The Honor of Spies

Two minutes later, Frade's voice announced, "Three Zero One at one thousand meters, indicating three hundred kilometers. Request straight-in approach to runway Three Three."

"He said three hundred kilometers this time," General Rawson announced. "I could hear him clearly."

"Three Zero One, Jorge Frade clears you for a straight-in approach and landing as Number One on runway Three Three. Report when the runway is in sight."

"Three Zero One has the airfield in sight. Understand cleared as Number One on Three Three," the loudspeaker announced, and then: "Put the wheels down, Gonzo. It's smoother if you do that."

"My God," Claudia Carzino-Cormano said. "What is that? It's absolutely enormous."

The Lockheed Constellation, landing gear and flaps down, touched down at the far end of the runway.

Then it taxied to the terminal. As it got closer, everyone in the tower could now see that it had SOUTH AMERICAN AIRWAYS lettered in red on the fuselage, the flag of Argentina painted on all three of its vertical stabilizers, and the legend CIUDAD DE BUENOS AIRES lettered beneath the cockpit windows.

As it got really close to the terminal, small side windows in the cockpit opened, hands came out, and a moment later Argentine flags on holders were fluttering in the wind.

Frade's voice came over the speakers again.

"How about somebody getting a ladder out here so we can get out of this thing?"

"Oh, Claudia," the president of Argentina said emotionally, thickly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. "If only our Jorge were here to see this!"

"Arturo, I know in my heart he's watching," Claudia said.

The two embraced.

Humberto Duarte thought: I have no goddamn idea what Cletus is up to.

But whatever it is, he just got away with it.

[THREE]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Moron, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1710 19 September 1943

It is entirely likely, Cletus Frade thought as he looked out the cockpit window, that there's not a ladder within miles of here that's long enough to reach up to the door, which will tend to put a damper on the triumphal arrival of the Big Bird.

He looked down at the people standing on the tarmac, most of them holding up champagne stems in salute as they looked with what approached awe at the Lockheed Corporation's latest contribution to long-distance commercial aviation.

Claudia probably set that up; Humberto wouldn't think of it.

Whoever did it, it was a good idea.

Frade saw that Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, who was not in uniform, was almost feverishly taking photographs of the airplane with a Leica camera.

Just like the one we used to take pictures of the Froggers.

And, of course, of Tio Juan's map of South America after the Final Victory. He spotted el Coronel Juan Domingo Peron standing beside el Coronel Martin.

And you're here, aren't you, you sonofabitch?

And what the hell were you talking about, Martin, when you said you had to see me as soon as possible on a matter of "life and death"?

Well, at least it doesn't concern Dorotea or anyone at Casa Montagna. I talked to her just before we took off from Canoas. I told her I was about to fly here. I didn't tell her in what I was about to fly here, just that I was, and that I would see her there just as soon as I could deal with what I had to do in Buenos Aires.

There was a Collins Model 7.2 transceiver installed in the Connie; it had connected easily from Canoas with the Collins transceiver at Casa Montagna and with the one at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. As a result of the latter call, there would be at least three of the estancia's station wagons, three sedans, and a stake-bodied truck waiting at the airfield to transport the Connie's passengers and their luggage. Frade's Horch was, he presumed, parked where he had left it in the hangar.