“Give me a minute to clean up the baby,” Mother Superior said.
[SIX]
Casa Montagna
Estancia Don Guillermo
Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60
Mendoza Province, Argentina
1240 16 October 1943
Subinspector Estanislao Nowicki found Don Cletus Frade and Enrico Rodríguez in the bar. Frade was holding a brandy snifter in his hand. There was a bandage on his head, and his shirt was bloody. Nowicki looked at Enrico for an explanation and Enrico shook his head: Don’t ask.
Frade looked at Nowicki.
“Go ahead, ask,” Clete said.
“What happened?”
“Ten minutes ago, my wife was delivered of a heal
thy baby boy.”
“That’s wonderful, Don Cletus!”
“I was at the time on the floor. Estanislao, never be present when your wife is having a baby.”
“You passed out,” Nowicki said. “That happened to me.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that,” Clete said. “Maybe that will wipe the smirk off Enrico’s face. Enrico doesn’t have any children.”
“Having a baby, Enrico,” Nowicki said, “is something a woman should do alone. Or at least with other women. Or with a doctor. But not with her husband anywhere around. When my wife had her first child, she swore at me with words I didn’t even know she knew.”
“So what’s up, Estanislao?” Clete asked.
“You heard that that Nazi bastard Schmidt and ten 10th Mountain Regiment trucks are moving toward General Alvear?”
Frade nodded. “Segundo Comandante Garcia told me.”
“Garcia just told me there’s been a message from General Nervo. An important person will arrive at El Plumerillo around two-thirty or three and suggests you be there.”
“He say what important person?” Clete asked.
Nowicki shrugged.
“Maybe the general. And/or somebody else.”
Clete looked at his watch.
“Well, I guess I better go change my shirt. Never meet an important person at an airport in a bloody shirt. Enrico, I can really change my shirt without help. Go get the Lincoln.”
The Lincoln, two Gendarmería Nacional Fords, and a truck were lined up in front of the house when Clete came out ten minutes later. Enrico was standing beside the Lincoln, holding the door open for Clete.
“With your permission, Don Cletus, I will not go. I want to have a look around the perimeter. You will not be alone.” He gestured at the gendarmes. “And you will have more room in case there is more than one important person at the airport.”
“Try not to fall down the mountain, Enrico,” Clete said, and got behind the wheel.