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“He kept us alive is what he did,” Nervo said.

Nervo now had his pistol drawn.

“On the ground, the rest of you, or you’re dead!” Cletus ordered, gesturing with the muzzle of the Thompson.

The others dropped to the ground, one of them trying without success to keep away from the blood now leaking from the bodies of el Coronel Schmidt and the man who had tried to use his little Colt revolver.

Clete turned to the pilot of the second Cub, who was ashen-faced.

“What you’re going to do, Lieutenant, is first get yourself together, then go halfway to that convoy, put your hands on your hips, and bellow ‘Senior noncommissioned officer, front and center,’ or words to that effect. And when he presents himself, bring him to me.”

The lieutenant didn’t move.

“Lieutenant, do what Don Cletus has ordered,” President Rawson said.

The lieutenant straightened, then walked around the bodies on the ground and toward the convoy.

Three minutes later, the lieutenant returned, following a large, middle-aged man who had a Thompson hanging from his shoulder.

Next time, Lieutenant, you might think of taking his fucking weapon away from him!

The man saluted. “Mi general, Suboficial Mayor Martínez of the 10th Mountain Regiment reporting as ordered.”

Rawson returned the salute and then looked at Cletus with an Okay, now what? look on his face.

“Sergeant Major,” Clete said, “I am Major Cletus—”

“I know who you are, Don Cletus,” Suboficial Mayor Martínez said. “Enrico has been my lifelong friend. It was I who called him to warn him that el Coronel Schmidt was coming to your house in Tandil.”

“With God as your witness, you are loyal to General Rawson?” Clete asked.

“With God as my witness, mi general.”

“Suboficial Mayor,” General Rawson said, “if I ordered you to take the regiment back to San Martín de los Andes, with these officers under arrest, what would you do?”

“I would have the regiment turned and moving in five minutes, mi general.”

“Do it, Suboficial Mayor,” General Rawson ordered.

As they watched Suboficial Mayor Martínez march away, Nervo said, “What do we do about Perón, Mr. President?”

“You go to Bariloche in the other Cub and place him in protective custody. Suggest to him that he return to Buenos Aires as soon as possible. Arrange things so that ‘as soon is possible’ is tomorrow. Not before. By that time, I should have things straightened out, at least to the point where I can make an intelligent decision about how to deal with el Coronel Perón.”

He turned to Cletus. “Let’s go, Cletus. Now that you’ve saved my life, the sooner I can get to Buenos Aires, the better.”

Clete looked at Nervo.

“Have a good time in Bariloche, General.”

Nervo smiled. “And you in Buenos Aires. Don’t think you’re going to be able to relax, Don Cletus. I have a feeling we’re all going to be very busy very soon.”

POSTSCRIPT

In this fictional work, reference was made to the actual Nazi massacre of 335 men and boys in the Ardeatine Caves in Rome during World War II.

The story line dealt with the escape of Nazis from Allied retribution during and after the war, and several scenes were laid in San Carlos de Bariloche, which is today sometimes known as “Argentina’s Vail,” making reference to the wonderful skiing in Vail, Colorado.

In 1996, the SS officer second in command of the mass murders in the Ardeatine Caves, Erich Priebke—who had escaped to Argentina on a false passport and other documents provided, he said, by Vatican authorities—was put aboard a Falcon DA 90 aircraft sent by the Italian government and extradited to Italy to finally face trial.