“Now, Cletus? Under these circumstances?”
“Why not? And anyway, it’s out of my control.”
His father met his eyes, then smiled and shrugged.
“Shall we continue with the business at hand?” he asked.
[FOUR]
4730 Avenida Libertador
Buenos Aires
1205 25 December 1942
When Chief Radioman Oscar J. Schultz, USN, arrived at the Guest House in the back of a truck, wearing civilian work clothes and carrying a case of mineral water, he looked more than a little dubious about the whole operation.
He set the case of mineral water on the kitchen table and glanced around.
“Mr. Frade?”
Clete nodded.
“I’m Chief Schultz.”
“This is Lieutenant Pelosi and Staff Sergeant Ettinger.”
“Who’s the character with the shotgun? Is he in on this?”
“¿Señor?” Enrico asked.
“Chief Schultz, this is Suboficial Mayor—Sergeant Major—Rodríguez, Argentine Cavalry, Retired,” Clete said.
“No shit?” Chief Schultz replied, examined Enrico more carefully, and then offered his hand to him.
“Chief Radioman Schultz, Suboficial Mayor,” he said in Spanish. “I’m damned glad to see you here. I was afraid I was going to be the only professional involved in this nutty business.”
“Where’d you learn to speak Spanish, Chief?” Clete asked.
“I did two hitches at Cavite, in the Philippines,” Schultz replied, winked, and added, “I had what we called a sleeping dictionary.”
“Perhaps you would like a beer?” Enrico asked.
“I’ve never been known to turn one down,” Chief Schultz said.
Three bottles of cerveza and a perfectly cooked T-bone steak later, Chief Schultz turned to Staff Sergeant Ettinger.
“You’re the radio guy, Sergeant, right?”
Ettinger nodded.
“What do you know about nighttime radiation in the twenty-meter band?”
“A little.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a Collins Model Six?”
“I had a look at the schematics,” Ettinger said. “It has a very interesting secondary exciter.”