by Blood
"Of course," Wallace said, signaling to a waiter.
"All I had on the plane was a bologna sandwich and a banana," Graham said.
"Well, we'll get you something here-the beef is invariably good-and then we'll take you to my office and settle your paperwork with my adjutant. How long will you be with us, Colonel?"
"Not long," Graham said. "I don't think I'll have to get involved with your adjutant."
"Excuse me?"
Graham reached in his pocket, didn't find what he was he was looking for, and then searched his other pockets until he did. He handed Wallace a some-what battered envelope containing a single sheet of paper.
THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF
THE PENTAGON WASHINGTON, D.C.
1 January 1943
Subject: Letter Orders
To: Colonel A.F. Graham, USMCR
Office of Strategic Services
Washington, D.C.
You will proceed to such destinations as your duties require by U.S. Government or civilian motor, rail, sea or air transportation as is most expedient. JCS Travel Priority AAAAAA-1 is assigned. The wearing of civilian attire is authorized.
United States Military or Naval commands are authorized and directed to provide you with whatever assistance of any kind you may require to accomplish your mission(s).
By Order of The Chairman, The Joint Chiefs of Staff: OFFICIAL:
Matthew J. Markham
Lieutenant General, USAAC
J-3, JCS
"I don't think I've ever seen any orders like that," Colonel Wallace said, and then blurted: "We had some of your people in here recently, I expect you know."
"That was going to be my first question to you," Graham said, and then no-ticed the waiter was standing by the table. "You say the beef is good?"
"Excellent."
"I would like a steak, a New York strip, medium rare. French fried potatoes and a sliced tomato. Could I get that?"
The waiter nodded, then looked at Colonel Wallace.
"Just coffee, please," he said.
The waiter nodded and left.
"You said you 'had,' past tense, some of my people in here?" Graham asked.
"Yes, we did. A Marine Major Frade and an Army Captain Ashton, plus four men he identified to me as commissioned officers."
"Did Major Frade pick up the airplane?" Graham asked, and then inter-rupted himself. "Colonel, there was some confusion about the type airplane. What's the difference between a C-45 and a C-56?"
"A C-45 is what we call a 'light twin,'" Wallace explained. "The C-56 is the Lockheed Lodestar transport."
"The Lockheed Lodestar? The airliner?"
Wallace nodded.
"Major Frade... could fly the Lodestar?"
"He flew it out of here," Wallace said, "under somewhat unusual circum-stances."
"Which were?"
"He asked permission to make some practice landings," Wallace said. "Which I of course granted. I also volunteered to accompany him-I have a good many hours in large, multiengine aircraft and believed I could impart some of my experience. He declined my offer."
"He did?"
"He then proceeded to the end of the runway," Wallace said, warming to his subject, "where he loaded aboard what I presume were the other OSS person-nel, and took off. Against specific orders from the tower to abort his takeoff and return to Base Operations. He did not return. I'm afraid I have no idea where he is now, or the airplane."
"What makes you think he took aboard the other people?"
"They have not been seen since," Wallace said. "This places me in a very difficult position, Colonel, with the Brazilian authorities."
"How's that?"
"I had arranged with the appropriate authorities for them to clear the air-plane through Customs, and to commence an international flight."
"Nobody told you to do that. All you were supposed to do was paint it red and paint some numbers on it. You did do that?"
"Yes, of course."
"When did Major Frade leave here?"
Colonel Wallace took his notebook from his pocket, flipped through it, and found what he was looking for.
"At 2126 hours 17 April," he said. He read further: "After ignoring four or-ders from the tower specifically ordering him to abort his takeoff and return to Base Operations."
"Just as soon as I see Major Frade, Colonel, I'll ask him why he did what you said he did."
"How would you suggest I deal with the Brazilian authorities, Colonel? They are still waiting to clear the aircraft."
"I'll tell you what happened to that aircraft, Colonel," Graham said. "The right engine was about to fall off."
"Excuse me?"
"You tell the Brazilian authorities you discovered the right engine of that air-plane was about to fall off. Faulty bolts, or something. You have ordered replace-ment parts from the United States. Until they arrive, obviously, the airplane isn't going anywhere. When it's ready to go, you will get in touch with them again."
"That would be the uttering of a statement I know to be false."
"Yes, it would," Graham said.
"I couldn't do that without written authority," Wallace said.
"Of course you couldn't," Graham said. "I'll be happy to give you written authority. And then I suggest you prepare a full report of the entire incident, in-cluding this conversation, and forward it directly to General Markham at the Joint Chiefs."
