“Right about now, I’d kill for a martini,” Stephens said, surprising both Lowell and Lunsford. “It’s been a lousy day for me.”
“Among his many other talents, Major Lunsford is known for making wicked martinis,” Lowell said. “If you please, Major Lunsford?”
“Sit down, please,” Lowell said.
“Thank you.”
Stephens sat on the edge of a couch.
He looks, Lowell thought, somewhat unkindly, like a none-too -hopeful applicant for a job selling life insurance.
“Clever, if battered, bruised, and exhausted, fellow that I am, I deduce you have access to a secure photo transmission line.”
“I believe there is one somewhere around the embassy, Colonel.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that, Mr. Stephens,” Lowell said.
He pushed himself out of his armchair, grunting with the pain, walked into his bedroom and came back a moment later with an envelope, and handed it to Stephens.
HEAD QUARTERS
United States Strike Command McDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida
28 December 1964
Special Orders:
Number 360:
EXTRACT
6. Lt Col LOWELL, C.W., this hq, and Maj LUNSFORD, G.W. Hq USASWC Ft Bragg NC are placed on TDY and WP to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and such other places as their mission requires for a period not to exceed thirty days. Travel by US Govt and Commercial Air, Land, and Sea T and POV is auth. Off possess TOP SECRET security clearances, and are authorized to transmit material up to TOP SECRET over US Govt facilities. Off will remain under command of their respective units during this TDY.
EXTRACT
OFFICIAL:
Rupert K. McNeil
Brigadier General
“Do you have any trouble understanding the last two sentences of our orders?” Lowell asked.
Stephens shook his head, no.
“I went by the embassy about an hour ago,” Lowell said. “Asked to see the military duty officer. I got an Air Force captain. I showed him the orders, and told him that I had a very short message, classified Secret, to send, and would he do that for me? And he wouldn’t. Said he couldn’t. Said the defense attaché had to sign off on any classified messages, and he wouldn’t be available until the morning. My most persuasive arguments fell on deaf ears.”
“I think I can find someone to send your message, Colonel,” Mr. Stephens said.
Father came back in the sitting room with a squat glass.
“Mr. Stephens is going to send our message,” Lowell said.
“What’s with this defense attaché, anyway?” Lunsford asked. “Catch-22. We can’t send a message without his approval, and he’s not available to give his approval.”
“His name is McGrory,” Stephens said. “He likes to know everything that’s going on.”
Lowell handed him a sheet of paper.
“This is the message,” he said.
“May I read it?”
“How nice of you to ask! I can tell just by looking at you that someone like yourself would never dream of reading other people’s mail under any circumstances.”
What could have been the hint of a smile appeared on Stephens thin, pale lips.
SECRET
To White House Signal Agency
Buenos Aires 1900 3 Jan
Mr. Sanford T. Felter
Room 637, Executive Office Building
I played polo with Peter’s friend this afternoon, and he’s buying Father and me dinner later. He is reluctant to talk about life insurance, but we will work on him.
Craig
SECRET
“I’m pretty sure I can get this off for you, Colonel,” Stephens said.
“Tonight?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was in the Executive Office Building within the hour.”
“You’re an amazing man,” Lowell said. “Whatever would the country do without the U.S. Information Agency?”
Stephens stood up and drained his martini.
“So are you,” he said. “Most of the people watching you play polo this afternoon couldn’t believe you were an American.”
Then he nodded at Lunsford, turned, and walked out of the room.
[ THREE ]
Círculo Militar
Plaza San Martín
Buenos Aires, Argentina
2305 3 January 1965
Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell and Major George Washington Lunsford were both asleep in armchairs in the sitting room of their suite when the driver of the Buick appeared at the door and in British-accented English announced that if it was convenient for them, General Pistarini wished them to join him for dinner.
The Buick, again trailed by a black Ford Falcon, drove between the tall buildings of downtown Buenos Aires, crossed the Avenida de 9 Julio, supposed to be the widest avenue in the world, passed the Colón Opera House on the far side, and then moved again between tall office buildings.
“For your general fund of cultural knowledge, Major Lunsford,” Lowell said. “That building is the Colón Opera House, built 1896-99, and it is larger than both the Paris and Vienna opera houses.”
“You’re a cornucopia of information, aren’t you, mi coronel?”