“Don’t shoot yourself in the foot with that .45, Fischer,” Frade said.
Captain Gonzalo Delgano, chief pilot of South American Airways, who was sitting in a wicker chair on the verandah of the big house and resting his feet on a wicker stool, got up when he saw the Horch with Don Cletus Frade at the wheel and Doña Dorotea Frade beside him roll majestically up the driveway.
Clete saw that Delgano was wearing a well-cut double-breasted suit.
Implying that he’s really not Major Delgano of the Argentina Army Air Service, Retired.
Except that he’s not—and never has been—retired from the army and, more important, has never severed his connection with the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security.
And that, charming or not, he is one dangerous sonofabitch.
Dorotea waved cheerfully at him as Clete stopped the car.
Delgano came down the shallow flight of stairs from the verandah.
“Gonzalo! What a pleasant surprise!” Dorotea said.
“I’m sorry to intrude, Doña Dorotea,” Delgano said. “But something important has come up.”
“Oh, really?”
“What’s up, Gonzo?” Frade asked as they embraced and kissed.
“I had hoped to see Mr. Fischer,” Delgano said.
“He’s not here?” Dorotea asked.
Delgano shook his head.
“Well, he’s probably taking a ride,” she said. “He’s quite a horseman.”
“Why do you want to see Fischer?” Clete asked.
Antonio Lavallé appeared. He was wearing a crisp white jacket.
“May I get you something, Doña Dorotea? Don Cletus?”
“I’d like some coffee, please,” Dorotea said. “Darling?”
“That’d be fine,” Clete said.
“I was hoping Mr. Fischer would demonstrate his machine for me,” Delgano said. “The one that cuts the paper tapes so that air base transmitters can endlessly repeat the station identifier.”
“Why would you want him to do that?” Clete asked.
“Well, El Coronel Jorge G. Frade Airfield needs one,” Delgano said.
“Excuse me?” Dorotea asked.
“A tape that will permit the transmitter to endlessly send ‘JGF, JGF, JGF, JGF,’ ” Delgano said, meeting Clete’s eyes. “So that pilots can find the field.”
“You’ve lost me, Gonzo,” Frade said.
“After you left El Palomar yesterday, Cletus, El Coronel Perón and I drove over to the airfield. It’s amazing how much work has been done. One hangar is almost up and a good deal of work has been done on the terminal building. One runway is just about complete—not paved, but ready for the pavement, with whatever they call what goes under the concrete.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
“And El Coronel Perón said, ‘Delgano, this place needs a name. What would you suggest?’ ”