“Oh, Jesus!” Frade said.
“What pictures?” Dorotea asked. “What Nazis? Who’s Mr. Dulles?”
“I had the feeling he thought that was pretty important,” Fischer said.
“Yeah, so did I, God damn it,” Clete said.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, please?” Dorotea asked.
He looked at her, then suddenly turned and walked toward the hangar door.
“What are you doing?” she called after him. “Where are you going?”
When Clete left the hangar, Dorotea started after him.
Chief Schultz caught her arm. She looked at him in surprise.
“Sometimes, when you have to make a decision, it’s better if you’re alone,” Schultz said. “And he has to make the decisions here by himself.”
She continued looking at Schultz for a long moment, then nodded her understanding.
She turned to Fischer.
“The Nazis you were asking about? Did you mean the Froggers?”
“That’s the name—I think—he used. Mr. Dulles—”
“And who is Mr. Dulles?”
“I don’t really know. I mean, he’s OSS. I know that. But he’s more than that. He’s somebody important.”
“How do you know that?” Schultz asked.
“Well, when we landed at Pôrto Alegre, he was there with the commanding general, an Air Forces brigadier named Wallace. They met the plane, I mean. And Mr. Dulles shakes my hand and says, ‘What brings you to Pôrto Alegre, Lieutenant?’ and I say, ‘I’m looking for a man named Frade,’ and the general says, ‘That makes two of us.’
“The way he said it made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to hang a Hawaiian lei around this Major Frade’s neck. So Mr. Dulles says, ‘You think you know Major Frade, do you, General?’
“And General Wallace says—I don’t remember exactly, but something like— ‘Yes, I do. The last time he was here he took off without permission, defied my orders to return to the field, and got me in all sorts of difficulties with the Brazilian authorities. I’ve really been hoping to see that young man again, and soon.’
“And then Mr. Dulles says, very soft, ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, General. You have never seen Señor Frade before.’
“And the general says, ‘Oh, yes, I have. And I look forward to taking that young man down a peg or two.’
“And Mr. Dulles says, ‘General, I’m afraid you’re not listening. I just told you that you never before saw the Señor Frade who’s coming here to pick up the Lodestar aircraft. You won’t recognize him today or at any other time he might be back here. Is that clear, or is it going to be necessary for me to call General Arnold and have him tell you that personally?’ ”
“Who’s General Arnold?” Dorotea asked.
“ ‘Hap’ Arnold, commanding general of the Army Air Forces,” Schultz furnished. “The
“Yeah,” Fischer went on. “So this General Wallace looks like he’s going to sh
“And Mr. Dulles says, ‘Thank you.’
“And then—later, not when the general was there—he told Major Frade that I had been given a Lindbergh clearance, and that I was going to find out who Galahad is . . .”
“Jesus!” Schultz said.
“. . . because I’ll be handling all the traffic from here when I get back to Vint Hill Farms.”
“That makes sense,” Schultz said. “We can’t have everybody at Vint Hill doing the decryption.”
“What about the Froggers?” Dorotea asked. “Did he know about them, too?”
“I guess Major Frade told him, because just before he left, he gave him a German camera—something with an
“Leica?” Dorotea offered.
Fischer nodded. “And told him to take pictures of me with these people. Holding a copy of that day’s newspaper.”
“To do what with?” Schultz asked.
Fischer shrugged. “All I know is that I’m going to take the film with me when I go to the States. Mr. Dulles wanted to send a second copy through some Navy officer in our embassy—Delojo?—but Major Frade said he didn’t trust him—”
“What
Everyone turned to see Frade coming back inside the hangar.
“Sorry,” Fischer said as he noticed the pronounced change in Frade’s body language.
“I’m going to tell it like it is, Fischer,” Frade said with some force. “If my stupidity blows this operation—for allowing you to run with that line to Martín and Perón while not recognizing Delgano, a pilot, knew it was bullshit—there’s going to be real problems. And that’s the great understatement of the day. If— probably when—we get caught, I don’t think much will happen to me. I’ll be kicked out of country, but they’re not going to shoot me.”
He glanced at the others. “You, however, you’re something else. And so are the rest of the people on the estancia. I don’t think they’ll shoot everyone. But you will be tried as spies, sentenced to death, and thrown in a cell. Unless we can do something to get you out, and I don’t think we can—‘we’ meaning me and the U.S. government—you’ll be in that cell for the duration of the war and—what is it they say?—‘plus six months.’ ”
