Perón put on his uniform cap, then kissed Claudia.
“You have my orders, Suboficial Mayor.”
“Sí, mi Coronel.”
He turned to Clete and grasped his shoulders. “Be strong, my son,” he said, and kissed him on the cheek.
The feel of Perón’s beard against his made him uncomfortable. “I will try, Tío Juan,” Clete said.
Perón saluted him, did an about-face, and marched out of the room.
Clete watched him, and as soon as he had left the room, picked up the cognac bottle. “Jesus!” he said, and poured an inch and a half into the snifter.
“I would love to know what you’re thinking,” Welner said.
“The one thing I never expected from that sonofabitch was stupidity. He actually believes that line of horseshit he just laid on us.”
“Clete!” Claudia protested.
“If el Coronel had not had his geography examination taken for him, he never would have been promoted teniente coronel,” Enrico said.
“Really?” Welner asked, amused.
“I am glad I told him I killed his Germans,” Enrico said.
“I’m not sure that was smart,” Clete said.
“I’ll tell you something else I think he believes,” Welner said. “I think he does look on you as ‘the son God never saw fit to give him.’”
“Jesus!” Clete said.
“What would really not be smart,” Welner said, “would be to underestimate your tío Juan, much less get on the wrong side of him.”
Jesus, judging from that sarcastic tone, Welner doesn’t like him any more than I do.
“Meaning what?” Clete challenged.
“Meaning—also not to go any further than these walls—a reliable story is going around—encouraged by Tío Juan—that General Ramírez is going to try to take General Rawson’s place as president.”
“Really?” Clete asked, surprised.
“And who knows what your Tío Juan wants after that for himself?” Welner said. “Tío Juan may be very valuable to you, Cletus.”
“I can’t believe that,” Claudia said.
“That he would be valuable?” Welner asked.
“You’re not suggesting he wants to be president?” Claudia asked.
“Of course he would like to be president,” Welner said. “He saw himself as vice president under Jorge. That’s why he came home from Europe. Now Jorge is gone.”
“I’ll be damned,” Clete said, and took a thoughtful sip of the cognac.
[THREE]
El Capilla Nuestra Señora de los Milagros
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo