The Old Man looked at him.
‘‘Get on with what you have to say,’’ he said. ‘‘I reserve the right to call Donovan at my convenience.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Graham said.
Clete could see in Delojo’s and Quinn’s eyes—their faces remained impassive—their surprise at encountering people who were not awed either by the Director of the OSS or by his Deputy.
‘‘OK. Let’s start at the beginning,’’ Graham said. ‘‘When Clete went to Argentina the first time, his cover was that he had recently been medically discharged from the Marine Corps, and that his purpose in visiting Argentina was to see that the petroleum products shipped by Howell Petroleum down there were not diverted to the Axis.’’
‘‘And I went along with including—what’s his name? Pelosi—Pelosi and Ettinger in that little charade,’’ the Old Man said. ‘‘Let’s not forget that.’’
Graham stared at him for a moment, looked as if he was going to reply, and then changed his mind.
‘‘The idea of sending Clete back to Argentina as the Naval Attaché came after the Reine de la Mer incident,’’ Graham said. ‘‘There were two justifications for that—’’
‘‘The Reine de la Mer is the name of the ship Clete was responsible for sinking?’’ Martha interrupted.
‘‘I’m disappointed, but not surprised, Major Frade, that you saw fit to discuss this with Mrs. Howell,’’ Graham said, looking into Clete’s eyes.
‘‘Colonel,’’ Clete said, coldly angry, ‘‘I don’t regard either my aunt or my grandfather as threats to national security. ’’
‘‘Neither do I,’’ Graham said. ‘‘But that’s not the point, is it? They did not have, do not have, the right to know.’’
‘‘When do we get to the point?’’ the Old Man snapped.
‘‘The death of el Coronel Frade makes Clete’s continued presence in Argentina even more important,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Will you grant that point, or should I elaborate?’’
‘‘If I didn’t think that my grandson’s presence down there was important to the war effort, I would never have gone along with any of this,’’ the Old Man said.
‘‘There are a number of people in Argentina who are distinctly unhappy with Clete’s presence there. Starting—I don’t know if you are aware of this, Mr. Howell—with Admiral Montoya, who is Chief of the Argentina Bureau of Internal Security. Montoya did not expel Clete from Argentina only because el Coronel Frade went to him and exerted the pressure necessary to dissuade him.’’
‘‘Cletus did not tell me that,’’ the Old Man said. ‘‘I wondered why they didn’t throw him out of the country.’’
‘‘To get back to the Naval Attaché business,’’ Graham said. ‘‘As Naval Attaché, Clete would have had the protection of diplomatic status. While he could have been declared persona non grata, this could not have been done without his father’s knowledge, and, furthermore, would have caused the usual diplomatic response: We would have expelled an Argentine diplomat of equal, or superior, rank. Under those circumstances, there was, we believed, little chance that he would be expelled. Those circumstances have changed. Coronel Frade is dead. Those who don’t want Clete in Argentina will be perfectly happy to have their Naval Attaché here—for that matter, any Argentine diplomat—expelled tit for tat.’’
‘‘Meaning, the minute Clete gets down there, he’ll be shipped out on the next plane?’’ Martha asked. ‘‘While I suppose this will open my patriotism to some question, that really wouldn’t bother me at all. It seems to me that he’s already done more than one young man can reasonably be expected to do. Let somebody else take his chances down there.’’
‘‘Martha, come on!’’ Clete said.
‘‘It would bother us a great deal. We would be losing the most important intelligence asset we have in Argentina. ’’
‘‘The way you’re talking, it’s a done deal,’’ the Old Man said.
‘‘There is an option,’’ Graham said. ‘‘Argentine citizens cannot be expelled from Argentina. And Clete is an Argentine citizen.’’
‘‘He’s an American citizen. He just had the misfortune of being born down there,’’ the Old Man said.
‘‘Under Argentine law, he’s an Argentine,’’ Graham said flatly.
‘‘What are you suggesting, Colonel?’’ Martha asked.
Graham did not reply directly.
‘‘Furthermore, under Argentine law, on the death of his father, as the sole heir, he comes into possession of everything his father owned.’’
‘‘He doesn’t need his father’s money,’’ the Old Man said. ‘‘He’s got enough money in his own right.’’
