“El Patron and I will be there directly,” Beth told her in Spanish, then smiled knowingly at Clete.
“It’s easy to get used to,” he said, and then waved her ahead of him out of the room.
He followed her down the corridor to the dining room, where everyone was seated at the table. Dorotéa was sitting at its foot—as she had at dinner—which meant, Clete thought, that as far as she was concerned she was already playing the role of La Patróna. It pleased him.
“Good morning, Cletus,” Dorotéa said sweetly. “Did you sleep well?”
God, she’s beautiful!
“Actually, no,” he said seriously. “One thing and another kept me up most of the night.”
“Perhaps your conscience was bothering you, darling,” she replied without missing a beat.
“And how did you sleep, Dorotéa?” Beth asked innocently.
“Well, there was nothing on my conscience, so I slept like a baby,” Dorotéa replied.
She picked up a small silver bell by her plate and rang it. Two maids immediately came out of the kitchen and started serving breakfast.
[THREE]
Control Tower
El Palomar Airfield
Buenos Aires
1435 2 May 1943
“Mi Coronel…” the senior control operator said, and when he had Coronel Bernardo Martín’s attention, pointed his index finger toward the sky.
Martín picked up a set of earphones and put them on. He was in uniform because a colonel’s uniform would be more useful than his Bureau of Internal Security credentials for what he wanted to do now.
“El Palomar Tower, this is Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three.”
Despite the slight static and clipped frequency of the control tower’s radio, the voice was easily recognizable as Cletus Frade’s.
Martín looked at the control tower operator, who was doing absolutely nothing. Martín gestured impatiently for him to get on with it.
The operator picked up his microphone. “Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three, El Palomar, go ahead.”
“Four Three is at 2,500 meters, indicating 250 knots—correction, 400 kilometers—per hour, approximately sixty kilometers due north of your station. Request approach and landing instructions. Over.”
Four hundred kilometers per hour? My God, that’s fast!
He did the arithmetic: Four hundred kilometers an hour was six point six six six forever kilometers a minute. At that speed, it will take him nine minutes to fly sixty kilometers. I just got here in time.
“Mi Coronel?” the control tower operator asked.
“Give him what he wants, por favor, Señor,” Martín said politely, and added mentally, You idiot!
“Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three, El Palomar. Permission to approach El Palomar on present course is granted. Descend to one thousand meters. Report when twenty kilometers from the field.”
“El Palomar Four Three. Understand and will comply. Beginning descent at this time.”
Four minutes later, Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three called again.
“El Palomar, Four Three. At one thousand meters. Due north. Indicating four hundred kilometers. Estimate maybe 25 kilometers from your station.”