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

Von Ruppersdorf took a few steps forward, smiled, and put out his hand.

"Buenas tardes, mi Coronel," he said.

Von Ruppersdorf’s Spanish, Peter had learned three quarters of an hour before, was impeccable. He had served for three years at the Embassy in Buenos Aires, he informed Peter then.

The tall, dark-skinned man smiled, showing a handsome set of teeth, and shook von Ruppersdorf’s hand.

"Colonel Per?n, may I present Brigadefiihrer von Neibermann, Oberst Susser, and Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein?" von Ruppersdorf said. “Gentlemen, Colonel Juan Domingo Per?n, of the Argentine Embassy."

Per?n shook hands with each of them in turn. He seemed to look askance at Peter, which Peter felt was understandable.

Despite my new shoes and pressed pants, compared to these three, I look like a bum.

Von Ruppersdorf was wearing a morning coat, Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann was wearing an SS dress uniform, complete to dagger suspended from a silver brocade belt, and Colonel Susser was in the prescribed Luftwaffe walking-out uniform. Peter was wearing a leather uniform jacket which showed signs of having spent some time in a cockpit.

Another usher appeared, carrying five glasses of champagne on a tray. One by one the men took a glass.

"The late Captain Jorge Alejandro Duarte," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann said, raising his glass.

He mispronounced every other syllable, Peter noticed, despite the coaching he'd been given by von Ruppersdorf before they came into the reception room.

"Hear, hear," Colonel Susser said.

"A tragic loss," von Ruppersdorf said.

"El Capitan Duarte," Peter said, raising his glass and then taking a sip.

Not bad,Peter thought. German Sekt, of course, not as good as French champagne, but the Foreign Ministry of the German Reich certainly could not serve French champagne in its reception room.

He was more than a little hung over and as dry as a bone, and had to resist the temptation to drain his glass and hold it up for another. He sensed Colonel Juan Domingo Per?n's eyes on him.

"I would like to apologize for my appearance, mi Coronel," Peter said. "When I was summoned to Berlin, I had no idea it was to take lunch with a distinguished foreign statesman."

"I'm not a 'distinguished statesman,' Captain," Per?n said with a smile. "Like you, I am a soldier. I am here to learn something about your social services. And if I was looking closely at you, it was to see if that is indeed the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross."

"Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein received that decoration from the hands of the Fuhrer himself," Brigadefiihrer von Neibermann gushed.

"Where did you learn your Spanish, Captain?" Colonel Per?n asked Peter, ignoring von Neibermann. "You speak it extraordinarily well."

"In school, mi Coronel," Peter replied, "and then I served in Spain."

"With the Condor Legion," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann furnished.

"You will have no trouble making yourself understood in Argentina, Captain," Per?n said.

"You think the Freiherr would be suitable, then, for the sad duty of escorting the remains of Captain Duarte, mi Coronel?" von Ruppersdorf asked.

"I should think that Captain Duarte's family—we are acquainted—would be honored that such a distinguished officer would be spared from his duties for the task," Per?n said.

"It is a token of the respect of the government of the German Reich for Captain Duarte," von Ruppersdorf said. "His loss is deeply regretted."

"We feel that Captain Duarte fell for the Fatherland," Brigadefuhrer von Neibermann said solemnly. "That he was one of us."

Per?n looked at him. Peter saw the sudden hardness in his eyes.

That was going a bit too far, Herr Brigadefuhrer.

"Did I understand you to say that you know Captain Duarte's family, Colonel Per?n ?" von Ruppersdorf asked quickly.

"I am acquainted with his parents," Per?n said. "His uncle, Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade, is an old friend. We shared a room at the School of Cavalry as lieutenants, and we were at Command College together."

"I see," von Ruppersdorf said. "Then this is a personal loss for you, too, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Per?n said simply.

"Would you like another glass of champagne, Colonel?" von Ruppersdorf asked. "Or shall we go into lunch?"

"Two glasses of champagne, except when I am in the company of a beautiful woman, gives me a headache," Per?n said.

"The same thing happens to me," Peter was astonished to hear himself blurt, "the morning after I have been with a beautiful woman."

Per?n looked at him, astonished. And just at the point where Peter had become convinced that he had really put his foot in his mouth, Colonel Per?n laughed. Heartily.

"Are you sure you have no Argentine blood, Captain von Wachtstein?" he asked.

"No, Sir," Peter said. "I am a pure-blooded Pomeranian, two-legged variety."

Per?n laughed again, delightedly, and touched Peter's arm.

"You will fit right in in Buenos Aires, Captain," Per?n said.

[TWO]

1420 Avenue Alvear

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1430 31 October 1942

The chauffeur of the 1941 Buick Roadmaster station wagon, a heavyset man in his forties, glanced at the man in the front seat beside him and saw that wherever his attention was, it was not on the Avenue Alvear.

"Mi Coronel," he said, "the gates are closed."

Jorge Guillermo Frade, who was wearing a gray linen suit and a soft straw snap-brim hat, looked out the window and saw that was indeed the case. The twenty-foot-high double cast iron gates in front of his sister's house were unquestionably closed. He also glanced around and realized that Enrico, on seeing that the gates were closed, had elected to stop right where he was, in the middle of the Avenue Alvear, to wait until the problem was solved for him. At least four cars behind him were blowing their horns.

"Make the turn, Enrico," Frade said softly. "Pull as far onto the sidewalk as you can, so as not to block traffic, and then leave the car, enter through the small gate, and either open the driveway gates or have someone open them for you."

"S?, mi Coronel."

Enrico is not stupid,Frade thought. It is simply that he has not mastered—never will be able to master—Buenos Aires traffic. He can alone and without difficulty maneuver a troop, a squadron, the entire regiment of the Husare di Pueyrredon at the gallop in a thunderstorm, but a closed gate, one that he cannot leap over or go around, is simply beyond his understanding. As is the notion that it is not acceptable behavior to simply stop in the middle of a busy street because you don't know what to do next.

Enrico made the turn, sounded the horn to warn pedestrians on the sidewalk, and stopped the Buick with its nose no more than six inches from the massive gate. He applied the parking brake, turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car.

As soon as he was out, Frade slid across the seat, turned on the ignition, and started the engine. He saw Enrico enter the courtyard inside the fence and move immediately to the gate. There was an enormous brass padlock and a chain holding the gate closed. Enrico threw up his hands in disgust, then trotted toward the twenty-foot-high double doors of the mansion.

Maybe they're not here? Is it possible they would have gone off to their estancia without telling anyone? After Jorge was killed, anything is possible. So what will I do? It's three hundred kilometers out there!

He saw Enrico banging the cast iron clapper on the door.

If there is a clapper, use that. Doorbells sometimes do not work.

The door was opened by Alberto, Beatrice and Homer's butler. Enrico pointed indignantly toward the closed gates and the Buick sitting outside them. Alberto looked stricken, then disappeared into the house, leaving the door open.