“Blows up?” Stein said.
“Just before we came out here, I told Chief—sorry—Lieutenant Schultz to rig thermite grenades on the radar, the radios, and the new code machine Fischer brought down here with him. His orders are that the moment he hears the Argentines have come onto the estancia to arrest me, he’s to torch everything and try to find some place on the estancia for everybody to hide until something can be done to get everybody out of Argentina, probably to Uruguay.”
“Jesus!”
“You’re stuck here with the Froggers.”
“You’re sure this is going to happen?” Stein said.
“I’m not, and neither is Schultz,” Dorotea said.
Frade glanced at her, then looked back to Stein.
“I’ll tell you what I told my wife and Schultz: I can’t afford to be an optimist.”
Stein shrugged in understanding.
“So I’ll take it from the top, Siggy. You can decide for yourself whether I’m right.”
Stein nodded.
Frade began: “When we—Delgano and I—went to Pôrto Alegre to pick up the Lodestar, the radios, the SIGABA, and Fischer, there was a man waiting for me . . .”
“So you came here to take Grandma’s picture,” Stein said after Frade was finished. “Because you think it’s important to this Mr. Dulles?”
It was more of a statement than a question.
Frade nodded. “And because I thought I might be able to salvage at least the pictures of her for him from the smoldering ruins of our operation.”
“You don’t know that, Cletus!” Dorotea said, and when he looked to her, she repeated, “ ‘The smoldering ruins.’ ”
“Baby, you don’t know how much I hope you’re right and I’m wrong, but I can’t go with crossed fingers and wishful thinking.”
“For the sake of argument, Clete,” Stein said, “say you’re right. What do I do with the Froggers if I hear they’ve arrested you?”
“They know too much, Siggy,” Frade said.
“I was afraid of that,” Stein said. He shrugged. “What the hell.”
“You can have Enrico do it, or Gómez, if it comes to that,” Clete said.
“If it comes to that, I’ll do it,” Stein said. He looked at Fischer. “What are a couple of nice Jewish boys like us doing here, doing things like this?”
Fischer raised his eyebrows in an expression that said Hell if I know.
Frade went on: “We’ll spend the night here, and leave for the estancia at first light. Gauchos will meet us as soon as we come onto the estancia. If—and I don’t think this is likely to happen—they say the cops or whatever haven’t come yet, then I’ll fire up the Lodestar and fly Fischer to Uruguay. That will at least get him and one roll of the film out of here.”
“And if you’re right,” Dorotea said, “and the police or whatever are looking for you, then what?”
“Then you will drive to the house—taking one of the rolls of film with you; which you will somehow manage to get to the embassy—and tell the cops you have no idea where your crazy husband is. Enrico will go with you. Fischer and I will get on horses and ride off into the sunset and hope we can hide until I figure out how to get him and me and everybody else out of the country.”
“I’ve never been on a horse,” Fischer said.
“Then that should be interesting,” Frade said.
“Well, let’s go take the goddamn pictures,” Stein said.
“New problem,” Frade said. “It’s dark. You can’t take pictures in the dark, can you? Maybe we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning.”
“That depends on the camera,” Stein said.
Dorothy took the camera from her purse and handed it to him.
"My God,” Stein said. “A Leica I-C. Looks brand-new.”
“Is it a good camera?” Frade said. “More to the point, can we take pictures with it tonight?”
“Is it a good camera? Yeah. About as good as they come. You have film?”
Dorotea handed him four film cassettes, which he examined quickly.
“Jesus, this is hard to come by, too. ASA 200. Very fast. No problem with this. We just take the shades off the lamp.”
“You know about photography, Siggy?”
“My father’s in the camera business—motion and still—in Los Angeles.”
They watched as he loaded film into the camera with a practiced skill.
“Okay, let’s go,” Stein said when he’d finished.
Frau Frogger was sitting stiffly in a wooden chair, her hands folded in her lap.
Fischer and Stein were rearranging the light fixtures in the room to Stein’s satisfaction.
“Just her, or the librarian, too?” Stein asked when they finished with the lighting.
“How many pictures can you take?”
“These are thirty-six-exposure rolls; there’s two of them.”
“Priority one is her with Fischer and La Nación,” Frade said. “When you’re sure you have her, then we can take more with him. And what the hell, with me, too.”
“I protest,” Frau Frogger said in Spanish, then repeated it in German.
“One more word out of you, señora,” Dorotea said coldly, “and we will take photographs of you without clothing.”
Frau Frogger snorted.
Dorotea slapped her face very hard.
“Hey!” Clete protested without thinking.
“You tell me that I can, Cletus, and when we finish taking her picture, I’ll take her out onto the pampas myself.”
Frade’s first reaction, of course, was surprise that Dorotea had slapped the woman. That was really out of character for Dorotea.
His second reaction was husbandly pride.
God, what a wife! She understands we have to keep this woman afraid, and is doing whatever is necessary to do it.
His third reaction, somewhat slow in coming, was far less pleasant.
Jesus Christ! That was no act. She slapped that woman with hate!
Confirmation of this came from the looks on the faces of Fischer and Stein and Enrico. Stein and Fischer had seen what Frade had seen—and were shocked and repelled. Enrico’s face showed approval.
Did she mean what she said about taking them out herself and killing them?
Of course not.
You’re pissing in the wind, Cletus.
The no-longer Virgin Princess, the angel walking the earth carrying your child, meant every word of what she said!
Confirmation of this came from the terrified faces of the Froggers.
Jesus H. Christ!
Then another thought he had heard somewhere—and had promptly dismissed as probably bullshit—now popped into his mind: The female of the species is always the more deadly.
I will be goddamned!
Well, you’re a Marine officer. You know the tactic to be applied here. When you’ve broken through the enemy’s defenses, don’t stop, continue the attack!
“Fischer, stand her up, hand Grandma La Nación, and smile for the birdie.”
Don Cletus Frade did not discuss with Doña Dorotea Mallín de Frade what had happened, not even after he had had more than his fair share of several bottles of merlot.
The reason was simple. He didn’t know what to say.
And he had thoughts later, after they had retired and shared conjugal relations, that he knew he didn’t dare share with his wife.
From their very first coupling, Dorotea—and she then really had been the Virgin Princess—had always been an enthusiastic partner.
But tonight was different!
Not a complaint, certainly, but tonight she really wanted to mate, and her response was nothing like any previous responses.
She literally couldn’t get enough.
And it had nothing to do with her being pregnant.