"We can just walk out of here?" Clete asked. "What about Immigration?"
"Right this way," Mallin said. "We'll need your passports."
He led them to an unmarked door, pushed it open without knocking, and waved them inside ahead of him.
A middle-aged man wearing a better-quality uniform than the man outside gave them a look of indignationwho the hell are you to barge into my office?but then he noticed Mallin. He stood up, smiled, and offered his hand.
"These are my friends," Mallin said.
"Welcome to Argentina," the man said in heavily accented English, and shook hands with them in turn. "Please, your documents?
He took a rubber stamp and an ink pad from his desk, very carefully stamped the passports, signed his name carefully, handed the passports back, and shook hands with each of them again.
"I so very much appreciate your courtesy, Inspector," Mallin said.
"I am happy to be of service, Se?or Mallin," the inspector said, and bowed them through a door behind his desk. They found themselves in a short corridor, and then came to another door, this one leading to the street, where a dark-green Rolls-Royce convertible and a 1941 Ford Super Deluxe station wagon were parked at the curb.
A short, plump man in gray chauffeur's livery smiled and touched the brim of his cap.
"If you will be so kind as to give Ram6n your baggage checks, he will see to the luggage," Mallin said.
The baggage checks were handed over, and then Mallin opened the passenger door of the Rolls.
"I am so sorry that my home is simply not large enough to receive you both as my guests," he said. "I have taken the liberty to arrange for Se?or Pelosi accommodations in the Alvear Palace Hotel, which I hope, Se?or Pelosi, you will find satisfactory until other arrangements can be made. Cletus will stay with us; he's nearlyhow do they say it in Texas?kin."
"Cousin Enrico," Clete said, smiling.
Mallin looked at him, and after a moment, smiled.
Chapter Seven
[ONE]
Buenos Aires, Argentina
2005 21 November 1942
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the hotelon, so far as Clete was concerned, the wrong side of the road; like the Australians the Argentines drove on the left (and would continue to do so until 1944). Mallin took them through a park, where people in proper equestrian clothing were riding fine-looking horses on bridle paths, and then down wide, tree-lined avenues. A statue of an ornately uniformed man on horseback seemed to stand at every major intersection.
Clete realized immediately that Buenos Aires was not the kind of place he'd expected. He had assumed that Argentina would be something like Mexico, and Buenos Aires something like Mexico City. It was not. It was unlike any city he had ever seen before.
They came to a park in which enormous banyan trees shaded neat walkways, and a moment later pulled off the street into the entrance of a hotel. A polished brass sign read:Alvear Palace Hotel.
A doorman in a top hat and a brass-buttoned linen coat which reached almost to his ankles walked quickly to the car and opened the passenger-side door.
Mallin stepped out of the car and held the seat back forward so that Pelosi could climb out of the backseat.
"I think you will find the Alvear comfortable, Mr. Pelosi," Mallin said, "and I would suppose that after your long flight, you greatly need a good night's sleep. I apologize again for not being able to take you into my home...."
"This is really something," Pelosi said. "Like the Drake in Chicago."
It looks like the Adolphus,Clete thought, recalling the Dallas landmark. Pre-World War I polished brass and marble elegance.
"I will go in with you," Mallin said, "to make sure that everything is satisfactory."
A bellboy (a boy, Clete thought, he's not a day over twelve or thirteen) spun a revolving door for them, and they entered the lobby.
"This is Argentina," Mallin said. "It is unfortunately required to give your passport to the management. I thought perhaps you'd like a coffee, or something stronger..."
"Coffee would be fine," Clete said. "Or maybe a beer."
Mallin gave him another strained smile, and went on, "... while I take care of that for you. You'll find a bar by the elevators."
Mallin gestured for them to precede him, and they entered the bar. The headwaiter greeted Mallin by name and escorted them to a table.
"My American friends," Mallin announced, "will have something to drink while I take care of Mr. Pelosi's registration." He nodded in the general direction of Tony Pelosi.
"You will have to excuse, gentlemen, my English is not so fine," the headwaiter said.
"I'll have a beer, please," Clete said in Spanish, "but my first priority is finding the men's room."
"Ah, you speak Spanish," the headwaiter said in Spanish. "If you will cross to the door beside the elevator, the gentlemen's facility is one floor down."
"And perfectly," Mallin said. "I'd forgotten you spoke Spanish."
"But I don't know the word for that," Clete said in English, inclining his head in the direction of the bar, where a stunningly beautiful woman in a revealing linen dress was beaming at a man at least twice her age.
"The word for that is Mi?a," Mallin said. "They are one of the many treasures of Buenos Aires."
"Very nice!" Tony Pelosi said, with admiration.
"Expensive, no doubt?" Clete said.
"Yes, but not in the way... They are not... how does one say? 'Ladies of the evening.' "
"I think, Mr. Pelosi," Clete said, "that in time I could come to like Buenos Aires."
"I like it already," Pelosi said, looking at the Mi?a.
"I will see about your registration," Mallin said, and walked back through the lobby toward the reception desk.
Following the maitre d'hotel's directions, Clete crossed the lobby and started down a wide, curving, marble staircase. Halfway down, he encountered another young woman, just as stunning as the one in the bar. He smiled at her. She averted her eyes, ladylike, but he thought he saw a small smile curve her full lips. To hell with the OSS! My priorities have just changed. First I will get laid, and then I will play Alan Ladd and lead my brave band of men to blow up the Nazi ship.
[TWO]
23 Calle Arcos Belgrano,
Buenos Aires
2105 21 November 1942
"I hope your friend will be able to fend for himself tonight," Enrico Mallin said as they sat with the Rolls' s nose against his garage door, waiting for it to open.
"He's a big boy," Clete replied, and then chuckled. "He'll most likely have a quick shower and then spend the rest of the evening in the hotel bar, hoping another Mi?a will come in."
"Interesting young man," Mallin said. "He's from Chicago, you said?"
"That's right."
"That seems a long way from Howell Petroleum in Louisiana."
"It is. But if you're asking how he came to work for Howell, I'm just one of the hired hands, and I don't know."
One of the double doors to the garage opened inward, and then the other. An old man in a blue denim jacket smiled at them as they drove past. Two other cars were in the garage; after a moment Clete identified one of them. He remembered it because the name amused hima Jaguar saloon. There was also a small van withleyland on its grille. He had never seen a van like that, or heard of a Leyland. He did the arithmetic. Counting the station wagon, that made four cars.