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

"I think they don't want to commit an act of war within your waters."

"That's splitting hairs!' Frade said. "What's the difference between you destroying this vessel and one of your warships destroying it?"

"None that I can see," Clete said. "I'm going to make that argument again to Colonel Graham when I get in touch with him. If I can get in touch with him."

"Who is Graham?"

"Colonel Graham. The officer in overall charge of this mission."

"He's here?"

"In Washington. I hope he's in Washington. The last time I saw him, he was on his way to Australia."

"If he's in Washington, why don't you go there?"

"How?"

"The same way you came here. By Pan American. Do you still have your passport? I can arrange for an exit visa."

"I didn't think about the exit visa, but I called Pan American. They told me they give seats only to Americans who have a priority from the U.S. Embassy. Obviously, they're not going to give me one."

"I know the Pan American-Grace General Manager. I can get you a seat."

"I don't think so, Dad."

"I think so. I own ten percent of the shares in Panagra-Argentina. I'm on the board of directors."

"What's Panagra-Argentina?"

"Panagra stands for Pan American-Grace. It's a partnership between Pan American Airways and Grace Shipping. Panagra is in partnership with an Argentine company, Panagra-Argentina, to operate here."

"Jesus, could you?"

"It will take a few days, but it can be done."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Mr. Trippe and Mr. Grace have told Panagra to give me anything I want. You know who those men are?'' Juan Trippe was President of Pan American Airways, and William R. Grace was President of Grace Shipping Corporation.

Clete nodded. "Sure. But why did they do that?" he asked, confused. "You can throw a lot of business their way?"

His father looked at him for a long moment, and Clete sensed that he was debating telling him something. Then he smiled, just a little sadly.

"I think it would be reasonable to assume that Se?ores Trippe and Grace have considered that a President of Argentina could, as you put it, 'throw a lot of business their way.' "

"My God!" Clete asked incredulously, even as he realized his father was telling the truth, "Are you going to be President of Argentina?"

"That was a strong possibility," el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade said quietly, "before I realized that I must be involved in your affairs."

"Graham didn't tell me that," Clete said thoughtfully, and then anger swept through him, quickly and bitterly. "But he knew. That sonofabitch knew—of course he knew—and didn't tell me. That devious bastard! He sent me down here to get close to you! It had nothing to do with this goddamned ship!"

"That outburst becomes you. I can't tell you how happy I am to see that you were unaware of such things," el Coronel said.

"But I think the ship was an integral part of his plan."

That surprised Clete. It showed on his face.

"I don't understand..."

"Have you considered that it would be in their interest if you had attacked the Reine de la Mer and were killed in the process?"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Even if we had remained estranged," Clete's father went on, "you are my son. If the Germans killed you, my honor as well as my heart would demand revenge. I am an influential Argentinean. I may perhaps even become President."

"Goddamn!"

"They had an officer of the Corps of Marines, who proved his courage in battle..."

"And they almost hoped I would get killed!"

"Almost?" his father said, dryly sarcastic, and then went on,

"... and who could be expected to carry out his orders, regardless of the risk."

"It's hard for me to believe that Graham would be capable of that kind of scheme," Clete thought aloud. "I liked him. He's the sort of man you instinctively trust. The sonofabitch!"

"In war, decent men are often forced to do dishonorable things," Frade said. "What went wrong with his plan was he did not take into account your loyalty to your men. You might be willing to give your life, but you would not sacrifice the lives of your men."

"I thought about flying that goddamned Beechcraft right into the sonofabitch," Clete blurted. "But I didn't think it would be any more effective than the lousy twenty pounds of C4 they gave me."

"I am very glad you reached that decision, Cletus," his father said.

Clete looked at him. Tears were running down his father's cheeks. Their eyes met.

"Would it be a great embarrassment to you if I put my arms around you?" el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade asked.

"No, Sir," Clete said, his voice breaking. He went to his father and they wrapped their arms around each other.

Finally, they broke apart.

"Well," his father said, "at least we know where things stand."

"Do we? I don't know what the hell to do now. Right now, I am having some very unpatriotic thoughts. If the OSS doesn't really give a damn about the Reine de la Mer, why should I?"

His father didn't respond for a long moment, but then said, "Because you have been ordered to destroy it. Your admirable concern for your men doesn't change that. So long as the Reine de la Mer is in the Bah?a Samboromb?n, you are obliged to do your best to destroy it. Honor requires that you do anything you can—short of suicide—to carry out your orders."

"You said you would help?"

"I have a suggestion," Frade said. "I will call el Almirante de Montoya again and tell him that I have changed my mind, and that he should expel you from Argentina."

"What good would that do?"

"And then I will get you a seat on the Pan American flight to Miami. You will go to Washington and tell this Colonel Graham to his face ..."

"Doing that won't—"

"Hear me out."

Clete shrugged.

"You will tell Colonel Graham that I deduced the real reason he assigned this mission to you, and that I had you expelled to save your life. That has the great benefit of being the truth."

"I don't want to be expelled."

"You have no choice in the matter. If you feel that you should, you can tell your Colonel Graham that you are willing to come back secretly to sink the Reine de la Mer —you can be put ashore from a U.S. submarine, or come from Brazil via Uruguay. If you return, you will of course have my assistance."

El Coronel let that sink in for a moment, and then went on.

"You have no options, Cletus. Without my assistance, there is no way you can harm the Reine de la Mer. And if, for example, you try to hide yourself in Argentina, el Almirante would learn of it, and there would be nothing I could do for you. El Coronel Martin's men, believe me, would find you in a matter of days. You would then be imprisoned. Possibly for a long time. There are a number of people in this country who would like to hold that sword at my throat—the sword of my son in an Argentine prison."

"If I came back, you would help me?" Clete asked.

"I give you my word."

"Why?"

"To try to save your life."

Christ, he's got me. I don't have any other option.

"I think it would be best for you to stay here at the estancia, until your expulsion can be arranged, and until I can get you on the Pan American flight to Miami." Clete accepted the inevitable.

"I have to go to Buenos Aires," he said. "I have to explain all this to Ettinger and Pelosi." His father considered that.

"Very well. I think you'll be safe. Enrico will of course go with you, and Martin's Internal Security people will be watching Uncle Guillermo's house."

Clete nodded. "I'll be all right."

"And I will go to the city too. Perhaps we could even have dinner together or ..."

"Why not?" Clete chuckled.

Now that the decision had been made, he felt an enormous sense of relief. It troubled him.