“You’re way ahead of me, aren’t you, you clever bastard?” he said icily. “You know that if Donovan himself walked in right now, the chances of you being court-martialed—which you richly deserve—are damned slim. You know too much. And the same applies to me.”
“I wouldn’t have come here if that light bird at Fort Hunt hadn’t sent the MPs with me. I had no intention of involving you in this at all.”
“And what did you think was going to happen when you got away with it? If you got away with it?”
“I’m going to drop off my resignation from the Corps at the embassy in Buenos Aires the day I get back. Then I’m going to disappear in Argentina. I saw Mr. Dulles in Lisbon. He said I’m going to have to decide what to do, and what I’ve decided is to disappear. I’m getting pretty good about helping other people disappear there.”
“You can’t just resign from the Corps, you goddamned fool! You’ll get out of the Corps only when the Corps permits you to get out of the Corps!”
Frade stared at Graham and thought, I wondered about that. He’s probably right—if I wasn’t also an Argentine citizen.
Graham picked up one of the telephones on his desk and dialed a single number.
“Security chief, please,” he said, then looked at Frade and added, “Sit there, Colonel, and don’t say one goddamn word.”
Well, Frade thought, I tried.
At least I didn’t tell Beth I was going to get Karl.
“This is Graham. There are two MP vehicles from Fort Hunt in front of the building. Go out there and find whoever’s in charge and bring him up here.”
He hung up the phone.
He turned to Frade and said, “Continue to sit there with your mouth shut, Colonel. I have no interest in hearing anything you might be tempted to say.”
He waited ten seconds, then said, “The proper Marine officer’s response to that, Colonel, is ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ And for the moment at least, you are still a serving officer in the Corps.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
An MP captain, this one festooned with all the proper MP accoutrements, came into the office three minutes later. He saluted.
“Captain,” Graham said, almost cordially, “I’ll see to it that the prisoners get back to Fort Hunt. I can see no need for you to wait around here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all, Captain,” Graham said. “You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain left and closed the door.
“That’s all, Colonel Frade,” Graham said. “You are dismissed.”
Clete stood, and, remembering what Graham had said about Naval custom proscribing the exchange of hand salutes indoors unless under arms, didn’t.
He met Graham’s eyes for a moment, then marched toward the door.
“Clete,” Graham called.
Frade turned.
“You were right, Clete. Wild Bill will throw one of his famous Irish fits when he hears about this, but that’ll be the end of it. We both know too much, and he is fully aware that we do.”
“I hope that’s the case, sir.”
“Please present my compliments to Kapitän Boltitz and Major von Wachtstein. And my best regards to Doña Dorotea.”
“I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”
“Maybe we’ll see one another one day. Strange things happen in this business we’re in. Belay that. Were in.”
“Were in, sir?”
“The reason Donovan’s parking spot was so conveniently open for you is that he’s over in the Pentagon begging General Marshall not to shut down the OSS this afternoon.”
“But if they shut down the OSS right now, what about . . .”
“All the ongoing projects? Several of which you’re running?”
“Yes, sir.”
“God only knows, Colonel Frade. Have a nice flight. Vaya con Dios.”
[SIX]
Washington National Airport Arlington, Virginia 1705 10 May 1945
The public address loudspeakers of South American Airways Constellation Ciudad de Córdoba blared in the passenger compartment: “Passenger von Wachtstein to the cockpit. Passenger von Wachtstein to the cockpit.”
Hans-Peter Baron von Wachtstein made his way up the aisle and entered the cockpit.
“Sit there, Hansel,” Frade said in German, pointing to a jump seat. “Don’t touch anything, and pay attention. You might learn something.”
Von Wachtstein sat down and strapped in.
“National,” Frade said in English into his microphone, “South American Double Zero Two rolling.”
Frade advanced the throttles to takeoff power.
“Gear up and locked. Flaps to zero,” Chief Pilot Gonzalo Delgano reported a few minutes later.
Frade pointed out the window, and von Wachstein looked, then nodded. They were passing over the White House.
Then Frade looked at von Wachtstein and said, “This ends your flight-deck familiarization of the Connie for now.”
As Peter unbuckled his harness, Clete gestured with his thumb toward the passenger compartment.
“Karl and Beth . . .”
“What about them?” von Wachtstein said.
“Go back there, Hansel, and throw ice water on Romeo and Juliet before they embarrass my aunt Martha and everybody else with a shameless exhibition of their mutual lust.”
“Ah,” von Wachtstein said. “Too late.”
II
[ONE]
Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1235 11 May 1945
Washington, D.C., was a long way—just over five thousand miles—from Buenos Aires. It had been necessary for South American Airways Double Zero Two Ciudad de Córdoba to refuel at Belém, Brazil, after a nine-hour flight from Washington. Refueling had taken two hours. Then it had been a just-over-eight-hour flight to Buenos Aires.
The Ciudad de Córdoba completed its landing roll and turned off the runway onto a taxiway. A tug—it had been surprisingly easy to convert John Deere tractors, ones fitted with enormous double tires for use in rice fields, into aircraft tugs powerful enough to move Constellations—painted in SAA’s powder blue and gold color scheme came down the taxiway toward the Constellation.
The Connie stopped, then shut down its engines as the ground crew backed up the tug to it and connected to the front landing gear.
The tug dragged the airplane to the tarmac, past three enormous hangars, and then pushed the Connie, tail first, into the center hangar.
“It would seem, Gonzalo,” the pilot said solemnly to his first officer, “that we have once again cheated death.”
“Cletus, you know damned well I don’t like it when you say that,” Delgano said as he unfastened his harness, stretched in his seat, and then stood.
“Well, you may be happy with near-empty tanks—maybe ten minutes left—but I’m always concerned.”
Delgano snapped his head around to examine the fuel gauges.
They showed there was considerably more fuel remaining than ten minutes.
“Gotcha!” Frade cried happily.
Delgano shook his head and left the cockpit.
Frade looked out the window. The Connie was the only airplane in the hangar, but there were a number of automobiles, most of them large and chauffeur-driven.