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I now have five.

He ran around the front of the Ford and stood up with the shotgun at his shoulder. There was a black 1938 Peugeot sedan stopped in front of the house. There were three men in it, one driving and two firing pistols. One had just taken aim at Frade when he staggered backward with a load of double-aught buckshot from the Remington in his chest. Clete had just taken a bead on the driver—the other man with the pistol was nowhere in sight—when the man’s head exploded when a 230-grain, soft-nose lead bullet from Enrico’s .45 struck him in the mouth.

It was suddenly very quiet. Clete could hear a car shifting gears. Without realizing he was doing it, Clete used the USMC signal for advance on the left to Enrico and they ran to opposite ends of the Peugeot. The third man was lying on the street in a growing pool of blood from his head.

Enrico crossed himself, then cursed.

Clete felt a little light-headed, and steadied himself on the Peugeot.

“Don Cletus, you are all right?”

“Hunky-dory,” Frade said. “We better call the cops.”

The moment he said it, he saw that would be unnecessary. Two policemen were coming down the street at a run on the left, and a third from the right.

After a moment, Clete realized that the cops were calling for him to drop the gun. He made a gesture of surrender a

nd laid Enrico’s shotgun on the roof of the Peugeot.

Enrico Rodríguez was not cowed by the police.

“This is Don Cletus Frade,” he bellowed. “How dare you point a gun at him?”

This was followed by an order: “Get on the telephone and report to el Coronel Martín of the BIS that an assassination attempt has been made on Don Cletus Frade!”

[THREE]

The Embassy of the German Reich

Avenida Córdoba

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1640 12 August 1943

The commercial counselor of the embassy of the German Reich looked up with annoyance when there was a knock at his office door.

“Whoever that is, get rid of him,” he ordered softly. “I am not available.”

Fräulein Ingeborg Hässell, a middle-aged woman who wore her graying hair drawn tight against her skull, ending in a bun at the nape of her neck, quickly stood up and went to the door and opened it. A moment later, she closed the door and announced:

“It’s Günther Loche, Herr Cranz. He said it’s important.”

Cranz’s eyebrow rose, and he made a Let him in gesture with his well-manicured fingers.

Fräulein Hässell opened the door and signaled for Loche to enter.

Cranz smiled warmly at Loche.

“I gather you have something to tell me about our friend, Günther?”

“Yes, sir,” Loche said. He was now standing almost at attention. His eyes flicked nervously at Fräulein Hässell.

“Be good enough, please, Fräulein Hässell, to give Günther and me a moment?”

She went through the door and closed it after her.

“So what have you to tell me, Günther?” Cranz asked.