"And how will you get to town?" Per¢n asked.
"A bus is here. Sir, to take the crew, the mail, and diplomatic pouches. I'd planned to go with that. I regret, Sir," he said, turning to Goltz, "that regulations require that I sign for the diplomatic pouches here. It will take a few minutes to get them through Customs. If the Herr Standartenf?hrer doesn't mind waiting, I would be happy to accompany the Herr Standartenf?hrer-"
"Thank you very much, von Wachtstein, but that won't be necessary," Goltz-far too important a personage to be forced to wait around anywhere for anything-interrupted him. "My luggage?"
"I would be happy to see the Herr Standartenf?hrer's luggage arrives safely at his hotel."
"Splendid. You are most obliging, von Wachtstein."
"It is a privilege to be of service to the Herr Standartenf?hrer," von Wacht-stein said.
"I'm sure we shall be seeing more of you, Major," Per¢n said. "While I am sure you have met some of our beautiful women, I'm sure you haven't met all of them. Perhaps we can have dinner."
"It would be a great privilege, mi Coronel," Peter said.
He led them to Gr?ner's Mercedes, saw them safely inside, closed the door, and rendered the Nazi salute as the car drove off.
"Scheisskopf'-shithead-he muttered more than a little bitterly. And then, his diplomatic carnet (A photo-identification card in a leather wallet issued by the Argentine Foreign Ministry.) in his hand, he made his way through the Customs and Immigration section, out to the tarmac, and climbed up the movable stairs into the Condor.
The pilot, copilot, and crew chief were still in the cockpit, their laps cov-ered with the mounds of paperwork made necessary both by arrival in a foreign country and to ensure that maintenance personnel had a complete list of items to inspect, replace, or repair.
"Well, Peter," the pilot said, "I thought that was you standing out there showing all the signs of your dissolute and immoral life among the Argentines."
"That sounds like jealousy, Dieter," von Wachtstein said, shaking hands with the pilot and nodding at the copilot. "How was the flight?"
"Wonderful. There's nothing I like better than spending an hour in the air with all the low fuel lights lighting up the cockpit."
"Was it that bad?"
"Not really. We had at least thirty minutes' fuel remaining when we sat down."
Both knew that on a 2,800 mile leg, a thirty-minute reserve of fuel at an av-erage airspeed of 220 miles, which meant a reserve of 110 miles, was so small as to be meaningless. Or suicidal.
"And when we came out of the soup just now, we almost ran into an Amer-ican China-Clipper flying boat," the copilot said. When Peter turned to look at him, he added, "I don't have the privilege of the Herr Freiherr's acquaintance." He put out his hand. "I'm First Officer Karl Nabler, Herr Major."
"Peter, please," von Wachtstein said. "I stand in awe of your balls, Sir."
Nabler chuckled. "Because of the low fuel, you mean? It wasn't really only thirty minutes. I made it closer to an hour's reserve."
"For flying with Dieter, is what I meant. I've always believed that at a cer-tain age, old birdmen should be forced to retire."
"You can kiss my ass, Peter," the pilot said.
"What did you almost run into? A China Clipper?"
"I think it's a follow-on model to the China Clipper-bigger engines, for one thing," the pilot said. "Anyway, when we came out of the soup, there it was, a four-engine Pan American flying boat with a great big American flag painted on the fuselage."
"And you didn't consider it your National Socialist duty to try to cut its tail off with your propellers? Shame on you, Dieter."
"That would have been nice, Peter," the pilot said, something in his eyes telling von Wachtstein that jokes of that nature were not wise in the presence of the copilot, "but I decided that the safe arrival of Standartenf?hrer Goltz and Colonel Per¢n were really more important to Germany than one downed China Clipper."
"And I wasn't sure where we stood, neutrality-wise," the copilot said, mak-ing it clear that he didn't consider it insane to try to cut the vertical stabilizers off an enemy civilian transport with one's propellers. "I think that we were within what Argentina claims as its territory."
"Yes, and they take their territorial claims very seriously," von Wachtstein said. "It could have proved embarrassing, whether or not you succeeded."
"Karl, why don't you get the diplomatic pouches out of the baggage com-partment?" the pilot suggested, handing him a set of keys. "So that Peter can sign for them and get them off our hands?"
"Yes, Sir."