“How?”
“The same way you came here. By Pan American. Do you still have your passport? I can arrange for an exit visa.”
“I didn’t think about the exit visa, but I called Pan American. They told me they give seats only to Americans who have a priority from the U.S. Embassy. Obviously, they’re not going to give me one.”
“I know the Pan American-Grace General Manager. I can get you a seat.”
“I don’t think so, Dad.”
“I think so. I own ten percent of the shares in Panagra-Argentina. I’m on the board of directors.”
“What’s Panagra-Argentina?”
“Panagra stands for Pan American-Grace. It’s a partnership between Pan American Airways and Grace Shipping. Panagra is in partnership with an Argentine company, Panagra-Argentina, to operate here.”
“Jesus, could you?”
“It will take a few days, but it can be done.”
“How can y
ou be so sure?”
“Because Mr. Trippe and Mr. Grace have told Panagra to give me anything I want. You know who those men are?” Juan Trippe was President of Pan American Airways, and William R. Grace was President of Grace Shipping Corporation.
Clete nodded. “Sure. But why did they do that?” he asked, confused. “You can throw a lot of business their way?”
His father looked at him for a long moment, and Clete sensed that he was debating telling him something. Then he smiled, just a little sadly.
“I think it would be reasonable to assume that Señores Trippe and Grace have considered that a President of Argentina could, as you put it, ‘throw a lot of business their way.’”
“My God!” Clete asked incredulously, even as he realized his father was telling the truth, “Are you going to be President of Argentina?”
“That was a strong possibility,” el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade said quietly, “before I realized that I must be involved in your affairs.”
“Graham didn’t tell me that,” Clete said thoughtfully, and then anger swept through him, quickly and bitterly. “But he knew. That sonofabitch knew—of course he knew—and didn’t tell me. That devious bastard! He sent me down here to get close to you! It had nothing to do with this goddamned ship!”
“That outburst becomes you. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that you were unaware of such things,” el Coronel said. “But I think the ship was an integral part of his plan.”
That surprised Clete. It showed on his face.
“I don’t understand…”
“Have you considered that it would be in their interest if you had attacked the Reine de la Mer and were killed in the process?”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Even if we had remained estranged,” Clete’s father went on, “you are my son. If the Germans killed you, my honor as well as my heart would demand revenge. I am an influential Argentinean. I may perhaps even become President.”
“Goddamn!”
“They had an officer of the Corps of Marines, who proved his courage in battle…”
“And they almost hoped I would get killed!”
“Almost?” his father said, dryly sarcastic, and then went on, “…and who could be expected to carry out his orders, regardless of the risk.”
“It’s hard for me to believe that Graham would be capable of that kind of scheme,” Clete thought aloud. “I liked him. He’s the sort of man you instinctively trust. The sonofabitch!”