Colonel Wallace considered that. From the look on his face, Graham con-cluded that he found the suggestion satisfactory. Or almost so.
"What will I say to the Brazilians if they should ask, some time from now, whatever happened to the aircraft?"
The waiter delivered Colonel Graham's food.
Graham cut a piece of steak, chewed it appreciatively, and then replied:
"Why don't you ask General Markham what to tell the Brazilians? When you write him?"
Wallace considered that for a long moment, then nodded his head.
"I think that should do it," he said.
"I'm sure it will," Graham said.
"And how may I be of service to you, Colonel?"
"I have to get to Buenos Aires as soon as possible," Graham said. "What would you suggest?"
"The simplest way would probably be for you to go to Rio de Janeiro and catch the Panagra flight. They usually have seats-people get off in Rio de Janeiro, and there are few people who fly from Rio to Buenos Aires."
1 flew to Porto Alegre on the Navy transport because it was considerably faster than Panagra's sea planes. Now this idiot is suggesting I fly north to Rio de Janeiro to try to get a seat on tomorrow's plane, which is the same one I didn't want to board in Miami.
"That'll take too long. Can you get me from here to Montevideo?"
"It would be difficult."
"Why?"
"It generally takes about four days-sometimes longer-to obtain permis-sion from the Uruguayan authorities to land an American military aircraft in Uruguay."
"There's an airstrip, I have been told, in Chui, on the Brazilian-Uruguayan border," Graham said. "From Chui, on the other side of the border, it's only a hundred seventy-five miles to Montevideo. Can you put me in there?"
"Are you sure there's an airstrip in... where did you say?"
"Chui," Graham said. "Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, if there is, it would be a small airstrip. You'd have to go in by L-4- Piper Cub. I'll look into it. When would you like to go?"
"As soon as I finish my lunch and change into civilian clothing," Graham said.
[FOUR]
Visiting Officers' Quarters
First Cavalry Regiment
Camp a de Mayo
Buenos Aires Province, Argentina
1515 18 April 1943
"Where are you?" Dorotea Mallin demanded, by way of greeting, the moment she came on the line.
"Don't ask," Clete said.
"What does that mean, 'don't ask'?"
"I can't tell you, is what it means."
<
br /> "What am I supposed to tell Father Matthew?"
"What?" Clete asked as his memory kicked in half a second later and iden-tified Father Matthew as the Very Reverend Matthew Cashley-Price of the An-glican Cathedral. Provided Clete and Dorotea underwent premarital counseling under his direction, Father Matthew was going to unite them in holy matrimony.
"Cletus, damn you, you heard what Father Matthew said. We have to have premarital counseling. He's called twice a day since you... since you disap-peared. Where have you been? Where are you?"
"Honey, you just have to stall him for a couple of days."
"That's simply out of the question," Dorotea announced with feminine im-perialism. "I don't care where you are or what you're doing, you have to call Fa-ther Matthew, right now, apologize, and set up an appointment."
"I can't, Princess," Clete said.
Her entire tone of voice changed.
"My God, you're in some sort of trouble."
"No."
That's not the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. But at the moment, 1 'm not actually in trouble.
"Yes, you are. I can tell by your voice."
"Honey, I'm not," Clete said. "Really, I'm not. But I'm... tied up..."
"Tied up how?"
"... for the next couple of days."
"Tied up how?"
"With rope. To the bed."
"You don't really think you're funny?"
"Princess, you're just going to have to trust me."
"Why should I?"
Clete replied with the truth without thinking much about the possible ram-ifications of that.
"You don't have any choice, honey," he said.
Dorotea hung up on him.
He was standing with the handset in his hand, his finger holding down the switch, wondering whether it would be better to call her back or not, when he heard the door creak open.
Teniente Colonel Bernardo Mart¡n and Capitan Roberto Lauffer came into the room. Mart¡n was in mufti and carrying a well-worn leather briefcase, while Lauffer was not only in uniform but wearing a Sam Browne belt with a saber hanging from one side of it, an Argentine.45 automatic in a glistening molded leather holster riding high on the other side.
Enrico, who had been sitting on the windowsill, stood up and came to at-tention.
Lauffer waved his hand at him to stand at ease.
"If I'd known there was a telephone in here, I would have had it removed," Mart¡n said, turning his back to Clete as he closed the door. He turned and asked: "Who were you talking to?"
Clete-just in time-bit off the "none of your goddamned business" reply that came to his lips.
For one thing, who I talk to is his business, and for another, he has enough to worry about without getting into a verbal duel with me.
