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“You could not have appeared at a better time, señora,” General Nervo said. “I think we have said all that needed to be said. Right, Martín?”

Martín nodded, then looked at Wattersly, who nodded and then looked at Clete, who nodded.

“General Nervo, darling, was telling this story about the two nuns and the Gendarme—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dorotea said.

General Nervo laid his hand on Cletus’s arm and motioned for him to follow Dorotea out of the library.

I don’t know what the hell it is, but the touch of his hand makes me think I have just passed inspection.

XIII

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila

Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

0945 2 October 1943

The Reverend Kurt Welner’s 1940 Packard 160 convertible coupe, roof down, was parked in front of the big house when the convoy—a 1941 Ford station wagon, the Horch, and a second Ford station wagon bringing up the rear—arrived carrying Don Cletus Frade and his wife to their home.

“Oh, good!” Clete said, thickly sarcastic. “Now I can go to confession. I was getting a little worried. I haven’t been to Mass in a week!”

“Cletus!” Doña Dorotea exclaimed.

“And maybe we can get Father Kurt to say Grace before I have my breakfast,” Clete, unrepentant, went on.

“If you hadn’t insisted on getting up in the middle of the night to come out here,” Dorotea said, “you could have had your breakfast in Buenos Aires.”

“It was in the hope that I would find peace in my humble home. Peace and breakfast.”

“When we go inside, you behave!” Dorotea ordered.

Kurt Welner, S.J., and two other priests—both of whom Clete pegged as

some kind of clerical bureaucrats—were in the sitting room when Clete and Dorotea, trailed by Enrico, walked in.

The two priests with Welner rose to their feet. Welner did not.

“Bless you, my children,” Clete intoned sonorously as he raised his hand to shoulder level in a blessing gesture.

“Cletus!” Dorotea snapped furiously.

“Father,” Enrico said, “Don Cletus is very, very tired. . . .”

Welner made a gesture that said I understand—or perhaps I understand he’s crazy.

Dorotea went to Father Welner and kissed him, then shook the hands of the other two.

“I’m Dorotea Mallín de Frade. Welcome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.”

“I absolutely have to have my breakfast,” Clete said. “Anyone else hungry?”

“Actually, all we’ve had is coffee and a biscuit,” Welner said, and stood. He pointed his finger at one of the other priests and, switching to German, added, “Cletus, this is Otto Niedermeyer.”