Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 01 - Honor Bound

El Capit?n Duarte presumably was not a stupid man. He would have learned that lesson probably as quickly as Clete, and surely more quickly than I. It's a pity he killed himself before he acquired a little wisdom.

An officer is honor bound to face whatever hazards his duty requires; not throw his life, or that of his men, away. And that brings me back to Cletus Howell Frade. On one hand, if Clete is in fact an OSS agent, he knows full well the risks he is running coming down here. It may not be spelled out in neat paragraphs in the Geneva Convention, but everyone understands that spies operating in neutral countries get killed by the other side's spies.

In war, the Geneva Convention permits the out-of-hand execution of spies and saboteurs. The Geneva Convention is quite clear on the subject; A soldier found out of uniform behind enemy lines loses the protection afforded a soldier in uniform. He is presumed to be a spy or saboteur.

But Gr?ner— he said so— doesn't know if Clete is an OSS agent or not. And even if he is, he may just be down here to influence his father, or as some kind of high-level message deliverer.

And if Clete is not a spy, where does Gr?ner get the authority to order his execution?

And if Cleteis a spy, what then is Gr?ner? He is certainly not functioning as an officer of a belligerent army, facing his enemy on a battlefield. He is an agent of an intelligence service. In other words, they are both out of uniform; both are outside the protection — and the restrictions— of the Geneva Convention.

But if Gr?ner is caught for ordering the murder of Clete— or of his own hired assassins, for that matter— he will escape prosecution . . . not because his actions are permitted by the Rules of Land Warfare, but because he is carrying a diplomatic passport, which renders him immune to the laws of Argentina.

On the other hand, if Clete killed Gr?ner on his country's orders, and was caught, he would face an Argentine judge on a charge of murder. That's unfair.

Can I thus conclude that since Gr?ner's conduct fails to meet the small print in the Geneva Convention, as well as the German Officer's Code of Honor, I am therefore at liberty to violate the German Officer's Code of Honor and warn Clete?

By stretching the point, yes I can.

But be honest with yourself, Peter. You don't want to warn him because you have put yourself through this exercise in moral philosophy, but because you like him. We thought we -were witty when we told each other we would like to shoot each other down, meanwhile smiling at each other with warm affection. But beneath the warmth there is also the cold truth. If duty requires, we would try to shoot each other down. Yet there would be no smile on the victor's face— his or mine.

I wonder which of us would be good enough to shoot down the other. I have more victories, but until recently, most of my opponents were inexperienced pilots flying inferior machines.

Clete's kills were experienced pilots, flying aircraft at least as good as his own. He's probably a damned good fighter pilot.

I like him, but I would be willing to kill him in the air; as he would me. That would be an honorable death for a warrior. And my conscience, like his, would be untroubled. But for me to stand by silently waiting to hear that his throat has been cut by Gr?ner’s hired assassins would not be honorable, and I could never find an excuse to forgive myself.

A final thought came to him:

My father would understand my decision.

That brings me back to how do I tell him?

He will almost certainly be at the Duarte mansion for the reception after the funeral. I will somehow manage a minute alone with him.

[SIX]

1420 Avenue Alvear

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1605 19 December 1942

"I wondered what happened to you," Se?orita Alicia Carzino-Cormano said, walking up to Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein and smiling at him over the rim of her teacup. "Is this pretty awful for you?"

Peter bowed and clicked his heels, but there was not time for him to reply before Se?orita Isabela Carzino-Cormano walked up to them.

"Se?orita," he said.

Isabela gave him her hand to be kissed, and he kissed it.

"I was deeply moved when the decoration was given to Poor Jorge," Isabela said.

Peter nodded.

"Isn't that decoration the one your government gave our Poor Jorge?" she asked, touching Peter's Knight's Cross.

"Yes, it is,” Peter replied. “I wondered if either of you charming ladies have seen el Teniente Frade?"

"I don't think he's here," Isabela said. "I think his father's disgraceful behavior embarrassed him and he left."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Isabela!" Alicia protested.

"Of course," Isabela said. "You are too much of a gentleman to have noticed him."

"Noticed him doing what?"

"Weeping in the church, like a child. And, of course, quite drunk."

"I understand he was quite close to el Capitan Duarte," Peter said.

And holds himself responsible for the poor bastard's death.

"If Cletus is not here, then he's probably at the Guest House," Alicia volunteered.

If I can get to a telephone, I can call him.

"Se?orita, do you happen to know where I could find a telephone?”

"Finding the telephone is easy," she said. "There are two lines here. But if you intend to make a call..."

She inclined her head. Peter saw a group of people near a telephone set in an alcove in the wall. A gentleman was speaking excitedly into it, and he was oblivious to the dirty looks of the others waiting for it.

"I was thinking of calling a friend," Alicia said. "But it was no use, so I gave up."

"Se?orita, I am staying at the Alvear Palace. My call is important. Official business. Might I suggest that you walk down there with me and make your call from one of the telephones in the lobby?"

Inspiration! I don't know where that idea came from, but it was divinely inspired. I can walk out of here with her— If I can get rid of the older sister, that would not be a bad idea, in any case— which will satisfy Gr?ner's curiosity about what happened to me. And I can telephone Clete from my room.

I don't have his goddamned number! How the hell do I get the number?

"In Argentina, Capitan, young ladies of a certain position do not go to a gentleman's hotel," Isabela said.

Shit!

"Se?orita, I am a stranger to your country. No offense was intended."

"And none should have been taken," Alicia said. "If you need to make a telephone call from the hotel, I'll be happy to walk there with you. It would be nice to leave here anyway."

"You are very gracious."

And you have marvelous eyes. I wonder why I never noticed that before.

"Se?orita, what are the customs of Argentina? May a stranger to your country telephone a young lady of a certain class and ask her to take dinner with him?"

"If the stranger is a gentleman, and you certainly are," Alicia said, "and they have been properly introduced, and we have, in the presence of the young lady's mother, then it is acceptable."

"Wonderful! And might I presume to avail myself of this acceptable custom in the next day or two?"

"You may call, and I will see if I am free."

"You can't tell me that now?”

"You may call," Alicia teased, "and I will see if I am free."

"I will adjust my schedule to yours," Peter said. I will, as a matter of fact, now that the subject has come up, do everything necessary, including standing on my head, to see that fantastic hair undone and spread out on my pillow. “ But for now, Se?orita, may I accept your gracious offer to walk to the hotel with me, so that I can use the telephone."

"You may not care about your reputation, Alicia," Isabela said. "But I do. I can't let you go to the Alvear alone with el Capitan von Wachtstein."