by Blood
"What about fuel?" Clete asked.
"That's been taken care of," Delgano said. "I'm suggesting that you and I drive to Santo Tome today. It's fifteen or sixteen hours from here..." "I have business in Buenos Aires today."
"The overnight train leaves Buenos Aires at ten p.m. and arrives in Santo Tome the next morning at nine. Can you finish your business in Buenos Aires in time to take the train?"
"Yes."
"Very well. I will drive to Santo Tome. Tonight. It's already morning, isn't it? When we finish here. I will meet your train at Santo Tome and take you out to the Second Cavalry. You and I will inspect the airstrip and ensure that the fuel is there. I will then take you to the ferry across the Rio Uruguay. I think I can pass you through Customs and Immigration without having your passport stamped, or any questions being asked. It would then be up to you to travel from Sao Borja to Porto Alegre. Would that pose any problem?"
"No," Clete said. "Wait. I'll need some Brazilian money."
"I'll have that for you in Santo Tome. I suggest you buy a ticket to Posadas and make the announcement you're bound for Estancia San Miguel, which is near Posadas, and then simply leave the train at Santo Tome."
"OK," Clete said. "I don't suppose this airstrip at Santo Tome is lighted?"
"The Brazilians, I gather, will not be aware of your flight? You have to cross the border in the hours of darkness?" Delgano asked.
Clete nodded.
"No, it's not lighted," Delgano said. "I will have a fire, in the shape of an arrow, burning during hours of darkness. When you overfly the arrow, I will have the gasoline lights ignited. We can go over this in detail together in Santo Tome."
"OK."
"Is that it for now?" Delgano said.
"I think so," Clete said.
"Anything you need me to do, Mr. Frade?" Chief Schultz asked.
"Send that radio we talked about," Clete said. "And make sure Ettinger stays here."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
[TWO]
1728 Avenida Coronel Diaz
Palermo, Buenos Aires
0815 14 April 1943
By coincidence, Clete happened to be about to descend the wide marble stair-case from the "first" floor-in the States, it would be the second-to the foyer of The Museum when he saw Antonio start to open the front door, apparently in response to a ringing in the kitchen, or someplace, that Clete had not heard.
Clete stopped to see who it was. If it was not Tony and Delojo, he was go-ing to turn and get out of sight.
It was Tony and Delojo, both in civilian clothing.
Tony looks pretty classy, Clete thought a little smugly.
In Washington, after he learned that Tony's idea of "dress-up" clothing was a two-tone jacket, pastel-colored trousers, and a colored shirt worn tieless, with its collar spread over the two-tone jacket collar, Clete took him to the Men's Store in Woodward & Lothrop and supervised the purchase of his wardrobe. Tony was now wearing a single-breasted gray flannel suit, a white, button-down-collar shirt, and a red-striped necktie.
His suit fits better than Delojo's.
"Up here," Clete called, adding to Antonio, "Bring us some coffee and rolls, will you, please?"
Tony came bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
When Clete had knocked at his door in La Boca an hour before, Tony was awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Then Clete had the somewhat unkind thought that Tony, like a good paratrooper, has been up since oh dark hundred and has run five miles and done a hundred and fifty squat jumps before he even thought about breakfast.
Commander Delojo walked up the stairs one at a time, a wan smile on his face, looking like someone who had just reluctantly left his bed, showered, and shaved.
"You look like an advertisement in Esquire, Tony," Clete said.
"I see you took off your cowboy suit, Major, Sir."
"I had no choice. I am meeting my mother-in-law-to-be for lunch," Clete said, then offered his hand to Delojo. "Good morning, Commander. I ordered coffee. Would you like something else? It's no problem."
"Coffee will be fine, thank you, Frade," Delojo said. "I don't think we were followed, but..."
"There's a couple of BIS guys in an apartment across the street," Clete said. "Go on the presumption that they will know you two have been here."
"I don't understand. Shouldn't we have met someplace-"
"There would have been BIS agents on each of us. I don't think we could lose all of them. So why bother to try?"
He led them into the master's apartment.
"We can talk here," he said. "There are no microphones."
"How do you know that?" Delojo challenged.
"Enrico found the one cleverly concealed in the chandelier," Clete said. "And tells me there's no other place they could put one."
"Whose microphone?"
"Probably the BIS's," Clete said. "Tony said you wanted to talk to me."
Delojo looked dubiously around the room.
"I wish I shared your faith in your man's ability to sweep a room," he said.
"What's up?" Clete said impatiently.
"The team chief has been successfully infiltrated across the Rio Uruguay into a town called Santo Tome, in Corrientes Province."
"Just the team chief?"
