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

"There is, of course, a good deal to what you say," Newton-Haddle said charmingly. "There always is. It is always better to err on the side of caution."

"I'm glad you understand," Graham said.

"Which brings us to Lieutenant Frade," Newton-Haddle said.

Graham's patience with Newton-Haddle was about exhausted.

"If you're going to bring up again my refusal to send him through here, Newt, save your breath. He needs a rest-and-recuperation leave, not your version of Parris Island recruit training."

"He's the asset it would really be criMi?al to flush away."

"Get to the point, please, Newt. I have to get back to Washington."

"I think we should give more thought to the use of this one-of-a-kind asset than we have so far."

“I discussed the use of this one-of-a-kind asset with Colonel Donovan yesterday," Graham said. "He seems to find that the use I came up with is satisfactory."

"How would you feel about a meeting between you, Bill, myself—and possibly even Jasper Nestor—to look into Lieutenant Frade's potential worth a little more deeply? I'm sure Nestor could be here in forty-eight hours if the Bank of Boston called him home for an 'emergency consultation' or some such. That would justify getting him a seat on the Pan American Clipper from Buenos Aires..."

"By 'Bill' are you by any chance referring to Colonel Donovan, Colonel Newton-Haddle?" Graham asked icily.

"No disrespect was intended. This is just a conversation between friends."

"To answer your question, Colonel," Graham went on, "I have no interest in discussing this mission with either you or Mr. Nestor, other than to inform you what will be required of you. Now is that clear enough, or should I get on the telephone and ask Colonel Donovan to personally make the point that operations are not your concern?''

"Now, Alex, there's no point in flying off the handle..."

"Do you take my point, Colonel, or should I get Colonel Donovan on the phone?"

"I take your point," Newton-Haddle said after a moment.

"Colonel, I am now going to take Mr. Ettinger to meet Lieutenant Pelosi. I am going to inform Lieutenant Pelosi that he is to devote the rest of the time he is here—however long that might be—to imparting to Mr. Ettinger as much as possible of his knowledge of explosives and demolition techniques. I am going to tell him that you will help him in any way you can, and I want you there when I tell him."

"If you wish."

"I don't know how it is in the paratroopers, Colonel, but in the Marine Corps, the proper response when given an order is to respond with die words 'Yes, Sir.' "

After a long moment, Colonel Baxter F. Newton-Haddle said, "Yes, Sir."

[TWO]

Big Foot Ranch

RFD #2, Box 131

Midland, Texas

1115 21 October 1942

First Lieutenant Cletus Howell Frade, USMCR, put his arm around the stocky, short-haired blond woman standing beside him at the grave and hugged her. Then he said, his voice breaking, "Christ, Martha, I'm sorry."

Clete was wearing a brand-new Stetson, dark-brown worsted woolen work pants, somewhat battered Western boots, and a heavy sheepskin coat. The woman, who was in a fur-collared trench coat, turned and smiled up at him and put her hand to his cheek.

"He was too damned young, but he had a good life, honey," she said. "And he was so damned proud of you!"

The tombstone, an eight-foot-wide, five-foot-high block of Vermont marble, readhowell in the center. Below, to the left, in slightly smaller letters, it read,

JAMES FITZHUGH HOWELL Gunnery Sergeant USMCR WWI

March 3, 1895-August 11, 1942

To the right had been chiseled,

MARTHA WILLIAMSON HOWELL

June 11, 1899-

"We got to the 'Canal on the tenth of August," Clete said. "We flew off an escort carrier as soon as they got the field operational. I didn't even get the damned notification until the twentieth."

"You wrote me, honey," Martha Howell said.

"If I'd been in the States, I probably could have got an emergency leave," Clete said. "But not from the 'Canal."

"Honey, don't apologize for something you couldn't control," Martha said. "And there was nothing you could have done. He just keeled over in the bar of the Petroleum Club, and that was it."

"Goddamn!"

Martha moved out from under his arm, walked to the pole-and-chain fence surrounding the small cemetery, and pointed to' one of the poles.

"You know what that is, Clete?"

"Looks like drill pipe," he said.

"It is. I was going to use cast iron, but the cast iron place in New Orleans is out of business for the duration, so I had them cut up some pipe, and weld some chain to it to keep the cattle off. I thought I'd get the cast iron after the war, but now I'm not so sure. What's wrong with drill pipe? And chain. God knows, in his life he wrapped enough chain around drilling strings."

"Looks fine to me the way it is," Clete said.

"That's good, for there's room in here too for you and yours, whenever that happens," Martha said.

His eyebrows went up, and she saw it.

"He left you the ranch, Clete," Martha said. "Less mineral rights. You get some of those, too, but he wanted you to have the ranch."

"Jesus! What about the girls?"

The girls, both students at Rice University in Houston, were Martha and Jim's daughters. For all practical purposes, they were Clete's sisters.

"He asked them first, and it was all right with them. They don't want to live out here in the sticks. I get what they call 'lifetime use.' It's all pretty complicated. You better find time when you see your grandfather to have him, or one of his lawyers, explain it to you. There's a provision in there that if you 'die without issue,' it reverts to the girls. Or their 'issue,' I forget which. Do we have to talk about this now?"

Clete shook his head no.

Then he said, "I'm surprised."

"I don't see why you should be. You weren't only his nephew. The way things happened, you were the son I could never give him."

He looked at her, then back at the tombstone.

"Seen enough?" Martha asked. "It's as cold as a witch's teat out here."

"Why, Miss Martha, how you talk!"

She walked to the pipe-and-chain fence and stepped over the chain, then slipped behind the wheel of a 1940 Cadillac coupe. Clete followed her and got in the passenger side.

"There should be a bottle in the glove compartment," Martha said as she started the engine. "I think I'd like a little taste about now."

He opened the glove compartment. Inside was a quart of Jack Daniel's, unopened, a leather-bound flask, and a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver in a holster. He shook the flask, heard it gurgle, unscrewed the top, and handed it to Martha. She put it to her lips and took a healthy swallow, then handed it back to him. He took a healthy swallow.

"Are you going to have time to go to Houston before you go where you're going?" Martha asked. "The girls will want to see you."

"I don't know," he said. "Probably. I'll know for sure when Colonel Graham tells me when he wants me in New Orleans."

"What are you going to do in New Orleans?"

"Except have the Old Man find fault with the way I blink my eyes, you mean?"

The Old Man was Cletus Marcus Howell, Martha's father-in-law and Clete's grandfather.

"He's not that bad, Clete."

He laughed.

"You didn't say what you're going to do in New Orleans."

"Mine not to reason why, Ma'am, mine but to ride into the Valley of Death, or wherever it is. You keep forgetting, Ma'am, that I'm just a lousy first lieutenant, and they don't bother to tell me a hell of a lot. Just do it."

She chuckled.

He purposefully changed the subject. "Jim's pistol is in the glove compartment. Did you know that?"

"That's my pistol," Martha said. "His guns are in town. They had to inventory them when they probated the will. You got them, too, of course, except for the .250-3000 Savage. Beth killed her first deer with that, and he thought she should have it."