“My orders, Arturo,” Welner said, “are to assist Señor Körtig in any way possible. If you feel it necessary, I’m sure the Papal Nuncio will confirm this.”
“My God!” Rawson said.
“I’m sure you will make any decision you do only after careful, prayerful thought,” Welner said.
“Señor President,” Martín said. “If el Coronel Perón is involved with Schmidt—and I think he is—he wouldn’t admit it, and it would be very hard to prove.”
“Cat got your tongue, Nervo?” the president said. “Usually, you’re bubbling over with helpful suggestions.”
“First thing in the morning, Mr. President, instead of Cletus taking you flying in one of those little airplanes looking for Schmidt, he flies you to Buenos Aires. You can do that, right, Cletus, in your red airplane?”
Clete nodded. “I can do that.”
“And Martín and I go looking for Schmidt in those little airplanes. And stop him.”
“Which would see you both lying in a pool of blood on a country road,” President Rawson said.
“But you would be in the Casa Rosada, Mr. President,” Martín argued.
“Unless I am in a position to look my senior officers—some of whom doubtless know what Schmidt plans—in the eye and tell them I have personally placed el Coronel Schmidt under arrest pending court-martial, my being in the Casa Rosada would be like—what was that phrase Cletus used?—‘pissing into the wind.’
“What we’re going to do is what we originally decided. We will search for Colonel Schmidt and, when we find him, order him to return to San Martín, and when that’s done, Cletus can fly me to Buenos Aires.”
“And what if shortly after you find Schmidt, you find yourself under arrest?” Nervo challenged. “Or in that pool of blood on a country road that you mentioned?”
“Well, if that happens, General, there won’t be anything else we can do to stop this country from having a civil war, will there?”
[FIFTEEN]
The Wansee Suite
Edelweiss Hotel
San Martín 202
San Carlos de Bariloche
19555 16 October 1943
“Sweetheart, I’d really like to go down to the bar,” Señorita Evita Duarte said to el Coronel Perón.
“Out of the question,” Perón snapped. “And we’re going to have dinner and breakfast up here, not in the dining room.”
She looked at him with hurt eyes.
“Evita,” Inge Schenck said, “going into the lobby or the restaurant is not a very good idea. The press is down there. They already know Juan Domingo is here, which means that Juan Domin
go’s name is going to be in every newspaper in the country tomorrow.”
“Listen to her, Evita,” Perón said.
“It would be a lot worse if his picture, with you, was in the newspapers,” Inge said.
“What about you, Inge?” Evita asked. “What would happen to you if your picture was all over La Nación?”
“I don’t intend to let that happen. That’s why I’m not going down to the bar.”
“But what if it did?” Evita pursued. “How would that affect what happens to you next? And while we’re on that subject, what happens to you next?”