“Will you have some wine, darling?” Mallín asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Dorotea?”
“Please, Daddy,” the Virgin Princess said.
Mallín was still pouring the wine when Alberto appeared in the door and announced that dinner was served.
“No problem,” Pamela said. “We’ll just carry our glasses in with us.”
That was done formally too. Pamela took her husband’s arm. The Virgin Princess took Clete’s, and they marched into the dining room with Little Enrico trailing along behind.
Clete did what he could to keep his eyes off the Virgin Princess during dinner. And he was torn between deep regret and enormous relief when Pamela announced afterward, “We’ll say good night now, Clete. I know Henry and you have a good deal to talk about.”
And the first thing we’re going to talk about is finding an apartment for me tomorrow. If I don’t get out of this house quickly, I won’t be shot by “Internal Security.” An outraged daddy will do it for making improper advances to his daughter.
“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” Clete said.
“Good night, Mr. Frade,” both Mallín children said politely, and both politely offered him their hands. For a moment, Clete’s eyes again met those of the Virgin Princess.
Jesus Christ, I didn’t know they came that beautiful!
[THREE]
Bureau of Internal Security
Ministry of Defense
Edificio Libertador
Avenida Paseo Colón
Buenos Aires
0915 22 November 1942
Comandante—Major—Carlos Habanzo, a stocky, dark-skinned thirty-one-year-old, stood at el Teniente Coronel Bernardo Martín’s office door holding a large envelope and wearing a somewhat nervous smile. Habanzo was wearing a brown suit that was too tight around both the shoulders and the crotch, Martín not
iced.
Martín waved him in.
“Buenos días, Habanzo,” Martín said. “What do you have for me?” He was a tall, fair-haired, light-skinned man of thirty-five in a well-cut glen plaid suit and a regimentally striped tie.
“Buenos días, mi Coronel,” Habanzo replied, then walked up to Martín’s desk, laid the envelope before him, and stepped back from the desk.
Martín opened the envelope.
These are grainy, but very good, Martín decided. There is only so much that can be done with a high-speed 35-mm negative, even one made by a Leica.
As a gesture of friendship, el Coronel Grüner, the German military attaché—and the Abwehr’s man in Buenos Aires; it was not much of a secret—had arranged for the Defense Ministry to buy a half-dozen Leica I-C 35-mm cameras, at giveaway prices. They were the best tool around for surreptitious photography, and for photographing documents.
“These were taken yesterday, mi Coronel,” Habanzo offered. “When the Pan American Clipper landed, and at the Alvear Palace…”
“Which one is young Frade?” Martín interrupted.
“The tall one, mi Coronel.”