Ten minutes later, all parties involved having signed the necessary documents, South American Airways, S.A., was in business.
“And now, Father Welner,” Duarte said, “would you ask God’s blessing on this enterprise?”
Welner stood up, and everyone bowed their heads.
“Dear Lord, we ask . . .”
Clete didn’t pay much attention to the prayer. He was thinking that the Roman Catholic Church—or at least the Society of Jesus of the Roman Catholic Church—now knew as much about South American Airways, S.A., as any of the investors or officers.
When they all filed back into the sitting room, champagne and hors d’oeuvres were waiting for them.
And moments later—as Clete thought she probably would—Isabela made a dramatic reentrance and resumed giving her quite credible portrayal of a young woman courageously bearing up as well as she could under the tragic circumstances.
She had just been “talked into” having a glass of champagne by Father Kurt when Clete learned that the other steps he had taken to ensure they would have Perón’s undivided attention while discussing and ultimately signing the documents for the airlines idea had also gone awry.
The telephone wires to Estancia Santa Catalina from the junction box of the government-owned and -operated telephone service in Pila crossed Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. It had not been hard at all for Chief Schultz to go to several of the repeater stations—there were nine in all—and provide means for both eavesdropping on all calls on both estancias and a means for the lines “to go out.”
The latter was more sophisticated than simply breaking the connection. Schultz and Sergeant O’Sullivan had rigged a “random noise generator” to the circuitry. Clete had no idea what it was, but he had seen how it worked. When switched on, it produced on the telephone line what sounded like static—what most would describe as “a bad connection”—and effectively prohibited conversation.
More important, it fooled the technicians of the government telephone service into believing that “there was trouble on the line or in one of the repeater stations” rather than a severed line caused by a fallen pole, a failed transformer, a shorted insulator, et cetera.
Clete had ordered that there was to be “trouble on the line” to Estancia Santa Catalina from the moment El Coronel Perón (or more likely his chauffeur or bodyguard) hung up after reporting to the Edificio Libertador that Perón had arrived safely at Estancia Santa Catalina. The line was to remain out until they heard from Don Cletus—or one of the switchboards—to turn off the trouble/ random-noise generator.
The system worked perfectly. As soon as Colonel Perón’s bodyguard had notified the Edificio Libertador that the Secretary of Work & Social Welfare had arrived safely at Estancia Santa Catalina, and hung up, Chief Schultz had turned on the random-noise generator.
The unplanned result of this was that when Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein attempted to call his wife from the German embassy to ask her to tell her mother that he was coming for dinner—with two guests—the operator reported that there was trouble on the line and suggested he try to place the call later.
Two hours later, when a black Mercedes touring car bearing diplomatic license plates came racing down the road from Pila and entered upon Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, the gaucho on duty there quickly got on the telephone, shut off the random-noise generator, and told the switchboard operator to quickly connect him with either El Jefe or Don Cletus.
He got El Jefe first. El Jefe shut down the random-noise generator and caused the telephone to ring in the sitting room of the big house on Estancia Santa Catalina. There the telephone was passed to Don Cletus.
“Heads up, boss,” Chief Schultz reported. “There’s a Mercedes with diplomatic tags and four people in it headed your way. The gaucho at the gate says that it looks like Doña Alicia’s German is in the front seat.”
Clete put the telephone handset back in the cradle. He saw that just about everybody was looking at him.
“Señora Carzino-Cormano de von Wachtstein,” Frade said, “it would appear that your wandering husband is about to join this festive occasion. He and three other people.”
“Three other people?” Alicia asked.
Clete shrugged, and when his wife looked at him questioningly, he shrugged again.
“Hans-Peter is coming?” El Coronel Perón said. “Wonderful!”
[SIX]
“Turn the lights off and stop right here,” Major Hans-Peter Freiherr von Wachtstein ordered sharply.
Günther Loche braked the Mercedes so heavily that it skidded before coming to a stop. Both Obersturmbannführer Cranz and Oberst von und zu Aschenburg slid off the rear seat.
“What is it?” Cranz demanded.
“It would seem we have guests I didn’t know about,” von Wachtstein said.
