“I have to tie the airplane down, and then see that it’s fueled,” Clete said. “That’ll take thirty minutes. There’s no point in them waiting around.”
“Then good evening, gentlemen,” Martín said. “It’s always a pleasure to encounter members of our diplomatic corps, and I’m glad that my fears about your welfare were groundless.”
“They were probably intuitive, mi Coronel,” Ashton said. “After flying with Señor Frade, I am always tempted to kiss the ground when we finally get back on it.”
Martín laughed dutifully, and offered his hand to each of them.
“Go find a phone, Enrico,” Clete ordered when they had gone.
“May I ask why?” Martín asked.
“To get us a car to drive to the estancia,” Clete said. “My wife’s car is at the Coronel Díaz house.”
“I’ll be happy to drive you to Coronel Díaz. My car is here.”
“Thank you, but no thank you,” Clete said. “I wouldn’t want you to waste your valuable time waiting for me here.”
“I insist, my friend,” Martín said, smiling.
Clete met his eyes and then shrugged.
“In that case, how would you like to help me tie down the airplane?”
“I would be delighted,” Martín said.
“Manuel, this is Señor Frade, and the gentleman sitting beside you is Suboficial Mayor Rodríguez, Retired,” Martín said when they were in the blue Dodge.
“I’m happy to meet you, Manuel,” Clete said. “Even if I suspect that you’re more than el Coronel’s driver.”
“In a very real sense, Cletus,” Martin said. “Manuel is to me what Enrico is to you. Where I go, he goes, and he knows that what he hears or sees goes no further than I tell him it should.”
Clete was watching Lascano’s face in the rearview mirror. It flushed with pride.
“If he’s half as good at that as Enrico,” Clete said, “then I would say you are fortunate to have him as a friend, Bernardo.”
“I think so,” Martín said. “So tell me, Cletus, do you see much of our mutual friend Coronel Almond?”
“No, can’t say that I do.”
“He’s looking for someone called Galahad,” Martín said.
“Who?”
“I thought that was perhaps the reason for your tour of Argentina today, Cletus. That you were assisting the Colonel and Major Ashton and Lieutenant Pelosi in trying to find Señor Galahad.”
“Bernardo, you couldn’t be more wrong,” Clete said.
“A man bearing a striking resemblance to Coronel Almond was reported getting on your airplane at El Palomar this morning.”
“Is that so? I can’t imagine why. Maybe your…friend…mistook Captain Ashton for Coronel Almond.”
Martín smiled. Almond was tall and thin with very fair skin. Ashton was short, dark-skinned, and obviously Latin.
“I suppose that’s possible,” Martín said.
“You’re looking for Colonel Almond, are you, Bernardo? Why?”
“Actually, it’s Mr. Galahad who’s piqued my curiosity. Do you know him, by any chance, Cletus?”