“And he did. And Ambassador Lutzenberger told him that just as soon as there was final victory, Germany would be delighted to help Argentina with the most modern aircraft in the world, probably even the Condor. But at the moment, there had been small reverses on the battlefields, and he didn’t think any aircraft would be available right now.”
Frade shook his head in disgust. “Ramírez actually believed that the Germans would sell him airplanes? I thought he was smarter than that.”
“Your Tío Juan Domingo was both surprised and disappointed,” Duarte said. “He admitted as much when he came to me and asked if the Banco de Inglaterra y Argentina could induce the British to sell us some transport aircraft.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“So with Juan Domingo sitting right there”—he gestured at Frade—“where you are, I called the British ambassador and asked him if he thought the English were in a position to sell some transport planes to Argentina. He said he didn’t think so, but to ask him again after the war.”
“All of which leaves me where?” Clete said.
“I then told him that you had come to me, said you thought you could get your hands on some Lockheed passenger airships, and then you asked if I thought you could get permission to start an airline, and that I told you that I thought getting permission would be just about impossible.”
“Why did you tell him that?”
“Because in addition to being a good banker, I’m a good lawyer, and all good lawyers are devious. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”
“And what was his reaction to that?”
“He asked—he’s actually very clever, Cletus, something you should keep in mind—if your grandfather was involved, to which I replied, I didn’t know, but I thought it was likely, because of his relationship with Howard Hughes. To which Colonel Perón replied, ‘I thought it was probably something like that.’ Does Mr. Howell know Mr. Hughes, Cletus?”
“Very well, as a matter of fact. Hughes’s father was in the oil business. He invented a tool that goes on the end of the string.”
“Explain that, please.”
“When you put down a hole—that is, drill an oil well—there’s a string of pipes screwed together—‘the string’—that goes into the ground. At the end of the string, there’s a cutting tool.”
He held his hands, fingers extended, about eight inches apart, indicating the size of the ball-shaped tool, then went on, “Some really tough steel cutters— they look like meshing gears—chew up the dirt and rock, which gets washed out of the way. Hughes’s father came up with a hell of an improvement of the tool and, more important, was smart enough to bury it with patents. He started the Hughes Tool Company, and the Hughes Tool Company made him a very rich man. And Howard inherited the whole thing. That’s where he got the money to go into the movie business and to buy Lockheed.”
“ ‘Howard’? You know him, Cletus?”
Frade nodded.
“Even better,” Humberto said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“The first thing suspicious people—like Colonel Martín and Colonel Perón—would think when they heard that you—whom they suspect of having ties with the OSS—could get your hands on airplanes in the middle of the war was that you were getting them from the OSS.”
“You just finished saying Tío Juan Domingo has figured out I’m getting them from my grandfather’s pal, Howard Hughes.”
“I told him that the reason I told you getting permission would be impossible was because of the suspicions people like Colonel Martín would have that it was somehow connected with the OSS. To which, after thinking this over for perhaps two seconds, he replied, ‘There are ways to put such suspicions to rest.’ ”
“And did he tell you what they would be?”
“Having someone like himself on the board of directors, and making sure all the pilots, from the chief pilot downward, are Argentines. He even mentioned a Major Delgano for that position.”
“Well, Delgano does know how to fly a Lodestar,” Clete said.
“How do you know that?”
“I taught him.”
“Isn’t that the fellow who was your father’s pilot?”
Frade nodded.
“Maybe Tío Juan is smarter than I’m giving him credit for being,” he said.