“With you two gone, that’ll mean only Ettinger and me are left who speak Spanish,” Chief Schultz said.
“That’ll pose a problem?”
“It will if Enrico goes with you.”
“He and Mr. Frade are like Siamese twins, but if you think it’s important, Chief…”
“He’s the only guy around here who knows how to make these people jump, Colonel.”
Ten minutes later, a visibly reluctant Suboficial Mayor Rodríguez—having been convinced that he could contribute to killing Germans by remaining at the estancia to help Chiefs Daniels and Schultz and Staff Sergeant Ettinger—handed his Remington Model 11 to Colonel A. F. Graham.
“With respect, mi Coronel, be very alert.”
“You have my word of honor, Suboficial Mayor,” Graham replied solemnly.
“I will pray for God to protect you.”
When they returned to the ranch house to pick up the Buick, el Capitán Delgano, attired in a natty suit, was waiting for them on the verandah with a suitcase. So was Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi, wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His seersucker jacket was lying on the verandah rail.
Delgano walked off the verandah and was approaching the Buick when Clete got there.
“Señor Cletus,” he said. “I overheard the housekeeper say you and Señor Graham are going to Buenos Aires. I wondered if I could join you.”
“It would be my pleasure, mi Capitán,” Clete said.
Delgano turned and started quickly toward the verandah to retrieve his bag. Tony picked up his coat and walked to the car.
“I wonder,” Graham said softly, “what el Capitán’s plans are in Buenos Aires.”
“I couldn’t tell him no, could I?”
Graham shook his head.
“Lieutenant,” Tony said. “I checked with Daniels. He’ll have twenty-four flares and a couple of spares in an hour or so. Is there any reason I couldn’t go into Buenos Aires with you?”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Pelosi,” Graham said.
“The condemned man wants a last meal—a last Italian meal? Peppers and sausage, maybe?” Clete replied.
“I was thinking of maybe some veal parmigiana,” Tony said, smiling shyly.
After a long moment, Graham shrugged.
“I left that damned shotgun in the Model T,” he remembered. “What do I do with it?”
“I think you better bring it with you, mi Coronel,” Clete said. “I wouldn’t want to be you if Enrico came here and found it.”
Delgano came up with his suitcase.
“Put it in the trunk, mi Capitán,” Clete said. “Get in, Tony.”
[FOUR]
Ristorante Napoli
La Boca, Buenos Aires
1815 29 December 1942