“That, too, Major, sir, but the only electrical typewriter on the
“And you’re going to tell me what a Sigaba, whatever, is, right?”
“Last word in encryption/decryption machines. Not only is the encrypted stuff absolutely unbreakable, but it’s as fast as a horny sailor heading for a . . . uh . . . Sorry, Doña Dorotea.”
“Heading for a Christian Science Reading Room, right?” Dorotea said.
“I was thinking of an ice-cream parlor,” Schultz said.
“Who’s this guy they’re sending with it?” Frade asked.
“I’d bet he’s either a sergeant or a smart young lieutenant from the ASA. The SIGABA needs an expert to set it up and fix it.” He paused. “And also to guard it while it’s being moved. That’s a piece of really secret machinery.”
“What’s the ASA?”
“Army Security Agency. They handle this sort of thing for all the services.”
“Message Aggie that I’ll have the Banco de Inglaterra y Argentina wire the money first thing in the morning, and that I’ll be at Birdcage within seventy-two hours.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And now get out of here, before Delgano sees you.”
“What are you going to do about Delgano while you’re gone?” Dorotea asked. “If they think we have the Nazis, he’ll be all over the place.”
“I’m taking him to Brazil with me,” Clete said. “The minute he shows up here, the managing director of South American Airways is going to tell Chief Pilot Delgano to get us seats on the first Varig flight.”
VIII
[ONE]
Aboard Varig Flight 525 Above Durazno, Uruguay 1505 17 July 1943
“Yes, I would. Thank you very much,” Cletus Frade said in response to the stewardess’s question if he would like another glass of merlot.
“And me, too, if you please,” Gonzalo Delgano said, flashing his most dazzling smile at her.
And then he watched her walk forward in the cabin.
“I forgot about that,” Frade said. “But you really are going to enjoy that, aren’t you, Señor Jefe de Pilotos?”
“Forgot about what?”
“You get to pick the stewardesses.”
“Excuse me?”
“You ever see an American football game, Gonzo?”
“In the newsreels,” Delgano said, confused.
“All those enormous young men, rushing at each other, knocking each other down, getting their teeth knocked out, breaking their arms and legs?”
Delgano nodded.
“Ever wonder why they do it?”
“It is sort of brutal, isn’t it?”
“In the newsreels you saw, did they show the cheerleaders?”
“Excuse me?”
“The pretty young girls in short skirts bouncing around?” He raised his arms above his head in a punching motion. “ ‘Go Aggies! Go Aggies!’ They’re called ‘cheerleaders.’ ”
“Yes, now that you mention it. Very interesting.”
“That’s why they do it,” Clete said seriously.
“That’s why who does what?”
“The young men are so willing to have their arms broken and their teeth knocked out. The winning team gets their pick of the cheerleaders. If you score more than twelve points, you get two.”
Delgano looked at him in shock, then realized his chain had been pulled.
“Holy Mother of God, Cletus, for a moment I actually believed you.”
“Same thing with chief pilots,” Frade said. “If he doesn’t dump more than one airplane in six months, or forget to put the wheels down for the same period of time, he gets his pick of the stewardesses.”
Delgano shook his head in disbelief.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re a lunatic.”
The stewardess returned with their wine.
“My friend here tells me you can’t get to be a Varig stewardess unless you are forty years old or the mother of three or more children,” Frade said to her. “I told my friend that couldn’t possibly be true. Is it?”
“Do I look like I’m forty? Or have children?”
“That’s what I told him,” Frade said, nodding agreeably. “As I said, I didn’t believe it.”
“You will have to excuse him, señorita,” Delgano said, his face flushed with embarrassment. “He’s a
Frade pulled his Argentine passport from his suit jacket and held it out to the stewardess.
“Two glasses of wine and he gets like that. I wouldn’t give him any more, if I were you.”
The stewardess smiled brightly at Frade, gave Delgano a dirty look, and retreated down the aisle.
Delgano shook his head again.
“I’m glad I did that,” Clete said.
“You mean, made an ass of yourself?”
“A chief pilot is not permitted to lose his temper. You might want to write that down. No, what I meant was take my passport out.”
“I’m afraid to ask why.”
“Because it reminded me I’m an Argentine citizen.”
“You remembered! But what does that mean?”
“When we get to Pôrto Alegre, I think it would be best if you dealt with the local officials.”
“Now I’m really afraid to ask why.”
“Well, the last time I was here—when I picked up my Lodestar—I left under something less than ideal conditions.”
“Meaning what?”
“I now understand that the tower was ordering me to return immediately. But I don’t speak Portuguese, so I didn’t understand him, and kept going.”
“Holy Mother of Christ!”
