Tony and Dave Ettinger-a tall, dark-eyed, sharp-featured man in his late twenties, in his shirtsleeves-were seated at a wooden table. There were bowls of tomatoes, onions, and red and green peppers, and what looked like ten pounds of two-inch-thick New York strip steaks on a wooden platter.
They were being served by a dark-haired woman in her thirties, wearing a white blouse, a billowing black skirt, and what Clete thought of as gaucho boots. She smiled nervously at Clete and looked between him and Chief Schultz.
I wouldn't be at all surprised, Clete thought, if the lady keeps the Chief warm on cold pampas nights-at least when Tony and Ettinger aren't here.
The Chief attributed his near-perfect Spanish to the "sleeping dictionary" he had known during a tour at the Cavite Naval Base in the Philippines.
"Buenos tardes," Clete said, smiling at her.
"Buenos tardes, Patron," she said.
"That's Dorothea," Chief Schultz said.
Well, that's nice. I'll have to be careful to see the two ladies are not confused.
"She's helping you perfect your Spanish, Chief?" Clete said as he slipped into a chair and offered his hand to Ettinger.
"Yeah, and she's a not half-bad cook, too," Chief Schultz said.
"I'm sorry about your father, Major," Ettinger said.
"Thank you," Clete said. "And just for the record, I'm out of the Marine Corps."
"Tony was telling me something about that."
Dorothea extended the platter of New York strip steaks-called bife de chorizo-to Clete and he took one. Dorothea filled a second plate with toma-toes, onions, and pepper.
"Se¤orita," Clete began.
"Se¤ora," Chief Schultz corrected him. "She's a widow."
"And you're the answer to a widow's prayer, right?" Clete said in English, and then, in Spanish, went on, "Se¤ora, please find Rudolpho and tell him I said to come in and eat."
"S¡, Patron."
"Tony wasn't very clear about the nature of our relationship to Commander Delojo," Ettinger said.
"I thought I made it pretty clear, Tony," Clete said, "that I remain in com-mand of this team-and that includes you, Chief Schultz. That means you have no relationship to Commander Delojo except through me. That answer your question, Dave?"
"Not precisely," Ettinger said. "Tony said you met Mr. Leibermann." Clete nodded. "I've been passing some things I've developed to Leibermann. Shall I do the same sort of thing for Commander Delojo?"
Clete felt a surge of anger. Ettinger was a damned good man, but he seemed unable to grasp that he was in the military-he was in the Army Counterintelligence Corps, on 'detail' to the OSS-and that in the military one is not permit-ted to disobey orders that seem inconvenient or with which you disagree.
"What sort of things have you been passing to Leibermann, David?" Clete asked coldly.
"I've been working with the Jews here, the Argentine Jews and the refugees...."
"I know that. What I want to know is what you've been passing to Leibermann."
"Nothing that has any connection with anything we're doing. I know how you feel about that."
'Then what, for Christ's sake?"
"The Argentine Jews are deeply involved in the shipping business. They've been
giving me shipping manifests, sailing times, that sort of thing, for ships bound for Spain and Portugal, or allegedly bound for Spain and Portugal. Leibermann wants this sort of information, and-I don't mean to sound flip, but we are on the same side in this war-I can't see any harm in giving it to him."
Neither can I. And I would be wasting my breath to order Ettinger to stop.