She sat at one end of the long table. As the guest of honor, Perón was seated at her right. Peter von Wachtstein was seated at the other end, apparently signifying his new role as the man of the house, separated from his mother-in-law by two candelabra and an enormous bowl of flowers.
Cranz was seated across from Perón, and von und zu Aschenburg was seated next to von Wachtstein, with Father Welner next to him, and Isabela next to him. Clete was near the middle of the table, beside Alicia von Wachtstein and across the table from his Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Humberto. Dorotea was next to Humberto, and Delgano sat beside her.
Clete was impressed with Claudia’s seating arrangements. They were designed, he decided, to provide an ambiance where polite conversation would be encouraged, and the opposite—verbal battles between, for example, himself and Isabela—be made difficult.
The only interesting thing Clete noticed during the course of dinner was that Cranz was really charming both Claudia and Perón and that both seemed to like it.
There’s something about that sonofabitch that bothers me.
After dinner, the gentlemen retired to the library for brandy and cigars. Over the fireplace hung a huge oil portrait of a tall, heavyset man in the full dress uniform of the Colonel Commanding the Húsares de Pueyrredón Cavalry Regiment.
“Would it be indiscreet of me to guess that’s the late Señor Carzino-Cormano? ” Cranz asked. “And what is that marvelous uniform?”
“That’s my father, Señor Cranz,” Clete said in German. “The late Oberst Jorge Guillermo Frade.”
“A fine-looking man,” Cranz said.
“What’s that phrase? ‘Tragically cut down in the prime of his life’?”
“In one of those interesting coincidences, Captain von und zu Aschenburg, ” Colonel Juan D. Perón said hurriedly and in Spanish, changing the direction of the conversation, “we were talking, just before you arrived, about airlines.”
“Really?”
“We just started one,” Perón said. “South American Airways.”
This was translated by von und zu Aschenburg for Cranz.
Cranz replied, “How interesting!”
Von und zu Aschenburg smiled, then made the translation of that for Cranz into Spanish: “Herr Cranz said he’s a bit surprised that aircraft would be available to start an airline.”
Clete smiled warmly at Cranz.
“Actually, that’s why I’m going to start an airline,” Frade said. “I found out that we—that’s my American half talking; I’m half American, half Argentine— that is to say, we North Americans have a bunch of brand-new Lockheed Lodestars that nobody wants and that South American Airways can buy cheap.”
That translation was made. Cranz smiled but did not reply.
“Forgive me for saying this, Señor Frade,” von und zu Aschenburg said, “but I would be just a little wary of airplanes that can be had cheaply because nobody wants them. Are you a pilot?”
“I’ve flown a little,” Clete said.
“What kind of airplanes?”
“Mostly Piper Cubs, planes like that—”
“Cletus, I just can’t let that pass,” Perón interrupted. He turned to von und zu Aschenburg. “The truth, Captain von und zu Aschenburg, is that before he was medically discharged from the American Corps of Marines, Cletus distinguished himself as a fighter pilot in the war in the Pacific. His late father”—he waved his arm dramatically at the oil portrait of the late Colonel Frade—“my best friend, may he rest in peace, was very, very proud of him.”
“You weren’t flying Piper Cubs in the Pacific, were you, Señor Frade?” von und zu Aschenburg asked.
“Actually, yeah. Sometimes I did. We used them like you use your Storch, for artillery spotting, things like that. Other times, I flew Grumman F4F Wildcats.”
“He was an ace,” Perón proclaimed. “And, in a situation the details of which I’m not at liberty to discuss, he recently applied his extraordinary flying skills and demonstrated his courage here in Argentina, the land of his birth. His father would be, as I am, very proud to say that he has earned the respect and admiration of many senior officials, including our president.”
As von und zu Aschenburg translated this for Cranz, Cranz looked between Frade and von Wachtstein.
Frade thought: I’m sure I’m right. The airline pilot is a good guy, and the diplomat a bad one. A bad one and a dangerous one. Why do I know that?
And thank you, Tío Juan Domingo, for that passionate little speech.
While I am tempted to blush, the bottom line is that you have told these guys, and one or the other of them—probably both—is going to pass it on to somebody in the German embassy that Don Cletus Frade has many friends in high places, and that should be taken into consideration the next time somebody suggests killing him would solve a lot of problems.
Cranz spoke to von und zu Aschenburg, who then translated: “Mr. Cranz . . . Karl . . . remains curious about the availability of transport aircraft for a civilian enterprise in . . . in the present conditions.”
“The present conditions” meaning the war, right?
Oh, I’ll love answering this one.
“From what I’ve been told,” Frade said, “what aircraft are available are those the Air Forces or our airlines don’t need. I don’t think there’s any DC-3s or -4s available, is what I mean. What is available are some Lockheed Lodestars nobody really has any need for. And our airlines don’t need them either. They’re pretty much settled on the DC-3. But the Lockheed’s fine for our purposes.”
Cranz said something else in German. Frade understood him to ask “How soon?” but waited before replying until von und zu Aschenburg had paraphrased what Cranz had said in Spanish. The delay was ostensibly for the benefit of the others, though it also allowed Frade to fully consider an appropriate answer.
Frade looked at Cranz and said: “Right away, as a matter of fact. El Señor Delgano and I will start looking for facilities in Mendoza and Uruguay in the next couple of days.”
“You already have the airplanes?” von und zu Aschenburg asked.
“No. But I have a Lodestar, which I will rent to Through and Around— excuse me, South American Airways—to get us started.”
Then he stood up.
“I have to be going,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Captain, and Mr. Creez, was it?”
“Cranz,” Cranz said carefully.
Frade shook hands with Father Welner and Delgano, then kissed Claudia, Perón, and Duarte, and then nodded at the Germans as he walked out of the library.
He stopped in the corridor outside the library.
“You have to understand, Herr Cranz,” he overheard Juan Domingo Perón say in German, “that he lost his father to a very cruel and unwise decision by one of your SS officers.”
“I had no idea,” Cranz said, mustering a tone that he hoped sounded like genuine surprise.
“I think the best way to deal with that subject,” Doña Alicia said, “which is painful to all of us, is not to discuss it.”
VI
[ONE]
Office of the Director Office of Strategic Services National Institutes of Health Building Washington, D.C. 0930 29 June 1943
“Why is it, Alex,” OSS Director William J. Donovan said, looking up from his desk to meet Colonel Alejandro Graham’s eyes, “that I suspect I’m not going to like that cat-who-has-just-swallowed-the-canary smile on your face?”
“Bill, you know that I always love to bring you proof that one of your orders has been carried out with alacrity.”
“Try telling that to your man Frade.”
“As a matter of fact, I have just heard from Major Frade.”
“And you’re smiling. So what’s the bad news?”