Death and Honor полностью

I now have Tío Juan’s and Martín’s fascinated attention.

Where is Fischer getting this bullshit?

“Which would normally be transmitted, over and over, by a radio operator sitting at a desk and tapping his key.”

Frade translated.

Fischer said, “Dit dit dit dot dit dot dot dit dit.”

Tío Juan and Martín signaled that that required no translation by nodding their understanding.

“He would do this, over and over, for an hour. Or even longer,” Fischer said.

Frade translated.

“But with the Model SIGABA here,” Fischer said, patting the device much as if it were a beloved family puppy, “all we have to do is type the message once.”

He mimed typing.

Frade translated.

“And the SIGABA produces a perforated tape, like this.”

He held up a three-foot-long strip of brown paper tape and handed it to Frade.

Frade translated as they examined it. He saw that it was perforated along its length with small holes. Over each grouping of holes was a letter. In this case, it spelled out PLAY IT AGAIN SAM.

He handed the tape to Martín, who examined it. Tío Juan moved in for a closer look, took the tape from Martín, then looked at Fischer for a further explanation.

“Then all we have to do is feed the tape back into a Model 7.2 transceiver,” Fischer went on, “and throw a switch, and the Model 7.2 will broadcast the message on the tape over and over, perfectly, until it is turned off.”

Frade translated.

“Very clever,” Martín said.

“Brilliant!” Tío Juan said enthusiastically.

“When we have it set up, I’ll be happy to demonstrate it,” Fischer said.

Frade translated.

“I’d like to see that,” Tío Juan said.

“Well, as soon as we get it set up, Tío Juan, at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, I’ll arrange a demonstration for you and El Coronel Martín.”

“Please,” Perón said.

“Captain Delgano,” Frade said, “would you be good enough to show these gentlemen around Zero Zero One?”

“It would be my honor, Don Cletus.”

“Jesus, Fischer,” Frade said when the others were inside the Lodestar, “where did all that tape repeater yarn come from?”

“I spent most of the trip down here wondering what I was going to do if somebody asked me what the SIGABA was. I didn’t want to have to pull the D-ring.”

“What D-ring?”

“The one that sets off the thermite grenades. There’s two of them in the crate, in boxes labeled ‘Perforatable Tape.’ ”

IX

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1730 19 July 1943

Second Lieutenant Leonard Fischer, Signal Corps, U.S. Army, looked with interest as a native Argentine cowboy—called a gaucho, he had learned from a magazine photo essay—pushed himself off the tailgate of a Ford Model A pickup and walked toward the Horch that had carried them from the airfield to what Major Frade had described as “my farm.”

The gaucho looks just like the ones in the pictures in National Geographic: He’s got the wide leather belt decorated with silver, the big knife slipped in the belt at the back, the billowing breeches tucked into leather boots—everything.

But what’s a gaucho doing here? This place looks more like the campus of a boarding school for rich kids than a farm.

And take a look at that! Jesus, that’s a good-looking dame!

I thought all these people would look like Chiquita Banana—dark skin, black hair, a whatchamacallit tied over their heads—not a long-haired blonde in a blouse and a horse riding skirt.

The blonde kissed Major Frade in a manner that was both respectable and interesting, then put her hand out to Fischer.

“Welcome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo,” she said. “I’m Dorotea Frade.”

“Thank you. My name is Fischer.”

Frade said, “Second Lieutenant Leonard Fischer, Signal Corps, this is my communications officer, Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USN. And that is the last time we will use our ranks.”

Both Fischer and Schultz had personal thoughts before they shook hands.

Fischer wondered, Frade’s not talking about the gaucho—is he?

Schultz thought, This kid is supposed to be expert on the Collins Model 7.2 transceivers and the SIGABA?

“How do you do, sir?” Fischer said politely.

“And kill the ‘sir’ business, too,” Frade added.

“What do you say, Fischer?” Schultz said.

“What do I call you?”

“We call him El Jefe,” Dorotea said. “It means ‘the chief.’ ”

Fischer nodded his agreement.