“The Froggers?”
She shook her head.
“Nobody was there. Not Enrico, not Rodolfo—he was out there, too—none of our gauchos, nobody.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Where the hell have you been? We didn’t even know where to call you.”
“I’ve been flying down here from Burbank. Delgano and me. And Oberstleutnant Frogger.”
Her face showed her confusion and surprise at that announcement. She said: “And Peter sent word—not much—telling me to be very careful.”
Clete looked over her shoulder at Schultz as he approached.
“Chief?”
“It looks like somebody figured out where you stashed the Froggers, Major, and went and took them out.” He held his hands out in front of him in a gesture of apology. “Christ, I’m sorry.”
“Forget sorry,” Frade said.
Delgano came out of the Lodestar, followed by Frogger, and walked up to them.
“We have a problem,” Frade announced to them, then looked at Frogger. “Colonel, somebody—somebody, hell, who else could it be?—SS-Obersturmbannführer Cranz found out where we had your parents. Now we don’t know where they are.”
“Mein Gott!”
“It gets worse. According to Lieutenant Schultz”—he nodded at Schultz and Frogger’s face showed surprise at that—“and my wife, they shot up the place pretty well. There was blood all over.”
“The house is a fucking mess, Colonel,” Schultz confirmed. “Looks like it’s been in a war. We picked up some nine-millimeter Parabellum cases, which is interesting.”
“You’re saying my parents are dead?” Frogger asked evenly.
“We don’t know that,” Frade said.
Frogger’s face showed that he was not in the mood for wishful thinking.
“But I think we have to accept that Obersturmbannführer Cranz’s order that they be killed when and where found has been carried out. I’m very sorry, Colonel.”
Frogger nodded just perceptibly.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now we have to keep the same thing from happening to you,” Frade said, then turned to Delgano. “And we have to keep your ass out of a crack, Gonzo.”
“Where did you have the Froggers?” Delgano asked.
“On a small estancia, Casa Chica, not that far from here.”
“How could Cranz have heard about that?”
“I don’t know. But it has to be him and the Germans. The Argentines would have just taken them and returned them to the embassy.”
“Unless the Germans are somehow going to make it look as if you’re responsible, ” Delgano said. “That would solve a lot of problems for them.”
Frade looked at him as he considered that, then said, “The problem right now is to keep the colonel alive, and keep you out of trouble.”
He waved for Captain Sawyer to come over. Sergeant Ferris came with him.
“This is Colonel Frogger,” Frade said. Both saluted.
“Take him out on the estancia. Make him comfortable. He’s very important. I can’t tell you why, but we can’t have him captured by either the Argentines or the Germans. We might have to take off for Uruguay—or Brazil—in a hurry, so be prepared for that. If he goes, everybody goes. Get my airplane out of the hangar and make it ready to take off in a hurry.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Jorge Frade, where Gonzo and I will know nothing about any of this. I’ll see what I can find out. The truth is we’re going to have to play this by ear. The priority is to keep Colonel Frogger safe.”
[FOUR]
Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1305 12 August 1943
They used up most of the runway getting the SAA Lodestar off the ground, but they made it.
“Write this down, Gonzo,” Clete said as they were climbing out. “Don’t try to take off from Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo in one of these at max gross takeoff weight.”
Delgano didn’t reply.
Frade said: “What you’re going to do—what I hope you’re going to do, because I wouldn’t blame you if you went right to Colonel Martín—”
“I’m not going to do that. Did you really think I would?”
“Sorry. And thank you.” He was quiet in thought a moment, then went on: “Since I don’t think anybody saw us at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, maybe we can get away with acting as if we know nothing about what happened. We have just arrived from a very long flight from the States. I keep saying this, but keeping Frogger out of the hands of the Germans is the priority. He knows too much about the plot to take Hitler out.”
“There’s no way they can know we brought him with us,” Delgano said. “If . . . you for some reason can’t do it yourself, I’ll take your Lodestar and fly him anywhere you say.”
Frade looked at him. “That would be really putting your neck in the noose, you understand?”
“I understand.”
Frade nodded. “Okay. If that becomes necessary, take Captain Ashton and the others with you. They’ll—”
“Dorotea, too?”
Frade hesitated just perceptibly before saying, “Yeah, you’d better take her, too. She won’t want to go, thinking she can somehow help me if she stays. Tell her I’m already in Canoas.”
“I understand.”
Frade spent most of the just-over-one-hour-flight to Morón thinking of the worst possible scenarios for what was going to happen next. There were at least a half-dozen of them—and they were all frightening.
They called the Jorge Frade tower as soon as they could pick up the radio direction finder signal. They were then just inside the mouth of the River Plate, from there a thirty-minute flight to Morón. But they were not more than twenty minutes out when the tower responded.
Clete Frade had an insane thought as he turned on final and ordered Delgano to put the gear down.
If we crash on landing, a lot of problems would be solved.
And as soon as the Lodestar touched down, Clete saw that the problems were about to begin: In civilian clothing, El Coronel Alejandro Bernardo Martín—the Chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security—was in front of one of the hangars, leaning on the fender of a 1939 Dodge sedan.
“I was afraid of that,” Delgano said.
“Just remember: You know nothing.”
“And what if someone did see us at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo?”
Frade didn’t reply.
As the Lodestar taxied past the closest hangar toward the second one, where Martín waited, Frade saw something he absolutely didn’t expect to see: Sergeant Major Enrico Rodríguez, Cavalry, Retired. Enrico was sitting on the open tailgate of a 1941 Ford station wagon.
“Did you see what I saw, Gonzo?”
“Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem.”
“That’s known as pissing in the wind. But at least Enrico’s alive.”
Martín was waiting for them when they got out of the airplane.
“Well, I’m flattered to see you here, Colonel,” Frade said. “But Delgano and I really expected a brass band.”
Martín—not surprising Frade at all—did not seem amused.
“You look distressed,” Frade said. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Colonel Perón made it quite clear that he would prefer to explain the situation to you personally.”
“Well, I’m in no mood for him right now. It’s been a very long flight, and I want to go home. I just saw that Enrico has brought a station wagon—”
“Going home,” Martín interrupted, “will have to wait until you see Colonel Perón, I’m afraid, Señor Frade.”
“That sounds awfully official, Colonel. Almost as if I said, ‘I’m going home,’ you’d put handcuffs on me and throw me in the back of your car.”
“I hope it won’t come to that, Señor Frade.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Frade said disgustedly. “Well, let me tell Enrico what’s going on, then send him to my house in Buenos Aires.”