“You’ll soon find out, el Coronel,” Martín said.
When Perón got out of the Mercedes, he saw that the soldiers of the First Infantry Regiment—the Patricios—were lined up in two facing rows.
“That way, if you will, el Coronel,” Martín said, gesturing that Perón should walk between the lines of soldiers.
When he had done so, he found himself outside the warehouse, standing on a wharf. A fifty-foot-long boat was tied up to the wharf. Highly varnished and brightly painted, it was one of perhaps thirty such boats used to take people on cruises—luncheon included—through the islands of Tigre and out onto the River Plate.
“What are you going to do, General?” Perón snapped. “Take me out onto the Plate and throw me overboard?”
Martín ignored the question. He motioned for Perón to cross the gangway onto the boat.
When he had done so, the soldiers followed him. Ramos and Montenegro and finally Martín boarded the boat, which immediately began to move away from the wharf.
They entered the cabin of the boat, which was furnished with tables and chairs and, at stern end, a bar.
“Stand if you like, el Coronel,” Martín said. “But it’s about an hour’s ride, and you’d probably be more comfortable sitting.”
Perón glared between Ramos and Martín.
“You’re taking me to Isla Martín García?” he asked, but it was more of a statement—an accusation—than it was a question.
Isla Martín García was a small island—little more than half a square mile—off the Río de la Plata coast of Uruguay. In the 1820s it had been fortified by the Ejército Argentino to deny the Brazilian navy access to the Uruguay River.
This time Martín replied. “The president, el Coronel, told me I was to remind you that you would be marching in the steps of President Hipólito Yrigoyen.”
The smile on Martín’s face showed that he had no trouble at all obeying that order.
General Ramos chuckled.
Juan Hipólito del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús Yrigoyen Alem had twice been president of the Argentine Republic. In 1930, a cabal of officers who had briefly seized power held him prisoner for a short time on Isla Martín García. A young major named Juan Domingo Perón had been appointed private secretary to the minister of War as a reward for his role in the coup.
Perón glared at both of them.
“You will pardon me for not being able to share in the joke,” he snapped.
“He also said, el Coronel,” Martín went on, “to tell you that it was the safest place he could think of to keep you in this situation.”
“One day, Juan Domingo,” Ramos said, “there will no doubt be another bronze plaque, one with your name on it, affixed to the wall of the schoolhouse beside the one that now states, ‘President Yrigoyen was held captive in this building in 1930.’”
Perón, his face red, glared at him.
“Capitan Montenegro will stay with you, el Coronel,” Martín said, “and see to your comfort. He and the troops from the Patricios will guarantee your safety.”
“Sit down, Juan Domingo,” General Ramos ordered, impatient, his tone making it clear he had tired of Perón’s combativeness. “Try to get it through your head that the president, Martín, and I are doing our very best to keep you alive.”
[SEVEN]
Base Naval Puerto Belgrano
Punta Alta, Bahía Blanca
Bahía Blanca Province, Argentina
1305 9 October 1945
Vicealmirante Guillermo Crater was immediately notified by telephone that a Storch aircraft carrying General de Brigada Bernardo Martín had just landed unannounced.
Where the hell did Bernardo get an airplane?