Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n wanted Montoya dismissed from the service and placed under house arrest. But Mart?n prevailed against him. Mart?n argued before General Rawson and General Ramirez (who retained his post as Minister of War) that Montoya had done his duty to Argentina as he had seen it and had taken or not taken a number of actions that had benefited the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos and the execution ofOutline Blue.
Mart?n also refused permanent appointment as the Chief of BIS. The offer was colored, he believed, by emotion on the part of General Rawson, who would later come to regret his impulsiveness. He also believed the appointment of another admiral to the post would go a long way toward pouring oil on the troubled waters that now existed between the Argentine Armada and the Argentine Army.
On the other hand, Mart?n was rather sure that his brevet promotion to Coronel would be made permanent within the next few days. As a Coronel known to have both the ear and the gratitude of the President and the Minister of War, he would have no trouble dealing with the new Chief, BIS, no matter who that might be.
The sandbag machine-gun emplacements in front of the Casino were still there, but the weapons and their crews were gone. So were the machine guns that had earlier been visible in upper-floor windows of the building, and the guards who had been stationed at the Casino's doors.
General Ramirez was now back in his office at the Edificio Libertador Mart?n had just come from thereand the maps that had been hung in the early hours of the morning on the movable wall of the Main Dining Room were now hanging in the Situation Room in the Edificio Libertador.
The Officers' Casino of Campo de Mayo was now just that again.
Mart?n marched through the door of the clubhe was in uniform, still bearing the badges of a teniente coronel. Perhaps, he thought, there will one day be a brass plaque affixed to the wall, commemorating the use of the Casino as the headquarters of the coup d?tat. But perhaps not. It might be better not to have such an historical marker. It might be better if the coup d?tat, and the reasons for it, and the deaths of Argentine soldiers and sailors it caused, just faded from memory.
As soon as he was in the lobby, he saw Major Cletus H. Frade, of the norteamericano Office of Strategic Services. Frade, who had obviously and understandably been waiting for him, rose out of a leather-upholstered armchair and started walking toward him, closely followed by Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodriguez, Retired.
I wonder,Mart?n thought somewhat unkindly, if the old soldier thinks Frade needs protection in the men's room and follows him in there ?
"Ah, Mayor Frade," Mart?n said, smiling and putting out his hand. "I understand that you have been flying our new President around."
"That was twelve hours ago," Clete said, "and since then I have been sitting around here with my . . ." He stopped himself just in time from completing the rest of the sentence that came to his lips; it had to do with the insertion of the short thick opposable digit of his hand into his anal orifice. He finished, ". . . nothing to do."
Martin's smile faded but did not entirely disappear.
"I don't know if there's dancing in the streets or not," Clete went on. "But I just heard General Rawson on the radio delivering a speech from the balcony of the Casa Rosada, which suggests to me the coup d?tat was successful."
I know what's bothering him: his Sergeant Ettinger. I don't want to break that bad news to him here, like this.
"And so it has been," Mart?n said. "I was about to have a drink. I would be honored if you would join me."
"I'm not sure I should have a drink," Clete said. "I might say something rude with just a little alcohol in me."
"Please," Mart?n said. "I will buy. It is a custom in our Army for newly promoted officers to buy drinks for their friends. And the invitation of course includes you, Suboficial Mayor."
"You got promoted?"
"Are you all that surprised?"
"No. Not at all," Clete said. "I didn't mean to be so . . ."
"But you have been unable to understand why you have been . . . asked to stay here . . . when it became apparent that we have a new government?"
"Yeah," Clete said. "And 'asked' isn't the word."
He pointed to a major, still in field uniform, who was watching them.
Mart?n gestured for the major to join them.
"Se?or Frade, Mayor," Mart?n said, "will no longer require your protection. You may consider yourself relieved of that responsibility."
S?, mi Coronel," the Major replied, and then after a moment's hesitation offered his hand to Clete. "I hope, Se?or, you can understand my position."
"No hard feelings, Major," Clete said, taking his hand. "I know who gave you your orders."
"I considered it necessary," Mart?n said, acknowledging he had given the orders. "Not only because I wanted to have a word with you before you took off. . ."
"It's too late to take off," Clete said. "I don't want to try to land that Lockheed at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo at night."
". . . but for other reasons as well," Mart?n concluded. "Will you have a drink with me? I'll explain."
"Yes, of course. Thank you. And congratulations, mi Coronel. It's a well-deserved promotion."
"For saying that, I will buy you two drinks."
He touched Clete's arm and propelled him to the bar, which was crowded with the successful members of the Revolution of 1943 not needed at the Edificio Libertador.
"Would you bring us a bottle of Johnny Walker Black, please? And three glasses?" Mart?n ordered.
When it was delivered, he waved the barman away, poured the whiskey himself, and handed Clete and Enrico their glasses.
"If you will indulge me further, gentlemen, I have three toasts to offer."
"Don't take too long," Clete said.
"To the new government of Argentina," Mart?n said seriously.
Clete raised his glass.
"Hear, hear," he said.
"To the officers and other ranks of the Argentine Armada and Army on both sides of this unfortunately necessary change of government who died for their country today."
Clete's face showed that the toast surprised him, but after a moment he said, "Hear, hear," raised his glass, and took another sip of his whiskey.
"And to Technical Sergeant David Ettinger, United States Army. I am very sorry indeed, Mayor Frade, to have to tell you that he also died in the service of his country."
"Oh, shit," Clete said. He looked at his half-empty glass of scotch, drained it, and then looked at Martin.
"When did that happen? How?"
"Excuse me, mi Coronel," Enrico said. "Did you say Ettinger is dead?"
"I'm afraid so, Suboficial Mayor," Mart?n said, then looked at Clete. "I received the word just two hours ago. When the telephones to Montevideo were restored. Sergeant Ettinger's body was found on the beach at Carrasco two days ago. In the morning. He had been stabbed to death."
Mart?n saw that Clete's face was white, and his lips bloodless.
With either pain or rage or both. This is not the time to tell him Ettinger was mutilated. Or how.
"By party or parties unknown, right?" Clete asked bitterly.
"My sources tell me the murder has all the marks of a killing for pay."
"And we know who paid, don't we? That goddamned Goltz!"
"'Goltz,' Se?or Clete?" Enrico asked.