“And if that doesn’t work?”
“I am hoping that my uncle Humberto will have enough influence to get me out of a Uruguayan jail.”
Humberto smiled at him and shook his head. “There is another rule among bankers,” he said. “And that is never to dip into capital unless you absolutely have to.”
“Which means what?”
“When we get to the house, I will try to get through to Uruguay on the telephone,” he said. “I will have at least one of your estancia managers, and the Managing Director of the Bank of the Río Plate, waiting to greet us at Carrasco when we land.”
“When ‘we’ land?”
“When we land,” Humberto said.
“Humberto, I don’t want you involved in this.”
“It would be best if the officials at El Palomar didn’t know we were coming,” Humberto went on, ignoring him. “So just before we take off from here, the telephone line will go out, and stay out—how long will it take us to fly to El Palomar, go through customs and immigration, and take off again?”
“You’re not going anywhere with me,” Cletus said flatly. “This is none of your business.”
“We have had this discussion before, Cletus,” Humberto said. “God in his wisdom has taken your father and my son, and given us each other. In my eyes, you are my son, and whatever you do is my business.”
“Oh, Jesus, Humberto!”
“How long will it take us to fly to El Palomar?”
“Thirty minutes. Maybe a little less.”
“And we’d best plan another thirty minutes to clear customs and immigration—they won’t know we’re coming, of course, which may cause a slight delay. So the telephone line should go down for at least an hour.” Humberto looked at Enrico. “You can arrange for that, can’t you, Enrico?”
“Sí, Señor Humberto.”
“What time are we leaving?” Humberto asked.
“I invited Ashton for breakfast. Right after breakfast.”
“If we have an early breakfast—say, at nine-thirty—we could leave at eleven.”
Clete shrugged.
“Have the phone line go out the minute we leave the house, Enrico,” Humberto ordered. “And have it stay out for an hour and a half.”
“Sí, Señor Humberto.”
“And now, Cletus, I suggest we go to the house and rescue your aunt Martha from your aunt Beatrice.”
[FOUR]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
2230 1 May 1943
Dinner, having been served early, was over. But, Clete thought unkindly, Señora Beatrice Frade de Duarte had a captive audience, and was obviously determined to make the most of that opportunity. The way she was going, they might still be here when the sun came up.
Only the Old Man had escaped, rescued by Father Welner, who announced as dessert was being served that he wanted to have a look at the Chapel of Our Lady of the Miracles, and perhaps Mr. Howell would like to accompany him?
The Old Man had jumped at the chance, and Clete was about to jump to his feet, too, when he saw the don’t you dare! look on Martha’s face.