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

Over the years, Mallin had taken more care handling the Howell accounts than any others, simply because he knew he had a free rein, and it would have been terribly awkward and embarrassing if he was caught doing something unwise. Or stupid. Mallin took a little private pleasure in knowing that in his case, Cletus Marcus Howell was sure he had hired the right man.

Mallin almost casually glanced at the material laid out on his conference table, then poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and lemon. He then went to the window and slowly sipped it, gazing out at the boats on the River Plate as he did. As long as the office was his (he inherited it, so to speak, on his father's death three years before), the view fascinated, almost hypnotized, him. He privately acknowledged that looking out the window was one of the reasons he came to the office so early. If others wanted to believe he spent every moment reading the mail, no harm was done.

Now that he was here, he regretted not stopping in to have a coffee with Teresa. There was something wonderfully erotic about letting himself into her apartment, walking quietly to the bedroom, and watching her sleeping. Especially now, in the summer, when he could often find her without a sheet covering her, and with a flimsy nightdress more often than not riding high on her legs. When she was sleeping, there was a strange and entirely delightful warmth about her, and a slight musky smell. Teresa kept an apple on her bedside table. She wouldn't let him kiss her on the mouth until she'd taken a bite or two. Then her mouth tasted of apples.

Tomorrow,Mallin decided. I will visit Teresa tomorrow.

He turned from the window and went to his desk and consulted his schedule for the week. He had an appointment at eleven o'clock tomorrow.

There will be time for Teresa before I have to meet with Schneider. And if 1 run a little late, Schneider will just have to wait.

He glanced at the paper spread out on the conference table and sighed.

I better stop thinking about Teresa and do my reading. What the devil is that? A cable. I don't remember seeing that before. I've told that idiot again and again to put the cables on top!

He walked around his desk to the conference table and picked up a pale-pink envelope and tore it open.

WESTERN UNION

NEW ORLEANS

1115AM NOV 19 1942

FROM HOWELL PETROLEUM NEW ORLEANS

VIA MACKAY RADIO

ENRICO MALLIN

SMIPP

KAVANAGH BUILDING

CALLE FLORIDA 165

BUENOS AIRES ARGENTINA

FOR REASONS MY GRANDSON WILL EXPLAIN IN PERSON HOWELL VENEZUELA OPENING BUENOS AIRES

OFFICE STOP CLETUS HOWELL FRADE AND ANTHONY J PELOSI COMMA TANK FARM ENGINEER COMMA

DEPARTING MIAMI PANAMERICAN FLIGHT ONE SEVEN ONE NOVEMBER TWENTY STOP APPRECIATE YOUR

ARRANGING HOTEL ETCETERA UNTIL PERMANENT ARRANGEMENTS CAN BE MADE STOP REGARDS CLETUS

MARCUS HOWELL END

The old man is opening a Buenos Aires office? And sending his grandson down here to do it? What in the devil is that all about?

The first thing that came to his mind was that SMIPP had somehow failed to meet the old man's expectations. Had some thing gone wrong?... He couldn't imagine what...But was he about to lose Howell Petroleum as a client?

Almost immediately, he realized that couldn't possibly be the case. Their relatively simple business relationship had gone on long enough to work effortlessly; all the little problems that inevitably occur had been resolved.

In their own bottoms, or hired bottoms, Howell (Venezuela) shipped Venezuela crude to Buenos Aires. This was most often (and now almost always, with the war) off-loaded directly into the tanks of the refinery that was to process it. Since there was an import tax, the government determined precisely how much crude there was. The government inspectors were kept honest during off-loading by the presence of representatives of the refiner (who wanted to make sure the inspectors had not been paid by SMIPP to report a greater tonnage than was the case) and of SMIPP (who wanted to make sure the inspectors had not been paid off by the refiner to report the off-loading of a lesser amount of crude than was the case).

Within forty-eight hours of off-loading, the refiners paid SMIPP for the crude. And within twenty-four hours of receipt of their check, SMIPP paid into Howell (Venezuela)'s account at the Bank of Boston the amount they were due: gross receipts less taxes, stevedoring, and, of course, SMIPP's commission.

Handling of Refined Products (cased motor oil and lubricants) from Howell Petroleum (which Mallin thought of as Howell USA) was a bit more complicated. But this was still done in much the same way. There was, of course, a greater problem with pilferage: Refined products were shipped as regular cargo aboard freighters that were not owned or controlled by Howell, and the crews of these freighters had discovered that oil products floated (even in cans and cases), and that some of the operators of boats on the River Plate would make gifts to seamen in proportion to the number of cases of refined products they found bobbing around in the river.

But over the years, even that problem had been minimized by the payment of bonuses to ship's masters and crews for their special care of Howell Refined Products. It was impossible, of course, to keep a half-dozen cases of motor oil from falling over the side when a boat operated by one's wife's cousin showed up - to wave hello. But large-scale theft was really a thing of the past.

After the Refined Products were counted by a government inspector to make sure the government took its tax bite, they were unloaded into bonded warehouses, with a SMIPP representative watching. And when they were sold by SMIPP, it was on a Collect On Delivery basis at the bonded warehouses. A SMIPP representative was there to collect the check before he authorized release of the merchandise. Within twenty-four hours, SMIPP deposited a check to Howell USA's account at the Bank of Boston representing the total amount the wholesaler had paid, less taxes, stevedoring, SMIPP's commission, and the value of goods spoiled in transport.

Mallin generally succeeded in keeping the value of goods spoiled in transport (including goods actually damaged, say, when a cargo net ripped; goods "fallen" overboard; and bonuses paid to ship's crews) below one point five percent of net to Howell.

On reflection, Enrico could not imagine anything in his operation that could displease the old man.

So what is this all about? And why the grandson? He's nothing but a boy!

Mallin had met the grandson. In 1938. He was then a student in New Orleans, a tall, rather well-set-up young man who suffered from acne. The old man, Mallin recalled, doted on him. The boy's mother was dead, and the father had vanished when the boy was an infant (Mallin did not know the man's name).

If the boy was then— what, seventeen, eighteen years old?— what is he now? Twenty-one or twenty-two; twenty-three at most. If you are dissatisfied with someone, you don't send a twenty-odd-year-old to conduct an investigation.

Maybe that was why the other expert was coming. But if that was the case, why send the boy?

As a matter of courtesy to me? Highly unlikely. The old man is the antithesis of subtle.

Then the real reason flashed in his mind:

The war. The bloody damned war.' If the boy is twenty-odd, he's liable to be called up for service. Young men are killed in wars. Even Argentineans. And we're not even in this war. Humberto Valdez Duarte's boy was killed— it was inLa Naci?n— at Stalingrad, of all places.

The old man dotes on the boy. The mother is dead and the father a scoundrel. So the boy had been raised by the old man, and an aunt and uncle in Texas.

That's what this is all about. The old man doesn't want him killed in the war. So he's arranged to send him out of the country. He's a powerful man; he's arranged for him to be declared essential to Howell Petroleum. Sending him to Buenos Aires will keep him out of sight.