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For fifteen seconds Martín almost visibly formed his reply.

“I was thinking—I realize this might be construed the wrong way; that I’m trying not to go out there—I would be of more use staying here in Buenos Aires with you, Señor Presidente. If things go bad when Edmundo and Santiago meet Schmidt, or with el Coronel Perón when Subinspector General Nolasco goes to San Martín to deal with him, I think it would be useful for you, sir, to have at your side at least one man whose loyalty to you is known.”

“In other words, you would prefer to be shot against a wall here with me than on some country road with Edmundo and the inspector general. Is that what you’re saying?”

Nervo laughed. Rawson gave him a dirty look.

“Well, you’ll be with me, Martín, but in Mendoza, not here,” Rawson said. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: just about everything Nervo proposed, with one major exception. Edmundo is going to stay here at the Edificio Libertador, and I’m going to meet with Schmidt wherever the Húsares de Pueyrredón’s Piper Cubs find him.

“I am going from here to the Edificio Libertador, where I am going to get on the military telephone to el Coronel Pereitra of the Húsares de Pueyrredón. I am going to order him to move—immediately, in secrecy—his regiment to Mendoza, in three stages. First the observation aircraft, second the Immediate Reaction Force, and then the balance of the regiment.

“I am then going to dictate and have typed the orders Inspector General Nervo suggested that I issue. Then I am going to Aeropuerto Jorge Frade and get on the airplane Martín ordered them to hold for him and fly to Mendoza.”

“Señor Presidente, everyone will know you’ve left Buenos Aires,” Martín protested.

“Possible, even probably,” Rawson agreed. “But so what? Bobby, let’s go. The car should be at the door by now.”

[FOUR]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1120 16 October 1943

When the president of the Argentine Republic stepped out of the official presidential limousine in front of the passenger terminal, a familiar face was there to greet him.

“Well, Father Kurt,” El Presidente said. “What an unexpected pleasure! Whatever are you doing here?”

“I would think I’m here for the same reason you are, Arturo.”

“And what would that be?”

“To try to keep some smoldering embers in Mendoza from turning into a conflagration.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, of course.”

“Lying to a priest—especially to the priest who is your confessor—is a sin, Arturo. I’ve told you that before.”

Rawson didn’t reply.

“I think I might be of some help, Arturo.”

Rawson gestured toward the Lodestar sitting on the tarmac.

“Why don’t we take a little ride, Father? And, on the way, perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me how you found out about this.”

“I’d love to, Arturo, really I would. But that would violate a priestly confidence, and that, too, would be a sin. I’m sure you understand.”

[FIVE]

Casa Montagna

Estancia Don Guillermo

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina