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

"I don't know what you mean," Clete said. "I'm here because my grandfather needed someone down here, and I speak Spanish and needed a job."

He knows I'm lying. Whether because I'm not a very good liar, or because he's put two and two together. Whatever else he is, this man, my father, is no fool.

The question is, where does that leave us?

"You speak Spanish very well," his father said, dropping the subject. "Shall we go?"

Frade led Clete through the revolving door to the entrance driveway before he remembered where the Horche was. Taking Cletus there would be unwise. Beatrice would almost certainly see Mm.

"I have the car parked a block or so away," Frade said.

"All right."

"Why don't you just wait in front for me."

"I don't mind walking."

"Please wait for me in front," Frade said. It was unquestionably an order.

"All right," Clete said.

Clete watched his father march down Avenue Alvear. Then nature called. He went back into the hotel and down the stairs again to the men's room. An attendant patiently waited for him to relieve his bladder, men stood by with soap, a towel, a comb, cologne, and an open hand.

When Clete reached the entranceway again, his father was already there, standing impatiently by the open door of a magnificent, gleaming, four-door convertible. A Horche, according to the grille.

What the hell is a Horche?

"I wondered what happened to you," Frade said.

"That's one hell of a car," Clete said.

"I rather like it myself," Frade said. And then he heard himself say, as he extended the keys to his son, "Would you like to drive?"

[THREE]

Centro Naval

Avenida Florida y Avenida C6rdoba

Buenos Aires

1325 27 November 1942

"I don't usually take spirits at lunch," el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade announced solemnly as he waved Clete into a leather-upholstered chair in the dark paneled bar of the Officers' Club, "but this is an occasion, no? Our 'great confrontation'?"

He turned to the white-jacketed waiter who had trailed them from the door. "Dos Jack Daniel's, dobles, por favor, Luis."

Clete looked around the room. He saw no women. Most of the men were in civilian clothing, but something about them suggested they were officers. Not officers, he corrected himself,

brass. Hardly anybody in here is my age. Lieutenants and captains not welcome, and please keep off the grass on your way out.

He looked at his father. His father was making a visual sweep of the room. He gave a curt nod of recognition to a few men, smiled faintly at others, but at two in particular he smiled widely and nodded his head as if in approval.

As soon as the whiskey was delivered, while the waiter was carrying out the little routine of overflowing the silver shot glass on a handle, a procession of brass making their manners came to the table.

The introductions followed the same pattern:

"Coronel, I have the honor to present my son, Cletus, late Teniente of the air service of the U.S. Marine Corps, who has been medically retired after service in the Pacific at Guadalcanal. He is here on business, which I hope will take a long time to complete."

Like blowing up a neutral ship in your river.

Once, his father rose to his feet, and Clete followed him.

"Mi General," his father said, "I have the honor to present my son, Cletus, late Teniente of the air service of the U.S. Marine Corps, who has been medically retired after service in the Pacific at Guadalcanal. He is here on a visit. Cletus, I had the honor to succeed el General Sussman as Colonel Commanding the Hussares de Pueyrred6n."

"A sus ?rdenes, mi General," Clete said.

The introduction seemed to both please and surprise the General.

"You served at Guadalcanal, Teniente?"

"S?, mi General."

General Sussman examined him closely, and nodded approvingly.

"I am very happy to make your acquaintance," he said in somewhat awkward English. "Welcome to Argentina."

I don't think you would say that if you knew why I am here, General.

"Gracias, mi General."

Frade waited until the General was out of earshot, then announced, "Coronel Sahovaler—the fat, bald one—succeeded me at the regiment. I should have introduced him that way."

Dear old Dad,Clete realized, is half in the bag. And if he is, you almost certainly are. So watch yourself.

That triggered another thought, a somewhat alarming one: His only reaction when he realized I was lying to him was to change the subject, and then let me drive that car of his. Is it possible that he intends to get me drunk to see what he can worm out of me? Of course it's possible. It's even likely.

Without asking, the bartender delivered another Jack Daniel's doble long before either of their glasses was empty.

"I think we should carry these into the dining room and put something into our stomachs," Frade announced somewhat thickly after draining the first drink and picking up the second. "As you may have noticed, the Portenos are very dangerous drivers. One must be in full control of one's faculties to survive."

The booze flows like water—if that's really whiskey he's drinking— and he wants me to think he's drunk. Of course, he's trying to get me drunk enough to confide in him, father-to-son. Well, why are you surprised? The Old Man told you often enough he's a three-star sonofabitch. Well, screw you, Dad. I may be an amateur at this business, but I can not stupid.

"Excuse me?" Clete asked politely, smiling, as he rose to his feet. "The what? Portenos?"

"Natives of Buenos Aires," his father explained. "As opposed to those who come from the country. They drive like madmen. They seem to believe that an automobile has two speeds, on and off."

Clete chuckled.

The headwaiter of the dining room followed them to their table.

"Edmundo," el Coronel ordered, "see if they can find something nice, a Beaujolais perhaps, in my stock."

"S?, mi Coronel."

And now wine, on top of the whiskey,Clete thought.

"This is an occasion. I have the honor to introduce my son, Cletus, late Teniente of the air service of the Marine Corps of the USA."

And fatherly pride and charm on top of the wine. Mi Coronel, mi Papa, you are a clever sonofabitch, aren't you? What I would like to do is just walk out of here. But I have a feeling I should stick around. Maybe I can learn something from you.

"A great privilege and honor, mi Teniente," the headwaiter said. "El Coronel would prefer some of the French?"

“French or Argentine, Cletus?”

"Argentine, please," Clete said.

"I personally believe our wines are superior—the stock I keep here at the club is from a small vineyard the family has an interest in—but I am of course prejudiced."

"The Argentine wine I've had so far has been great," Clete said.

"And we are known for our beef, too," Frade said. "Might I suggest a lomo? With papas fritas?"—a filet mignon and french-fried potatoes. "And a tomato and onion salad?"

"Sounds fine, thank you."

"One should not eat heavily in the middle of the day," Frade declared. "It slows the blood, and thus one's ability to think clearly."

"Yes, Sir, I agree."

When a waiter delivered the bourbon, Frade ordered their meal.

"One day," he said, "I hope you will find the time to tell me about Guadalcanal. As a soldier, I am of course interested."

I guess that's Question Number One.

"Yes, Sir. I'd be happy to."

"Will there be time? When will you return to the United States?"

And that's Question Number Two.

"I don't know. I'll be here indefinitely."

"I did not know that," Frade said. "Cletus, certainly you cannot take advantage of Se?or Mallin's hospitality indefinitely."

"No, Sir. I don't intend to. Se?or Mallin has found an apartment for me. I'm to move in tomorrow."