"It's a five-man team. The team chief infiltrated. Two more men are in a town called Sao Borja just across the river in Brazil. The other two, and the radar and other equipment, are still at the Porto Alegre Naval Base. The team chief's infiltration was sort of a trial run, to see how difficult the infiltration was going to be. The Rio Uruguay is a wide river."
"How did he cross the river?"
"Presumably in a boat. I would guess they have a rubber boat, rubber boats."
"How much does this radar weigh? Will it fit through the door of the C-45? How much other equipment do they have? Same questions-what does it weigh, and will it fit through the door of the C-45?"
"Presumably you have a reason for asking?"
"I'm going to Santo Tome tonight. Then I'm going to Porto Alegre, and will fly the C-45 to Santo Tome. I'll be alone in the C-45. If I can get this stuff in it, that makes more sense than trying to smuggle it across the river in a rub-ber boat."
"This is the first I've heard any of this," Delojo said.
"Most of it just happened," Clete said. "I intended to see you sometime to-day-even before I heard the team chief is already in Argentina."
"Why Santo Tome?" Delojo asked.
"I've made a deal with... certain people. They are helping me bring the airplane into Argentina. Specifically, into an airstrip at Santo Tome."
"What kind of a deal?"
"I have the feeling, Commander, which I don't like, that you think I'm sup-posed to ask your approval of my actions."
"You are supposed to coordinate your actions with mine, Major. I presume Colonel Graham is aware of your plans?"
"He knows that I'm going to pick up the airplane at Porto Alegre two days from now. That's all."
There was a knock at the door, and a maid came in carrying a tray with two pots on it. She laid it on the desk.
Clete was pleased when Tony, helping himself from one of the pots, said, more in surprise than indignation, "Shit, this is hot chocolate!"
"Paratroopers don't drink sissy chocolate, right?"
"This one does. The coffee here dissolves my stomach."
Commander Delojo waited until the maid left the room, poured himself a cup of coffee, diluted it with cream and added sugar, and then asked, "You are bringing the C-45 in black, is that it?"
"Let's say 'covertly.' Not black."
"I don't think I understand the distinction."
"Let's say that I'm confident I can get the airplane from Porto Alegre into Argentina via Santo Tome, and from Santo Tome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, without any trouble."
"This has something do with Galahad and/or Cavalry?"
"I'm surprised you're familiar with those names."
&nb
sp; "I have a radio from Director Donovan asking me to identify them."
"When did you get that?"
"Last night."
"From Donovan? Not Graham?"
"From Director Donovan. Who are they?"
"I'm not at liberty to tell you," Clete said.
"Doesn't the fact that Director Donovan has directed me to identify these people give you the 'liberty'?"
"I'm afraid not."
"You understand that I will have to reply that I asked you for their identi-ties, and you refused to give them to me?"
"I've already informed Oracle that I cannot identify these people," Clete said. "Look, I'm offering to help you get the team and their equipment into Ar-gentina. If you don't want me to help, fine."
"I really can't understand your attitude, Major," Delojo said. "You're not being at all cooperative."
"Does that mean you don't want my help?"
"How do you propose to help?"
"How are you communicating with Porto Alegre? I mean, who at Porto Alegre?"
"We have an agent there."
"Birddog?"
"I never heard that name."
"Your agent does know about the C-45?"
"Of course."
"Well, then I suggest you contact your man-he's either Birddog by an-other name, or he knows who Birddog is-and find out if the radar and the other equipment, and the other two guys on the team, will fit on the C-45. If so, have the equipment and the two guys ready to go when I get there. If they won't, that's too bad. We tried."
"I think I would need authorization from Colonel Graham to do that."
"There's not time to ask Graham's permission."
"The ramifications of you being discovered bringing the C-45 in black, with the radar and two agents aboard..."
"There's not time to ask Graham's permission," Clete said. "I'm leaving here at ten o'clock tonight, and there's no way we can get a reply by then."
Delojo shook his head as he considered the ramifications of that.
"OK," Clete said impatiently. "Let's leave it this way: It's your responsibil-ity to get Ashton's team and their equipment into Argentina, and from Santo Tome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. You worry about that, and I'll worry about getting the C-45 to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."
"You would fly everybody from Santo Tome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo? Is that what you're saying?"
Clete nodded.
Delojo exhaled audibly.
"This can't be delayed a couple of days until we coordinate everything with Oracle?" he asked.
"I'm on the ten-o'clock train tonight to Santo Tome," Clete said. "Where's Ashton?"
"At the Automobile Club of Argentina hotel in Santo Tome."
"When you message Oracle, Commander," Clete said, "you can ask him to relay to Graham that I plan to cross into Brazil either tomorrow night or early the next morning."
