God, if anything bad is going to happen, make it happen to me, not Dorotea or her baby. Our baby.
Thank you.
[TWO]
Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade
Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina
0835 16 October 1943
SAA Chief Pilot Gonzalo Delgano stepped outside the passenger terminal and watched SAA Flight 455, one-stop Lodestar service to San Carlos de Bariloche, take off, desperately—and futilely—hoping that a red warning flag would appear on the instrument panel, causing the pilot to return to the field.
When that didn’t happen, he went into his office in the passenger terminal, picked up the telephone, and dialed a number he had been dialing at least once every five minutes since seven o’clock.
“Extension 7177,” a male voice answered.
“Is he there? Or do you know—”
“He’s here, Major,” “Suboficial Mayor” José Cortina said. “Hold on.”
Delgano heard, faintly: “It’s Delgano, Coronel.”
El Coronel Alejandro Martín came on the line: “What’s so important, Gonzalo?”
“Coronel, von Deitzberg, that blond German woman from Uruguay, el Coronel Juan D. Perón, and some other blond woman by the name of Duarte just took off for Bariloche. I didn’t know whether to stop them or not. I tried to—”
“Perón and von Deitzberg—all of them—were traveling together?” Martín interrupted.
“Yes, sir. I heard about Perón going when I came in this morning. He called last night and said he needed four seats even if that meant taking somebody off the plane.”
“When’s the next flight out there?”
“At half past one.”
“Hold four seats on that. Six. Cancel the flight.”
“That won’t be hard. It may not go anyway.”
“What?”
“It’s undergoing maintenance. They may not be finished in time. If they can’t leave at half past one, they get into San Martín de los Andes too late. The runways there are not lit. We’re working on it, but . . .”
“Is there any other way to get there in a hurry?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re going to be at the airport?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay there. I’ll get back to you.”
[THREE]
Círculo Militar
Santa Fé 750