‘‘It would be perfectly natural for Clete to go down there to claim his patrimony,’’ Graham said.
‘‘If he claims he’s an Argentine,’’ the Old Man said, ‘‘and they catch him doing work for you, there’s a word for that: treason. What do they do to traitors in Argentina, Colonel?’’
‘‘Am I permitted to join this conversation?’’ Clete asked. ‘‘Since it concerns me?’’
‘‘What?’’ Graham asked.
‘‘What’s this business about me being—what did you say?—‘the most important intelligence asset’ you have in Argentina? How do you figure that?’’
‘‘There’s going to be an attempted coup d’état. You know that. The G.O.U. is behind it. You know that.’’
‘‘The what?’’ Martha asked.
‘‘It stands for Grupo de Oficiales Unidos,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Group of United Officers.’’
‘‘Colonel Frade was the President of the G.O.U., and the source of most of its money,’’ Graham said.
‘‘What’s that got to do with Cletus?’’ Martha asked.
‘‘We think he will be in a position to get close to whoever will replace his father. The G.O.U. officers were all close friends of his father. He will be in a position to in fluence—’’
‘‘And if this coup d’état fails,’’ the Old Man interrupted. ‘‘Then what happens to Clete? They stand him against a wall?’’
‘‘If things go wrong, we’ll get him out of Argentina,’’ Graham said.
‘‘How are you going to do that?’’ Martha asked.
Graham pointed at Commander Delojo.
‘‘He’ll get you out. He’ll take your place as Naval Attach é . . . and that will still be cover for the OSS Station Chief in Buenos Aires.’’
‘‘How?’’ Clete asked, looking at Delojo.
‘‘Whatever it takes, Major,’’ Delojo said. ‘‘Hopefully, we can still get that airplane into Argentina. That would make things easier, of course. But if necessary, I’ll get you out, airplane or no airplane. Into Paraguay, Uruguay, or most likely Brazil. If anything goes sour, Colonel Graham has made getting you and your team out my first priority.’’
The airplane—a Beechcraft Expediter5—was to have been a gift from the President of the United States to Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade. Officially it was an expressionof Roosevelt’s admiration for Colonel Frade as an Argentine leader. It was also intended to replace Colonel Frade’s Beechcraft stagger-wing—now on the bottom of Samboromb ón Bay; for that aircraft had been ‘‘in the service of the United States’’ when Clete was shot down flying it. And incidentally it would give Clete wings to look for the next ‘‘neutral’’ merchant ship the Germans would send to supply their submarines.
Clete thought that whole idea was bizarre, and had told Colonel Graham so: His father was virtually certain to reject the ‘‘gift’’ the moment he heard about it. And if the chances, with his father alive, of getting the airplane into Argentina had been a hundred to one against, now, with his father dead, they were nonexistent.
‘‘Cletus,’’ Martha asked incredulously, ‘‘you’re not actually considering going along with this?’’
‘‘Martha, I’m a serving Marine officer,’’ Clete said. ‘‘I go where I’m ordered to go.’’
‘‘Cletus, I absolutely forbid you to have anything to do with this,’’ the Old Man said.
‘‘Grandfather, I’ll tell you what Uncle Jim would have told you. This is my decision, no one else’s.’’ He looked at Martha. ‘‘Martha, you know that.’’
‘‘I know I wish neither one of you had ever heard of the Marine Corps,’’ she said.
‘‘My wife said much the same thing when I came back on active duty,’’ Graham said.
‘‘And she probably suspected, at your age, that you would be behind a desk, wouldn’t you say, and not involved in something like this?’’ Martha said acidly.
‘‘Martha, that was a cheap shot!’’ Clete said.
‘‘I’m surprised that a ‘serving Marine officer’ like you, honey, hasn’t heard what they say about ‘all’s fair in love and war,’ ’’ she said. But then she added, ‘‘But you’re right. I had no right to say that. I’m sorry, Colonel.’’
‘‘No apology is necessary, Mrs. Howell,’’ Graham said. There was a moment’s silence, and then he went on. ‘‘You’re not being ordered, Clete. If you go under these changed circumstances, you go as a volunteer.’’
