mart¡n said, taking it from him. "I'll return it, of course."
"Enrico tells me that money is to 'ensure the success' of Outline Blue."
Mart¡n looked at him coldly.
"If you're asking, politely, if it's bribe money, yes, I'm afraid it is," he said. "That offends you?"
" 'We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor,'" Clete quoted. "That's from our Declaration of Independence...."
"I know," Mart¡n said. "I'm familiar with it."
"In our revolution, our guys took a chance. I saw where my father signe
d Outline Blue. He took a chance. But I didn't see anybody else's signature on Outline Blue. And everybody seems perfectly comfortable with the idea of bribing people."
"I wouldn't say anyone involved in this is comfortable with it. It's neces-sary."
"Why?"
"There are two kinds of officers in the Argentine Army and Navy," Mart¡n said. "Those like your father, perhaps ten, fifteen percent, who have no need to concern themselves with a salary or pension. For the others, losing their com-missions and their pensions, as they would if Outline Blue fails, would mean the end of their livelihoods. Understandably, they want to protect their families -"
"As a practical matter, has anybody considered what these 'patriots' you're buying are going to do if somebody comes along with more money?"
"For what this is worth, Se¤or Frade, your father had similar moral objec-tions. The issue was debated at some length. It was decided that at whatever cost, the revolution should be bloodless. Having said that, I do not wish to dis-cuss it further. Forgive me, but it's really none of your business, is it?"
"'I don't know if it is or not," Clete said. "If they can't carry off Outline Bile, I might be in a little trouble myself."
"I wouldn't worry about that," Mart¡n said. "You're a norteamericano."
"Oh, but I'm not. I'm an Argentine."
"That's right, isn't it?" Mart¡n said. "I keep forgetting that. I try, but I guess it's hard for me to think of you as an Argentine."
"Maybe you should try harder, mi Coronel. I'm going to be around awhile."
"I promise you I will," Mart¡n said. He closed the briefcase, then offered his hand to Clete. "Thank you for all your courtesies."
"My pleasure, mi Coronel," Clete said. "Any time."
[TWO]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1140 11 April 1343
Clete stood with Enrico on the verandah, waiting for the Fieseler Storch to take off.
He could hear the pilot test the magnetos, and then the roar as he pushed the throttle to takeoff power. Much sooner than he expected, the airplane appeared above the cedar tree windbreak in a slow, incredibly steep climb.
He's showing off, of course, the sonofabitch. But look at that thing climb!
The pilot dipped the wings, waving good-bye, and then passed over the house.
Christ, the flaps are as big as the wings. No wonder he could get it off that way!
"What do you think of Martin, Enrico?"
"For a clown, he is not so bad. Of course, he is a cavalry officer."
"There is no such thing as a bad cavalry officer, right?"
"That is not what I said, Se¤or Clete."
"How do you feel about aviators, Enrico?"
"El Coronel wondered why you did not go into the cavalry, Se¤or Clete."
"We don't have cavalry anymore," Clete said. "But in the Marine Corps, we sort of think of airplanes as flying horses."
Enrico considered that carefully but didn't reply.
"I'm going to take a ride," Clete said.
"To see el Jefe"-the Chief- "I will go with you, Se¤or Clete."
"And Ettinger," Clete said. "You are not going. You are full of holes, and I don't want you bleeding all over a horse. It will attract flies, and annoy the horse."
Enrico looked at him long enough to decide that argument would be futile.
"Rudolpho will go with you," he announced.
"OK. If either Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano or my Uncle Humberto arrives be-fore I come back, do not tell them where I am."
"S¡, Se¤or Clete."
With Enrico on his heels, Clete turned and walked down the corridor to-ward the entrance foyer, where Antonio intercepted him.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Se¤or?"
"I'm going for a ride."
"I will lay out riding clothes for you."
"Antonio, I'm a Texas Aggie. This is all the riding clothes a Texas Aggie needs."
He pulled up his khakis to reveal his boots.
"Whatever you wish, of course, Se¤or Cletus," Antonio said.
As they walked across the garden to the stables, Enrico asked, "Se¤or Clete, what is a 'Texas Aggie'?"
"A despoiler of virgins, Enrico. A drinker of hard whiskey, and above all, a superb horseman."
Enrico nodded.
Twenty or more saddles were in the tack room, neatly straddling leather padded sawhorses. There were two sidesaddles and a half-dozen hornless sad-dles, apparently for polo. The rest were recados, hornless, long-stirruped sad-dles that were used with a thick sheepskin pad under the rider.
Clete impulsively chose one of the latter, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and went into the stable. There was room for forty animals, each in an individual stall. Nearly all the stalls held horses. Clete noticed that Enrico was no longer with him.
"Where the hell are you when I need you?" he asked aloud. "One of these animals is a vicious sonofabitch who would toss Gene Autry on his ass, and that's the one I'll pick."
Enrico appeared a moment later, followed by Rudolpho, who had a recado over his shoulder. Enrico carried a short-barreled bolt-action Mauser rifle in his hand.
"What do I ride, Enrico?"
"Your father was fond of Julius Caesar, Se¤or Clete," Enrico said, pointing to an obviously high-spirited black stallion that had put its head out of its stall and was looking at them curiously.
"Fine," Clete said, and started for the stall.
Rudolpho's eyebrows rose, and Enrico picked up on it.
"Se¤or Cletus is a fine horseman," he said. "He is a Texas Aggie."
That being said, I'll get on him, and he will toss me before we get out of the yard.
"I will saddle him for you," Enrico said.
"No, you won't," Clete said.
As he saddled Julius Caesar, the horse tried to bite him. And when he led him out of the stables into the yard and tried to mount him, Julius Caesar not only shied but tried to bite him again. A few moments later, he swung into the saddle and moved across the yard to establish who was in charge. When Clete jerked on his bit, Julius Caesar reared.
Clete kept his seat, but Uncle Jim's Stetson came off.
Julius Caesar put his front feet back on the ground, took two or three deli-cate steps, and then reared again.
"Goddamn you! If you stepped on that hat, you sonofabitch, you're cat food!" Clete told him, as he jerked hard on the bit and kicked him hard in the ribs.
Julius Caesar came down from his rear again-then, as if he had decided that Clete was a horseman worthy to ride him, suddenly gentled down.
Enrico picked up the Stetson and handed it to Clete, who saw approval and amusement in the old soldier's eyes.
"Cat food, Se¤or Clete?"
Jesus, if Enrico understood that, I must have cussed him out in Spanish!
Rudolpho, on a wiry roan, moved beside him. He held the Mauser easily, vertically, its butt on his leg.
They rode out of the yard, through the garden, and started down the road. They passed a dozen workers, each of whom took off his hat when he saw Clete and stood waiting for him to pass.
I feel like Don Pancho Spaniard, father of the dark-eyed beauty Gene Autry's got the hots for, on his hacienda down Mexico way in the movie of the same name, accepting the humble salute of his people.
I should feel embarrassed, the way I was in the car. But now I don't. How come ?
He nodded at each man and smiled.
Five hundred yards down the road, Rudolpho turned off it and onto the pampas. Clete nudged Julius Caesar with his heels and the animal broke into a canter. Just to see what the horse would do, Clete applied the pressure of his left knee and made as faint a tug on the reins as he could manage. Julius Caesar im-mediately turned to the left. And a moment later, when Clete applied right-knee pressure-no reins-the horse turned in the other direction.