"My... fianc‚e," Clete said.
"Oh. You didn't happen to tell her where you were, did you?"
"No. Nor where I've been. She was curious about that, too."
Lauffer smiled.
"What was the subject of your conversation?" Mart¡n asked, and Clete saw a faint smile on his face too, before he added, "or is that too intimate a question for a gentleman such as myself to ask?"
"The Very Reverend Matthew Cashley-Price, of the Anglican Cathedral," Clete said, and had to smile, "is apparently greatly annoyed that I have been un-able to fit him and his premarital counseling into my busy schedule. And con-sequently, so is the lady."
"Shame on you," Mart¡n said, now smiling wickedly. "Before taking a se-rious step, like marriage, one should have all sorts of counseling. How did the conversation end?"
"She hung up on me when I said she had no choice but to trust me," Clete said.
Lauffer chuckled.
"It would appear that your charming fianc‚e and I have the same problem," Mart¡n said. "We both have no choice but to trust you. As we both do, I'm sure. The question is not if we trust you, really, but how far, isn't it?"
Clete felt his temper start to simmer.
I'm here, aren't I? With the airplane?
"You have no reason not to trust me, Coronel," Clete said.
No longer smiling, Mart¡n looked at him for a long moment.
"I inform you now, Mayor Frade," he announced formally, "that you are a prisoner of the armed forces of the Provisional Government of Argentina, and ask you now, Mayor Frade, if, as an officer and a gentleman, you will offer your parole to me?"
Clete's temper began to boil over.
"A prisoner? What the hell is that all about?"
"A record will be made of your arrest," Mart¡n said. "And of the seizure by the Provisional Government of your aircraft. In the event events do not go as planned, those records will come into the possession of the Castillo govern-ment. Possibly, they may-"
"Oh, come on, Mart¡n!" Clete interrupted. "If you can't pull Outline Blue off, and we all get arrested, Castillo's people will look at my, quote, arrest, un-quote, and the, quote, seizure, unquote, of the Lockheed and see it for what it is, a transparent attempt to get me off the hook. Christ, they know damned well my father started the whole goddamned thing!"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that when I landed that airplane here, I knew what I was get-ting myself into."
"That's what General Rawson thought you would say," Lauffer said emo-tionally, "as your father's son, as the great-grandson of General Pueyrred¢n. That you would join us!"
"Don't get carried away, Roberto," Clete said. "I'll fly the airplane, if it comes down to that, but I'm not enlisting in your army."
"Actually, the subject of a temporary commission did come up," Mart¡n said. "Would you be willing-"
"I already have a Marine Corps commission," Clete said.
"This would be a temporary commission," Mart¡n said. "It would solve a lot of problems...."
"Would I have to swear an oath? Of allegiance?"
"Yes, naturally. Of course."
"The moment I did that," Clete said, "I would lose my American citizenship."
"That would be difficult for you?"
"Yeah, it would," Clete said without thinking about it. "I don't want to do that."
He happened to glance at Martin's eyes.
And saw in them that he had just closed a door that would never again be opened.
If I had accepted that temporary commission under these circumstances, where accepting it might mean that I would find myself standing in front of a wall with Rawson, Martin, and Lauffer, even if it lasted only three days, they would thereafter have accepted me as a bona fide Argentine. Now that will never happen.
Well, so be it. I'm an American. I don't want to give that up.
"That leaves you, of course," Mart¡n said, cordially enough, "as the English would put it, as neither fish nor good red meat."
"I guess it does," Clete said.
"I'm turning you over to Capitan Lauffer," Mart¡n said. "Until this is over, I want you to be with him. If using the airplane becomes necessary, you will re-ceive that word from him."
"Fine with me," Clete said.
"As an officer and a gentleman, I would like you to give me your parole," Mart¡n said.
"What kind of a parole?"
"That you will not leave Campo de Mayo, nor communicate with anyone outside Campo de Mayo, without the express permission of Capitan Lauffer or myself."
"I've already told you that I'll fly the airplane. But I will need to use the telephone. What if I give you my word I will not mention, in any way, Outline Blue?"
"I don't think you're talking about telephoning your fianc‚e," Mart¡n said. "You're concerned about Sergeant Ettinger? Is that what you mean?"
Clete nodded.
"Delgano told you he took the car ferry to Montevideo?"
Clete nodded again.
"I'm sorry, Mayor," Mart¡n said. "You will not be in any position to help Ettinger until Outline Blue has run its course. If I hear anything, I will let you know. I will require your parole."
"Or
what?"