Page 210

“Goddamn it, it’s not funny!”

“Absurd is what it is,” she said, her tone now disgusted. “And, more important, none of your business, Cletus. She’s not twelve years old.”

“I did not hit on Marjie,” Jimmy announced righteously. “My God, he’s out of his mind.”

“And people who live in glass houses should not throw stones,” Dorotea said. “Especially about other people chasing virgins.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don’t think, my darling, that you really want me to explain that in the hearing of all your friends, do you?”

She turned to Cronley.

“You were saying something, Jimmy, about Cletus knowing better than that. Better than what?”

Jimmy looked at Clete. Clete gave him the finger.

Jimmy returned the gesture with both hands.

He then said, “Years ago, Clete and I flew his father’s Cub up to Rapid City, South Dakota, to shoot pheasant. We landed on a dirt road near the farmer’s house. You can do that in a Cub. We hunted, went to bed, and during the night there was an early snowstorm. Eight, ten inches of snow—it was up over the Cub’s wheels. I figured we’d be stuck there for at least a week. But Clete went out on the road with a pickup truck and drove back and forth and packed the snow. . . .”

“I remember,” Clete said. “And you’re suggesting we could do that at Estancia Condor?”

Frade was now smiling. Jimmy smiled back.

“I think it’s worth a shot. We flew away from Rapid City, didn’t we?”

“Cletus,” von Wachtstein said. “We already have an airplane that’s better suited to arctic conditions than a Piper Cub, and someone with a hell of a lot of experience doing that.”

“You’re volunteering to go to Estancia Condor?” Frade replied.

“I was thinking about Willi Grüner.”

“Your old Luftwaffe buddy?”

“My old Luftwaffe buddy. He’s got a lot of experience flying, and not only in the Storch—on the Eastern Front in near-arctic conditions.”

“I don’t know, Hansel,” Frade said.

“Would this man be willing to help?” General Martín said. “And I have to ask this, too: Can he be trusted?”

“I’m sure he would

help, General,” von Wachtstein said. “And I trust him completely.”

“Where is he now?” Martín asked.

“Upstairs,” von Wachtstein said, then smiled and added: “He and Dieter von und zu Aschenburg—the other man for whom you were so kind to provide identity documents—are consoling my sister-in-law in the absence of von Dattenberg.”

“Very funny, Peter,” von Dattenberg said.

Jimmy saw his face.

What he’s pissed about is not that von Wachtstein is teasing him.

He’s pissed because the other two Krauts are making passes at Elsa, which means he thinks she’s his girl.

Well, it apparently didn’t take Elsa the Great very long at all to replace the American stud with a German one.