The Honor of Spies

"Not to worry. It's her party, but my house. You're invited. So we can talk there. Or better yet, ride into town with me. We can sit in the back of the Horch and wave at our loyal subjects."

He turned slightly away from the urinal and well mimicked the regal flat-handed slow wave of British Royalty.

Martin smiled and chuckled.

"I think I should warn you, Cletus, that I have learned you are at your most dangerous when you're playing the clown."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, mi coronel."

"Okay, I'll ride in with you. What we need to talk about has nothing to do with what happened here today. But I want to talk about that, too."

[FOUR]

Ruta Nacional No. 7

Near Moron

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1750 19 September 1943

"I hope this doesn't make you think I'm paranoid, mi coronel," Frade said, "but I think we are being followed."

Frade was at the wheel of the Horch. Martin sat beside him. Enrico was in the back. The canvas top of the Horch had been lowered.

"We are," Martin said. "Please tell Enrico not to shoot them; they belong to me."

"Enrico," Frade called, raising his voice. "Don't shoot at the people in the car behind us. They belong to el Coronel Martin."

"There's two cars of them, Don Cletus," Enrico called. "They've been with us since we left the airfield."

Frade looked at Martin, held up two fingers, and wordlessly asked with a raised eyebrow, What the hell is that all about?

Martin explained: "About a month ago--on August 12, to be precise--there was an incident near your home on Coronel Diaz. You may have read about it in the press. It was necessary for the police to kill three criminals they came across in the middle of a robbery."

"I do seem to recall something about that," Frade said.

"I didn't want something like that to mar Dona Claudia's little party today. Better safe than sorry, as they say."

"You really think that's likely?"

"I'd say it's far more likely that unknown malefactors who don't like you would have another go at you while you're--while we're--riding along here like targets in a carnival shooting gallery."

"How would they know I'm here?"

"How many cars like this Horch would you say there are in Argentina?"

"Good point," Frade said.

"Cletus, can we have one of our off-the-record conversations?"

"Same rules?"

"Same rules. We don't have to answer a question, but if we do, it has to be the truth."

"Ask away."

"Let's start with what happened today: What's going on with that enormous airplane?"

"Airplanes. There's three of them."

"Three of them?"

"There's another at the Canoas airfield, being painted, and another on the way there."

"And what are you going to do with them? More to the point, what are you going to do with them for the OSS?"

"The what?" Frade replied. "The OSS? What's that?"

They smiled at each other.

Frade went on: "But to answer the question generally: South American Airways is about to begin one-stop--at Belem, Brazil--service between Buenos Aires and Lisbon, Portugal. Or maybe Madrid. I won't know that until I make a test run. Could be to both places. And maybe to Switzerland, too. Anyway, at least one flight each way a week, maybe two."

"What's that all about?"

"What I was told was there is a problem moving civilians between Europe and the States by air . . ."

"Civilians? Or spies from that organization you never heard of?"

"Civilians. Diplomats. Not only Americans, but neutrals--French, Spanish, Swiss, et cetera. Businessmen, too. Right now, if we have to send a diplomat to Spain, for example, he has to either wait for a Spanish ship--or other neutral ship, and there aren't many of either--or travel by air on one of our transport airplanes, which means some military officer gets bumped . . ."

" 'Bumped'?"

"Doesn't get to go. Anyway, he goes by military air to England--sometimes by bomber, riding in the back, where the bombs go--and then they get him to Spain either by a neutral-country civilian airplane, and there aren't many of those, or by a neutral ship. Getting the picture?"

Martin nodded.

"The Swiss--I didn't even know they had an airline until last week--have been asking for Douglas transports and, specifically, for Constellations. Which is what I flew in here today."

"Beautiful airplane. Enormous airplane. Where did you learn how to fly one?"

"I thought you knew I used to be a Marine fighter pilot. If it's got wings, a Marine fighter pilot can fly it."

Martin shook his head resignedly. "And Delgano?"

"I taught Delgano at Canoas. Then we partially trained another half-dozen SAA pilots--"

"Partially trained?"

"They've made a half-dozen takeoffs and landings, but they're not ready to fly the Connies anywhere."

"Getting back to how you came to get the airplanes?"

"Okay. They offered the Connies to me. I jumped at it, borrowed the money . . ."

"What I was asking was why did they--and who's 'they'?--offer them to you?"