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

"What was that?"

"I went to see some people I used to know..."

"Used to know"? Oh. In Germany. One of the Jewish families on Nestor's list.

"People named Klausner. A man named Ernst Klausner. We were rather close at one time. Until he found out what I was doing here—"

"You told him?" Clete interrupted, shocked and then angry.

Jesus Christ, here he goes again. First he tells his mother he's going to Argentina, and then he tells somebody he used to know—

"I told him I was in the Army, nothing else. At that point, he pulled the welcome mat out from under my feet. He told me he was now an Argentinean, not a German, and that as an Argentinean, he should report me to the authorities. For auld lang syne, he wouldn't, but don't come back."

"Jesus! Was this before or after you asked him about the ships?"

"I didn't get as far as asking him anything. And he didn't seem at all concerned what the Germans are doing to Jews in Germany. He's out, and that's all he cares about it."

"Did you tell Nestor?"

"Of course."

Well, Nestor is the Station Chief. If he's not upset that David ran off at the mouth, why should I be?

Because if we get caught, we go to jail, or worse, not Nestor.

"And what was his reaction?"

"He said there were a lot of other names on the list."

Two other men came to the window, effectively shutting off further conversation. A moment later, Nestor rejoined them.

"We owe you an apology for keeping you waiting, Clete," he said, handing Ettinger a drink.

"Not at all."

"We were out buying David a car."

"Really?"

"A '39 Ford, with the steering wheel on the wrong side," Ettinger said.

"You'll have to take me for a ride in it," Clete said.

"As soon as I actually get it, I'd be delighted to."

"This is Argentina, Clete," Nestor explained. "You don't buy a car and drive off the lot with it the same day. With a little bit of luck, David may lay his hands on it in a week or ten days."

"I love the view from here," Ettinger said. "Look at that blonde!"

Clete had noticed her too. A stunning female, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a pale-yellow dress.

"Her husband is probably standing at the bar," Clete said, laughing.

"He's not," Nestor said. "He's one of ours at the bank. And he's out of town. But if he was here, he would take it as a compliment."

"It was intended as one."

"I think maybe we better wander in," Nestor said.

"Wander in where?" Clete asked.

"To the lounge."

"I hate to walk away from the parade," Clete said.

"They'll be in the lounge," Nestor said. "They're not allowed in here, which I think is a rather good idea. But they will be in the lounge, and they will, of course, be at dinner."

Clete's companion at dinner turned out to be the blonde who had caught David's attention.

Her name, she told him in a delightful British accent, was Monica Javez de Frade. But they were not related.

"We're not even a poor branch of your family. No relation at all."

Which means that Nestor told you who I am. Or that word had spread around the bank who I am— who my father is— after Nestor introduced me around his office.

The proof of that theory seemed to come when she told him that Pablo, her husband, was in "real estate" at the bank, and worked closely with Nestor.

"Agricultural real estate, unfortunately," Monica added, "which means that poor Pablo spends most of his time in the country, leaving poor Monica to spend most of her time alone in the city."

Clete smiled politely, telling himself that her remark had the meaning he was giving it only because his near-terMi?al chastity—and Granduncle Guillermo's dirty pictures—had inflamed his imagination.

But during supper, and during the award afterward of small silver cups to the triumphant members of the Banco de Boston cricket team, Monica's knee kept brushing against his. At each encounter, Clete quickly moved his knee away ... until he de cided to leave his knee there. Then the pressure of her knee against his increased. He withdrew it then, telling himself that the cure for his near-terMi?al chastity should not involve a married woman, and especially one whose husband worked closely with Jasper Nestor.

Laying her hand on his arm to distract his attention from one of the cricket players' lengthy tribute to his teammates— and for no other purpose, Clete, get your imagination under control— Monica asked if he had found an apartment, or whether he was staying with his father.

"My father has a guest house. I'm staying there."

"On Avenida Libertador?"

"Yes. You know the house?"

"I know about it," she said. "The place one of the legendary Frades built with the master apartment on the top floor so he could watch the races at the Hipodromo without crossing the street?"

And for other purposes.

"That's the place."

"I've always wanted to see it."

"Anytime. It would be my pleasure."

The cricket player finally finished his speech, there was unenthusiastic applause, and a short man with a bushy mustache stepped to the lectern to announce the conclusion of the evening's events. He told everyone he wished to thank them for coming, and especially the Banco de Boston for their generous support.

People started rising to their feet, including Monica, who managed to brush her breasts against Clete's arm in the process.

Nestor appeared.

"About ready, Clete? I'd love to stay for the dancing, but I have an early-morning appointment."

"Thank you, Se?ora de Frade."

"Oh, Monica, please."

"Thank you, Monica, for the pleasure of your company."

"Perhaps we'll see each other again," she said, giving him her hand.

"When is Pablo due back, Monica?" Nestor asked.

"The day after tomorrow."

"It's always a pleasure to see you," Nestor said. "Clete?"

Clete followed him to the door, where Ettinger was waiting.

"Well, now that you and David have been introduced," Nestor said as he drove down Avenida Libertador, "it will seem perfectly natural that you meet for lunch or dinner. Two bachelors, so to speak, out on the town."

"Yes," Clete agreed.

"You seem to have made quite an impression on the de Frade woman, Clete," Nestor added. "Which might not be a bad thing."

"I don't think I understand."

“With her husband out of town as much as he is, hostesses are always looking for a suitable bachelor to be her escort at dinner. You really should be socially active."

No way, thank you very much.

"I volunteer," David said from the backseat.

"She didn't seem nearly as interested in you, I'm afraid, David." Nestor laughed. "And they always ask the husband-less woman if the proposed dinner partner is satisfactory to her before they invite him."

Se?ora Pellano was waiting up for him in the foyer of the Guest House.

"I thought perhaps you might like a little something to eat, Se?or Cletus."

"No. Thank you very much. And you don't have to wait up for me like this, Se?ora Pellano."

"It is my pleasure, Se?or Cletus."

"I'm going to turn in, Se?ora Pellano. Good night."

"Buenas noches, Se?or Cletus."

He started toward the elevator. The telephone rang.

"A gentleman called before," she said. "Not an Argentine. His Spanish was not very good. He said he would call again. Perhaps that is him."

Pelosi. I wonder what he wants.

Clete waited for her to answer the telephone.

"It is a lady, Se?or Cletus," she said, and handed him the telephone.

"¿Hola?"

"Cletus, Monica. I wondered if you would really go home."

"I really went home."

"I'm still at the club. I stayed for the dancing. I'm bored."

"I'm sorry."

"Cletus, did you mean it when you said you would show me the Guest House?"