“Take at least a half-dozen shots, then change film and take another half-dozen. When you’ve done that, have the film developed. You have someplace where that can be done discreetly, I suppose?”
“I’m sure I can find one.”
“Then give one set of the negatives to Len, who will bring them to the United States when he returns. The other set is to be given to Commander Delojo at the embassy with instructions to send them in the diplomatic pouch, eyes-only Colonel Graham.”
“If I gave a roll of film to that sonofabitch, there would be prints at the Office of Naval Intelligence before Graham got the negatives. Didn’t Graham tell you about him?”
“Colonel Graham said that you weren’t especially fond of Delojo.”
“Delojo doesn’t know I have the Froggers. And I don’t want him to know. If Graham wants the ONI to have copies of these pictures—and learn I have the Froggers—I guess I can’t stop him. But I’m not giving Delojo any pictures. And what the hell are they for, anyway?”
“I have a feeling that the Froggers may be of some genuine use to us in several areas. I haven’t given it a good deal of thought so far, beyond thinking it would be very interesting if someone called on Oberstleutnant Frogger at Camp Clinton and showed him the photograph of his parents.”
“You’re sure he’s there?”
Dulles nodded.
“I sent a message last night, after we met. I got the confirmation just before we came here. He’s fully recovered from his wounds, and is regarded as a Class III, which I found interesting.”
“What’s a Class III?”
“I have no idea. I presume Colonel Graham thought I knew. I don’t. I sent a message asking for an explanation, but there’s been no answer, and now there’s no time for one.”
“Why not?”
“Because my plane leaves in about an hour, and I want to go to the base store—what do they call it?”
“The PX?” Fischer furnished.
“Close, but not correct. The Air Forces calls their stores something else. In any event, I need toothbrushes and toothpaste and hair tonic.” He stood up and put out his hand. “So, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure meeting both of you. And we’ll be in touch, of course.”
And when they had shaken hands, Dulles walked out of the room.
[FOUR]
El Palomar Airfield Campo de Mayo Military Base Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1115 19 July 1943
“El Palomar, South American Airways Zero Zero One,” South American Airways Chief Pilot Gonzalo Delgano said into his microphone.
His co-pilot, Señor Cletus Frade, restrained a smile.
“South American Zero Zero One, Palomar.”
“Palomar, South American Zero Zero One is at two thousand meters, twenty-five kilometers from your station, indicating three hundred forty kph.”
“Zero Zero One, Palomar. What is your airspeed?”
“Palomar, I repeat. Indicated airspeed is three four zero kilometers per hour. I repeat, three four zero kilometers per hour. Request approach and landing instructions. ”
“Gear is down and locked, Captain,” co-pilot Frade reported. “You have twenty-degrees of flap. We are indicating one hundred twenty-five kph.”
“That was a very fine landing, Captain,” the co-pilot said. “If I may be permitted to say so. What we call a greaser.”
“Actually, for an aircraft of this size, it’s not at all that hard to fly, is it, Cletus?”
“It’s not an easy one to fly, Gonzalo,” Frade said seriously.
Captain Delgano beamed.
Frade’s good feeling disappeared sixty seconds later when he looked out the cockpit window and saw the welcoming party waiting for them. It included— in addition to Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodríguez, Retired, the Horch, and a Ford ton-and-a-half stake-bodied truck with ESTANCIA SAN PEDRO Y SAN PABLO painted on the doors—two Argentine officers, El Coronel Juan D. Perón and El Teniente Coronel Alejandro Martín.
