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Clete laughed.

He said: “You’ve got it in low range, four-wheel drive. There’s a lever on the floor, next to the gearshift.”

“You know the car?”

“As a fellow member of Oh, So Social, I of course know everything about such social amenities as fine motorcars.”

Enrico Rodríguez stuck his head in the doorway. Frade motioned for him to come in. He did, followed by Stein, Boltitz,

von Wachtstein, and Delgano.

“I know who you are, Sergeant Major,” Mattingly said in fluent Spanish. “Mr. Dulles told me Colonel Frade is never far from a man with a shotgun looking for someone to shoot.”

“A sus órdenes, mi coronel,” Rodríguez said.

“But these gentlemen—”

“SAA’s chief pilot, Gonzalo Delgano,” Frade said, pointing, “who is also a colonel in the Bureau of Internal Security. Karl Boltitz, former—”

“Trusted associate of Admiral Canaris,” Mattingly interrupted. “We’re working on finding your father, Kapitän. The last word we have is that he’s not dead. We just don’t know where he is.”

“Thank you,” Boltitz said.

“And that must make you Major von Wachtstein?” Mattingly asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Frade added: “And that’s Siggie Stein, our commo expert.”

Stein and Mattingly were shaking hands when the Air Forces sergeant appeared with a tray of glasses.

Mattingly was pouring generous drinks into them when another face appeared at the door.

It was an Air Forces lieutenant colonel. He wore a pink Ike jacket, pink trousers, a battered cap with a crushed crown, and half Wellington boots. A certain swagger—and the way he wore his uniform cap—identified him as a fighter pilot. He didn’t look as if he was old enough to vote, and in fact had been eligible to do so for only the past three weeks.

“And who, Colonel, might you be?” Colonel Mattingly inquired.

“My name is Dooley,” the very young officer said.

“Archer C. Dooley, commanding the 26th Fighter Group?” Mattingly inquired.

“Deputy commander,” Dooley corrected him. “How did you know that?”

“As Colonel Frade and I were just discussing, Colonel, we are members of an organization that knows everything. Sergeant, does that telephone communicate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you see if you can get General Halebury on it for me?”

“Yes, sir,” the Air Forces sergeant said.

“Colonel, what—”

“Colonel Dooley,” Mattingly interrupted him, “patience is a virtue right up there with chastity. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

He took the telephone the Air Forces sergeant was holding out to him.

“Bob Mattingly, General,” he said into it. “I have Colonel Dooley with me. I wonder if you could give the colonel his marching orders over the telephone?” He paused to listen, then added, “Thank you, sir. Doing so will save a good deal of time.”