“. . . and they approached the SAA representative here . . .”
“I didn’t know SAA had a representative here,” Clete said.
“Oh, yes,” Graham said. “A chap named Fernando Aragão.”
“Where did he come from?”
“Connecticut, actually. He went to Brown, but we don’t talk much about his time in the United States. He was born here and has Portuguese citizenship. Before this, he was in the business of exporting cork and sherry and other things to the States. You’re going to have to work out the details of his employment with SAA when you’re here, but for the moment I suggest you let Mr. Dulles finish what he was saying.”
“What does this guy know about me?”
“Nothing he doesn’t have to,” Dulles said. “He does know that you both have files in the National Institutes of Health. Good chap; I’m sure you’ll get along well. But, as I was saying, the Papal Nuncio here approached Señor Aragão, saying he was prepared to negotiate for a block of ten seats on every SAA flight between here and South America, said seats to be used for the transport of Roman Catholic religious. The Papal Nuncio further said that should there not be ten religious moving to South America on any one flight, he would like to use their empty seats to transport the orphans of the Little Sisters of the Poor, ones he wanted to move to South America but really hated to send on such a long ocean voyage.”
“Jesus Christ!” Clete said.
“Payment is to be made in advance, in gold, pounds sterling, or dollars, in either Switzerland or Buenos Aires.”
“Curiosity overwhelms me,” Clete said. “How did the Papal Nuncio know to go to Señor Whatsisname?”
“Fernando has been here since early 1942,” Dulles said. “During that time, he made a point to cultivate the fellow. They’ve become rather close friends. But let me continue: Fernando also told the Papal Nuncio that, whenever this is possible, SAA will carry such additional passengers as the Papal Nuncio may send—for whom there is space; unsold seats, in other words—at a special, lower price. As a gesture of respect for the Holy Father and the good works of the Church of Rome.”
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” Clete said. “Tell me, do you think the Papal Nuncio happens to know Father Welner?”
“I believe they’re old friends,” Dulles said. “I know that Father Welner is staying with the archbishop at his palace while he’s here in Lisbon.”
“So you two are really in bed with the Vatican,” Clete said.
“Strategic services, like politics, makes for strange bedfellows,” Dulles pronounced solemnly, then added, “Allen W. Dulles, April 7, 1893, to God Only Knows.”
“Oh, God,” Graham said, chuckling.
“On your return flight, Cletus,” Dulles said, “you will be transporting eight Portuguese and Spanish diplomats, several Portuguese businessmen going to Brazil, some diplomatic couriers, a half-dozen or more Jesuit priests going to new assignments in South America under the supervision of Father Welner, eight Franciscan priests going to new assignments in South America, and four nuns of the Little Sisters of the Poor and a number of orphans in their care. Among the priests will be Obersturmbannführer Strübel and Hauptscharführer Niedermeyer, suitably attired. All the priests will be traveling on bona fide passports issued by the Vatican.
“Colonel Graham and I are agreed—with Fernando Aragão—that it would be best if you don’t know which of your passengers are actually the Strübels and the Niedermeyers. They will make themselves known to you in Argentina. Your call, Clete.”
“Makes sense,” Frade said. “When do I get to meet Aragão?”
“He’s going to meet you in the lobby and take you to dinner at nine,” Graham said.
“How’s he going to know me?”
“That splendiferous uniform should do it.”
“One more thing, Cletus,” Dulles said. “You will be carrying other passengers from time to time. Would you prefer not to know who they are?”
“Well, since I won’t be on every flight or, for that matter, on most or even many of them—”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Graham interrupted. “Will it be any trouble for you to schedule yourself as a pilot at least once a month—better yet, once every three weeks?”
Frade thought about that, then nodded. “I can do that.”
“And Aragão will make a monthly trip to Buenos Aires. Between those two things, he should be able to keep you up to speed.”
“Okay. What kind of other passengers will SAA be carrying?”
“All kinds,” Dulles said. “What comes immediately to mind are scientists we hope to get out, nuclear physicists and aeronautical engineers. The Germans have developed flying bombs—rockets, right out of Buck Rogers in the Twenty-fifth Century—and are working on others powered by jet engines. The 8th Air Force just about destroyed their base in Peenemunde in the middle of August, but they’re frantically rebuilding it. We’re going to try—Canaris is going to try—to get some of their people out. These weapons pose a hell of a threat to England, and the Russians are trying to steal rocket data, too.”
“And I’m to find these people some place safe in Argentina, too?”