Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 02 - Blood and Honor

The airplane—a Beechcraft Expediter ( The Beech Aircraft C-45 Expediter was a small (six-passenger) transport aircraft, powered by two Pratt and Whitney "Wasp Junior" 450-horsepower engines. It had a maximum speed of 21 5m.p.h. and a range of 700 miles.)—was to have been a gift from the President of the United States to Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade. Officially it was an expression of Roosevelt's admiration for Colonel Frade as an Argentine leader. It was also intended to replace Colonel Frade's Beechcraft stagger-wing—now on the bottom of Samboromb?n Bay; for that aircraft had been '"in the service of the United States" when Clete was shot down flying it. And incidentally it would give Clete wings to look for the next "neutral" merchant ship the Germans would send to supply their submarines.

Clete thought that whole idea was bizarre, and had told Colonel Graham so: His father was virtually certain to reject the "gift" the moment he heard about it. And if the chances, with his father alive, of getting the airplane into Argentina had been a hundred to one against, now, with his father dead, they were nonexistent.

"Cletus," Martha asked incredulously, "you're not actually considering going along with this?"

"Martha, I'm a serving Marine officer," Clete said. "I go where I'm ordered to go."

"Cletus, I absolutely forbid you to have anything to do with this," the Old Man said.

"Grandfather, I'll tell you what Uncle Jim would have told you. This is my decision, no one else's." He looked at Martha. "Martha, you know that."

"I know I wish neither one of you had ever heard of the Marine Corps," she said.

"My wife said much the same thing when I came back on active duty," Graham said.

"And she probably suspected, at your age, that you would be behind a desk, wouldn't you say, and not involved in something like this?" Martha said acidly.

"Martha, that was a cheap shot!" Clete said.

"I'm surprised that a 'serving Marine officer' like you, honey, hasn't heard what they say about 'all's fair in love and war,'" she said. But then she added, "But you're right. I had no right to say that. I'm sorry, Colonel."

"No apology is necessary, Mrs. Howell," Graham said. There was a moment's silence, and then he went on. "You're not being ordered, Clete. If you go under these changed circumstances, you go as a volunteer."

"There you go!" the Old Man said.

"When do I go?" Clete asked.

"Tomorrow. As scheduled. Commander Delojo will be on the plane day after tomorrow. We sent a cablegram, in your name, asking that your father's funeral be delayed until you can get there."

"You were pretty sure that he'd go along with this," Martha said.

"I was," Graham said.

"You're not going, Cletus," the Old Man said. "That's that."

"I'm going, Grandfather," Clete said, and turned to Graham. "How am I supposed to have heard about what happened to my father?"

"In a Reuters news story, which we made sure was picked up by both the New York Times and the Washington Post."

"OK," Clete said. "And who did I send the cablegram to?"

"Your uncle Humberto," Graham said. He turned to the Old Man. "You may have noticed, Mrs. Howell, that your nephew is very good at this sort of thing. He can take care of himself. He'll be all right."

"I pray to God he will be," the Old Man said. "But right now I think he's as insanely irresponsible as his father was."

"Goddamn it!" Clete flared angrily. "Grandfather, not one more nasty goddamned word from you about my father! Not tonight! For Christ's sake!"

The Old Man did not back down.

"Or what? That wasn't some sort of a threat, was it?"

"Colonel," Clete said, "give me ten minutes to gather my gear."

"Where do you think you're going?" the Old Man asked nastily.

"Out of here," Clete said.

"You're going to apologize, Marcus Howell," Martha said firmly. "And not utter one more word about Clete's father. Or I'm leaving with him. And it will be a cold day in Hell before you see me or the girls again. And that's not a threat, that's a statement of fact! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

For a moment, it looked as if the Old Man was going to hold his ground. Then he cleared his throat.

"Cletus, you know that I would never say anything . . ." he said.

"That's not an apology!" Martha said, coldly angry.

"If you believe an apology is called for, consider that one has been offered," the Old Man said. Then he saw the look in Clete's eyes. "Cletus, please. Don't let us part like this. Please stay."

Clete didn't reply.

"It's up to you, honey," Martha said. "We both know that's about as far as that nasty old man is capable of going."

Clete looked at the Old Man.

"Not one more goddamned word!" he said. "Not tonight. Not ever!"

The Old Man held up both hands at shoulder height, palms outward, in a gesture of surrender. Then he looked at Colonel Graham.

"You will please pardon this unseemly display of intimate family linen." he said.

Graham did not reply directly.

"We need a few minutes alone with Major Frade," he said. "And then we'll be on our way."

The Old Man thought that over a moment.

"I think;" he said finally, "that you would probably be more comfortable in here. Martha, would you like to come to the sitting room with me?"

Martha walked to the door, waited for the Old Man to pass through it, turned and smiled at Clete, and then went through the door. She closed it after her.

"Sorry about that," Clete said, looking somewhat sheepishly between Graham, Quinn. and Delojo.

"Commander Delojo and Mr. Quinn have read your dossier," Graham said. "I think they understand the situation."

Clete nodded.

"Mr. Quinn has an Argentine passport for you," Graham said, getting down to business. "The idea is that you will try to enter Argentina with it. If there is difficulty with that, then you will produce your diplomatic passport. They'll have to accept that, and that will give you at least a day or two in the country. We'll play it by ear from there. There will be somebody from the embassy meeting the plane. They may hold you in Immigration. . . ."

"I have an Argentine passport," Clete said, as if he had just begun to pay attention.

"I didn't know that," Graham said, and added, disapproval in his voice, "You never mentioned that in your debriefings."

"My father got it for me," Clete said.

"Well, that's one problem out of the way," Quinn said. It was the first time he had spoken.

"How does this change of plan affect my team?" Clete asked.

"You remain in command of your team, of course," Graham said.

"And Ashton's team? The Radar team?" Clete asked.

Another OSS team was being sent to Argentina. It was commanded by someone Clete had not met, but who he suspected was another of Donovan's socialites—his name was Captain Maxwell Ashton III. Ashton's team was equipped, Clete had been told, with the very latest radar. After Clete had arranged for a place on the shore of Samboromb?n Bay where it could be set up, it could locate the German replacement vessel within a hundred yards, at night, or in the most dense fog.

Once that had been done, the plan went, an American submarine could enter Samboromb?n Bay at night, running with just enough of its conning tower out of the water to provide Ashton's radar with a target and to allow its radios to function. It would then be directed to a position near enough to the German vessel to make a sure one-shot torpedo kill.

Clete thought that plan was almost as bizarre as the airplane "gift" to his father, and with only a slightly better chance of success. Getting the radar into Argentina at all was going to be difficult, and getting it from wherever they managed to land it to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo without being discovered would be even more difficult.