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“They’re newlyweds; he tells her everything. And beneath her really extraordinary beauty there is a highly intelligent and very, very tough young woman.”

Donovan looked past Graham a long moment as he considered that. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it. Now, tell me why you think this is good news. The maps?”

“I have no idea what they are.”

“Then what, Alex?”

“You think Juan Trippe is capable of going to Lloyd’s?”

Donovan thought about that for perhaps two seconds, then nodded. “Yeah, Juan’s capable of that. Especially if he heard, and I’m sure he has, that the airline in Argentina is Roosevelt’s idea.”

“You think he’s heard?”

Donovan nodded again. “He’s heard that an Argentine airline is starting up. Hell, that was in the newspapers down there. And then he wondered where they were getting their airplanes. And then he wondered how neutral Argentina was getting Lodestars that allies—for example, Canada and Mexico—would love to have. Who would have the authority to order that besides FDR? Sure, he knows.”

“What about Varig going to Lloyd’s?”

“Same story. They wanted the Lodestars. Argentina got them. ‘Let’s knock off the competition before it gets off the ground.’ ” He paused. “I heard the pun. Unintentional. It just came out that way.”

“And the Brits? Do you think somebody there, wanting to make sure nobody else starts an airline in Argentina before they get around to it, went to Lloyd’s?”

“Why not? All of the above.”

“What about Allen Dulles? Do you think he might have gone to Lloyd’s?”

“Why would Allen want to do . . . ? Alex!”

Graham nodded, then explained: “As part of the Air Transport Rating examination, there is a cross-country flight. Frade will be one of the first pilots to take the check-ride. His flight will take him to Jackson, Mississippi, which is a half-hour’s car ride from Camp Clinton.”

“You’ve got the whole damn thing set up.”

“I did the setup. But it was Allen’s idea. He really wants to turn Colonel Frogger—”

“All this to track the Operation Phoenix money in Argentina?” Donovan interrupted.

“I suspect there probably is more, but Allen didn’t say anything.”

“And you didn’t ask him?”

“Allen does things one step at a time. If Frade can turn Frogger, and there is more, I suspect Allen will tell me.”

“Why not now?”

Graham shrugged. “Of the three of us, who would you say really knows what he’s doing?”

Donovan could have taken offense, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Point taken.” After a moment’s silence, he asked, “When does this happen?”

“Sometime in the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours they’ll have to land in Mexico to get permission to enter the United States. Probably Nogales, maybe Sonora.”

“You don’t know?”

Graham shook his head.

“Allen’s idea. Frade believes everything he sent in that message. If he doesn’t know anything, he can’t let anything slip. Anyway, the Air Force’s North American Air Defense Command, which issues the clearance to enter U.S. airspace— and normally would issue it to an airliner of a neutral country in maybe an hour—has been told to wait five hours. That’ll do several things. It will almost certainly give the pilots with him—at least one of whom is an Argentine intelligence officer taking notes—a chance to witness Frade showing genuine frustration and maybe even losing his temper.”

Graham took a sip of his coffee, then added, “And it will give me a little time to get out to Burbank.”

He drank again from the cup, then said, “The permission will finally come, and they’ll fly to the Lockheed plant in Burbank, where they will not be expected, and will be met by indignant and curious immigration officers and by curious Lockheed officials who more than likely will be annoyed. Frade and his group won’t be arrested, but they will be escorted to their hotel by an immigration officer and told not to leave it until everything is cleared up.

“Sooner or later, somebody at Lockheed is going to call the War Production Board and ask what to do with the SAA pilots who have just dropped in on them unexpected and uninvited—”

“How do you know they’ll do that?” Donovan interrupted.

“Because, if they don’t, Howard Hughes will tell them to do so.”

“Howard Hughes is in on this?”

Graham nodded. “But only him.”

“How much did you have to tell him?”

“Only that I needed a favor. He knows Frade, you know.”

“You told me that.”

“Anyway, when somebody at Lockheed calls the War Production Board, there will be a couple of hours’ delay and then someone will tell Lockheed to do whatever South American Airways wants done.”

“And how do you know that will happen?”

“Julius Krug, the chief of the War Production Board, knows that the airline is Roosevelt’s idea.”

“There’s a long list of things that could go wrong in that scenario, Alex.”

"O ye of little faith!”

“But even if nothing goes wrong, what if Frade can’t turn the Afrikakorps colonel—?”

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