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

Clete nodded. "This morning."

"Ask him to call me at home, please," Nestor said. "Better yet, ask him to come for drinks and dinner—say, at seven."

"Yes, Sir."

"I suppose that habit is hard to break, isn't it? The Southern custom of addressing one's elders as "Sir.' Military courtesy only buttresses it."

"Sorry," Clete said. "I'll try ..."

"Why don't you come for drinks and dinner too?"

"Thank you, but I have a previous engagement. As soon as I pick up my car at the port, I'm driving to my father's estancia. Unless you..."

"That is more important. How long will you be there?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought about that."

"I'm sure you'll return in time for the Duarte boy's funeral."

"He wasn't a boy," Clete said. "He was a captain. Maybe a foolish one, but a captain."

"Figure of speech. No slight intended."

"I had an interesting conversation about el Capitan Duarte last night," Clete said. "With Captain von Wachtstein of the Luftwaffe."

"With whom?" Nestor asked. His surprise was evident.

"The German officer who escorted my cousin's body home,"

Clete said. "Somebody's signals crossed—the arrangements were probably made long before I showed up down here—and they put him up here in the Guest House. He was in the library when I came in last night."

"And?"

“It was really very civilized. We wound up talking about flying. Somebody, some German officer, came and fetched him this morning. I rather liked him, as a matter of fact."

"He's an enemy officer, for God's sake! And you were drinking!"

"What should I have done?" Clete asked.

"You told him you were a Marine officer?"

"An ex-Marine officer, with a medical discharge for a heart murmur. He's a clever fellow. He saw my watch." Clete raised the Hamilton chronograph. "And recognized it as a military pilot's watch."

"If you weren't wearing that watch ..."

"I thought about that, Mr. Nestor, before I came down here: If my cover story were true, and I had acquired a watch like this, would I wear it? The answer was yes, I would. They're very good watches."

"By now, you must realize that Colonel Gr?ner, the German military attach?—and the representative of the Sicherheitsdienst—knows that you are a Marine officer."

Clete felt anger welling up in him. Nestor was making it clear he thought Clete was a fool.

I may be an amateur down here, but I'm not a fool."Perhaps not," he said. "Von Wachtstein might have elected to tell Colonel Whatsisname—the attach?—nothing more than that he met me. And isn't it likely that Colonel Whatsisname has friends in the Centro Naval? Wouldn't they already have reported to him that my father introduced me there as a former Marine?" For a moment, Clete thought Nestor was about to chew him out. His face showed that he didn't like being argued with. But finally, he smiled.

"Well, then," he said. "With the exception of this unfortunate encounter with the German captain, things seem to be going well, don't they? Falling into place, so to speak." "They seem to be."

"Except, of course, for those walkie-talkies. I wish you would reconsider that, Clete."

"You mean the walkie-talkies that fell in the rice paddy and were lost? Those walkie-talkies?"

Nestor met his eyes and then put out his hand.

"Well, Clete. Have a good time at your father's estancia. Call me when you come back and tell me about it."

"Yes, S—Jasper."

"Better," Nestor said, then smiled and walked toward the elevator.

[TWO]

Calle Monroe 214

Belgrano, Buenos Aires

1100 14 December 1942

"Got a present for you, David," Clete said when Ettinger let him into his apartment. "I know you've always wanted your very own handmade straw chicken."

Ettinger looked at him strangely.

There was indeed the head of a straw chicken sticking out the top of the shopping bag Clete had borrowed from Se?ora Pellano.

"I'm glad to see you back, Clete. Everything apparently went well?"

Clete removed the chicken from the bag, then the two walkie-talkies.

"These are portable radios," Clete said. "They work well. I didn't return them to the people who left them in our room in Montevideo. They—and Nestor—are very upset about that. But I thought we might be able to use them. If Nestor asks, you don't know anything about them."

"He's the Station Chief, Clete."

"I've been thinking about that," Clete said. "I've concluded that from time to time, as the commanding officer of this team, I'm going to have to do things the way I call them. Such as 'losing' these radios. If you can't live with that, tell me now."

"I've been thinking about that too," Ettinger said after a moment. "It says in the Bible that a man cannot have two masters. So far as I'm concerned, you're calling the shots, Lieutenant Frade."

"Thank you," Clete said. "Now tell me, are these radios going to be useful?"

Ettinger picked up a walkie-talkie and looked at it.

"I've seen schematics for these," he said. "This is the first one I've ever actually looked at. If this works the same as the one in the schematics, the frequency is crystal controlled. Unless I can get my hands on some crystals, we can only talk to each other ... or to somebody on the same frequency. I think I can up the power, though, to maybe five, six watts. And maybe if I can rig a wire antenna, instead of this telescoping one, I can get us some additional range." He paused thoughtfully, then said, "To answer your question, Lieutenant, yes, I think they'll be very useful."

"Any chance you could find crystals here?"

"Not from the Argentines," Ettinger said. "But maybe from the Navy."

"The Argentine Navy?"

"OurNavy," Ettinger said, and smiled when he saw Clete's confusion. "I've been having long lunches in the dock area, trying to pick up anything I could overhear. Yesterday a Teniente of the Armada Argentina let a salesman from S.A.P. know that he—"

"What's S.A.P.?"

"It stands for Servicios de Proveedores Asociados, literal translation, Associated Service Providers. They are actually ship victualers. Anyway, this Teniente was looking for a little gift in exchange for steering a little business toward the S.A.P. guy... specifically, providing fresh meat, fruits, and vegetables to a United States Navy destroyer, which will call at Buenos Aires over Christmas. The Alfred Thomas, DD-107."

"You even know the name?" Clete said. "I'm impressed."

"Her arrival here is probably classified SECRET," Ettinger said. "It's really true, Clete, that loose lips sink ships."

"What's she doing here?"

"I think we're just showing the flag. To let the Argentines know that we control the seas down here, and all the Germans can do is sneak the odd submarine in and out of the Bay. Or maybe they just wanted to give the sailors aboard shore leave on Christmas. Or they have been running all over the Atlantic looking for German submarines and are out of food. Who knows?" "A destroyer would have aboard the crystals you're talking about?"

"Probably. If they did, could we get them?" "I don't know. If I ask Nestor, that'd be admitting I have the walkie-talkies; and he'd want them back. Let me think about it.

In the meantime, you don't let Nestor know that you have them."

Ettinger smiled at him. "What radios?"

"We better not count on help from the Navy."

“OK. Just a thought. Rigging a power supply for it will be no problem. All I'll need is regular flashlight batteries, and some tape to hold them together."

"You are a very clever fellow, aren't you, Dave?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, mi Teniente."

"I've got to go," Clete said. "I'm on my way to pick up my car, and I have my father's housekeeper waiting in the taxi. Christ, I almost forgot: You're invited for dinner at Nestor's. Drinks and dinner. Seven o'clock. He wants to know if you showed Klausner that declaration."