"You think they were communications radios, mi Coronel?"
"I think we must consider that possibility, don't you?"
They didn't go to Uruguay to pick up a couple of radios. Those would have been sent to them via the diplomatic pouches of the American Embassy. So what were they doing in Uruguay?
"I could send someone into the Frade guest house, mi Coronel, to examine the radios. If they are still there." "If they are still there?"
"On his way to the port to pick up his car, Frade stopped at Calle Monroe 214, in Belgrano, at the apartment of Se?or David Ettinger, an employee of the Banco de Boston. He carried a shopping bag containing a straw chicken. He did not have the straw chicken with him when he left."
"We must consider the possibility, mustn't we, that the straw chicken was a present from Se?or Frade to Se?or Ettinger?"
"The shopping bag was large enough, mi Coronel, to also contain the radios. Or something else."
"Permission denied," Martin said after a moment. "I don't want any intrusion into the living quarters of any of these three without my specific approval. Understood?"
"S?, mi Coronel."
"Who inspected young Frade's automobile at the port?" Martin asked, picking up a report from his desk.
"Two of our men, under my personal supervision, mi Coronel."
In that case, he could have smuggled in two elephants.
"And?"
"Absolutely nothing, mi Coronel."
Three elephants.
"And was the investigation conducted carefully? Will it go undetected?''
"Absolutely, mi Coronel. You have my personal assurance about that."
Which means he will know we searched his car.
"And where is he now?"
"We have just had word from our man at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo that he is with his father."
"I don't want him lost again, Habanzo."
"I understand, mi Coronel."
"Provide whatever personnel are required. See that they have adequate funds to cover any contingency."
"S?, mi Coronel."
"My function, Habanzo, is to know everything there is to know about el Coronel Frade and his associates. I think that his son could be considered an associate, don't you? His long-lost, recently returned son, who just happens to behe saysa recently discharged American officer?"
"Yes, of course, mi Coronel."
Chapter Fourteen
[ONE]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
1115 15 December 1942
Two gauchos, sprawled on the wide steps to the verandah, were waiting for them when they returned from their ride. As they approached, Clete's horse, a magnificent sorrel, shied at something and, with a shrill whinny, reared. Despite the strange saddle, Clete managed to keep his seat and to control the animal, and more than a little smugly noticed both surprise and approval on the faces of the gauchos.
The Norteamericano did not get his ass thrown. Sorry about that, guys!
The gauchos took the reins of the horses and led them away. And Clete followed his father and Claudia Carzino-Cormano onto the verandah. The more he saw this woman, the more he liked her. If she and Aunt Martha met, they would form an instant mutual admiration society. Like Martha, Claudia was a first-class horsewoman; and like Martha, she said what was in her mind, rather than what she thought a lady should say. And, like Martha, she ran a ranch. An estancia almost, but not quite, as large as San Pedro y San Pablo.
He was touched and amused at his father's blustering attempts to paint her as just a platonic acquaintance who happened to drop by now and again. The servants obeyed her orders the way they'd obey the mistress of the place. And last night, when his father suggested, "Since it's late, Claudia, why don't you spend the night? I'll have one of the guest rooms set up for you," she winked at Clete and smiled.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Jorge," she said.
And when he got up the next morning and went looking for something to eat, Claudia was already up too, wearing a white blouse and baggy trousers, and soft, black, tight-over-the-calf leather boots, obviously a gentle lady's riding costumewhich his father apparently expected him to believe just "happened" to be in the house.
"Your father is insufferable until he has had his second cup of coffee," she greeted him. "It is best to ignore him, or anything he says."
Clete had ridden hornless saddles beforeat Texas AandM, the ROTC horses had Army-issue McClellan cavalry saddlesand after a few minutes, he became accustomed to the Argentine saddle. It was called a recado, Claudia told him. Although everyone else in the area had been using "English" saddles since the turn of the century, his father insisted on keeping them, because he was too cheap to throw anything away.
When Clete's father overheard her tell Clete that, he flared up at her: "I am not cheap, my dear. I am frugal, and I respect our traditions. Since they have been properly cared for, they have not worn out." She rode close to him then, murmured, "Precioso, I'm sorry," and leaned out of her recado to kiss him.
Acting as if the kisswhich calmed him down immediately never happened, Clete's father then delivered a lecture on the history of their saddles. A brilliant saddler made them on the estancia during the tenure of Clete's great-grandfather. The shape of the seat, he went on to say, together with estribando largo long stirrupspermit the rider to sit in an almost vertical position, the merits of which for herding cattle over long hours do not have to be explained. Except perhaps to a woman.
"S?, mi jefe," Claudia replied, laughing.
When they came onto the verandah, Se?ora Pellano was supervising the arrangement of a little "after the morning canter" refreshment. There were two bottles of champagne in coolers, and an array of sweets and cold cuts.
"I would suggest, Cletus," Frade said, "that you pass up the champagne."
"Why?" Claudia demanded.
"I am reliably informed that it is not wise to fly an aircraft under the influence of alcohol."
"Is he going flying?"
"I thoughtit is a lovely daythat we would return you to your home in the Beechcraft. I will arrange for your car to be delivered there."
"And Cletus will fly the airplane?"
"Certainly. Why not? He is an experienced military pilot. He probably knows more about flying than el Capitan Delgano."
"Cletus?" Claudia asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.
"After flying the Wildcat fighter, Claudia," his father persisted, "as he did in Guadalcanal, flying the Beechcraft will be like riding a tame old mare."
"I'm sure I can fly it," Clete said. "But I'd like to solo it an hour or so before I carry passengers."
"Solo it?"
"Fly it alone for an hour."
"Not only experienced, but cautious," Frade said. "It is settled. We will have our sandwiches, and he will have coffee. And afterwards he will solo for an hour, and then we will fly you home. I'm sure your daughters will like to meet him. Perhaps he can take them for a ride. You might wish to call to make sure they are at home."