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Frade went on: “But to answer the question generally: South American Airways is about to begin one-stop—at Belém, Brazil—service between Buenos Aires and Lisbon, Portugal. Or maybe Madrid. I won’t know that until I make a test run. Could be to both places. And maybe to Switzerland, too. Anyway, at least one flight each way a week, maybe two.”

“What’s that all about?”

“What I was told was there is a problem moving civilians between Europe and the States by air . . .”

“Civilians? Or spies from that organization you never heard of?”

“Civilians. Diplomats. Not only Americans, but neutrals—French, Spanish, Swiss, et cetera. Businessmen, too. Right now, if we have to send a diplomat to Spain, for example, he has to either wait for a Spanish ship—or other neutral ship, and there aren’t many of either—or travel by air on one of our transport airplanes, which means some military officer gets bumped . . .”

“ ‘Bumped’?”

“Doesn’t get to go. Anyway, he goes by military air to England—sometimes by bomber, riding in the back, where the bombs go—and then they get him to Spain either by a neutral-country civilian airplane, and there aren’t many of those, or by a neutral ship. Getting the picture?”

Martín nodded.

“The Swiss—I didn’t even know they had an airline until last week—have been asking for Douglas transports and, specifically, for Constellations. Which is what I flew in here today.”

“Beautiful airplane. Enormous airplane. Where did you learn how to fly one?”

“I thought you knew I used to be a Marine fighter pilot. If it’s got wings, a Marine fighter pilot can fly it.”

Martín shook his head resignedly. “And Delgano?”

“I taught Delgano at Canoas. Then we partially trained another half-dozen SAA pilots—”

“Partially trained?”

“They’ve made a half-dozen takeoffs and landings, but they’re not ready to fly the Connies anywhere.”

“Getting back to how you came to get the airplanes?”

“Okay. They offered the Connies to me. I jumped at it, borrowed the money . . .”

“What I was asking was why did they—and who’s ‘they’?—offer them to you?”

“They were offered to me by Howard Hughes . . . the aviator, the movie guy?”

“I know who he is.”

“We’re old friends. More important, he’s close to my grandfather. He’s also in tight with Lockheed. I think he probably owns it, but that’s just a guess. Anyway, Howard told me what I just told you, and said that the government doesn’t want to sell airplanes of any kind to the Swiss—or just about anyone else in Europe, or to the Brazilians, but SAA is sort of special.”

“Because the managing director works for the OSS?”

“The what?” Frade replied.

They smiled at each other, and then Frade went on: “The only thing the Constellation is good for, Alejandro, is hauling people long distances. It is not a submarine hunter; it can’t drop bombs and there are no machine-gun turrets. And the Americans already have submarine-hunting aircraft—modified B-24s—at Canoas and other places in Brazil. As you well know.”

“So why does your friend Howard Hughes think SAA is special?”

“Because Argentina is neutral—”

“Some of us actually are,” Martín interrupted.

“Let me finish. When SAA establishes probably a twice-a-week service back and forth to Portugal or Spain, the problem of moving civilians back and forth from the States by air is solved. The airplanes take off from a neutral country, Argentina, and fly with only one stop, Canoas, to another neutral country. If you want to go to Europe, you get on one of the Pan American Grace Clippers, the flying boats, and go to Canoas. SAA will then fly you to Lisbon.”

“Why is the United States being so nice to Argentina?”

“The Connies will give the finger”—he demonstrated the gesture—“to the only other airline, Lufthansa, offering commercial service to Europe. Everybody knows the Constellation is an American airplane. They call that ‘public relations.’ ”