“A logical place for what?”
“There is a cache of weapons in the basement, Don Cletus.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“Enough to equip four troops of the Húsares de Pueyrredón, Don Cletus. El Coronel was concerned that they would not be available if they were needed; that someone might seize the regimental and troop armories. So he cached enough here . . .”
“You’re talking about rifles, pistols, that sort of thing?”
“And some machine guns, Don Cletus. Even some mortars and hand grenades. And, of course, the ammunition for the weapons. That is really why the old Húsares are here. To keep an eye on the cache, so that it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands, until I could tell you about it and you could decide what you want to do about it.”
“Enrico, if you weren’t so ugly, I think I would kiss you,” Frade said.
“You should not say things like that, Don Cletus.”
Frade turned to Alvarez. “Did you know about this?”
“I am proud to say, Don Cletus, that your father took me into his confidence.”
“It is so, Don Cletus,” Enrico confirmed. “El Señor Alvarez may be trusted.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Clete said, meaning it, and then went on: “Señor Alvarez, it is very important that no one learns that la Señora Fischer is here. Her life would be in danger otherwise.”
Alvarez nodded. “No one, Don Cletus, will know anything beyond that the sisters of Santa María del Pilar are caring for an ill woman.”
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Cletus said. “As I’m sure it will. But what I think I’m going to do now is have another glass of this twenty-six-year-old nectar of the gods to give me the courage to face Mother Superior.”
“Cletus, for God’s sake!” Dorotea said. “What is el Señor Alvarez going to think of you?”
“I have already made up my mind, Doña Dorotea,” Alvarez said. “He is his father’s son.”
The Mother Superior of the Mendoza chapter of the Little Sisters of Santa María del Pilar marched into the library four minutes later, trailed by the enormous nun who had been in her office and three others. Father Welner brought up the rear.
I know who the big nun is, Clete decided. She’s the convent version of Enrico.
“Enrico,” Reverend Mother ordered, “you will please make yourself available to me when we finish the business immediately at hand.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“I will introduce myself to these other gentlemen at that time. For now you have met Sister Carolina.” She pointed to the huge nun. “These sisters are Sister Mónica, Sister Theresa, and Sister Dolores. Sisters, this is Don Cletus Frade and la Señora Frade. Enrico, you know.”
The nuns wordlessly bobbed their heads.
“You will get to meet the others later,” she went on. “For now get yourselves settled. You know where to go. Sister Mónica, you will decide who goes on duty now. When you have done so, and your selection is settled, send her to the apartment. If Father and I are inside, wait for us to come out.” She turned to Father Welner. “Are you ready, Father?”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
With that they all marched out of the library.
Clete smiled.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, darling,” Dorotea said. “But what are you thinking?”
He grunted. “When I was in Los Angeles just now, I heard that since February there have been women in the Marine Corps. I was thinking that Mother Superior would make a fine gunnery sergeant.”
“What the hell, Clete,” Sawyer said. “Why not? They’ve had women in the Army and the Navy for a long time.”
Frade began, very cheerfully, to sing to the melody of “Mademoiselle from Armentières”: “‘The WACs and WAVEs will win the war, parlez-vous. The WACs and WAVEs will win the war, parlez-vous. The WACs and WAVEs will win the war, so what the hell are we fighting for? Inky dinky parlez-vous.’ ”