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Delgano saluted.

“Señor Presidente, mi general,” he barked. “I have the honor to present Argentina’s first international passenger aircraft!”

Frade couldn’t actually hear what Delgano was saying, but he had spent thirty minutes rehearsing him on what he was to say before they left Canoas.

General Rawson saluted, then took three steps forward, kissed—more or less—Delgano on both cheeks, then each of the other pilots. Colonel Juan D. Perón appeared and joined Rawson’s entourage as they walked after the president, each of them shaking each pilot’s hand.

By then, Frade was at t

he door.

Enrico Rodríguez came to him, carrying his shotgun.

“Leave that on the airplane,” Clete commanded. Then he raised his voice and ordered: “Everybody sit tight. I’ll come for you as soon as I can.”

He backed out the door, found the top step of the ladder with his left leg, then the step below it with his right, and went down the ladder into the bed of the pickup.

As he jumped to the tarmac, he saw that General Rawson had seen him and was smiling happily. When Rawson had finished kissing—more or less—the last SAA pilot, he headed right for Clete.

The president embraced Frade and kissed him—fully and wetly—on both cheeks, then again embraced him, then finally, holding on to both of Frade’s arms, backed away and looked into his eyes.

“Cletus, your father would be so proud of you!”

Rawson was so sincere that the cynicism with which Frade had been viewing the entire performance instantly vanished. He felt his eyes water, and his voice was not firm when he replied, “Muchas gracias, mi general.”

“Cletus, as much as I want to see inside the airplane, the Papal Nuncio is at this moment waiting for me at Casa Rosada. But I will be back.”

“By then, mi general, there will be proper aircraft steps for you when you can find time in your schedule for us.”

Rawson squeezed both of Frade’s arms, then turned and marched off.

El Coronel Juan D. Perón marched up to Frade. He kissed—pro forma—Frade’s cheeks. “I am presuming, Cletus, that there is some good reason why I didn’t hear about this—”

He gestured at the airplane, at Claudia de Carzino-Cormano, at Humberto Duarte, and at General Rawson.

“—until an hour ago.”

“There certainly is, Tío Juan,” Frade said enthusiastically. Then he kissed Perón wetly on the cheek and said, “You’re going to have to excuse me.”

Frade walked quickly to Claudia, kissing her fondly but not wetly.

Perón’s face tightened and for a moment it looked as if he might follow Frade. At the end, he marched toward his car.

“How’s my favorite stockholder?” Clete asked Claudia.

She shook her head in resignation.

“Frankly, wondering what the hell is going on around here.”

“I saw an opportunity and took it. We gringos call that ‘striking while the iron is hot.’ I have no idea what that really means, but that’s what we say.”

“How much did that cost?” Claudia asked, gesturing toward the Constellation.

“A lot,” Clete admitted. “And we have three of them.”

“And where’s the money going to come from?”

“So far it’s come from my grandfather, which brings us to that, Humberto.”