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Frade was surprised to find the both of them. He wondered idly how Graham had traveled to Portugal.

“Handsome doesn’t have any money to tip the bellboys,” Frade said in Spanish, then walked to the table.

Dulles took a wad of currency from behind the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his somewhat baggy gray suit, peeled off several bills, and handed them to one of the bellboys. Then he extended about half of the money he had left to Frade.

“That should hold you for a little while,” Dulles said.

“Thank you,” Frade said, and picked up one of the wine bottles.

“That’s Monte do Maio,” Dulles offered. “Something like a Merlot. Very nice. Baron de Rothschild owns the vineyard.”

Frade poured wine into a glass, took a healthy sip, and then another.

Dulles asked, “How was the flight?”

“We made it,” Frade said.

Graham stood up and began to unwind the wire-bound cork of the champagne bottle.

“Did you actually, just before you took off, tell your passengers to put their heads between their knees and kiss their asses good-bye?” Graham asked.

“Who told you about that?”

“A Jesuit priest,” Dulles said. “And, as you should know, Cletus, while they have mastered the art of obfuscation, Jesuit priests never lie.”

“How the hell do you know Welner?” Clete blurted.

“That’s one of the things we need to talk about,” Dulles said. “But let’s wait until the colonel opens the champagne.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” Frade said.

At that moment, the cork came loudly out of the bottle and sailed across the room. Graham filled three glasses and passed two of them around.

“What are we celebrating?” Clete asked as they clinked glasses.

“You’ve been selected for the Naval Command and General Staff College,” Graham said. “How about that?”

“With respect, Colonel, I’m not in the mood.”

“To Cletus,” Dulles said.

“Cletus,” Graham said, and raised his glass.

“And to us,” Dulles said, looking at Graham.

Graham touched Dulles’s glass with his.

“Oh, how sweet it is to be proven right,” he said.

“Amen,” Dulles said.

They took a sip of the champagne.

“Do you think he’ll apologize?” Graham asked.

“I am not going to hold my breath,” Dulles replied.

Clete thought: What the hell?