Death and Honor

“That won’t be necessary, General, thank you. What I want you to do, if you’d be so kind, is to get us a car and driver to use while we’re here. It’s getting late, and we still have to go to the officers’ club for dinner.”

“I can arrange for the club to deliver your dinner, if you’d like. Security might be a problem there.”

“We’d rather go to the club, if that would be all right. And speaking of security, you can send the MPs away, please.”

“Is that wise?”

“I think so. I appreciate your concern, but we’re all armed.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Frade. Can you give me some idea how long you’ll be here?”

“We’ll leave at first light. And as soon as we break ground, the Constellation will go back to the States. I presume that if I need anything, I can get in touch with you by asking the operator for the commanding general?”

Wallace nodded, then said rather formally, “I’ll be available around the clock, Mr. Frade.”

“I’ll make sure General Arnold knows of my appreciation of all your efforts, General.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Frade. But unnecessary. I am just doing my duty.”

“And doing it in an outstanding manner, in my opinion. Thank you again, General.”

Frade reached across the seat, shook Wallace’s hand, and got out of the staff car. Delgano followed him and they walked to the door of the cottage. There Frade turned and waved to General Wallace as he drove off.

He looked at Delgano and shook his head.

Delgano smiled. “We have officers like that in the Ejército Argentino, too. Many of them are colonels and generals.”

“Shame on you, Major Delgano.”

Frade lifted the knocker on the door and let it fall.

One of Howard Hughes’s Saints pulled the door open a crack and, when he recognized Frade, opened it all the way.

"Be on your guard,” Frade announced. “I sent the MPs away.”

He intended it to be a joke. If it amused Howard’s Saint, there was no sign of it on his face.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Howard’s Saint said.

Len Fischer was still wearing major’s leaves and MP insignia on his uniform, but the white leather accoutrements were gone. Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Frogger was wearing suit pants and a white shirt with the tie pulled down. Frade saw Frogger’s suit jacket on the back of a chair.

Frade said, “What happened to your pistol, Len? And the fancy holster?”

“Good evening, sir. It’s nice to see you again, sir. I’m fine, thank you.”

“Don’t let that major’s leaf go to your head, Len,” Frade said, then motioned toward Delgano. “You remember Captain Delgano, right?”

The two wordlessly shook hands.

Fischer turned around. He had a Model 1911-A1 Colt pistol in the small of his back.

“And who is this gentleman?” Frade asked about Frogger.

“My name is Wilhelm Fischer,” Frogger said formally. “I am a South African.”

“And presumably you have a passport to prove it?”

Frogger reached into an interior pocket of the suit jacket and came out with a passport, which he handed to Frade.

Frade studied it carefully for almost a minute, then handed it to Delgano.

“This is Mr. Fischer, of Durban, South Africa,” Frade said. “He’ll be flying to Buenos Aires with us.”

Delgano examined the passport.

“According to this, Mr. Fischer is already in Argentina,” he said.

“It also shows he’s been all over South America in the last six months. And if you look carefully, Gonzo, you’ll see that the immigration officer was a little sloppy with his stamp. You can’t quite make out the date when he passed through immigration. Just that it was this month.”

“Very good,” Delgano said. “Why the name ‘Fischer’?”

Len Fischer answered the question: “Colonel Graham said because Fischer, ‘one who fishes,’ is close to Frogger, ‘one who spears frogs.’ And easy to remember. ”

“Who are you?” Frogger asked Delgano somewhat arrogantly.

Frade said: “He’s the chief pilot of South American Airways, Mr. Fischer. And if you don’t exchange any more information than that, both of you will be able to truthfully tell anyone who asks that you don’t know anything about the other one. I introduced you here. Leave it at that.”

He let that sink it, then said: “Two questions, Len. One, is there any reason that we—the Lodestar and the Constellation—can’t leave here at first light? And, two, do you know how to get in touch with the Connie crew?”

“Colonel Graham said it was your call how far I went?” Len Fischer said.

“I can’t see any reason why you can’t go back to the States on the Connie. So answer my questions.”

“The crew is in the BOQ. I have a number.”

“Call it. Tell them as soon as General Wallace sends a car, we’re going to the club for dinner. Ask the pilot to meet me there.”

[THREE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1105 12 August 1943

“How’s your dead-reckoning navigation, Gonzo?” Frade had asked as they had begun the climb-out from Canoas, the sun still low on the horizon.

“I’m afraid to ask why we’re going to need it.”