As he landed, he got a pretty good look at the house—the strip had been carved out of the hill below the house. It was more of a cottage than a house, with a red-tile roof and a large plate-glass window in the front. There was even a small swimming pool.
He hadn’t seen the Horch or a truck, which meant that Dorotea was already on her way back to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, if not already there.
He turned the Cub around at the end of the runway and shut it down. From the house, two gauchos came trotting down a wide stairway; the steps appeared to be railroad ties.
One was Sargento Rodolfo Gómez, Argentine Cavalry, Retired. The other was Staff Sergeant Siegfried Stein, Signal Corps, U.S. Army. Gómez cradled a Mauser hunting rifle in his arms. Clete thought it was most likely the rifle— once his father’s—that Gómez had used to take out Oberst Grüner and Standartenführer Goltz at Samborombón Bay. Stein had a Thompson submachine gun hanging from his shoulder, and the butt of a Model 1911-A1 Colt could be seen sticking out of his wide gaucho belt.
When Clete had climbed out of the Cub, Stein saluted not very crisply. Gómez looked at him, then saluted.
Clete casually returned the salutes. To show he appreciated the incongruity of the situation, he smiled and, as a colonel might do on the parade ground, barked, “Stand at ease, men!”
Stein grinned. “I’m a little surprised you could find this place.”
“I had an ACA road map,” Frade said. “How’s our guests?”
“Several answers to that,” Stein said. “Physically fine. They’re in the living room.”
“And the other answer?”
“She’s a real Nazi bitch, Major.”
“
“I have the feeling that if she could find some Gestapo guy, it would take her about ten seconds to denounce her husband.”
“Then why did she come?”
“Women change their minds, and, oh boy, has this one changed hers.”
“She say anything?”
“Only that she—meaning him, too—will deal only with an ‘officer of suitable rank.’ ”
“And she pegged you as a sergeant?”
“She pegged me as a Jew—maybe something about my accent—and she can’t believe a Jew would be an officer.” He smiled. “I heard her tell him to tell the ‘Jüdisch Gefreiter’ that she was hungry.”
“Well, let’s go see her. I’ll tell her that you’re actually a Jüdisch Oberst.”
“I don’t think that would work. I think you’re even going to have a hard time getting her to believe you’re a major.”
Frade didn’t reply directly; he had had another thought.
“Did you bring any gas with you?”
Stein nodded. “Four jerry cans from the hangar. I hope it’s avgas.”
“If you got it from the hangar, it is,” Frade said. “Enrico, gas it up. I want to get out of here while it’s still light.”
Frade looked at Stein, who waved him up the steps to the house.
Commercial Attaché and Frau Frogger were sitting side by side on a couch in the living room. The couch faced a large plate-glass window offering a view of the valley and the next range of hills.
Frade could imagine his father and Claudia sitting there—maybe Claudia had had her head in his father’s lap as he smoked a cigar and they shared a glass of wine watching the sunset.
He felt a wave of anger at the two Germans sitting on his father’s and Claudia’s couch.
Frogger, after a moment, stood. His wife clutched her briefcase-sized purse against her stomach and looked at Frade coldly.
“All right, Herr Frogger,” Frade said in German. “What have you got to offer me?”
“Who are you, please?” Frau Frogger demanded.
Frade ignored her.
“Well?” he pursued.
“I don’t really know what you mean,” Frogger said.
“We insist on dealing with an officer of appropriate rank,” Frau Frogger said.
“You are in no position to insist on anything,” Frade said. “Major, did you find anything interesting in their luggage?”
Staff Sergeant Stein accepted his promotion without question. He popped to attention and said, “No, sir. I thought I would wait until you got here, Colonel.”
“Where is it?”
“I put the bags in the housekeeper’s room, sir.”
Frade switched to Spanish and turned to Gómez. “Take the man to get their luggage,” he ordered.
“Let’s have a look at what she’s got in that purse,” Frade said in English, as much to see from her reaction whether or not she spoke English. He saw that she both spoke English and was very unhappy with the notion of having him see what her purse contained.
“Please empty the contents of your purse on the table,” he said in German, pointing.
“Nothing but personal items,” she said.
“Empty the purse on the table,” Frade said coldly.
“We have diplomatic immunity,” she protested. “This is an outrage.”
