The Honor of Spies

"If you had let me land, it would've been because you know I am a Numero Uno pilot," Ramos said. He demonstrated Numero Uno by holding up his left fist, balled, with the index finger extended.

Frade laughed.

"How about getting some ground power out here?" he said into his microphone.

A moment later, Clete saw the ground power generator being pushed toward them. And he could see something else in the sea of umbrellas that made his heart jump. Retired Sargento Rodolfo Gomez of the Husares de Pueyrredon was holding an umbrella over the mother of Clete's unborn child. Over only her. Rodolfo was getting soaked.

There is nothing in this world that I would rather do this instant than run down the aisle, open the door, and--the moment the stairway appears--run down it to Dorotea and wrap my arms around her.

But I can't do that.

"Tell you what, Manuel: While I shut it down, you go back in the cabin and pick some unlucky soul to get off first and deal with El Presidente."

"Cletus, that's your honor," Ramos said. "This would not have happened without you."

"That wasn't a suggestion. That's what they call an order," Frade said.

"I will be embarrassed. I was not the pilot in command."

That embarrassment will last until El Presidente pumps your hand.

"Well, I won't tell anyone if you don't," Frade said. "Do it, Manuel, please, as a favor to me."

"If you insist."

And when your picture appears on the front page of La Nacion, I will have one more good guy in my corner.

And if your picture is in the newspapers, the picture of Don Cletus Frade, master aviator and OSS agent, won't be.

"We have auxiliary power," the engineer reported.

"Shut down One and Two," Clete ordered. "Go, Manuel! Don't keep El Presidente waiting."

When Clete finally came out of the cockpit, he saw that someone else already had decided who was going to deplane first. The nuns and orphans were standing at the door.

Why did the steward do that?

He then saw the Jesuit priest bringing up the rear of that line, after the nuns, orphans, members of the Order of Saint Francis, and the other Jesuits.

Why? Because Father Welner "suggested" that to him.

What is that wily Jesuit up to?

Clete looked out a window.

Manuel Ramos and the older pilot whose name Clete could not remember were shaking hands with El Presidente and party, everybody under umbrellas.

Where the hell did all those umbrellas come from?

And the people holding them?

The band was playing. Trumpets and flutes only, plus a xylophone.

I guess the rain fucked up the drums.

El Presidente and one other man--a short, pudgy, middle-aged fellow wearing clerical vestments, a wide-brimmed hat, a huge gold cross, and a purple waistband--Christ, that must be the Papal Nuncio! What the hell is he up to?-- plus umbrella holders--God, there must be twenty of them. Where the hell did they all come from?--walked toward the stairway.

Two of the nuns started down the stairway, followed by two orphans. Then two more nuns, followed by four older orphans.

When they got to the tarmac, now shielded by umbrellas, the nuns curtsied before the Papal Nuncio and kissed his ring. The Papal Nuncio made what Clete thought was a gesture of blessing, then patted the orphans on the head.

Then El Presidente patted the orphans on the head.

Flashbulbs from at least fifteen photographers lit the scene.

The umbrella holders then led the nuns and the orphans toward two buses that Clete hadn't noticed before. The buses were parked beside a Mercedes limousine bearing diplomatic license plates.

The number on the plate--0001--caught Clete's eye.

Who the hell gets plate Number One? God?

Close, Cletus.

The Papal Nuncio gets diplomatic license plate Number One, that's who!

Now members of the Order of Saint Francis went through the ritual. They all kissed the Papal Nuncio's ring, but he did not pat their heads, and El Presidente gave them nothing but a smile and a quick handshake.