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

He'd intended to be witty. From the strained smile on Nestor's face, Clete saw he hadn't been taken that way.

I will henceforth go easy on the humor.

"We're not spies, Clete," Nestor said after a moment. "We're gentlemen. The FBI are the spies."

"And not gentlemen?"

"Rarely, Clete, rarely. There is always an exception."

Clete shook the package.

"Would you like a little of whatever this is? Or something else?"

"I would prefer one of those," Nestor replied, indicating Clete's beer. "If that would..."

Clete pushed the call button. They were all over the house. Granduncle Guillermo knew how to live.

Se?ora Pellano appeared immediately.

"Would you bring the Se?or a beer, please? And a glass. Se?or is a gentleman."

"Actually, on a hot day, I rather like to drink from the bottle," Nestor said, smiling, and then turned and gestured off the balcony. "Beautiful view from here."

"It's a beautiful house," Clete said.

"And how kind of your father to make it available to you."

"I thought so."

"There are other advantages as well."

"Such as?"

"It establishes you as the beloved son of el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade," Nestor said. "That could prove very valuable."

Clete nodded.

"Have you thought about calling Se?ora Frade? You seemed to be getting along splendidly with her last night. A—I almost said 'affair'— relationshipwith her might be valuable to us."

"She called me," Clete said. "The phone rang the minute I walked in the door last night."

"And will you see her?" Nestor asked, then caught the look on Clete's face. "Really? Good boy."

"Is that why I was at the dinner? You wanted me to meet her?"

"I wanted you to meet David in a credible situation," Nestor said. "Se?ora Frade, so to speak, was an unexpected bonus. Letting it travel around town that she has added you to her list of admirers—her long list of admirers—will paint the sort of picture about you we want."

Herlong list of admirers? Incredible!

"Inasmuch as you elected to ignore your instructions vis-a-vis your cover," Nestor went on, "that may prove quite valuable. More gossip-worthy, so to speak."

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your father proudly introduced you to a number of important officers as 'my son, late Teniente of the air service of the U.S. Marine Corps, who served at Guadalcanal.' "

"How did you hear about that?" Clete asked, surprised.

"I have a number of friends in the Argentine military. I presume you had reason to ignore your instructions about your cover?"

"I suppose I could tell you that it just slipped out. But the truth of the matter is, I was a little drunk at the time, and didn't want my father to think I was shirking my duty to God and country."

"From what I hear, the both of you were three sheets to the wind. I'm sure meeting him was emotional for the both of you, but you might consider the ill-wisdom of excessive alcohol."

"Yes, Sir."

Se?ora Pellano came onto the balcony with a bottle of cerveza and a glass on a tray.

Nestor stopped her when she started to pour, took the bottle from her, and put it to his lips.

Is he doing that because he really likes to, or to play "I'm just one of the boys" with me?

"I hope I haven't disturbed anything?" Nestor asked.

"No. Not a thing. I was sitting here catching the breeze and feeling sorry for myself."

"Why sorry? Don't tell me Se?ora Frade didn't turn out to be as advertised."

"I miss flying. I even miss the goddamned Marine Corps. I'm a much better Naval Aviator than I am a saboteur."

"Perhaps your father will let you fly his airplane. Or one of them."

"I didn't know he had an airplane."

"He has a Beechcraft biplane, and at least one Piper Cub."

"You mean a stagger-wing Beechcraft?"

"Your father's has the top wing behind the lower... yes, I suppose it would be a 'stagger-wing.' And as I say, at least one Piper Cub. The use—on the larger estancias—of small aircraft is quite common."

"They were getting into that in Texas and Oklahoma, too," Clete said.

If my father has a Beech stagger-wing, he'll probably let me fly it.

"We considered, of course, that you might not find your father to be the ogre Mr. Howell paints him to be. And in time, that you might manage to get close to him. We didn't think it would happen so quickly.

"Do you think he'll turn out to be useful to us?"

"How do you mean, useful?"

"Tilt this country toward us, and away from Mr. Hitler and Company."

"My initial impression of my father is that he's a strong, intelligent man, who will tilt the way he decides to tilt, completely unaffected by his son's nationality, or by what his son thinks or asks him to do. Incidentally, I'm quite sure he's figured out that I'm not down here to make sure Mallin isn't diverting crude to the Germans."

"What makes you think so?"

"He as much as told me. It was by shading, innuendo, not in so many words."

"What were the circumstances?"

"There was an Internal Security officer. A lieutenant colonel named Martin ..."

"Not just 'an Internal Security officer,' Clete," Nestor interrupted him. "Colonel Martin is Chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security. He reports only to the Chief of Internal Security, an admiral named de Montoya. A very competent, and thus dangerous, man."

"My father said he'd been to see him, asking about me. As a matter of fact, he said that's how he learned I was in Argentina."

"That was quick work on Martin's part," Nestor said admiringly. "They apparently made the connection between you and your father more quickly than we thought they would. Go on."

"Anyway, this Colonel Martin was in the Alvear Palace when I met my father." *

"Possibly surveilling your father. But that's unlikely. He's too important for something like that."

"My father introduced us," Clete went on, aware he was growing annoyed at Nestor's frequent interruptions. "Later he told me who Martin was. And this is the innuendo I meant: He told me that I have nothing to worry about since I'm down here only for Howell Petroleum—to make sure Mallin is not diverting petroleum products."

Nestor grunted.

"And does Mallin have any idea that you're not down here to do that?"

"No. Or at least he didn't. My father said Martin would probably go to see him. And that would arouse his suspicions."

"Worst possible scenario: You will be expelled from Argentina despite your father, or possibly because your father will arrange it. You would probably have time to go underground, but that would be sticky."

I can think of a worse scenario: The same thing will happen to me, to all three of us, that happened to the last OSS team.

"Alternative scenario," Nestor went on. "Even if Martin has questions about your cover, he won't connect you with the replenishment-ship problem yet, and you will not be expelled from Argentina." He paused a moment, then finished that thought. "Both Martin and Admiral de Montoya are obviously reluctant to anger your father. But he will keep you under surveillance."

"I understand."

"You will have to be extra careful when you go to Uruguay. Which brings us to that."

"Uruguay?"

"How soon do you think you can tear yourself away to go to Uruguay?"

"What will I do in Uruguay?"

"You and Pelosi are going to Montevideo, where you will hire a car and drive to Punta del Este. It is a rather charming little town on the Atlantic coast, quite popular with Argentineans escaping the heat of Buenos Aires. After you take the sun on the beach at Punta for a day or two, you will drive north—I'll furnish a map—to near the Brazilian border. A quantity of explosives and detonators will be air-dropped to you there."