burgh teams into France and the lowlands every day."
"We're talking about Argentina, not France," Clete said. "It's a hell of a lot farther from Brazil to Buenos Aires Province than it is across the English Chan-nel."
"And whatever chance Clete might have to influence the new govern-ment-presuming that goes well-would be destroyed if it came out that we were parachuting OSS teams into Argentina," Graham said. "I repeat, Clete's original objections to that remain valid. It is not an option at this time."
"Yes, Sir," Quinn said.
"I think you had better message Brazil to have the team prepared to infiltrate from Brazil across the Uruguay River into Corrientes Province," Graham said.
"Yes, Sir."
"You work, Clete, on getting the airplane into Argentina, and I'll work on it at this end."
"Yes, Sir," Clete said.
"And also, until Delojo has time to get his feet on the ground, you be think-ing about infiltration across the Ri¢ Uruguay."
"Yes, Sir."
"Anything else, Clete, that we should talk about here and now?"
"Colonel, the priorities," Clete said. "What's more important, me getting close to the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos or taking out the replenishment vessel?"
"That decision is going to have to come from the President," Graham said. "There has been enormous diplomatic pressure about the Reine de la Mer. And what he might decide today might very well change tomorrow."
"Great!" Clete said.
Graham stood up and put out his hand.
"Good luck, Clete. We'll be in touch."
[TWO]
Centro Naval
Avenida Florida y Avenida Cordoba
Buenos Aires
2110 5 April 1943
A dark-blue 1939 Dodge four-door sedan pulled to the curb and a man stepped out of the backseat. The man-tall, fair-haired, light-skinned, in his mid-thirties, and wearing a light-brown gabardine suit-leaned down and put his head in the open passenger-side front-door window.
"Come back for me in an hour and a half," he ordered the driver, a some-what younger man in a nearly identical suit.
"S¡, mi Coronel," the driver said.
The man then turned and quickly mounted the shallow flight of stairs on the corner of the building and pushed his way through the revolving door of the Centro Naval.
"Buenos tardes, mi Coronel," the porter manning the guest-book table said, and then, when el Teniente Coronel Alejandro Bernardo Mart¡n had finished signing in, reached into a table drawer and handed him a small envelope.
"Muchas gracias," Mart¡n said.
He turned his back to the porter and quickly checked the flaps for signs of tampering. Finding none, he tore the envelope open. It contained a single sheet of paper. It was blank. He turned it over, and the other side was blank too.
He jammed the sheet of paper and the envelope into his trousers pocket and turned back to the porter.
"Marching orders," he said with a smile. "If Se¤ora Mart¡n should tele-phone, please tell her I am in compliance with her orders."