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

He left the bed, walked to the washbasin, and carefully scrubbed the watch clean. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror. His face was covered with violet patches—the disinfectant the nurse had painted him with—and so was the rest of his body.

I look like a clown. I wonder what the hell that purple stuff is.

He scrubbed at his face with no success, then tried a shower, which proved equally ineffective.

Maybe alcohol will get it off.

He went back to the bed and put on the hospital gown, then slipped his feet into the slippers. Another glance at the mirror confirmed his suspicion that his ass was hanging out.

And he was hungry. And thirsty. He banged on the door again, and in a moment it was unlocked and opened. Two strange men were in the corridor, cast from the same mold as the previous two. Though both were standing, now they had chairs. One waved forefinger at him as if he were a small child.

"You must remain in your room."

"I'm hungry and thirsty."

Both men shrugged helplessly.

He closed the door himself, heard it being locked, and then returned to the mirror to examine himself—with mingled shock and amusement. There came the sound of the door being unlocked again.

Breakfast?

The door opened. A little pale, but otherwise showing no signs of passing out drunk eight hours before, el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade entered the room, freshly shaven, perfectly dressed. He was trailed by Enrico, who was carrying a small leather suit case.

"Are you all right?” Clete's father demanded. "You are not seriously injured?"

"I'm pretty sick about what those bastards did to Se?ora Pellano.”

His father nodded.

"I will of course help you, Cletus, any way I can. But the time has come for you to tell me what you are really doing down here."

"I'm here to make sure that Howell Petro—"

"Refuse to answer me, if you must. But don't lie to me again," his father interrupted him.

Clete met his father's eyes. His father nodded, as if he was satisfied that he had gotten through to Clete.

"The Bureau of Internal Security believes you are an agent of the OSS," he said.

"Do they?" Clete said. And then he decided he didn't want to lie to his father anymore. That did not mean telling him everything; but he wouldn't lie about what he told him.

"I'm a serving officer of the U.S. Marine Corps," he said. "I'll tell you that much."

El Coronel Frade nodded again, as if he thought he was making progress.

"And you're here to damage the German ship in Bah?a Samboromb?n?" his father asked.

"If I were, I couldn't tell you that. You're an officer, you know what it is to be under orders."

"Or to try to influence me?" He gave Clete a hard look. "Depending on who I talk to in the BIS, I am offered both possibilities."

"I'd like to influence you," Clete said. "Your neutrality, your alleged neutrality, in this war makes me sick to my stomach."

"Does it indeed?" his father asked, his face tightening.

"You—and the BIS—apparently know all about the Reine de la Mer. You even called it a German ship just now. And you close your eyes to it. If you were really neutral, you'd have done something about it."

"You seem to know a good deal about it yourself," Frade challenged. "You know its name ... very informative."

"If you hadn't closed your eyes to the Germans' replenishing their submarines in your sacred neutral waters, it wouldn't have been necessary for the U.S. government to send people down here to do something about it."

"Has it occurred to you that if the United States government had not sent you down here, Se?ora Pel—what happened to Se?ora Pellano would not have happened?"

Clete felt anger welling up.

"I'm as sorry as you are that Se?ora Pellano was killed. I was goddamned fond of her. She'll be on my conscience, all right. But not because I'm here doing what I was sent here to do, but because I forgot for a moment that the Germans have no qualms about killing innocent people. They kill innocent people by the millions. What's one more?"

"In the First World War, Allied propaganda showed German soldiers bayoneting babies in Belgium. That Allied Declaration, if that's what you're talking about, is the same sort of thing."

"If you believe that, I feel sorry for you." Clete said softly. He was aware that the flash of anger was replaced by a sad resignation, as if their roles were now reversed ... as if he was now the parent talking to the child who would not accept the unpleasant truth.

"International law ..." Colonel Frade began, and stopped.

"I should have protected her," Clete said, his voice calm and sad, "and I didn't. I'm ashamed of that. But I'm not ashamed of coming here to do what I was sent to do. If there's any shame, you should feel it, because Argentina is too stupid or selfish to know or care what this war is all about."

His father's face grew white. It was a moment before he spoke.

"El Almirante de Montoya believes it will be best for you, under the circumstances, to remain here in the hospital for the next few days."

"Who? Admiral who?"

"El Almirante de Montoya is Chief of the Bureau of Internal Security. He has assumed jurisdiction in your case. Fortunately, he and I are friends, because your fate is in his hands."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"When de Montoya feels it would be safe for you to leave the hospital, you will come to the estancia, until I can arrange to send you safely out of the country."

"I'm not leaving the country," Clete said.

His father met his eyes.

"You have no choice in the matter."

"I'm not finished here. I killed the men who killed Se?ora Pellano," Clete said. "Now I want to get at the people who hired them. The Germans."

"You don't know for a fact that the Germans were behind this."

"Of course it was the Germans," Clete said, less angrily than sadly. "Don't tell me you closed your eyes to that too."

As if he had not heard a word, el Coronel Frade went on: "I have arranged for the release of Se?ora Pellano's body. I will accompany it to the estancia, where she will be buried. De Montoya has agreed to release you from here in time to attend Se?ora Pellano's funeral. That will provide a satisfactory reason for you to move to the estancia. You will stay there until I can make arrangements for you to leave the country. In the meantime, Enrico will stay with you."

"What? What for?"

"If one attempt to kill you was made, there will probably be another."

"But there are guards in the corridor."

"I know where Enrico's loyalties lie," Frade said simply. "Enrico will stay with you.

"You have disappointed me, Cletus," Frade went on carefully. "A good woman is dead on account of you. And you have lied to me. The estancia is large. You and I will only have to see a little of one another."

"I want very much to go to Se?ora Pellano's funeral, Dad," Clete said. "But I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay at the estancia."

El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade met his son's eyes, then turned on his heel and walked out of the room. After he passed through the door, Enrico locked it.

Enrico turned, met Clete's eyes for a moment, and then went to the bed, where he unzipped the suitcase and took from it what seemed to be a Browning twelve-bore self-loading shotgun. He assembled it, then loaded it with five Winchester 00-buck cartridges.

"Browning?" Clete heard himself asking. "A Browning, or an Argentine copy?"

Enrico didn't reply for a moment, then held the shotgun out to Clete.

"A Remington Model Eleven, mi Teniente," he said.

Clete examined it and handed it back.

"Marianna was very fond of you, mi Teniente," Enrico said. "She was always talking to me about you, like you were her son."