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“Goddamn it! You know it never came close to that. I was never even formally charged.”

“Oh, really? I thought you had been charged, and then when General Rawson turned over the presidency to General Farrell, Farrell decided that charging you with treason for being a little too friendly with the late el Coronel Schmidt was going a bit too far and instead assigned you to the Edificio Libertador staff.”

Innkeeper Mueller decided the subject should be changed, and quickly.

“How did you get here, José?” he said. “If the Aeroposta flight was canceled?”

You know very well how I got here, Franz. What you are doing is changing the subject.

So what?

Hoffmann is going to ask about Klausberger’s “difficulties” until he knows all about them. And that’s even better for my purposes than hearing them from me.

“Well, South American Airways’ Lodestars, Humberto Duarte told me with a rather infuriating smugness—”

“Who?” Hoffmann interrupted.

Good. He wants to know everything.

“Humberto Valdez Duarte, Señor Hoffmann,” Moreno explained. “He’s managing director of the Anglo-Argentinian Bank. He’s also a director of SAA.” He paused, and then went on, “As I was saying, Humberto told me SAA’s Lodestars have sufficient range to go back to Buenos Aires if they can’t land here.”

“I don’t understand why you called Duarte,” Klausberger said.

“Because the SAA flight here was full. I already knew that. That’s why I made a reservation on Aeroposta. And when they canceled that flight, I had to have someone with influence get me on the SAA flight. I tried to call Juan Domingo—that’s el Coronel Perón, Herr Hoffmann, who’s also an SAA director—but no one seems to know where he is right now. So I had no choice but to call my dear friend Humberto. And here I am.”

“I can’t imagine you not being able to get through to el Coronel Perón,” Mueller said.

“I wouldn’t read anything into that,” Moreno said. “He’s probably off to Mar del Plata—or may even be here—with the fair Evita.”

He refilled his wineglass and helped himself to several crackers on which he spread Brie and then topped that with black olive.

“Well, I don’t have much time,” he announced. “So if I may make a suggestion?”

“Please do,” Hoffmann said, and then parroted, “‘Don’t have much time’?”

“My flight to Buenos Aires leaves at five oh five,” Moreno said. “And I don’t want to miss it.”

“Excuse me, Señor Moreno,” Hoffmann said. “I was under the impression that we were going to discuss, in detail, the . . . financial situation.”

“That’s going to be impossible in the time I have, I’m afraid,” Moreno said.

“And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” Hoffmann said.

“Señor Hoffmann, at the risk of sounding disrespectful, you are not in a position right now to insist on anything,” Moreno said.

“You’re talking to SS-Brigadeführer Hoffmann, Señor Moreno,” Klausberger said indignantly.

Well, here goes . . .

“I’m talking to former Brigadeführer Hoffmann,” Moreno said matter-of-factly. “Herr Hoffmann, you have a choice. You may either listen to me tell you how things are—”

“Or what, José?” Klausberger challenged.

“Or I walk out of here right now and find a taxi to take me to the airport.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Klausberger said.

After a moment, Hoffmann said: “I think we should hear what Señor Moreno has to say, Oberst Klausberger. Please go on, Señor Moreno.”