“That surprised you?” Graham asked.
“Yeah, a little. Even after I’ve had time to think about it.”
“Dorotea said ‘maps,’ plural.”
“The other one was from the Oberkommando of the Wehrmacht. It shows South America ‘after the annexation.’ Paraguay and Uruguay are shown as provinces of Argentina.”
“Zimmerman,” Graham said thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”
“What?” Clete asked.
“Stranger things have happened,” Graham said, as if to himself. Then he asked, “Where’s the film?”
“In my toilet kit.”
Graham said, “You have some place where it can be developed right now, Howard?”
Hughes rose gracefully from his armchair, walked to a closet, unlocked it, reached inside, came out with a telephone, and, putting the phone to his ear, leaned on the doorjamb.
“We need a little room service,” he announced into the telephone, then put it back, closed the door, and locked it.
He saw the look on Frade’s face.
“We couldn’t take the chance th
at one of your pals would catch you trying to get Alex on the phone,” Hughes explained. “And Alex was worried what kind of a hooker you’d get if you tried that.”
Frade gave him the finger.
A moment later, there was a knock at the door and someone called, “Room service.”
Hughes opened the door to a stocky man wearing a white cotton waiter’s jacket, and motioned him into the room.
The man looked expressionless but carefully at Frade.
“Get your film, Clete,” Hughes ordered.
“Is this guy room service or not?” Clete asked.
“You’re hungry?” Graham asked.
Frade nodded.
“Tell them to start serving dinner,” Hughes ordered the man. “Bring three here. And then take a film cassette the gentleman in the towel is about to give you out to the studio. Have it souped. I want prints large enough to read. And I want them yesterday. Bring the film back with you. Got it?”
“Yes, Mr. Hughes,” the man said, and turned and looked at Frade again.
Clete went to the bathroom, took the film cassette from his toilet kit, and started to return but changed his mind. He got dressed first, then went back to the living room. The “waiter” still stood where he had been standing.
Clete handed him the film cassette.
“And when you bring my dinner . . .” he began, then looked at Hughes. “Do I have any choices?”
“The usual jailhouse fare,” Hughes said.
Frade turned back to the waiter. “Bring a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a good bottle of merlot or pinot noir.”
The man looked at Hughes for direction.