“A question in whose mind?”
“Mine, I am sorry to say, mi Coronel. I am paid to be suspicious of the innocent.”
“Yes, I know,” Frade said dryly.
“I will not trouble you further, mi Coronel,” Martín said. “Thank you for receiving me without notice.”
“I’m always pleased to be able to put the mind of the BIS to rest,” Frade said.
“Mi Coronel. One final question. To close this matter, so to speak. So far as we know, this is the first time Señor Frade has visited Argentina. Could you comment on that?”
“I would presume it would have something to do with Howell Petroleum. It is a large norteamericano oil company owned by his grandfather. They do much business here. With Señor Mallín. Are you telling me you didn’t know that?”
“Excuse me, mi Coronel. Do I understand you to say that you have no knowledge why your son has come to Argentina?”
“My son and I have been estranged since he was a small child,” Frade said. “I haven’t seen him in nearly twenty years. He is an American citizen. And I am surprised that Internal Security didn’t know that, either.”
“You didn’t know he was here, Sir?”
“Not until you showed me those photographs. Is that all, Coronel? I have guests.”
“I thank you very much for receiving me, mi Coronel.”
“Not at all,” Frade said, and put out his hand.
El Teniente Coronel Martín knew that he had been dismissed. He had a number of other questions he would have liked to ask, but he knew he would ask them in vain.
He shook Frade’s hand, saluted, then marched out of the house and stepped into his car.
[SIX]
Frade watched Martín from the doorway as he got back in the Mercedes and drove off. Then he went to a small room inside the house furnished like a library, and took from a shelf a thin volume bound in artificial leather. He thumbed through it until he found the page he had often turned to before. On it were a number of photographs of members of the Tulane University Class of 1940. Below one of these was the caption:
* * *
Cletus H. Frade
“Clete” “Tex”
BA
Clete came to Tulane from Texas A&M
and never quite got the sagebrush out of his hair.
Tennis, Golf, the Aviation Club
Going to Be a Marine Pilot
* * *
He looks much younger in this picture than he did in the ones Martín showed me, but there’s no question that’s him.
I wish I could somehow have kept some of those photographs.
What in the name of Sweet Jesus is he doing here?
Doing here that has attracted the interest of Internal Security?