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“Sir, with respect, I find that very hard to believe,” O’Reilley said.

“Garcia, you don’t happen to have that copy of La Nac

íon, do you?” Martín asked. “Did you throw it away?”

“Let me check my briefcase, mi General. But I’m almost sure I threw it away.”

After a twenty-second search, Garcia said, “Well, I’ll be damned, here it is!”

He handed the newspaper to Martín, who held it up to O’Reilley.

“Recognize anybody standing with President Farrell and el Coronel Perón, Captain? On the balcony of Casa Rosada? How about Father Welner? Maybe Don Cletus?”

O’Reilley’s genuine shock was visible on his face.

“Why do you think, Captain O’Reilley, that el Coronel Klausberger wants Don Cletus dead—and el Coronel Perón, too? Were you aware an attempt was made on el Coronel Perón’s life?”

“And your life, General,” Frade offered. “Attempts that nearly succeeded.”

“I can’t imagine why he would want to do that,” Martín went on. “But it’s clearly not in the best interests of our beloved Argentine Republic.”

“It looks to me, Captain,” Frade said, “that Colonel Klausberger has made a fool of you, appealing to your patriotism and your officer’s Code of Honor.”

O’Reilley looked at him and after a long moment asked, plaintively, “What can I do now?”

“You can go to President Farrell, my son,” Father Welner said, “and to el Coronel Perón and make a clean breast of everything. Perhaps they will be able to find it in their hearts to forgive you.”

“How would I do that?” O’Reilley asked.

“If you’re sure that’s what you want to do, we’ll fly you to Buenos Aires tonight,” Martín said. “Father Welner will go with you.”

O’Reilley nodded solemnly.

“It’s clearly my duty, mi General,” he said.

[NINE]

The interrogators went from the officers’ mess to the bar in Casa Montagna.

Cletus Marcus Howell, Doña Dorotea, Martha Howell, Marjie, Beth, Alicia von Wachtstein, Elsa von Wachtstein, Karl Boltitz, and Willi von Dattenberg were sitting in small armchairs around a huge, circular table.

Jimmy saw that Marjie was looking curiously at Elsa.

To judge her reaction to me coming into the room?

Hans-Peter von Wachtstein was behind the bar, opening a bottle of wine.

“Yes, barkeep, I will have a little of that,” Frade said. “You won’t.”

“I won’t? Why?”

“How much have you had so far?” Frade said.

“Why do I think you have a reason for asking?”

“Because you have a suspicious nature,” Frade said. “But I’ll give you a hint: Jimmy doesn’t get any either.”

“We’re going flying? Tonight?”