"What makes you think I'm going to message Oracle?"
"Unless I've misread you completely, Commander, as soon as you get to the Embassy, you are going to radio Oracle all of this, so that if Oracle doesn't 'authorize' what I'm planning on doing, there will be time for him to have the whole operation stopped by the time I get to Porto Alegre."
"That would not be necessary, Major Frade, if you were willing to delay your operation for seventy-two hours," Delojo said. "We could have authoriza-tion, or denial of authorization, within that period."
"I don't have seventy-two hours," Clete said. "Have you got anything else for me?"
"I think that's all," Delojo said. "I suggest that when you meet with Ashton you make it clear to him that the pickup of his two men and the radar at Porto Alegre is a tentative plan."
"In case you can't make contact with him before I do, you mean?"
"I really don't understand you at all, Frade," Delojo said.
"Stay behind a minute, will you, Tony?" Clete said, adding to Delojo, "I mean just a minute, Commander. You can wait for him."
He went to the door and held it open for Delojo, then closed it after he had gone through.
"What the hell was that all about?" Tony asked.
"He would have liked to stand me at attention and order me to do what he thinks should be done, but he's not sure he has the authority."
"I picked up on the way he kept calling you 'Major.'"
"Tony, I don't trust Dave."
"Excuse me?"
"To stay at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, I mean."
"You want me to sit on him?"
"Can you get away from the Embassy?"
"Yeah. Delojo has apparently had a little talk with the Military Attach‚. Now he disappears when he sees me, instead of handing me shitty little details."
"Go to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo and sit on Dave until I get back," Clete said.
"Right," Tony said. "Unless you want me to go with you and get the airplane?"
"I thought about that. But you're on a diplomatic passport...."
"Yeah," Tony said, then put out his hand. "Good luck, Clete. Don't do any-thing foolish."
[THREE]
The Embassy of the German Reich
Avenida Cordoba
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1025 14 April 1943
Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein had been in his small, high-ceilinged office-it was taller than it was wide, he once decided-no more than thirty seconds, just long enough to take off his jacket and start to put it on a hanger, when G�nther Loche came in.
"Good morning, Herr Major Freiherr," G�nther said cheerfully, placing a stack of newspapers and several magazines on Peter's somewhat battered desk. "Did the Major Freiherr have a pleasant flight from Montevideo this morning?"
Very nice, thank you for asking. Herr Standartenf�hrer Goltz had his balls in an uproar about flying back here in a hurry, so we flew over the water. I man-aged to make the engine backfire and splutter three times when we were out of sight of land, and if the Herr Standartenf�hrer didn't actually piss his pants, to look at the expression on his face, he came close.
"Very nice, thank you," Peter replied. "And you, G�nther, are disgustingly cheerful this morning. Been pulling wings off flies again, have you?"
"Excuse me, Herr Major?" G�nther asked, confusion all over his hand-some, if somewhat vacant, face.
Peter took pity on him.
"I said you seem very cheerful," Peter said. "Some good news?"
"Oberst Gr�ner told me he is looking into a scholarship for me, Herr Major Freiherr," G�nther said.
"Is that so? What kind of a scholarship?"
"Diesel-engine technology, Herr Freiherr Major. In the Fatherland. The Herr Oberst says that diesel engines are the wave of the future."
"In the Fatherland"?
"And when did you have this discussion with the Herr Oberst, G�nther?"
"This morning. He told me that Standartenf�hrer Goltz talked to him about it."
"Really?"
What the hell is this all about?
"Over the weekend, I was driving the Herr Standartenf�hrer and First Sec-retary Gradny-Sawz, Herr Major Freiherr. The Herr Standartenf�hrer was kind enough to report to the Herr Oberst that he was favorably impressed with my performance of duty, and that I was worthy of being trained to accept greater re-sponsibilities."
"Fascinating," Peter said.
"For a very important man, Herr Freiherr Major, the Herr Standartenf�hrer is very friendly."
What is that sonofabitch Goltz up to? Is he a faggot? God knows there's enough of them in the SS, including his good friend Werner von Tresmarck in Montevideo.
"Yes, I have noticed," Peter said.
"Oberst Gr�ner said Ambassador Graf von Lutzenberger will have to give his approval, Herr Freiherr, but he sees no problem in arranging for a scholar-ship. The Herr Oberst told me he will tell the Herr Ambassador that I am a reli-able, hardworking employee, with promotion potential."
"And you would go to Germany on this scholarship?"<
br />
"Yes, Herr Major Freiherr. For six months or so. To the Daimler-Benz Technical Institute in Stuttgart."