"Thank you very much," Clete said.
"If you will give your baggage checks to Capitan Lauffer, Mayor Frade, he will deal with that. I will take you to General Ramirez."
"What about Customs and Immigration?" Clete asked.
"Capitan Lauffer will deal with that. Will you come with me, please?"
As soon as the admiral's barge moved alongside the quay, Major Querro jumped out, then extended his hand to assist Clete in leaving the boat.
Clete ignored the hand, more because he thought being assisted offered more risk of taking a bath than jumping out himself.
Major Querro motioned for him to precede him up a flight of stairs cut into the massive stone blocks of the quay.
A half-dozen ornately uniformed senior officers, coronels and generales, of the Argentine Army were lined up at the top of the quay behind an officer whom Clete recognized-he had been introduced to him by his father-as General Pedro P. Ramirez, the Argentine Minister for War.
Ramirez marched over to Clete, saluted him crisply, then put out his hand. The others raised their hands to the leather brims of their high-crowned uniform caps.
"Se¤or Frade," Ramirez said, "please accept the most profound condo-lences of the Ejercito Argentina"-Argentine Armed Forces-"and my per-sonal condolences, on the tragic los
s of your father, el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade."
"You are very kind, mi General," Clete replied as Ramirez emotionally grasped his hand.
One by one, the other officers identified themselves and shook Clete's hand. One of them, a General Rawson, he also recognized, and remembered his father telling him they were old friends.
"Our cars are here, Se¤or Frade, if you will come this way?" Ramirez said.
A crowd of people stood behind a barrier waiting to greet the incoming passengers. One of them Clete recognized-a slight, somewhat hunch-shouldered, thickly spectacled man in his late twenties wearing a seersucker suit and carrying a stiff-brimmed straw hat and a briefcase. His name was H. Ronald Spiers, and he was a Vice Consul of the Embassy of the United States of America.
As two policemen shifted the barrier to permit General Ramirez and his party to pass, Spiers stepped forward.
"Mr. Frade?"
Clete stopped.
"I am here on behalf of the Embassy, Mr. Frade," Spiers said. "To offer the condolences of the Ambassador on your loss, and to assure you the American Embassy is prepared to do anything within our power to assist you in any way."
"That's very kind of you," Clete said. "Thank you very much, but I can't think of a thing right now."
"We are ready to assist in any way we can," Spiers said.
"Thank you very much," Clete said, and offered his hand.
Spiers has a handshake like a dead fish, Clete thought, but at least Colonel Graham will know, as soon as a message can be encrypted and transmitted, that I not only got into the country without trouble, but am being treated like the prodigal son returning.
General Ramirez seemed to be annoyed at the delay.
Outside the building stood a line of official cars. Ramirez led him to the largest of these-a soft-top Mercedes limousine, said to be identical to that pro-vided for field marshals in the German Army.
"Your father is lying in state in the Grand Salon of Honor in the Edificio Libertador," General Ramirez said when they were inside. "We can go there di-rectly, if you like. Or if you would like to compose yourself, we can go to your father's home."
"What happened to my father, General?"
"Banditos," General Ramirez replied, exhaling. "They blocked the road near Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. Your father, who had the courage of a lion, apparently resisted, and was shot to death."
Well, that's the official version, apparently. Now I have to find out what re-ally happened.
"And Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez? Was he with my father?"