"He's a nice guy, Clete."
"Stay away from him, Tony. That's an order."
"Yes, Sir." Tony shrugged. "But I really think you ought to see him, Clete."
"Maybe later."
"I told him I'd try to get you to meet him in the Cafe Colon at half past nine," Tony said, uneasily. "He said he'll be there."
"You mean tonight?" Clete asked incredulously. "What gave you the idea you have the authority to make appointments for me?"
"I thought you wouldn't mind, Clete."
"Well, 1 goddamned well do!"
"OK," Tony said, chastened and chagrined. "It won't happen again, Clete."
Damn! There's already enough bad blood between the FBI and the OSS. If 1 don't show up to meet this guy, it will get worse.
"Where the hell is thewhat did you say, Cafe Colon?"
"Cafe Colon," Tony confirmed. "Right behind the Opera. ( Buenos Aires' Teatro de Colon, on the Avenida 9 de Julio, is one of the world's largest opera houses.) There's a basement. He said he would wait for you there."
"How's he going to recognize me?" Clete wondered aloud, annoyed.
"He's got a picture of you."
"You gave a him a picture of me?" Clete asked incredulously.
"He had one. He showed it to me. It shows you getting out of a cab at the National Institutes of Health."
"Jesus Christ! The FBI's running around taking pictures of people in the OSS in Washington?"
Tony shrugged.
"I guess so. He had your picture."
"I'm going to meet this guy . . . what did you say his name was?" Clete said.
"Leibermann."
"I am going to meet Mr. Leibermann of the FBI, and as politely as possible let him know I am not interested in making new friends. And you don't ever do something like this again, OK?"
Tony nodded, accepting the rebuke, then asked, "You see the SS guy at your uncle's house?"
Clete shook his, "no."
"Bird fucking colonel of the SS. Fancy black uniform, with skulls on the collar. I can't believe they had the balls to show up there."
"If they didn't show up, it might look like they had something to do with my father's murder," Clete said. "And speaking of wearing that, you look like a recruiting poster. But wearing that Silver Star isn't too smart. What are you going to say if somebody asks you what you got it for?"
"I thought about that. I wore it for your father. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be around to wear it. And I figure they took him out because of how I got it, what we did. And I figured nobody here knows what the fuck it is anyway. The Argentines give out medals for not missing Mass three months running."
Clete chuckled.
"What are you going to do about what happened to your father?" Tony asked.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I figure it was either this SS guy or the Military Attach?, Gr?ner, who ordered your father killed. Your friend von Wachtstein probably knows and would tell you."
"So?"
"You know that plastic explosive we got in Uruguay and never used? I used a little bit of it, just to see what it would do. A piece about this big, Clete" he held up his fist, thumb extended "rigged by somebody who knew how . . ."
Jesus Christ, he's serious!
"Forget it, Tony!"
". . . say in a telephone . . ."
"Hey, I said no."
". . . would blow his fucking brains out his other ear."
Clete shook his head back and forth.
"Your father was a good guy, Clete. He saved my life. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with what they did to him."
"Thank you, Tony, but no. And I mean that. I mean thank you, and I mean no. Not now, anyway."
"Let me know if you change your mind," Tony said. "I consider it a matter of honor."
Clete glanced at Enrico and thought that Enrico would think Tony had both a splendid idea and the proper attitude concerning revenge.
There was a discreet knock at the door, followed immediately by the appearance of Antonio.
"Pardon me, Se?or. A Se?orita Mallin has called. I have asked her to wait in the reception while I saw whether or not you were at home."
"Oh, ho!" Tony said, smiling and winking at Clete. He glanced at his watch. "I've got to get out of here anyway. And let the BIS guys go home to their wives and kiddies."
"What?"
"The BIS has been following me around ever since you got here. You didn't notice the Ford Anglia following us over here from Alvear?"
Clete shook his head "no" and looked at Enrico.
"Yeah, well, trust me, there was. And they're parked across the street now."
"Get out of here, Tony," Clete ordered. "And you too, Enrico."
"I will change out of my uniform for the last time," Enrico said, rising to his feet. "After I put el Teniente into a taxi."
"Please show Se?orita Mallin up, Antonio," Clete said.
THREE
The door opened, and the No-Longer-Virgin Princess came in. She was now wearing a tweed skirt and a powder-blue sweater.
She looks like the Tulane homecoming queen. Nicer. The time I dated the homecoming queen, she turned out to be a bitch.
My God, she's beautiful!
"You didn't call me," she accused.
"I. . . uh . . ."
"What have you been doing?" Dorotea demanded, and then, noticing the beer bottles and the wine cooler full of iced beer, answered her own question. "You've been swilling beer!"
"Guilty," he said.
"I have been waiting by the telephone for hours!"
"I... uh ... didn't think I should call," he said. "Your father"
"Didn't what I told you mean anything to you?" Dorotea asked, now closer to tears than an expression of shocked indignation.
"Jesus Christ, Princess," Clete said. It came out a moan.
She looked into his eyes for a long moment and then laughed.
"If you're afraid to just call me because of Daddy, what are you going to do about telling him?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "How did you get away?"
"Mother helped," she said. "I started to cry when Daddy called your Uncle Humberto and said we wouldn't be going out to Estancia Santo Catalina after all for the mass for your father."
"You were going to Santo Catalina?"
With Ramirez, Rawson, and most of the G.O. U. there? What the hell is that all about? How many people did Claudia say are going to be there, forty? Maybe some of them have nothing to do with the G.O.U.; they'll be there to make it look like all that's going on are people visiting Claudia out of sympathy.
"Weregoing. Henry couldn't wait to tell Daddy he'd seen you kissing my fingers."
"Jesus!"
"I'm supposed to be at the movies. There's a new Bing Crosby and Bob Hope flick Road to Moroccoat the Belgrano. It's supposed to cheer me up."
"Oh."
"What are we going to do, Cletus?"
"What are we going to do about what?"