"They're signaling devices," Clete argued. "Flares. The submarine'll need more than that kind of light."
"The five-inch rifles have an illuminating round," Chief Schultz said.
"How does it work?" Tony asked.
"Time fuse. You set it. You fire the round. So many seconds later, a charge in the projectile detonates, shattering the shell casing. That releases the flare, which is on a parachute. I don't know if the timing fuse sets off the magnesium, or what."
"Can you take one of the rounds apart?" Tony asked. "Just get me the parachute and the magnesium flare?''
"I don't see why not," Chief Schultz said. "But you would need something to light the magnesium. You're thinking of throwing it out of the airplane?"
Tony nodded.
"You'd have to figure out some way to ignite the magnesium," Chief Schultz said. Some kind of a detonator. And it would be touchy. If a magnesium flare went off inside the airplane, you'd really be in the deep shit."
"I know about detonators," Tony said. "What I need to know is whether the temperature and duration of burn of the detonators I have would be enough to set off the magnesium. Or maybe I could somehow rig the Navy detonator, the one inside the shell ... or maybe set that off with one of my detonators."
"When I finish with Dave here," Chief Schultz said, "coming up with a list of what we need for the transmitter site, I'm going back aboard the Thomas. I could ask the Chief Ordnanceman."
"It would be better if Tony talked to him, Chief," Clete said. He looked at Enrico and switched to Spanish. "Without the clowns knowing of it, we'll either have to take el Teniente Pelosi onto and then off the American destroyer, or bring one of Chief Schultz's friends from the destroyer here and then back to the destroyer. Can you do that?"
S?, mi Teniente."
[FIVE]
Centro Naval
Avenida Florida y Avenida Cordoba
Buenos Aires
1415 26 December 1942
Clete had to impatiently circle the block twice before he found a place to park the Buick. As he was putting the roof up, he saw the car which had followed him from Avenida Libertador drive up on the sidewalk at the next intersection. A furious policeman stalked over to it, and didn't seem to be very appeased by the documents the driver showed him.
I wonder if they will follow me into the officers' club, or just hang around outside?
He walked quickly through the entrance of the Centro Naval, then took the wide marble stairs to the second-floor dining room two at a time.
Peter von Wachtstein, Alicia Carzino-Cormano, and Dorotea Mallin were at a table at the far side of the room. Peter rose and waved his hand when he saw Clete.
The Virgin Princess smiled at him. His heart jumped.
"Ah, Se?or Frade," von Wachtstein said. "We were growing concerned."
"Sorry to be late, mi Comandante. I had trouble finding a place to park."
"Cletus, we were worried," Dorotea said.
"Nothing to worry about, Princess."
"Princess?" Alicia Carzino-Cormano said. "How sweet!"
No longer the Virgin Princess, but still the Princess,Clete thought as he kissed Dorotea's extended cheek. He walked around the table, kissed Alicia's extended cheek, then sat down beside Dorotea. Her knee immediately found his.
"I took the liberty of ordering champagne," von Wachtstein said. "But perhaps you would prefer corn whiskey?"
"Champagne will be fine, mi Comandante," Clete said.
"I heard Americans prefer corn whiskey to everything else," Peter said.
"And I heard that Germans preferred peppermint schnapps to all else," Clete replied with an equally broad smile.
"You are, I hope, fully recovered from your injuries?" Peter asked. But before Clete could reply, a waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne in a cooler.
"I was not aware that Germans drink champagne in the middle of the day," Clete said. "I would have thought beer."
"Only fighter pilots," Peter said. "Bomber pilots and other lesser mortals drink beer. Or peppermint schnapps."
"Ah ha!"
"I have the feeling that you two are about to say something rude to each other that will ruin our lunch," Alicia said.
"You have no cause for concern, my dear Alicia," Peter said. "I am here under orders to be charming to Se?or Frade."
"Under orders, did you say, mi Comandante?" Clete asked.
"The orders of my superior, el Coronel Gr?ner, the Military Attache1, Se?or Frade."
"How extraordinary!" Clete replied as the waiter finished pouring the wine. "I can't imagine why he would do that, mi Comandante."
"I think he wants to make the point that we Germans had nothing to do with the unfortunate business at your home," Peter said.
Clete felt a shoe push against his. He moved his foot. A moment later he felt Dorotea's leg pressing against the back of his calf. He looked at her, then decided that he did not want to look at her.
"Apparently, your Colonel has not read Shakespeare, mi Comandante."
"Shakespeare?"
" 'Methinks thy Colonel dost protest too much,' " Clete quoted.
"There is another line, Se?or Frade," Peter said. "I don't know who wrote it, some Englishman probably. It had to do with the charge of the light brigade at Balaclava: 'Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to ride...' et cetera."
"I believe it ends, 'into the valley of death,' mi Comandante," Clete said.
"I don't like this conversation at all," Alicia said.
"Neither do I," the Princess said.
"This is a friendly conversation, with literary overtones, between friends. Isn't that right, Se?or Frade?"
"Absolutely, mi Comandante."
"If you're friends," the Princess said with surprising firmness, "then you should stop that ridiculous 'mi Comandante' and 'Se?or Frade' business."
"Princess, there is nothing that makes a brand-new comandante happier than to hear himself called 'Comandante,' " Clete said, laughing.
Alicia gave him a dirty look. Peter laughed.
"We have a saying in the Luftwaffe that there is nothing faster than a brand-new UnterfeldwebelI think you say 'Corporal' rushing to his first noncommissioned officers' meeting," Peter said. "But may I suggest we indulge the ladies? May I call you 'Cletus'?"
"You may call me 'Clete,' my friend. It's 'Hans-Peter,' right? Do I call you 'Hans' or 'Peter'?"
"Peter, if you please," von Wachtstein said.
"Tell me, Peter," Clete asked mischievously, "when you were a little boy, did they call you 'Hansel'?"
"Hansel?" the Princess asked.
"As in Hansel and Gretel," Clete explained. "The fairy tale."
"Oh, yes," the Princess said. "Of course."
"Yes, they did," Peter said. "My parents called me Hansel until... I guess until I went off to the university. And sometimes afterward."
There was something in his tone, something artificially bright, that made Clete look at him. And then he saw that his eyes were very thoughtful. Sadly thoughtful.
Well, what the hell. He's a long way from home, too, and it's the day after Christmas. And home for him is not somewhere safe like the States. We 're bombing hell out of Germany.
"Clete," Peter said, "before I forget it. I don't want to bore the ladies with business, but I need a service, a favor. Could I call on you?"