He shook Clete's hand firmly and walked out of the library.
That's one clever sonofabitch, Clete thought. A used-car salesman in a clerical collar. I should check to see if I still have all my fingers after that politi-cian 's handshake, and then see if I still have my wristwatch and wallet. I don't have the foggiest idea what, but he wants something from me.
That said, why do I feel a hell of a lot better right now than I have since I came down here? Because he said he's going to fix things about Dorotea. And I think he will. And if he can, he can have anything he wants.
Within reason.
Chapter Twelve
[ONE]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1125 11 April 1343
Enrico rose to his feet when Clete came out of the library. He had been sitting in one of the massive wooden armchairs that lined the wide corridors of the house, spaced every ten feet in nearly military precision, like soldiers guarding a perimeter. They were nearly square, and their only upholstery was thick, deeply tooled cowhide saddle leather nailed to the backrests, seats, and arm-rests.
"Whose airplane did I hear landing?" Clete asked.
"I have sent Rudolpho to find out."
The logical thing is to be patient. Rudolpho will be back in a minute with an explanation. What difference does it make, anyway?
To hell with it.
Enrico caught up with him as he walked down the verandah steps.
"Are there any more airplanes around here that I don't know about?"
"That was not one of our airplanes, Se¤or Clete."
"Who the hell could it be?"
Enrico shrugged.
"Tell me about my father and Padre Welner," Clete said.
Enrico looked uncomfortable, reminding Clete of Welner's statement that he was "no more opaque" than his father.
"Come on, Enrico!"
"El Coronel did not treat the Padre with the proper respect," Enrico said. "They often argued. Many times, your father raised his voice to him. He even called the Padre by his Christian name, sometimes even in my presence."
"What did they argue about?"
"Matters that a man should not argue about with a priest," Enrico said.
"Such as?"
"Heaven, Hell, absolution. The sacraments. What happens between men and women."
In other words, el Padre and el Coronel were friends.
They were through the garden now, and through the windbreak.
A high-wing monoplane, a two-seater, painted in something like olive drab, with an Argentine military insignia-a blue bull's-eye with a white center-on its fuselage was parked alongside two of the Piper Cubs, dwarfing them.