And thank you, Tío Juan Domingo, for that passionate little speech.
While I am tempted to blush, the bottom line is that you have told these guys, and one or the other of them—probably both—is going to pass it on to somebody in the German embassy that Don Cletus Frade has many friends in high places, and that should be taken into consideration the next time somebody suggests killing him would solve a lot of problems.
Cranz spoke to von und zu Aschenburg, who then translated: “Mr. Cranz . . . Karl . . . remains curious about the availability of transport aircraft for a civilian enterprise in . . . in the present conditions.”
“The present conditions” meaning the war, right?
Oh, I’ll love answering this one.
“From what I’ve been told,” Frade said, “what aircraft are available are those the Air Forces or our airlines don’t need. I don’t think there’s any DC-3s or -4s available, is what I mean. What is available are some Lockheed Lodestars nobody really has any need for. And our airlines don’t need them either. They’re pretty much settled on the DC-3. But the Lockheed’s fine for our purposes.”
Cranz said something else in German. Frade understood him to ask “How soon?” but waited before replying until von und zu Aschenburg had paraphrased what Cranz had said in Spanish. The delay was ostensibly for the benefit of the others, though it also allowed Frade to fully consider an appropriate answer.
Frade looked at Cranz and said: “Right away, as a matter of fact. El Señor Delgano and I will start looking for facilities in Mendoza and Uruguay in the next couple of days.”
“You already have the airplanes?” von und zu Aschenburg asked.
“No. But I have a Lodestar, which I will rent to Through and Around— excuse me, South American Ai
rways—to get us started.”
Then he stood up.
“I have to be going,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Captain, and Mr. Creez, was it?”
“Cranz,” Cranz said carefully.
Frade shook hands with Father Welner and Delgano, then kissed Claudia, Perón, and Duarte, and then nodded at the Germans as he walked out of the library.
He stopped in the corridor outside the library.
“You have to understand, Herr Cranz,” he overheard Juan Domingo Perón say in German, “that he lost his father to a very cruel and unwise decision by one of your SS officers.”
“I had no idea,” Cranz said, mustering a tone that he hoped sounded like genuine surprise.
“I think the best way to deal with that subject,” Doña Alicia said, “which is painful to all of us, is not to discuss it.”
VI
[ONE]
Office of the Director Office of Strategic Services National Institutes of Health Building Washington, D.C. 0930 29 June 1943
“Why is it, Alex,” OSS Director William J. Donovan said, looking up from his desk to meet Colonel Alejandro Graham’s eyes, “that I suspect I’m not going to like that cat-who-has-just-swallowed-the-canary smile on your face?”
“Bill, you know that I always love to bring you proof that one of your orders has been carried out with alacrity.”
“Try telling that to your man Frade.”
“As a matter of fact, I have just heard from Major Frade.”
“And you’re smiling. So what’s the bad news?”
Graham extended a message fresh from the radio room. Donovan snatched it from his hand and scanned it. His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as he read it more thoroughly:
PRIORITY
TOP SECRET LINDBERGH