"Yes, of course, mi Mayor."
"I think I'll take it with me," Clete said. "I took a Ford station wagon from my father's house. Do you think one of the men downstairs could drive it back for me? They may need it tomorrow."
"You came here alone?" Enrico asked, horrified.
"Why not?"
"Mi Mayor," Enrico said, shaking his head at Clete's stupidity. "The men downstairs will see you safely to el Coronel's house."
Clete put out his hand to Per?n.
"I am delighted to have the privilege of your acquaintance, mi Coronel."
Per?n grasped his hand firmly.
"The pleasure is mine, Mayor," he said. "I regret the circumstances."
Chapter Eight
[ONE]
The Basilica of St. Pilar
Recoleta Plaza
Buenos Aires
0915 10 April 1943
It was necessary for Antonio to really shake Clete to wake him, and even after a shower and several cups of coffee with his breakfast, he still felt groggy and exhausted.
As he had announced he would, Capitan Lauffer appeared at eight-thirty.
En route to Our Lady of Pilar, Clete told him about Enrico climbing out of a hospital bed onto a horse to escort his father from the Edificio Libertador to the Basilica, and also about meeting el Coronel Per?n.
"He and your father were great friends," Lauffer said.
"So he said."
"He just came back from Germany."
"Excuse me? What did you say?"
"He just came back from Germany. He was on the Lufthansa flight yesterday."
"What was he doing in Germany?" Clete asked.
Lauffer shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know."
Well, that explains that "difficult impossible to believe " bullshit he gave me last night, doesn't it?
"Is Per?n involved in this Grupo de Oficiales Unidos business?"
"Se?or Frade . . ."
"Do you think you could bring yourself to call me 'Clete'?"
"I would like that. My Christian name is Roberto."
He offered Clete his hand.
"Clete,"Lauffer said, "one of the difficulties we have in Argentina with norteamericanos is that you have a tendency to ask questions that shouldn't be asked, and are impolitic to answer."
"In other words, he is," Clete said. "Is that why he came back? Because the G.O.U. is about to move?"
Lauffer looked at him, smiled, and shook his head.
"I don't know anything about the G.O.U."
"You are being deaf, dumb, and blind, right?" Clete challenged with a smile.
"But if I were a betting man. and I knew that one man was involved with the G.O.U., I would wager his best friend was."
"OK. That's good enough. Thank you for your nonanswer. And since you don't know anything about the G.O.U., I suppose you can't tell me if it's loaded with Nazi sympathizers?"
"I wonder if you are asking that question personally or professionally."
"Professionally?"
"There is a rumor going around that you are really an agent of the OSS."
"Of the what?"
"You never heard of the OSS, of course?"
"Not a word."
"Then I suppose it's also not true that you are the man who blew up the Reine de la Mer."
"The what?"
"As an officer of the Argentine Army, of course, I was horrified to hear that the American OSS violated the neutrality of Argentina by blowing up a neutral ship in our waters."
"As, of course, you should have been. The Americans blew up a Nazi ship, you say? Do you think they had a reason?" Clete asked, smiling.
"My father, howeverhe is a retired Admiral of the Armada"Navy "does not share my views. He said something to the effect that he was surprised it took the Americans so long to do what the British should have done in the first place, and that he hoped whoever did it not only got away but received an appropriate decoration."
"You can tell your father, if what you say is true, that something like that probably happened."
Lauffer smiled back at him. "A decoration and a promotion to Mayor?"
"Something like that," Clete said.
"So far as Nazis being within the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos: I would suspect that if such an organization really exists, it is not controlled by those who sympathize with Germany, or, on the other hand, by those who sympathize with the British and the norteamericanos. It would be concerned with Argentine internal affairs."
Clete was disappointed when he looked out the window and saw they were at the rear of Recoleta Cemetery; he preferred not to end the conversation just now.
When they reached the church (The Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar (completed 1732), on Recoleta Square, is considered the most beautiful church in Buenos Aires.) itself, a line of people had already formed to view the casket when the church was opened. Clete wondered how many of them had known, much less admired, his father, and how many were there out of simple curiosity.
Lauffer knocked at a side door, which was opened by a monk in sandals and a brown robe.
"This is Se?or Frade," Lauffer said, and the monk opened the door all the way and pointed to the interior of the church.
The casketel Coronel's uniform cap, his medals, and the Argentine flag back in place on topwas in the center of the aisle near the altar. And the honor guard was present, too, preparing to go on duty; their officer-in-charge was checking the appearance of the troopers. When he saw Lauffer, he came to attention and saluted.
There was a tug on Clete's sleeve, and he turned to see another brown-robed monk, extending a large key to him.
"The key to your tomb, Se?or," the monk said. Clete looked helplessly at Lauffer, and the monk picked up on it. "We have moved your grandfather, Se?or, and made the preparations for your father. I would like your approval of the arrangements."
"Moved my grandfather"? What the hell does that mean?Lauffer, seeing Clete's confusion and hesitation, nodded. "Thank you," Clete said to the monk.
"I'll go with you. I knew this was coming, and brought a torch," he said, exhibiting a flashlight.
They followed the monk out of a side door of the church and into the cemetery. Ornate burial grounds were not new to Clete. Because of the water table, belowground burial in New Orleans is virtually impossible. The result of that over the years has been the construction of elaborate aboveground tombs covering hundreds of acres.
The Old Man called the cemeteries "Marble City," allegedly to keep the bodies from floating down the Mississippi, but really erected to impress the neighbors. The worse the scoundrel, the larger his tomb.
But there was nothing in New Orleans like Recoleta Cemetery. Here even the smallest of family tombs resembled marble churches, and there were acres and acres of them, side by side.
He had been here once before, the day Cousin Jorge Alejandro was laid to rest in the Duarte tomb.
They came to the Frade tomb. It was about the size of the Duarte Tomb, about thirty feet wide and twenty feet deep. Wrought-iron-barred glass doors offered a view of the interior, which was set up like a church altar. The monk reclaimed the key. "With your permission, Se?or Frade," he said, and unlocked the door.