Clete now remembered seeing SS-Hauptscharführer Niedermeyer in Lisbon as he boarded the Ciudad de Rosario.
Niedermeyer snapped to attention and barked, “Herr Major!”
Clete had a sudden chilling series of thoughts:
Jesus Christ! When I so cleverly decided that I could get away with not telling Martín and Nervo about bringing these people to Argentina, I didn’t think about them actually being here, and that Martín and Nervo will, as sure as Christ made little apples, find out that they are!
What the hell was I thinking?
Or not thinking?
When they find out I lied to them, there goes that “We’re all in this together!”
What the hell am I going to do?
“Don’t ever use my rank again!” Clete said unpleasantly in German, then asked, “And the other fellow?”
“If you don’t know his name,” Welner said, “then you could truthfully say you’ve never heard of him.” He let that sink in. “He’s going to arrange for National Identity booklets, et cetera.”
And that’s just one of the ways they’ll find out they’re here!
If somebody in the Interior Ministry is passing out National Identity booklets to people who shouldn’t have them, Martín knows about it.
And so does Nervo.
And by now Martín’s people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo—Good Ol’ Carlos Aguirre, “my” airframe and power plant mechanic, who I know works for Martín, pops quickly to mind—are already wondering what Welner and the other two Jesuits are doing here. And does Nervo have his own people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, keeping an eye on Don Cletus Frade?
You bet your ass he does!
And are they wondering the same thing?
You bet your ass they are!
“If I don’t know his name, how am I going to get in touch with him if I need him?” Clete asked.
“Through me.”
“I don’t like that,” Clete said flatly.
They locked eyes for a moment.
“Cletus,” Welner said finally, “this is Father Francisco Silva. Also of the Society of Jesus.”
Clete went to Silva and shook his hand.
“Make sure I have your phone number before you leave, Father,” he said. “But right now let’s get some breakfast.”
He walked to the door to the dining room, but before he reached the door, it opened.
Elisa Gómez—Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo’s chief housekeeper, a plump female in her late forties who was wearing a severe black dress and had a large wooden cross hanging around her neck—stood there.
“Don Cletus?” she said.
But Clete saw that Elisa was looking at the priests, and with great curiosity.
“We’re going to need breakfast,” Clete said. “A lot of it.” He looked at Welner and asked, “Where are the others?”
“They should be here soon,” Welner said. “They’re coming in a Little Sisters of the Poor bus.”