“That might be just crazy enough to work. And you just happen to have a copy of La Nacíon, right?”
“No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one in the air force officers’ club.”
“And if there’s not?”
“Then you’re going to have to think of something else. That was my best shot at a solution to this dilemma.”
After a moment, von Wachtstein said, thoughtfully, “You know, that’s really not such a bad idea. And in the absence of anything else, I think we should try it.”
—
When they got to the Officers’ Club, the Húsares de Pueyrredón captain and the navy corvette captain were sharing a bottle of wine.
“Gentlemen,” the Húsares de Pueyrredón captain announced, “may I introduce my cousin, Corvette Captain Raphael Aguirre? Rafe, this is Captain von Wachtstein of South American Airways, and Señores von Dattenberg and Cronley, who are on the staff of Don Cletus Frade.”
“An honor, gentlemen,” Corvette Captain Aguirre said, offering each of them his hand. “José has been telling me about your mission.”
“I hope he hasn’t told you things he should not have told you,” von Wachtstein said sternly.
“Captain,” Aguirre said, “my lips are sealed.”
Von Wachtstein met his eyes for a long moment, then said, “Because he has told you whatever he has, and because you and José are family, I will tell you—with the understanding that it will go no further—what I can.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Did José tell you that an attempt was made to assassinate el Coronel Perón?” von Wachtstein asked.
“No, sir. José said there were difficulties, difficulties he could not share with me.”
Cronley thought: That’s twice this guy has called Hansel “sir.”
That’s a good sign . . .
“There was also an attempt on the life of General de Brigada Martín of BIS,” von Wachtstein went on. “Both attempts failed, but unfortunately el Coronel Perón and General Martín were wounded, General Martín rather seriously.”
“Who did it?” Aguirre asked.
“We have reason to believe that certain members of the Tenth Mountain are attempting a coup d’état.”
“Do you know who?”
“No. We won’t know until we catch them. When they realized that Martín and Perón were still alive, they ran.”
“And you’re chasing them?” he asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.
Von Wachtstein nodded.
“The delicate thing here, Captain, is that President Farrell and el Coronel Perón don’t want the story to get out. They believe that it would be best for the country if this thing were dealt with quietly. Now, we know, or we think we know, where these traitors are headed.”
“And you’re going there to arrest them?”
Again, his question came out as a statement.
“You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that we’re flying Don Cletus’s personal airplane and an SAA aircraft. We took that from the maintenance hangar still bearing the bullet holes that were put in it during the assassination attempt. We wanted to get it out of Buenos Aires before the press saw it and started asking questions. And of course the whereabouts of Don Cletus’s airplane is no one’s business but Don Cletus’s.”
“Sir, how can I help?” Aguirre asked.
“In two ways, Captain, both equally important. First of course is refueling our aircraft now and when we return. Second, make absolutely sure that none of your men do anything that would tip these people that we’re here. Our plan is to be where they’re going when they get there.”