“Never heard the name.”
“I thought you might have been looking for him in Córdoba or Posadas.”
“My, you have been keeping track of me, haven’t you?”
“I thought perhaps you were headed for Montevideo again, despite what I took to be our understanding that you wouldn’t do that without passing through immigration.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Clete said. “Not only would that be illegal, but it would violate our understanding.”
“And what were you doing in Córdoba and Posadas, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m thinking of starting an airline. I wanted to take a look at the airfields around the country. Captain Ashton went with me to help me with the controls. And to get a look at the land. He’s an assistant military attaché, you know, and they like to learn as much about the host country as they can.”
“So I’ve heard,” Martín said. “And I don’t think you found Galahad in Bariloche, either?”
“I don’t even know who your Señor Galahad is, as I’ve told you, Bernardo.”
“And you weren’t in Bariloche, either?”
“San Carlos de Bariloche? I didn’t even know they had an airfield.”
“Just a simple gravel strip,” Martín said. “No terminal. Very few people even know it’s there. But you have experience in flying into simple airfields that very few people know about, don’t you?”
“A little.”
“Well, in my simple way, I’ve just been trying to put things together,” Martín said.
“What things?”
“I had a most interesting report from the Gendarmeria Nacional in Bariloche several hours ago. A man walked into town from the direction of the airstrip, went to the Gendarmeria, identified himself as Colonel Almond, said he had lost his diplomatic carnet and his passport, and requested assistance.”
“Was it your friend Colonel Almond?”
“Yes, it was. I spoke with him on the telephone. He was not willing to tell me how he’d gotten to Bariloche, or how he’d lost his identification.”
“I wonder what he was doing in Bariloche?” Clete asked.
“I thought maybe he might be looking for Señor Galahad,” Martín said. “And I thought maybe you dropped him off in Bariloche while you were flying around the country.”
“Why would you think that?”
“A large red airplane was seen flying over Lake Nahuel Huapí,” Martín said. “In the belief that it might be landing, the Gendarmeria lieutenant drove to the airstrip. But there was no red airplane when he got there. He said he thought he saw a man who could have been Coronel Almond standing at the end of the runway, but he wasn’t sure.”
“I wonder who that could have been?” Clete asked.
“What I’m wondering is how Colonel Almond got to Bariloche. There are only two buses a day, and he wasn’t on either of them.”
“Gee, that is puzzling, isn’t it? Did you ask Colonel Almond?”
“He did not wish to discuss the matter. He claimed the privileges of his diplomatic immunity.”
“That wasn’t very cooperative of him, was it?”
“I thought it was very uncooperative,” Martín said. He exhaled audibly and shrugged. “Cletus, my friend, we’re getting close to your house. Can we stop fencing?”
“Is that what we’ve been doing?”
“I have the feeling that you don’t want Colonel Almond to find Galahad. True or false?”