Page 47

“Lieutenant, you don’t have the need to know,” Mattingly said, almost as a reflex action.

“Argentina,” Frade said.

Mattingly gave him a dirty look.

Frade was not cowed.

“I told you, Bob. He’s my little brother.”

“With a Top Secret security clearance and everything,” Cronley said.

“You’re not cleared for this, Lieutenant,” Mattingly snapped.

“What are you doing in Argentina, Clete?” Cronley pursued, ignoring Mattingly. “The last I heard you were flying Marine fighters on Guadalcanal. And what’s this ‘colonel’ business?”

“Bob, for Christ’s sake, he’s on our side,” Frade said.

“He also has a flip lip, and you’re as aware as I am, Colonel Frade, we can’t afford people with flip lips. Subject closed.”

“Sorry, Bob. But there’s a problem with that. I know Jimmy well enough to know that if I don’t tell him enough to satisfy him—and shut him up—he’s liable to open the whole can of worms. And that we can’t afford.”

“I’m telling you, Clete—all right, I’m ordering you—to tell him nothing.”

“The problem with that, Bob, is that you can’t give me orders. I work for Allen Dulles, not you. And Dulles gave me the authority to do just about whatever I want to do. And you know that.”

Cronley thought: What the hell is going on here?

Then Cronley looked at Elsa. She was following the confrontation with frightened eyes.

Her brother-in-law seemed to think it was funny.

Mattingly threw up his hands in disgusted resignation and glared at Cronley.

“Okay, Jimmy,” Frade said. “What I’m going to tell you is all that you’re going to get. Not subject to discussion. And you are to tell no one—including your commanding officer or anyone else—what you see or hear here. Understand?”

“Understand.”

“When I came back from Guadalcanal, I was recruited for the OSS and sent to Argentina. Did you know my father was an Argentine?”

“I heard something about it. Your grandfather certainly hated him.”

“That’s a long story, and there’s no time to get into it now. So we’ll leave it that I went to Argentina in 1942, and have been there ever since. Don’t ask me what I was doing during the war, or what I’m doing now. Colonel Mattingly is right about that—you don’t have the need to know.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said. “Whatever it was, you must have done it right. If you’re a colonel.”

“Lieutenant Colonel,” Frade said.

“What’s going to happen to . . . Frau von Wachtstein in Argentina?” Jimmy asked.

“Still the Boy Scout, are you, Jimmy?” Frade said, chuckling. “‘Let me help you across the street, Poor Little Old Lady’?”

“So what?”

“You’re talking to a senior officer, Lieutenant!” Mattingly snapped. “Watch your mouth!”

“Frau von Wachtstein will be well taken care of,” Frade said. “Hansel here”—he pointed to him—“and I became friends in Argentina. The circumstances are none of your business. He married an Argentine girl, who was sort of a daughter to my father. She’s my wife’s best friend.”

“You’re married?”