“The executive board approved the purchase, Juan Domingo,” Duarte offered. “I’m sure that you were sent a copy of the minutes of that meeting.”
“Presumably, these five new aircraft would solve the problem of not having enough aircraft?” Perón said.
Frade shook his head and said, “Having aircraft available is not the problem. What is a problem is that I can’t fly into Germany without clearance. You do know what’s going on over there, right?”
“You think it’s necessary for you to personally fly the relief mission?” Perón asked.
You don’t like that? Fuck you, Tío Juan!
“If an SAA aircraft is going to be flown into Germany, I’ll fly it.”
“You have a reason?” Perón pursued.
“Let’s say I want to protect my investment in SAA,” Clete said.
“Perhaps, with your contacts, your information about conditions in Germany is better than mine,” Perón said.
Does he know Dulles is here?
“Germany will be—probably already has been—divided into four zones,” Clete said. “Russian, English, French, and American. Berlin itself will be sort of an island in the Russian zone, and also divided into four zones. We would need permission from either Eisenhower’s headquarters or the French, whoever is controlling the airspace, to fly across France into Germany—as a matter of fact, it would probably be better to have permission from the Spaniards to fly across Spain into France—and I don’t know if we can get it.”
“Request has been made for whatever permissions are required from the appropriate ambassadors in Madrid and Paris,” Perón said regally. “I cannot imagine their denying it.”
Frade held his gaze a long moment, then said: “You get me the clearances and I’ll do it. I’ll be back from Mendoza tomorrow. Say, anytime twenty-four hours after that.”
“Why are you going to Mendoza?” Perón asked.
That’s none of your fucking business, Tío Juan!
“I have business there, Tío Juan.”
“You know, Cletus, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Major von Wachtstein was sitting in your airplane. That fellow looks just like him.”
No use trying to deny it.
“That’s Peter,” Clete said. “Now that he’s been released from his POW camp, he needed a job. SAA hired him.”
“That was unusually quick for him to be released from POW status, wasn’t it?”
“What I heard was that the Americans released him as soon as the surrender was signed. Sort of a reward for his contributions to the war effort.”
“Please give him my regards,” Perón said.
“I’ll do that.”
“I’ll tell President Farrell and Foreign Minister Ameghino that you see no problems with the relief flight.”
“None but getting the clearances,” Clete said.
“Thank you,” Perón said.
After another icy embrace, Perón marched into the passenger terminal.
Humberto then embraced Clete and looked into his eyes.
“Whatever you’re thinking of saying, don’t,” Clete said.
“You do have a very strange relationship with your godfather, don’t you?”
Clete laughed, then punched Duarte fondly on the arm.
As he turned to walk toward the Red Lodestar, he saw Dulles, Boltitz, and von Wachtstein at the foot of the stairs and starting toward him.
Damn it, Hansel! So much for keeping everyone on the aircraft.
[FOUR]
“Trouble?” Allen Dulles asked Clete when they’d stopped near the nose gear of the Red Lodestar.
“I don’t know exactly. It’s damn sure out of left field. The president and the foreign minister—with how much input from Perón, I don’t know—want me to take a Connie into Germany, presumably Berlin, ostensibly to take a replacement diplomatic crew in, and bring the diplomats that are there back here. And to take supplies of food, medicine, et cetera with me.”
“Interesting,” Dulles said.
“I thought so,” Clete said. “And it’s just what we don’t need—another diversion.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
Frade shrugged. “I guess I’m going to take a Connie into Germany.”
“Is that wise?”
“It looks like I don’t have much of a choice,” Clete said. And then he had another thought, and said it aloud: “But, yeah, I do think it’s wise. Maybe I can meet Colonel Gehlen, since we’re agreed that getting him and his people out still is our priority.”
“I’d like to go with Clete,” von Wachtstein suddenly said.
Dulles and Frade looked at him in surprise.
Peter explained: “I’d like to see that my father’s body, presuming I can find it, is taken to Schloss Wachtstein and buried with my mother and my brothers.”
Dulles said: “Peter, I appreciate your feelings, but—”
“I’d like to go, too,” Boltitz put in. “I want to see if I can find out what happened to my father.”
“And I can appreciate that, too,” Dulles said, “but—”
“Perhaps I also could learn something about the U-boots we’re interested in,” Boltitz argued.
“I’m not sure that any of you going over there is a good idea,” Dulles announced. “And there is a simple solution to the problem. When I get to Washington, I’ll call David Bruce—he’s with Eisenhower, wherever that might be—and tell him to tell Ike to have SHAEF deny SAA permission to enter occupied Germany.”
Frade grunted, then looked past Dulles and saw Enrico Rodríguez coming toward them, and the women milling on the tarmac near the foot of the stairs.
“What did that sound mean?” Dulles challenged.
Frade turned to look at him and said, “That policy didn’t last long, did it?”
“Excuse me?”
“I seem to recall you telling me that since I was out on a limb, I was free to do what I think should be done.”
Dulles studied Frade for a long moment.
“Touché, Colonel Frade,” he said finally. “I also recall saying I would take responsibility for any action of yours. So, what I’ll do when I get to Washington is call David Bruce, tell him I’m sending you over there, and tell him to do what he can for you.”
“Thank you,” Frade said.
“One final comment, Clete,” Dulles said. “Please consider that when General Donovan, as he so often does, refers to you as ‘our loose cannon,’ he’s unfortunately often right.”
“Ouch!” Frade said.
Dulles put out his hand. Clete took it, then ordered, “Enrico, see that Mr. Dulles gets on his plane.”
“Sí, Don Cletus.”
Dulles was barely out of earshot when von Wachtstein asked, “Was that a polite way of making it easier for you to tell Karl and me that we cannot go to Germany?”
“Probably, Hansel,” Clete said, “but the problem for you and Karl is not Dulles. It’s those two.” He nodded toward the back of the Lodestar, where Alicia von Wachtstein was sitting with Miss Beth Howell. “As far as I’m concerned, you guys need their permission, not Dulles’s.”
Clete knew that neither woman was going to be remotely thrilled to hear that the men they loved—and had just been reunited with—were about to leave them for war-torn Germany.
“I would suggest, Karl,” Clete said as they stood on the tarmac, “based on my long experience with a live-in woman, that you not broach the subject of you going to Germany with me until we’re on our way back from Mendoza. Unless you really meant that vow of celibacy you took.”