“What he meant to say, Milton,” Doña Dorotea said, “was: ‘Good morning, Milton. How are you? Nice to see you. You’re looking well. Can we offer you a cup of coffee? Or some breakfast?’ ”
"What I meant to say is: ‘What’s the hell’s going on, Milt?’ ”
“At half past eight this morning, the commercial attaché of the German embassy appeared at my apartment door with his wife and surrendered,” Liebermann said. “They’re in the car with Ashton.”
"What do you mean,
“They’ve been recalled to Germany, and he doesn’t want to go. So he wants me to get them to Brazil, where he can get them interned.”
“He tell you why?” Clete asked, but before Leibermann could reply, he asked another question: “What’s their relationship to you?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to recruit them, but until this morning, when they showed up at my place, I had no idea that I’d even caught their attention.”
“Recruit them for what?”
Leibermann’s face showed he thought that was a really stupid question.
“Can you do that? Get them to Brazil?” Clete asked.
“Not without permission,”’ Leibermann said. “Which means I would have to ask the ambassador, who would ask your friend Commander Delojo . . .”
“Another stupid question: Why can’t they get themselves interned here?”
“Because neutral Argentina is not granting political asylum to Germans. Or, for that matter, to Americans. Brazil is at war . . .”
“Okay. Back to my first question: Why doesn’t he want to go back to Germany? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing that I believe,” Leibermann said. “But what I think is very likely is that he’s afraid he’s going to be identified as Galahad.”
“But he’s not.”
“I know that, and you know that, and probably so does Generalmajor von Deitzberg, who was sent here to find the traitor and he’s not going to fail. Or at least that’s what Frogger is worried about.”
“That’s his name?”
Leibermann nodded. “Wilhelm Frogger.”
“So what’s wrong with letting Delojo have him?”
“Delojo’s going to ask why he came to me, and I have solemnly promised him I would let him know in advance before I tried to recruit anybody, so there would be ‘no duplication of effort.’ ”
“And Delojo,” Dorotea said, “would certainly ask him who he thought the traitor really was, and this man would probably give him a list of names, including the right one.”
Leibermann looked at her and nodded.
“I wonder what this guy knows about Operation Phoenix and the ransoming operation,” Clete wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. He probably knows something he doesn’t know he knows. Presuming he doesn’t know all about both operations,” Leibermann said.
There was the sound of a car pulling up outside.
“Now what the hell?” Clete said.
It was Enrico and Max Ashton.
“I told you to make yourself useful at the hangar,” Clete said less than kindly.
“Rodolfo is at the hangar, Don Cletus,” Enrico said.
Cletus was about to bark at Enrico, then just in time remembered,
“Well, what we’re really saying is that we should hide these people someplace until we make up our minds what to do with them,” he said.
“And pick their brains about what they might not know they know,” Leibermann quickly agreed.
“Which is why you brought them here, right?” Clete said. “Why the hell didn’t you come right out and say so?”
“I didn’t want to suggest something that could endanger your operation. But once it was your idea . . .”
“Well, we can hide them here, I guess.”
“This is the first place Colonel Martín would look for them,” Dorotea said. “If he doesn’t think you kidnapped them, the Germans will make that suggestion.”
Leibermann didn’t say anything, but it was clear on his face that he agreed with Dorotea.
“Don Cletus?” Enrico said.
“What?” Clete asked, somewhat impatiently.
“Is it important that we hide these people where El Coronel Martín and his clowns cannot find them? Or the Germans?”
“Yes, it is.”
“We could hide these people in Casa Chica, Don Cletus.”
“What’s Casa Chica?” Frade said. “One of the casas on the estancia? Didn’t you hear what Doña Dorotea just said? This is the first place Martín’s going to look. And, God damn it, the people who work for him are not clowns; they’re good.”
“This is somewhat delicate, Don Cletus.”
“
“Casa Chica is a very small estancia near Tandil in the hills between La Pampas and Mar del Plata,” Enrico explained. “No more than maybe two hundred hectares.”
“Whose estancia is it?”
“It is yours, Don Cletus.”
“How come I never heard of it?”
“It was one of your father’s most closely kept secrets, Don Cletus,” Enrico said.
“You mean during the . . . before the coup? Because of that?”
“No, Don Cletus,” Enrico said uncomfortably. “Señor . . . it was where he and Doña Claudia would go when they wished to be alone.”
Leibermann smiled. Frade glared at him.
