Frade waved cheerfully out the window to Perón and Martín as Delgano taxied the Lodestar up to the hangar South American Airways had rented until the hangars—and the runways—being built in Morón were completed.
Frade was first out the door.
“Where’s the brass band?” he called as he walked to Perón and Martín. “You two are all we get? No crescendo of trumpets, no roll of drums?”
The intended humor failed. Both Martín and Perón looked confused.
He kissed Tío Juan, then
“A pleasant flight, Cletus?” Perón asked.
Delgano answered for him.
“Two hours and sixteen minutes from Pôrto Alegre, mi coronel,” he proclaimed. “At an average speed of three hundred forty!”
“That fast? You were trying to set a record?”
“No, actually, we didn’t try to do anything but get here safely,” Frade said.
“It is a beautiful machine,” Perón said.
“Would you like to see the inside, mi coronel?” Delgano said.
“I would, thank you,” Martín said.
Len Fischer came down the stairs.
“This is Mr. Fischer, of the Collins Radio Corporation,” Frade said. “He’s here to set up our base station radios.”
Perón smiled politely. Martín didn’t seem to be surprised to see him.
“We might as well unload them, Fischer,” Frade said. “They’ll have to pass through customs.”
Two customs officers were standing not far away.
“I’d like to see those myself,” Martín said.
“Can we get some help?” Frade asked.
Tío Juan snapped his fingers, and the older of the customs officers quickly walked to him.
“Be so good as to help this gentleman remove some cargo,” Perón said.
Two minutes later, six large wooden crates and a smaller one sat on the tarmac.
The crates had latches. Opening the first of the large ones was simple and quick.
“And there’s five more,” Fischer said, pointing at the others.
“What’s that?” Martín inquired politely, pointing at the smaller crate.
“What is that, Mr. Fischer?” Frade asked in English.
“That’s the tape repeater, Mr. Frade,” Fischer replied in English.
Frade made the translation.
“What does it do?” El Teniente Coronel Martín asked in Spanish.
“The colonel would like to know what it does,” Frade said.
“I’ll show you,” Fischer said. “You’ll have to translate.”
“Okay,” Frade said, and switched to Spanish. “He’s going to show you, and I will translate.”
“It works with the communications transceivers, in the larger crates,” Fischer said, “in the radio-direction-finder function.”
Frade made the translation as Fischer took from the crate what looked very much like a typewriter mounted to a metal box.
“The crew of the aircraft, when they are some distance from the field,” Fischer explained, “listen for a Morse code signal being transmitted by the transceiver. ”
Frade made the translation.
“They can then head for the source of that signal,” Fischer went on. “Radio propagation is sometimes directional.”
Frade translated.
“But of course they have to be listening to the right signal, which means it has to be identified,” Fischer went on. “That means sending a message. Now, supposing the airfield here is looking for South American Airways Zero Zero One”—he gestured—“this aircraft.”
Frade translated.
“In that case, the message would be ‘South American Airways Zero Zero One.’ ”
Frade translated.
