“Get the rest of the bad news,” Clete said, as he switched to the radio function.
—
“Jorge Frade, SAA One.”
He had to call three times before he got a reply.
“SAA One, Jorge Frade.”
“SAA One is ten kilometers to the south.”
Clete switched back to intercom mode.
“Bernardo, please tell me you recognize that voice, and that he works for you.”
“Is that Muñoz?” Martín asked.
“Ask again, after I switch to radio,” Clete said, moved the switch, then made a thumbs-up gesture.
“Is that Muñoz?” Martín repeated.
“A sus órdenes, mi General.”
Clete switched back to intercom.
“Okay. He knows it’s you. Ask him if he’s alone, and if he says yes, ask him if Rodríguez is with him.”
He switched back to radio and made another thumbs-up.
“Muñoz,” Martín asked. “Are you alone?”
“Suboficial Rodríguez is with me, mi General.”
“No one else?”
“There was a lieutenant from the Horse Rifles, mi General, but at the moment he’s taking a . . . he’s in the toilet.”
“There are no Patricios there? The ones I sent out there?”
“Shortly after you left, mi General, a platoon of the Patricios arrived. Ten minutes after that, a company of the Horse Rifles arrived. The Horse Rifles put the men from the Patricios into Hangar Two, mi General.”
“The Patricios went willingly?”
“No, mi General.”
“Were shots fired?”
“No, sir. But there was a company of the Horse Rifles, and the Patricios had no choice.”
“Have the Patricios been disarmed?”
“The lieutenant in charge of the Patricios gave his parole to the captain in charge of the Horse Rifles.”
“I’ll have him shot!” Martín declared furiously.
That’s right, General. Remain calm.
Never lose your temper.