He closed the book and put it back on the shelf, then left the library and walked across the entrance foyer to the sitting room.
“We were getting worried about you,” el Coronel Guillermo Kleber said.
“No cause for that.”
“What did that man want?” el Coronel Edmundo Wattersly asked, and went on without waiting for a reply. “You know who he is, of course, Jorge?”
“His name is Martín and he’s with Internal Security. It was a personal matter.”
“A personal matter?” Kleber asked incredulously.
“A personal matter, Willy,” Frade said coldly. “It had nothing to do with Grupo de Oficiales Unidos.”
“I devoutly hope you’re right,” Kleber said.
“Can we move on to the business that brought you here?” Frade said impatiently. “You make a very odd-looking nervous old maid, Willy.”
“He saw my airplane, I’m sure,” Kleber said. “That makes me nervous.”
“I’m quite sure BIS has all our names on a list,” Frade said. “And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they have a much longer list of the times we have been together. But until they know what we’re talking about, I don’t think that’s a cause for alarm. You were saying you believe the way to López’s heart is through his pocketbook?”
Coronel Ricardo López commanded the 2nd Regiment of Infantry, stationed near Buenos Aires.
For a moment, it looked as if el Coronel Kleber was unwilling to drop the subject of the visit of el Teniente Coronel Martín to the estancia.
“Jorge, López has no independent means,” Kleber said finally. “He is approaching retirement. For him the difference between a comfortable and a pinchpenny retirement is a promotion to general officer.”
“You’re not telling me he’s asked for money? Or a guarantee of promotion when—if—we decide we must take action?”
“Of course he hasn’t asked for money,” Kleber said, almost angrily. “He’s an honorable man.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Frade said. “I have very strong feelings about buying people. Philosophical and practical. The people who back us must be concerned with the good of Argentina, not their own pocketbooks.”
“It’s easy for you to say that, Jorge, if you will forgive me.”
“I will forgive you, Willy,” Frade said. “If you will permit me to remind you that the practical reason why I am loath to turn an honorable Army officer into a mercenary—and that’s the word to describe someone who fights for money and not for principle, mercenary—is that their allegiance switches to those who are willing to pay the most.”
“All he’s concerned about is his future, Jorge,” Wattersly interjected.
“I’m concerned with the future of Argentina, Edmundo,” Frade said. “With that in mind, I suggest you two visit el Coronel López and tell him to search his conscience. If he wants to join us, fine. If he does not, fine. And when the time comes, if López supports us, or does not betray us to Castilló’s people, we will see that he is promoted to general. An honorable man deserves promotion. Of course, you won’t tell him that.”
“And if he receives his promotion, we could count on his continued loyalty afterward, right?” Wattersly said.
“That thought has run through my mind,” Frade admitted.
“Willy?” Wattersly asked.
“All right,” el Coronel Kleber agreed. “Jorge’s probably right.”
Kleber always gives in at the end, Frade thought. Is that because I am always right? Or because Willy is a weak man?
“We’ve been at this long enough,” Frade said. “I think we should at least break for a coffee.”
VIII
[ONE]
23 Calle Arcos