"I will be in touch, Hauptmann von Wachtstein," Gradny-Sawz said. "If not sooner, within a day or two."
"Thank you," Peter replied.
Sahovaler had an open Mercedes sedanan Army carwaiting outside. The driver was wearing a Husares uniform, complete to bearskin hat. They rode regally from Avenida Alvear to Avenida Libertador. On the way, Coronel Sahovaler told Hauptmann von Wachtstein that he was sure el Coronel Frade would be in touch with him very shortly to make sure he was not left alone in the Guest House.
[TWO]
Coronel Sahovaler was wrong. Since el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade had no intention whatever of participating in the nonsense on the pier, or to put on a hot dress uniform to march through horse droppings on the streets of Buenos Aires in the heat of summer, and since Cletus had "business" in Punta del Este Frade hoped this was nothing more dangerous than meeting young women in brief bathing costumeshe had indeed found pressing business at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.
It happened to be legitimate. He was entertaining overnight el Coronel Ricardo Lopez, commander of the 2nd Regiment of Infantry. Wattersly had informed Frade that when he and Kleber talked with him, they were unable to move him off the fence. Wattersly suggested that Frade talk to him himself. Under the circumstances, he had had no choice but to go along.
He would entertain L6pez royally. And if there seemed to be an opportunity, he would reason with him himself. If that failed, the 2nd Regiment of Infantry would have to be placed in the Against column. There were only two columns, For and Against. If the 2nd Infantry went in the Against column, it would have to be neutralized.
He also completely forgot that he had promised his sister to arrange to put up the German officer at the Guest House. Knowing her brother's tendency to let promises slip his mind, Se?ora Beatrice de Duarte had called the Guest House and checked. When it turned out he had indeed forgotten, she asked Se?ora Pellano to take very good care of the young German officer who brought Dear Jorge back to Argentina. Then she called el Coronel Sahovaler to make sure he had a ride.
[THREE]
Customs Shed
Buenos Aires, Argentina
2135 13 December 1942
The plan to smuggle the walkie-talkies past customs was Tony's. It was novel, simple, and it worked:
"If you never saw one of these before," Tony said, "the odds are that nobody here has."
"So?"
"We'll tell them they are portable radios that don't work."
"You've lost me."
"We don't try to hide them. We make believe we took them over there to listen to music on the beach."
Clete could think of no better way to bring the radios into Argentina. Besides, even if the ruse didn't work and they confiscated the radios, it would divert attention from the "wooden" boxes loaded with straw chickens, ducks, and fish.
They pried thean/prc-6 motorola corp. Chicago, ill. labels from the walkie-talkies; then they each put one of them on clear display in their luggage.
The customs officer was fascinated with the radios, and very sympathetic. After he put a radio to his ear and heard only a hiss, he offered the professional opinion that they probably dropped them, or else got them wet on the beach.
He pawed perfunctorily through the chickens, ducks, and fishes in the "wooden" boxes, smiled, and waved them through.
"Buenas. noches, Se?ores."
"Buenas noches," Clete replied, and motioned for a porter to carry their luggage toward the taxi line. He carried one of the "wooden" boxes and Tony carried the other.
As they walked toward the line, he asked Tony if he wanted to have dinner at the guest house, or else go out somewhere.
"Thanks, no, Clete," Tony replied. "What are we going to do with this stuff, now that we've got it?"
"I'll keep it," Clete said. "That would probably be the safest thing."
"I was thinking that maybe you could give the radios to Ettinger. Maybe he can figure out what to do when the batteries go dead."
"Right."
"And I'd like to take the detonators. I want to take a good look at them, to make sure how much dry-cell juice I'm going to need."
"Good thinking. But we can drop the radios off at Ettinger's apartment on the way to yours. And then we'll drop the detonators at yours, and get some dinner."
"I think I'll pass, Clete," Tony said. "Unless you really want some company."
"Just an idea. I'll bring the radios to David tomorrow."
"What I'm going to do, Clete," Tony said, as if worried that he'd hurt Frade's feelings, "is go find a church. Light a candle. Say 'thank you.' You want to come along?"
"I think I'll pass on that, Tony," Clete said. "If I went to church, the steeple would fall off. But say 'thank you' for me, too, will you?"
"I will," Tony said, wondering if it was a sin for him to be glad Clete didn't want to go to church with him. The church he had in mind was near the Ristorante Napoli. Afterward, he would drop in to the Ristorante Napoli for his dinner. She just might be there.
Hell, she might even be in the church. Odds are that she's Catholic, and nice Catholic girls go to church.
They took their turn in the taxi line, and finally climbed into one. Clete told the driver to take them to Tony's apartment on Avenida Corrientes.
It was quarter past ten when the driver pulled up before the gate at 4730 Avenida Libertador. There were lights on over the drive and above the door, but the gates were closed, and the smaller pedestrian gate beside the vehicular gate was locked; he could see no light coming from the servants' quarters. Since Se?ora Pellano had not known when to expect him, he presumed she had simply gone to bed.
Finding the keys he needed, then wrestling with the ancient lock on the gate, and then carrying his luggage andcarefully both "wooden" boxes from the cab to the front door took another five minutes.
He paid the cabdriver, then moved everything inside the house.
I'll bring these boxes upstairs duty first. I'll take them apart, put the pieces on a shelf in one of my closets, and then I'll come down here and have a very stiff drink. I was more afraid smuggling this stuff past customs than I let on.
He was almost to the elevator when he heard, faintly, Beethoven's Third Symphony on the radio or the phonograph. Then he saw a crack of light under the double doors to the library.
Who the hell can that be? My father?
He walked to it and pushed it open with his foot.
A young man in a quilted, dark-red dressing gown was slumped in one of the armchairs, a cognac snifter resting on his chest. A cigar lay in the ashtray on the table beside him.
Who the hell is this?
"Buenas noches, Se?or."
The young man was startled. He quickly put the cognac snifter on the table, rose, and smiled.
"Buenas noches," he said.
"Yo soy Cletus Frade."
"El Coronel Frade?" the young man asked incredulously.
"No," Clete chuckled, "el Teniente Frade. El Coronel is my father."
The young man bowed and clicked his heels.
"Mucho gusto, Teniente. Yo soy el Capitan Hans-Peter Freiherr von Wachtstein, de la Luftwaffe."