Page 113

[SIX]

Tempelhof Air Base Berlin, Germany 1005 21 May 1945

“Tempelhof Departure Control. South American Airways Double Zero Four on the threshold of Twenty-seven.”

“Tempelhof Departure Control clears South American Airways Zero Zero Four as Number One for takeoff on Runway Two Seven. South American Double Zero Four is cleared Direct Rhein-Main Air Base. On takeoff, when on course two-three-two-point-two degrees, climb to twenty thousand feet. When possible, change to Helmstedt Area Control on Ground-Air Channel Two. Be aware, P-38 aircraft are, and Soviet aircraft may be, active on your route. Acknowledge.”

Clete repeated the clearance.

“Takeoff power, please,” Chief Pilot Delgano ordered.

“Tempelhof,” Clete reported a moment later. “South American Double Zero Four Rolling.”

“Helmstedt Area Control, South American Double Zero Four,” Frade radioed.

“Double Zero Four, Helmstedt reads you five by five. How me?”

“Helmstedt, also five by five. South American Double Zero Four at twenty thousand indicating three-fifty on a course of two-three-two-point-two. Leaving Soviet zone and entering American zone at this time.”

“Helmstedt understands Zero Zero Four has entered American zone.”

“Affirmative. Helmstedt, South American. En route change of destination. Please close out my Rhein-Main flight plan, and note that we are changing course to two-three-seven-point-three at this time. Direct ultimate destination Lisbon, Portugal.”

“Double Zero Four, I’m not sure you can do that.”

“Don’t be silly,” Frade said. “Of course we can.”

Dooley’s voice then came across Frade’s headset: “Hey, hotshot. Try not to run into the Pyrenees.”

“Little Brother,” Frade replied, “I wondered where you were.”

“I’ve been covering your ass from above and behind.”

Sixty seconds later, Colonel Dooley demonstrated this by suddenly appearing—coming out of a high-speed dive—in front of the Ciudad de Rosario. Then he twice rolled the Lockheed Lightning and made a steep descending turn out of their path.

“So long, hotshot!” Dooley said. “Write if you find work.”

When Dooley was out of sight, Frade said, “Gonzo, when Dooley gets out of the Air Forces after the war, I was thinking he’d make a fine SAA pilot.”

“Is that an order or an observation?”

“Right now, just an observation.”

“In that case, I quite agree,” Delgano said, then his tone softened as he added: “Clete, Mario told me about Peter von Wachtstein.”

“And?”

“I knew when we had dinner with General Gehlen that Peter was going to Pomerania, and that there was nothing you or anyone else could do to stop him.”

“You’re pretty perceptive. Maybe you should consider giving up driving airplanes and becoming, oh, I don’t know, maybe an intelligence officer.”

[ONE]

4730 Avenida Libertador General San Martín Buenos Aires, Argentina 1900 25 May 1945

It is times like this, Cletus H. Frade thought as he surveyed the scene taking place in the library, that I very much miss my father.

And that I curse those goddamn Nazi bastards for taking him away from me . . . from us . . . from this.