the airplane first and walked to the older of the Air Force officers and saluted.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I am Captain John S. Oliver, U.S. Army.”
The salutes were returned.
“Welcome to Campo de Mayo,” one of the officers said in good English.
Warrant Officer Junior Grade Julio Zammoro was next off the plane.
He walked toward Oliver and the uniformed officers, obviously to provide his services as an interpreter. He raised his hand in a salute.
“Hola, Julio,” the man in the sport coat said softly.
Zammoro turned to see who had spoken. Then he stopped walking, his hand still at his forehead.
“Willi,” he said softly.
WOJG Enrico de la Santiago was now out of the plane, and Jack Portet and Otmanio followed a moment later.
Zammoro and the man in the sport coat walked to each other and embraced.
“Madre de Dios, me alegro de verlo, mi amigo,” the man in the sport coat said. “He oído distintos comentarios sobre usted. Uno decia que usted estaba muerto, el otro que usted estaba en la Isla de Pinos.”
“Ricky,” Jack asked de la Santiago softly, “what’s going on?”
“They must be friends,” de la Santiago replied. “The Argentine said he was glad to see him, that he had heard both that Zammoro was dead and on the Isle of Pines.” He paused and then added, “The Isle of Pines is Castro’s worst prison.”
“Estoy vivo y punto.”
"¿Y Dolores?”
“Está en la Isla de Pinos.”
“¡Mi Dios! ¿Y los niños?”
“Lo último que oí de ellos, es que están con Maria, la hermana de Dolores.”
De la Santiago, his voice tight with emotion, translated the essence of the exchange: “He asked Zammoro about his wife; Zammoro said she’s on the Isle of Pines and that their children are with his wife’s sister.”
The man in the sport coat gave Zammorro a final kiss on the cheek and let him go.
“You’re the only captain,” he said to Oliver in perfect English, “so you must be Captain Oliver. I am Lieutenant Colonel Rangio, and it is my privilege to welcome you to Argentina.”
Oliver saluted.
“How do you do, sir?”
Rangio turned to the uniformed officers.
“Gracias. No se requerirán sus servicios. Estos señores están conmigo. Mande a alguien al Casino en media hora, para que se encargue de todo lo relacionado a los pasaportes.”
“We’re with him,” de la Santiago translated softly. “We’re going to the officers’ club. He told the immigration officers to come there in half an hour.”
The uniformed officers all saluted and marched away.
“I will take pleasure in meeting you all individually,” Rangio said, “but I suggest we do that at the casino. I’m sure you all would like to visit a men’s room.” He paused. “In fact, there is a men’s room in the hangar, if that is a pressing problem.”
“Sir,” Jack said. “It is a pressing problem for me.”
“Then, if you will follow me, Lieutenant?” Rangio said.
“Sir,” Oliver said. “Our luggage?”
“I’ll have someone bring it to the casino,” Lieutenant Colonel Rangio said.
“And sir,” Oliver said, nodding toward Otmanio, “Sergeant First Class Otmanio is . . . not an officer.”
“In a flight suit, who will notice?” Rangio replied with a shrug.
Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around a very large, very low, round, glass-topped table in a room off the main dining room of the Campo de Mayo Casino, the officers’ club.
White-jacketed waiters had laid an array of bottles—in case anyone preferred something other than champagne—and trays of cold cuts on the table, and then left, closing the door after them.
“When your manifest came into my hands,” Rangio said, “and I saw Julio’s name, I wasn’t sure, of course, that he was my Julio, but I thought it possible, even likely. So I asked them to chill a little wine, in case there was occasion to celebrate.”
Oliver thought: If you saw the manifest, which was classified Confidential, Colonel, that means that you have access to Confidential messages addressed to our military attaché. Did you get the manifest from the attaché, or do you have someone in the embassy?
Oliver smiled.
“Colonel, if Zam had said something about knowing you, I’m sure Colonel Felter would have advised you.”
“Is that what they call you, Julio? ‘Zam’?”
“Usually, Willi, they call me something more profane,” Zammoro said.
“I thought perhaps that our friendship was something you didn’t want known,” Rangio said. “And I thought that it might prove awkward at Ezeiza if it suddenly came out. I knew that my friend Colonel Harris planned to meet you at Ezeiza, so I had you diverted here.”
“I understand,” Oliver said. “But what do we do about