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[FOUR]

Second Lieutenant James D. Cronley Jr. stood, alone, at the foot of the narrow ladder leading upward toward the Lockheed Constellation with Howell Petroleum Corporation lettered on its fu

selage. He had with him not only the two large canvas suitcases he’d brought from Kloster Grünau, but a third one, an enormous saddle leather object once the property of el Coronel Frade. This held all the clothing he’d been told to take from the wardrobe, plus the last-minute addition of some really heavy cold-weather gear.

Enrico—who had brought the third case to him—told him that after el Coronel had read about the American admiral Richard Byrd successfully exploring Antarctica, he had ordered from the United States cold-weather gear identical to that Byrd had worn, with an eye to equipping the Húsares de Pueyrredón with it. He thought that the Húsares might have to fight the Chileans, either in the Andes or at the southern tip of South America.

Enrico also had told him that Don Cletus had said, in effect, “You’d might as well put a set of that stuff for me in the bag Cronley will take. That way I won’t have to worry about it.”

Jimmy looked up at the airplane.

If I try to carry just one of these up that goddamn steep and narrow stairway, I’m going to bust my ass.

Trying to carry all three would be tantamount to suicide.

He was just about to put his fingers in his mouth and see if a shrill whistle would summon assistance from within the aircraft or, for that matter, from anywhere in Argentina, when Marjorie Howell walked up to him.

“What are you doing?” she said. “Waiting for a bus?”

“Very funny.”

“Can I help with the bags?”

“I don’t think so. They’re heavy as hell.”

“And I’m a big strong girl.”

She then tried to pick up one of the bags and failed.

“But not that strong,” she said. “What’s in there, bricks?”

Before he could respond, she asked another question: “Jimmy, where do you think Clete picked up the nutty notion that we could possibly be interested . . . that way . . . in each other?”

He was about to reply when he realized she was standing so close to him that he felt and smelled her breath as she spoke.

With a mind of its own, his head bent.

And he kissed her.

Just a light brushing of his lips against hers. But undeniably a kiss.

Here’s where you get whacked with her purse, you damned fool!

“I will be damned,” Marjie said softly, then raised her face to his and kissed him.

“Jesus Christ, Marjie,” Jimmy said, almost inaudibly.

“I’ve got to think about this,” she said, and quickly started up the stairs.

Halfway up, she had to stop and start back down. Two men in flight crew uniforms were coming down the stairs. The stairs were so narrow that squeezing past them would have been impossible.

When everybody was on the ground, one of the men said, “We’ll get the bags, sir.”

They picked one up.

Marjie then looked up at Jimmy and said, “Now that I’ve thought it over, I like it.”

When he started to lower his head to hers, she said, “Not now. Clete’s standing in the airplane door.”