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“I estimate,” General Nervo said, “that from the time they leave San Martín—and we will learn that the moment they do—you will have at least four days, and possibly five, before they come knocking at your gate.

“At the very least, that should give us time to get el Coronel Wattersly from Buenos Aires to (a) best, Bariloche, or (b) last-ditch defense, here, where he can step into the road and ask el Coronel Schmidt where the hell does he think he’s going without the permission of the General Staff of the Ejército.”

“Which may get him shot,” Clete said.

“Indeed. But that’s the best I can do right now. I have to repeat what I told you a while ago, Cletus. If there is to be a civil war, the first battle will not be between the 10th Mountain Regiment and the Gendarmería Nacional.”

“Understood,” Clete said. “Thank you, Santiago.”

General Nervo made a Don’t be silly gesture.

“What time did you say the plane will be here?” Clete asked.

“It should be here now,” Martín said. “Delgano said that the earlier we get on it, the better we’ll be.”

“Go pack your bags, darling,” Clete said to Dorotea.

“I beg pardon?”

“You are going with the nice policeman . . .”

“I am not.”

“. . . who is going to take you from Aeropuerto Jorge Frade in that Buick of his to the Hospital Británico, where your condition will be evaluated. Depending on that evaluation, you will either stay in what will be the best-guarded room in the Hospital Británico, or go to the house on Libertador, or your mother’s house—your choice—which will look like the site of a Gendarmería convention.”

“I am not,” Dorotea said.

“Doña Dorotea, I am old enough to be your father,” Nervo said. “Listen to your husband. Listen to me.”

“Dorotea—” Martín began.

“Listen to me,” Dorotea interrupted him. “I’m the one about to have this child. I don’t know exactly when that will happen. But I do know that if I got in a car and rode down the hill on that bumpy road toward the airport, you would have to take me directly to the Convent Hospital instead. And if that didn’t happen and I were insane enough to get onto an airplane, I would have this baby at ten thousand feet over the pampas. I don’t want to try that, thank you just the same. Thank you all for your kind interest. Discussion closed.”

With a great effort, Doña Dorotea hoisted herself out of her chair.

“Have a nice flight,” she said. “Give my regards to Capitán Delgano.”

Then she walked back into the house.

[FIVE]

Departamento 5B

Arenales 1623

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1835 15 October 1943

El Coronel Juan Domingo Perón crossed the apartment and opened the door to the elevator landing. He was wearing his uniform. But his tie was pulled down and the tunic unbuttoned, revealing worn baggy braces that had seen long service. He obviously had been drinking.

SS-Brigadeführer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg stood there.

As Perón offered his hand, he said, “A pleasant surprise, Manfred. I wondered why I hadn’t heard from you.”

“But you knew I was here?”

Perón closed the door to the apartment.