“One or the other,” Flowers said. “Probably both.”
Colonel, you’ve never heard of the Manhattan Project until just now, Clete thought, and was still—with difficulty—resisting the temptation to ask Colonel Flowers whether he thought the New Orleans Project—or maybe the Sioux Falls Project—was also going to affect the successful termination of the war against the Empire of Japan.
But then Flowers asked: “So, do you agree?”
What?
“With what?”
Flowers went on: “That it would be in the national interest for the OSS to be simply folded into Army Intelligence.”
“After the successful termination of the war against the Empire of Japan, you mean?”
The sarcasm again sailed right over Flowers’s head.
“Then or now,” Flowers replied. “Would you agree that the OSS should be folded into Army Intelligence? Surely, you’ve thought about that.”
“Not until just now. You’re sure, Colonel, that the OSS is about to be—what?—dissolved?”
“Well, Frade. I got that, I told you, directly from the ACofS G-2. And he would certainly know, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Did the ACofS G-2 say why they’re going to abolish the OSS?”
It took Flowers a moment to come up with a reply, but finally he said, “Because it will not be needed.”
“Then why fold it into Army Intelligence?” Frade asked innocently.
Flowers started to reply—his mouth was actually open—and then he had an epiphany and it caused him to lose his temper.
“You arrogant sonofabitch!” Flowers blurted, spittle flying from his lips. “If you think you can make a fool of me, you’ve got another think coming!”
“Did I say something that offended you, Colonel?”
“You knew all about this, didn’t you? And don’t lie to me, Frade. Colonel Donovan told you, didn’t he?”
“Told me what?”
“That the OSS is to be dissolved.”
Frade held up his right hand, pinkie and thumb touching, three fingers extended.
“Boy Scout’s Honor, I have never discussed this with Wild Bill.”
Flowers glared at him, his face flushed with anger.
Frade went on: “And with respect, sir. It’s not Colonel Donovan. It’s General Donovan. Wild Bill’s a major general now. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
Flowers was red-faced, and Frade could see steam coming out of his ears again.
“You ever hear, Frade, that he who laughs last laughs best? I’m going to have your ass sooner or later. Count on it!”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell General Donovan you said that, when I tell him you told me the ACofS G-2 told you that the OSS is going to be dissolved and that you and he are agreed that it should be folded into Army Intelligence.” Frade paused, then gave in to temptation: “With the help of the Los Angeles Project, and maybe even the New Orleans Project.”
Flowers took a moment to take control of himself.
“The war is about over, Colonel Frade. We’ll all eventually go home. But when you get off the ship, or the airplane, or whatever returns you to the Zone of the Interior, you will be in handcuffs, on your way to a general court-martial and the Army prison at Fort Leavenworth!”
“Maybe I can get General Donovan to represent me at the court-martial. I understand he’s a pretty good lawyer.”
Flowers wordlessly turned and marched out of the office, slamming the door after him.
Frade was still looking thoughtfully at the door—I don’t think pissing him off was the smart thing to do—when Enrico came through it.
“The diplomats are arriving, mi coronel.”
“Whatever happened to ‘Don Cletus,’ Enrico?”
“The diplomats are arriving, Don Cletus, mi coronel.”
“Now, in German. If you don’t get it right, you can’t go.”
Enrico got it right.
“Well, I guess you get to go.”
“Danke, Herr Oberst.”
[TWO]
General Martín, Chief Pilot Delgano, and Master Sergeant Stein were all at the Executive Suite windows with Leica C-II 35mm cameras and snapping pictures of the diplomats climbing the stairs to the Ciudad de Rosario.
“Anybody interesting?” Clete asked as he looked down at the tarmac.
“One man,” Martín said. “Rodolfo Nulder.”
“Who is he?” Frade asked.
“He was at the military academy with el Coronel and el Coronel Perón, and later at the Kriegsschule with your father,” Enrico announced, and matter-of-factly added: “Then he was cashiered for being a pervert and a liar.”
“What was that all about?” Clete asked.
“Young girls on the estancia,” Enrico said.
“Your father told el Coronel Perón that he never wanted to hear the name Rodolfo Nulder spoken again, and told el Coronel Perón that if Nulder ever put foot on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo again he would kill him.”
“Bernardo?” Frade asked.
“I think Rodríguez summed it up pretty well,” Martín said dryly.
Frade thought: Wonder what my father thought of Tío Juan’s taste for young girls?
Would he have approved of me calling my godfather a degenerate sonofabitch and then throwing him out of Uncle Willy’s—my—house?
Martín added: “El Señor Nulder is now the director of security at the Secretariat of Labor and Retirement Plans.”
“And this lying pervert is going to Germany with the diplomats why?” Frade said.
Martín shrugged. “I have no idea, but that may be why they were so late getting here. They didn’t want anyone to see Nulder getting on the airplane, so they waited until it was dark.”
“And you have no idea why this sterling character is going to Germany?” Frade pursued.
Martín shook his head. “Not long ago, over drinks at the officers’ casino at Campo de Mayo, I had a chat with el Coronel Sánchez of General Ramírez’s staff. He just happened to mention that he’d had a conversation with el General in which el General mentioned that with so much on my plate, he was sure I was wasting my time and assets on investigating things at the Secretariat of Labor and Retirement Plans. ‘Perón and his people are perfectly able to take care of that sort of thing themselves.’”
“You were told to back off?” Clete asked more than a little incredulously.
Martín repeated: “I was told that it was General Ramírez who had mentioned he hoped I wasn’t wasting my time and assets on the Secretariat of Labor and Retirement Plans.”
“You never happened to mention that to me.”
Martín smiled. “I like you, Cletus. And I love my wife. But there are some things I never mention to either one of you.”
“Taking pictures of this guy is backing off?” Clete said.
“Don Cletus Frade, master of the indelicate observation,” Martín said with a smile.
“And I don’t suppose you would be heartbroken if we kept an eye on him for you while we’re over there, would you?”
“You know I’m always interested in anything you have to tell me.”
“If this guy went to the Kriegsschule with my father . . .”
“He probably knows a good number of senior German officers,” Martín finished for him. “Some of whom might wish to come here now that their services are no longer required.”
“So this whole thing is an excuse to bring a planeload of Nazis here?” Clete wondered aloud.
“Another planeload of Nazis, you mean?” Martín asked.