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“What I want to know, Santiago, is why you shot Bernardo,” Frade said.

“I had no choice. He was saying unkind things about dear Juan Domingo,” Nervo said, as he finally let Frade loose. “I can only hope he’s learned his lesson.”

Frade then said: “Grandfather, this is Inspector General Santiago Nervo, of the Gendarmería Nacional. Santiago, Cletus Marcus Howell and Subteniente Cronley.”

“Why do I think you and my grandson, General, are a dangerous combination?” the old man asked.

“Perhaps Father Welner told you?” Nervo asked.

“Where is the wily Jesuit, by the way?” Frade said.

“He’ll be on the afternoon flight,” Martín said.

“Okay,” Nervo said, “enough of the social niceties. What’s going on here?”

“Well, to begin—” Frade began.

“No, Cletus,” Nervo interrupted. “In my classroom—I thought you knew this—you have to raise your hand and get my permission to speak.”

“Sorry,” Frade said, shaking his head and chuckling.

Nervo pointed to Cronley.

“If you raise your hand, Subteniente,” he said, “then I will call on you.”

“I’ll pass, thank you just the same,” Jimmy said.

“According to the cripple-on-crutches sitting there, Subteniente,” Nervo said, “you started all this. You’re the one responsible for getting him all excited. So you tell Pedro and me what’s going on. Either that, or go stand in the corner.”

Cronley smiled, then shrugged. “Okay. We think we have found where U-234, the sub with the uranium oxide, made landfall . . .”

—

“And that’s about it?” Nervo asked, when Cronley had finished.

“Except that Señor Niedermeyer says he thinks we’re being surveilled, probably by the Tenth Mountain Regiment or Division, or whatever it is.”

“I hadn’t heard that,” Nervo said. “We’ll get to that in a minute. First, I’d like to say that General Martín has finally said something I now can agree with.”

“And what would that be?” Martín challenged.

“That Subteniente Cronley is sort of a junior version of Teniente Coronel Frade. In other words, he’s a lot smarter than he looks. I thought that was a pretty good summation. So, what I am going to do now is in no way a reflection on him.”

“What are you going to do now?” the old man asked.

“Be the devil’s advocate,” Nervo said. “When I say something n

egative, feel free to refute me. Okay? Remember to raise your hand and wait to be recognized.

“One. We think we know where this submarine U-234 may have landed. But we have no proof.”

Martín raised his hand.

Cronley was surprised. I thought Nervo was just being a smart-ass with that childish hand-raising business.

Nervo nodded at Martín, who said, “When Boltitz brought us the names of the two senior Nazis known to be aboard U-234—SS-Oberführer Horst Lang and SS-Brigadeführer Gerhard Körtig—I was familiar with the names. I knew the Interior Ministry had issued, at the request of former Teniente Coronel Rudy Nulder, libretas de enrolamiento to both of them, oddly enough in their own names. And I knew they were both living in Rosario, in apartments arranged for them by the Bishop of Rosario, Salvador Lombardi.

“So we know, Santiago, that U-234 did make landfall here. We don’t know that took place where Subteniente Cronley believes it did. But let me go on with this a moment, I believe it’s cogent.