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Again Möller didn’t reply.

“But now you’ve made me curious,” Clete went on. “I don’t know what Colonel Gehlen has told you about my . . . friends . . . in the German Embassy, but in any event, you’ll soon figure out by yourself that I have people in there. What about them? Are they traitors, in your opinion?”

“If they swore the same oath of personal allegiance to Adolf Hitler that I did, the answer is self-evident.”

“Then we seem to be agreed to disagree; I consider them to be the opposite: patriots. The bottom line is—”

“Excuse me? ‘The bottom line’?”

“What matters,” said Clete, “is that when you and I have a disagreement, I win. And if you’re unwilling to go along with my winning, I’ll have you shot. Now, go get the codebook for El Jefe. We’ll talk some more later.” He motioned to O’Sullivan with his finger. “Go with him, Jerry. Don’t let him out of your sight. And don’t hesitate to shoot him if you think that’s called for.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Sullivan said, and motioned for Möller to go back into the library.

When the door was closed, Schultz said thoughtfully, “You meant that about shooting him. It wasn’t a bullshit threat.”

“I don’t know how much . . . what name did we give him? . . . Körtig picked up from what was said when Claudia arrived, or how much he’ll tell Möller, but we have to assume the worst. And if the choice is between Peter’s life and this Nazi sonofabitch’s . . .”

“There is no choice,” Schultz agreed. “Well, there’s one good thing.”

“What?”

“That guy is smart, Clete. But he doesn’t have any balls. He’s not going to call your bluff.”

“You don’t think so?”

“It doesn’t come out often like it did just now, but when it does, it’s really impressive.”

“What doesn’t come out often?”

“With all possible respect, Major, sir, the major is a stainless-steel hard-ass. And that really got through to Möller. Hell, it even got to me; I was already wondering: What happens to the wives and kids when Clete blows this sonofabitch away? ”

“Let’s see if we can keep tha

t from happening,” Clete said. “Okay, go get Father Pedro. And then call Cortina and tell him about having Martín and Nervo at the airport.”

[THREE]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1325 2 October 1943

As he landed in the Piper Cub, Cletus Frade saw that there were four Lodestars and two Constellations on the field.

He also saw that the extra security he had ordered after learning that Hitler had ordered von Deitzberg to destroy the Constellations was in place.

He was still having trouble really accepting that Adolf Hitler himself even knew about the Connies, much less had ordered their destruction, but all the clichés from “Be Prepared” to “Better Safe Than Sorry” seemed to apply.

He was not surprised that the extra protection was in place. He’d told Enrico to set it up, and that the old soldier knew all about what the military called “perimeter defense.”

There were more peones than he could easily count—at least twenty—on horseback, every one of them a former trooper of the Húsares de Pueyrredón, moving slowly and warily around the field, with either a Mauser rifle or a Thompson submachine gun resting vertically on his saddle.

As he taxied past the Constellations, it seemed as unreal to consider that he had just flown the Ciudad de Rosario back and forth across the Atlantic as it was to consider that they personally annoyed Adolf Hitler.

He looked at his passenger to see how he had survived the flight. Father Francisco Silva’s smile was nowhere near as strained as it had been when Clete had strapped him into the Piper Cub at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

Then the priest had confessed a bit shyly that their flight to Buenos Aires was going to be his first flight in an airplane.