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

Ettinger expected surprise at that announcement, but not the look of total bafflement that came to Klausner's face.

"I was working in New York City," Ettinger went on. "When I went to America, I took the exaMi?ation for radio engineer, and I was working for RCA, the Radio Corporation of America... you know the name Sarnoff, Ernst, David Sarnoff? A Russian, a Jew, one of the great geniuses of radio... ?"

"Why did you leave Spain?" Klausner interrupted.

The question surprised Ettinger.

"I didn't, I don't, trust Franco," he said. "It is only a matter of time before he joins the-Axis. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. What happened in Germany will happen in Spain."

Klausner closed his eyes and shook his head, as if shocked and saddened by Ettinger's stupidity.

"Franco is not as bad as you think, David," he said.

What the hell is that all about? Franco isEl Caudillo only because of the Germans, their Condor Legion, and all their other military support. He is as much a fascist as Mussolini and Hitler. But this is not the time to debate that.

"I was working for RCA, and I registered for the draft..."

"The what?"

"Military service, conscription," Ettinger explained. "And Mr. Sarnoff—Ernst, you must know who he is. He worked with Marconi ..."

Klausner was obviously wholly uninterested in a Russian Jew named Sarnoff, radio pioneer and genius or not. And Ettinger realized his attitude annoyed him.

"Mr. Sarnoff called me to his office. He said my work was essential to the war effort, and I did not have to go into the Army; all I had to say was that I did not wish to go, and he would arrange it"

"So why are you in the American Army?" Klausner asked.

"I told Mr. Sarnoff that I wished to be an American citizen, and that I felt it my duty to serve."

There he goes, shaking his head again. Or has his head ever stopped shaking, as if he is dealing with a pitiful idiot?

"And Mr. Sarnoff said to me, I know how you feel. I myself am going in the Army. And he told me when the war is over, I will not only have my job back, but that while I am in the Army, RCA will pay the difference between my Army pay and what I was making at RCA."

"If the Americans win the war," Klausner said.

"There is no 'if,' Ernst," Ettinger said. "The Americans will win."

Klausner shrugged.

Why am I growing so angry?

"When I was in an Army school in Baltimore," Ettinger said, "I was taken, Ernst, to a shipyard in Kearny, New Jersey, which is right across the river from New York City. They are building one ship a day in that shipyard, Ernst. It takes them three weeks to build a ship. Every day, seven days a week, they launch a ship. And they told us they were not up to speed."

"What?"

"Up to speed. It means that soon they will be making two ships a day, or three, or even four. And that is not their only shipyard. They have—I don't know, ten, twenty shipyards, maybe more. Germany cannot make enough torpedoes to sink that many ships."

Klausner shrugged again.

"On the way to Kearny, we passed the airport in Newark. It is bigger—three or four times the size of Tempelhof—and as far as I could see, enormous bombers were about to be flown to England. Not shipped, Ernst, flown."

Klausner held up his hand to silence him. Ettinger followed his eyes. Inge was coming into the room with a tray.

"They are worse than the Viennese here," she said, putting the tray down in front of him. It held an assortment of pastries. "They take a Viennese recipe. If it says 'six eggs,' they use twelve. If it says 'one cup of sugar,' they use two. And the meat!"

"The meat is incredible," Klausner agreed. "Cheap. Marvelous."

Sarah put a coffee service on a low table. Inge poured coffee, handed cups to Ettinger and her husband, then started to pour a cup for herself.

"Liebchen," Klausner said. "Why don't you take Sarah for a little walk?"

It was said softly, but it was an order. She put the pot down and smiled.

"We will talk later, David," she said. "You'll stay for supper, of course."

"We will talk," Ettinger agreed.

"I am so happy that you are here," Inge said.

"I am so happy to see you all," Ettinger said.

Klausner waited until his wife and daughter had left the house.

"If you are in the American Army," he challenged, "what are you doing in Buenos Aires, not in a uniform?"

"That, Ernst, I cannot talk about."

"You are a spy."

Ettinger laughed. "No. A spy? No."

"I don't believe you," Klausner said. "I understand why you feel you must lie to me, David, but I don't believe you."

"I am sure we—we Americans—have spies here, but I am not one of them."

"What are you doing here?"

"I cannot tell you."

"A spy by another name. You are playing word games."

"I am here to harm the Germans, Ernst."

"Yes, of course you are. Thank you for your honesty."

"Not the Germans. The Nazis."

"Word games again. There is no difference between them. You should know that You do know that."

This time Ettinger shrugged.

"Let me tell you about the Argentineans, David. We Argentineans. I am not a German anymore. I speak the language. I read Goethe and Schiller, I eat apfelstrudel. But I am no longer a German. I am an Argentinean."

"You are also a Jew."

"I am an Argentinean who happens to be a Jew."

"You are a German Jew who has lost his life and his family to the Nazis."

"I am an Argentinean whose family, Inge and Sarah, has been saved by the Argentineans. I am an Argentinean. I became an Argentinean. I swore to defend this country, David, to obey its laws. Argentina is neutral. I want nothing to do with a spy from the United States of America or anywhere else."

"They killed our people. They are killing our people."

"I think it would be best if you left, David, before Inge and Sarah come home," Klausner said.

Ettinger stood up, then looked down at Klausner.

"Because we were friends together in Germany," Klausner said, "I will not report you to Internal Security. But please, please, do not come back, and do not tell anyone that you knew me in Berlin."

"As you wish, Ernst," Ettinger said.

"Auf Wiedersehen, mein alt Freund. May God be with you," Ernst said.

[TWO]

4730 Avenida Libertador

Buenos Aires

0900 29 November 1942

Clete was wakened by Se?ora Pellano, who set a tray-on-legs with orange juice and coffee on his bed.

"Buenos dias, Se?or Cletus."

" 'Dias, muchas gracias," he said, smiling at her, carefully trying to sit up without upsetting the tray.

"Would you like me to bring you something to eat?"

"Let me come downstairs," he said, smiling at her. "Give me thirty minutes to shower and shave."

"I would be happy to serve it here."

"Downstairs, please."

"S?, Se?or Cletus," she said, and went to the wardrobe and took out a dressing gown and laid it on the bed before leaving.

Even in the house on St. Charles Avenue,he thought, I was never treated this well, like an English nobleman in the movies.

There were two maids, so that no matter what hour of the day, his needs would not go unattended. There was also a cook and a houseman, a dignified old man named Ernesto. The staff was run with an iron hand by Se?ora Pellano, who, his father had told him, came from a fine family who had been in service to the Frades for three generations. One of the maids was a Porteno, the other from a family who lived on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. Both were young and attractive, which made him somewhat uncomfortable. He would have preferred maids twice their age.

Despite the physical comforts, he had spent an uncomfortable night at the house on Libertador—his second night there—primarily because he was bored. Exploring Granduncle Guillermo's playroom, which is what he finally did after everything else failed, didn't really help to cure his boredom.