‘‘There you go!’’ the Old Man said.
‘‘When do I go?’’ Clete asked.
‘‘Tomorrow. As scheduled. Commander Delojo will be on the plane day after tomorrow. We sent a cablegram, in your name, asking that your father’s funeral be delayed until you can get there.’’
‘‘You were pretty sure that he’d go along with this,’’ Martha said.
‘‘I was,’’ Graham said.
‘‘You’re not going, Cletus,’’ the Old Man said. ‘‘That’s that.’’
‘‘I’m going, Grandfather,’’ Clete said, and turned to Graham. ‘‘How am I supposed to have heard about what happened to my father?’’
‘‘In a Reuters news story, which we made sure was picked up by both the New York Times and the Washington Post.’’
‘‘OK,’’ Clete said. ‘‘And who did I send the cablegram to?’’
‘‘Your uncle Humberto,’’ Graham said. He turned to the Old Man. ‘‘You may have noticed, Mrs. Howell, that your nephew is very good at this sort of thing. He can take care of himself. He’ll be all right.’’
‘‘I pray to God he will be,’’ the Old Man said. ‘‘But right now I think he’s as insanely irresponsible as his father was.’’
‘‘Goddamn it!’’ Clete flared angrily. ‘‘Grandfather, not one more nasty goddamned word from you about my father! Not tonight! For Christ’s sake!’’
The Old Man did not back down.
‘‘Or what? That wasn’t some sort of a threat, was it?’’
‘‘Colonel,’’ Clete said, ‘‘give me ten minutes to gather my gear.’’
‘‘Where do you think you’re going?’’ the Old Man asked nastily.
‘‘Out of here,’’ Clete said.
‘‘You’re going to apologize, Marcus Howell,’’ Martha said firmly. ‘‘And not utter one more word about Clete’s father. Or I’m leaving with him. And it will be a cold day in Hell before you see me or the girls again. And that’s not a threat, that’s a statement of fact! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’’
For a moment, it looked as if the Old Man was going to hold his ground. Then he cleared his throat.
‘‘Cletus, you know that I would never say anything . . .’’ he said.
‘‘That’s not an apology!’’ Martha said, coldly angry.
‘‘If you believe an apology is called for, consider that one has been offered,’’ the Old Man said. Then he saw the look in Clete’s eyes. ‘‘Cletus, please. Don’t let us part like this. Please stay.’’
Clete didn’t reply.
‘‘It’s up to you, honey,’’ Martha said. ‘‘We both know that’s about as far as that nasty old man is capable of going. ’’
Clete looked at the Old Man.
‘‘Not one more goddamned word!’’ he said. ‘‘Not tonight. Not ever!’’
The Old Man held up both hands at shoulder height, palms outward, in a gesture of surrender. Then he looked at Colonel Graham.
‘‘You will please pardon this unseemly display of intimate family linen,’’ he said.
Graham did not reply directly.
‘‘We need a few minutes alone with Major Frade,’’ he said. ‘‘And then we’ll be on our way.’’
The Old Man thought that over a moment.
‘‘I think,’’ he said finally, ‘‘that you would probably be more comfortable in here. Martha, would you like to come to the sitting room with me?’’
Martha walked to the door, waited for the Old Man to pass through it, turned and smiled at Clete, and then went through the door. She closed it after her.
‘‘Sorry about that,’’ Clete said, looking somewhat sheepishly between Graham, Quinn, and Delojo.
‘‘Commander Delojo and Mr. Quinn have read your dossier, ’’ Graham said. ‘‘I think they understand the situation. ’’
Clete nodded.
‘‘Mr. Quinn has an Argentine passport for you,’’ Graham said, getting down to business. ‘‘The idea is that you will try to enter Argentina with it. If there is difficulty with that, then you will produce your diplomatic passport. They’ll have to accept that, and that will give you at least a day or two in the country. We’ll play it by ear from there. There will be somebody from the embassy meeting the plane. They may hold you in Immigration. . . .’’
‘‘I have an Argentine passport,’’ Clete said, as if he had just begun to pay attention.
‘‘I didn’t know that,’’ Graham said, and added, disapproval in his voice, ‘‘You never mentioned that in your debriefings.’’
