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

There was a knock at the door, and then it opened. A maid, looking more than a little nervous, stepped inside.

"We require nothing," Frade snapped.

"Mi Coronel, there is a telephone call for Se?or Cletus."

Christ! The Virgin Princess. Worried about me.

"It is a Comandante von Wachtstein, Se?or Cletus."

Frade looked at Clete, his eyebrows raised in question.

"I'll take it, thank you," Clete said.

Curiosity overwhelmed El Coronel Frade. "The German officer? What does he want?"

"I'm about to find out," Clete said, rising to go to the telephone.

"He is a Luftwaffe officer," he heard his father explain to Colonel Graham. "He accompanied the remains of my nephew, who was killed at Stalingrad, here for burial."

"He's also the fellow who warned me those bastards were going to try to kill me," Clete said as he picked up the telephone.

"^Hola?"

"Se?or Frade? This is el Comandante von Wachtstein."

“Comandante ?”

"Yes. Somewhat belatedly recognizing my extraordinary talents, the Oberkommando der Luftwaffe has promoted me."

"How wise of them. And how nice to hear your voice, mi Comandante.”

"How nice to hear yours, Se?or Frade, especially after your unfortunate encounter, which I read about in the newspaper. I called to let you know how pleased I was to hear that you're all right."

"Unfortunately, mi Comandante, Se?ora Pellano is not all right."

"The world seems to be full of vicious bastards, doesn't it, Se?or Frade?"

"It certainly does."

"But life goes on, Se?or Frade. I had another reason to call."

"And what was that, mi Comandante?"

"The day after Christmas, I am having luncheon at the Centro Naval. The Officers' Club, downtown. They have honored me with a guest membership."

"How nice for you, mi Comandante."

"It's a pity you are no longer a serving officer, Se?or Frade. Perhaps, if you were, your father could arrange such a membership for you. It's a lovely place."

"My father is an amazing man, mi Comandante. Perhaps he can arrange a membership for me anyway. Do I understand you are inviting me to lunch?"

"Actually, it was Se?orita Carzino-Cormano's idea. And with your approval, she suggests we ask Se?orita Mallin to make it a foursome."

Clete saw that El Coronel Frade and Colonel Graham were shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. He smiled warmly at both.

"Under that circumstance, mi Comandante, I gratefully accept your kind invitation."

"Splendid. We will look forward to seeing you at two at the Centro Naval."

"I'll be there, mi Comandante," Clete said, and hung up.

"Isn't your friend sticking his neck way out having lunch with you?" Graham asked.

"Whatever he is, Peter von Wachtstein is no fool," Clete said.

"And don't turn your imagination on, Colonel," Clete continued. "Don't even start to dream up one of your goddamned scenarios if it involves von Wachtstein."

Graham held his hands up in innocence.

"It never entered my mind, Clete."

"Bullshit, Colonel. Just forget it."

"Dorotea?" his father asked.

"Our relationship has changed, Dad."

"Now, Cletus? Under these circumstances?"

"Why not? And anyway, it's out of my control."

His father met his eyes, then smiled and shrugged.

"Shall we continue with the business at hand?" he asked.

[FOUR]

4730 Avenida Libertador

Buenos Aires

1205 25 December 1942

When Chief Radioman Oscar J. Schultz, USN, arrived at the Guest House in the back of a truck, wearing civilian work clothes and carrying a case of mineral water, he looked more than a little dubious about the whole operation.

He set the case of mineral water on the kitchen table and glanced around.

"Mr. Frade?"

Clete nodded.

"I'm Chief Schultz."

"This is Lieutenant Pelosi and Staff Sergeant Ettinger."

"Who's the character with the shotgun? Is he in on this?"

"Se?or?" Enrico asked.

"Chief Schultz, this is Suboficial Mayor—Sergeant Major— Rodriguez, Argentine Cavalry, Retired," Clete said.

"No shit?" Chief Schultz replied, examined Enrico more carefully, and then offered his hand to him.

"Chief Radioman Schultz, Suboficial Mayor," he said in Spanish. "I'm damned glad to see you here. I was afraid I was going to be the only professional involved in this nutty business."

"Where'd you learn to speak Spanish, Chief?" Clete asked.

"I did two hitches at Cavite, in the Philippines," Schultz replied, winked, and added, "I had what we called a sleeping dictionary."

"Perhaps you would like a beer?" Enrico asked.

"I've never been known to turn one down," Chief Schultz said.

Three bottles of cerveza and a perfectly cooked T-bone steak later, Chief Schultz turned to Staff Sergeant Ettinger.

"You're the radio guy, Sergeant, right?"

Ettinger nodded.

"What do you know about nighttime radiation in the twenty-meter band?"

"A little."

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of a Collins Model Six?"

"I had a look at the schematics," Ettinger said. "It has a very interesting secondary exciter."

"How 'interesting'?"

"The theory is interesting," Ettinger said. "But I wondered about harmonic synchronization before crystal temperature stabilization."

"The way it comes from the factory, harmonic synchronization's not worth a shit," Chief Schultz said, the tone of his voice making clear his relief at finding a peer on whom he would not be wasting his valuable time, effort, and knowledge. "Somebody get me a sheet of paper and a pencil, and I'll show you the fix I come up with."

From that point onward, Clete and Tony understood not one word of their conversation. Chief Schultz and Staff Sergeant Ettinger, talking in tongues, filled sheet after sheet of paper with esoteric schematic drawings of radio circuitry and mathematical formulae, determining among other things the optimum length and orientation of the antennae that would be erected on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

At twenty past one, one of the maids came into the kitchen and handed Clete a large, well-sealed envelope, bearing the return address of the Anglo-Argentine Bank on Calle San Martin.

"A messenger brought this for you, Se?or Frade," the maid said.

Clete opened the envelope. It contained documents, each stamped, embossed, and signed with flowing signatures in several places by various functionaries. These documents stated that the financial obligations incurred by one Se?or Francisco Manuel Alberghoni in connection with the Ristorante Napoli and associated property in the District of Boca, Buenos Aires, to the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., had been satisfied in full by the transfer this date of certain funds to the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., from the funds held by the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., in trust for one Se?or Cletus Howell Frade, of Estancia San Pedro y San

Pablo, Pila, Province of Buenos Aires, thus relieving the original guarantor of the aforementioned financial obligations of the aforementioned Se?or Alberghoni, one Se?or Enrico Mallin, of the Sociedad Mercantil de Importacion Productos Petrolfferos, Edificio Kavanagh, Buenos Aires, of any further financial liability of any kind with regard to the Anglo-American Bank, S.A.

"I'll be damned!" Clete said.

"What is that?"

"You owe me thirteen grand, Tony," Clete said. "Your girlfriend's father is off the hook."

"Jesus, Clete," Tony said. "Thanks. Can I see that?"

Clete hesitated, then remembering Tony's very poor Spanish, handed it to him.

"I can't read this," Tony said after a moment.

"Don't bother," Clete said. "Take my word for it."

Tony looked at him curiously.

"Sometimes when you turn over a rock," Clete said, "slimy things crawl out. It's all done, Tony. All you have to do is come up with the thirteen grand to pay me back." He retrieved the stack of paper from Tony and smiled at him.