"... and relay his paternal disapproval."
"Paternal disapproval duly noted, Herr Standartenf?hrer."
"I'm thinking now-it would fit in with my schedule-that I will ride out to the airfield with you. It will give us a chance to chat on the way, and perhaps we could have dinner..."
"The Argentines don't even begin to think of dinner, Herr Standartenf?hrer, until nine o'clock."
"Well, then, a drink or two, and if we're still able to think of food at nine o'clock, perhaps we can think of dinner then."
"I am entirely at your disposal, Herr Standartenf?hrer."
"Well, then, why don't you come by First Secretary Gradny-Sawz's office when you have the pouches and are ready to go out there? That would be about four?"
"Whenever it would be convenient for the Herr Standartenf?hrer, of course, but I was planning to leave at half past four."
"At half past four, then," Goltz said. "I'll look forward to it."
He raised his hand in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!"
Peter snapped to attention and returned the salute.
"Heil Hitler!" he barked.
[FOUR]
The Director's Room
The Anglo-Argentine Bank
Calle Bartolome Mitre 101
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1315 14 April 1943
"Gentlemen," Humberto Valdez Duarte announced from the far end of the twenty-five-foot-long ornately inlaid table, "I'm afraid Se¤or Frade and I have an appointment that cannot be broken or delayed, and we'll have to stop right where we are."
Thank God! I can't take much more of this! thought Se¤or Frade, who had been seated at the other end of the twenty-five-foot-long ornately inlaid table since half past nine.
Between the two were seven assorted accountants and attorneys, two escribanos, and a secretary. The function of the escribanos, Clete had finally fig-ured out, was something between that of a notary public and a lawyer. The table was littered with paper, much of it gathered together in sheafs, tied together with what looked like shoelaces.
The only thing that Clete had really understood was that his father's busi-ness interests were even more extensive than he had suspected, and more com-plicated. He understood that he would have to come to understand what it was all about.
More than once, he heard the Old Man's voice: "What you never can for-get, Cletus, is that for every dollar a rich man has, there are three clever sonsofbitches trying to cheat him out of it."
And that, of course, had caused him to wonder how the Old Man was going to react when he got the letter telling him he was going to marry an Argentine.
It had been difficult to concentrate on anything that was explained to him. His mind kept wandering from details of finance and real estate to the problems of making a cross-country flight in an airplane in which he had a total of maybe five hour's time-and that in the copilot's seat. And he was doing it at night, navigating by unfamiliar radio direction signals-and thus most probably by the seat of his pants-all the time avoiding detection by both Brazilians and Ar-gentines.
"Perhaps," Humberto went on, "we can meet tomorrow..."
No way!
"... or the day after. I will get word to you."
With a little luck, the day after tomorrow I will be in Brazil. And what am I going to tell Humberto about that? "Sorry I can't make the meeting, I have to smuggle an aircraft into Corrientes Province"?