‘‘My father got it for me,’’ Clete said.
‘‘Well, that’s one problem out of the way,’’ Quinn said. It was the first time he had spoken.
‘‘How does this change of plan affect my team?’’ Clete asked.
‘‘You remain in command of your team, of course,’’ Graham said.
‘‘And Ashton’s team? The Radar team?’’ Clete asked.
Another OSS team was being sent to Argentina. It was commanded by someone Clete had not met, but who he suspected was another of Donovan’s socialites—his name was Captain Maxwell Ashton III. Ashton’s team was equipped, Clete had been told, with the very latest radar. After Clete had arranged for a place on the shore of Samboromb ón Bay where it could be set up, it could locate the German replacement vessel within a hundred yards, at night, or in the most dense fog.
Once that had been done, the plan went, an American submarine could enter Samborombón Bay at night, running with just enough of its conning tower out of the water to provide Ashton’s radar with a target and to allow its radios to function. It would then be directed to a position near enough to the German vessel to make a sure one-shot torpedo kill.
Clete thought that plan was almost as bizarre as the airplane ‘‘gift’’ to his father, and with only a slightly better chance of success. Getting the radar into Argentina at all was going to be difficult, and getting it from wherever they managed to land it to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo without being discovered would be even more difficult.
And if the radar Captain Maxwell Ashton III and his team were bringing with them was anything like the radar on Guadalcanal, it would not be capable of locating anything with a hundred-yard degree of accuracy—if it worked at all.
He devoutly hoped he was wrong. If there was no radar —and it now seemed absolutely impossible to get a replacement for the Beech stagger-wing—they would be worse off than they’d been before. He would have to try to locate the German ship with one of the Piper Cubs on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, then guide a submarine to it the way he’d done with the Beech. And after their experience with the Beech, the Germans were almost certainly going to be prepared for another nosy airplane.
‘‘We learned yesterday that they are in Brazil. Commander Delojo will coo
rdinate the infiltration of the team with you and Captain Ashton.’’
‘‘And what about the airplane?’’
‘‘That’s in Brazil too. Available to you and Commander Delojo as you feel necessary.’’
‘‘You’re not being very clear, Colonel, about who’s in charge,’’ Clete said.
‘‘The Part One of the basic plan remains in effect,’’ Quinn said. ‘‘You—your team—will locate and identify the replenishment vessel when it arrives on station. As far as Part Two is concerned—infiltration of the new team into Argentina—that will be coordinated, as Colonel Graham just told you, between you and Commander Delojo. Part Three, elimination of the replenishment vessel, is something we’re still working on.’’
‘‘In other words, SNAFU, right? Situation Normal, All Fucked Up?’’ Clete said, a little bitterly.
‘‘Wait a minute, Major,’’ Delojo said.
‘‘You wait a minute, Commander,’’ Clete snapped. ‘‘Without an airplane, I have no goddamned idea how I can find the replenishment vessel. And with my father gone, I have no idea how I can get an airplane into Argentina.’’
‘‘We were thinking of the light aircraft on your father’s estancia,’’ Quinn said.
‘‘I should have said a decent airplane. A capable airplane. The only airplanes on my father’s estancia are Piper Cubs. I need that C-45."
‘‘You found the Reine de la Mer with your father’s Beechcraft,’’ Delojo argued.
‘‘And got shot down. I’m not going to try that again. ’’
‘‘That may be necessary,’’ Delojo said.
‘‘Aside from the fact that it would be suicidal, Commander, ’’ Clete said, ‘‘it would not work. If the Germans can talk the Argentines into looking the other way again when they anchor another replenishment ship in Samboromb ón Bay, the Argentines are also going to look the other way when the Germans shoot up any airplane—or any boat—that comes anywhere near them. We’re going to have to go with the original idea of identifying the ship by aerial photography. And you can’t do that with a handheld camera in a Piper Cub.’’
‘‘I think Clete’s right,’’ Graham said. ‘‘We’re going to have to get that C-45 into Argentina somehow. For the sake of thinking about that, Clete, could you conceal that airplane on your father’s estancia if we just flew it, black, no markings, into Argentina?’’
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