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

"I'd rather not answer that question, Colonel," Stevenson said immediately.

"Answer it. What would you do in my shoes?"

Stevenson met Graham's eyes for a moment, then shrugged.

"Let it in," he said. "Try to keep an eye on it. Spend whatever it takes to have enough FBI accountants and whatever else is needed to follow the money trail sent down here. Otherwise the people in the camps won't get out. Isn't life worth more than money?"

Graham didn't reply directly.

"This conversation never took place," he said. "You're welcome to stick around, of course, Ralph. But if you want to return to Montevideo . . ."

"I think I'll wait and see what happens tomorrow morning," Stevenson said.

"In that case, good night, Ralph," Graham said. "Sleep well."

Graham walked with him to the door and then turned to face Milton Leibermann.

"That makes it two to one, doesn't it?" Leibermann said.

"Maybe three to one. But I have other thoughts. If we grabbed this money, wouldn't it let them know we're onto them?"

"To what end?"

"It might make them consider that this sanctuary nonsense is a dream," Graham said.

"I'm not sure it is," Leibermann said. "Money talks, to coin a phrase."

"Could you follow the money trail Stevenson talked about?"

"Yes and no. Yes, if I had enough people, and we could—the U.S. government could—put sufficient pressure on the government of Argentina—on all the governments down here—to let us into their banking records. I don't think either is likely."

"So your objection to grabbing the money is based on this filthy scheme saving some lives?"

"Yeah. But I'm not sure if that's Milton Leibermann, Philosopher, talking, or Milton Leibermann, Jew."

"That doesn't make it two to one, Milton. It makes it one for letting the money in because it saves lives; one for letting it in because things can be made right later—which is unlikely; and one for grabbing the money and letting the bastards know we know what they're up to."

"I still count that two to one for letting it in," Leibermann said. "So what are you going to do about Frade?"

"You mean about Galahad and Cavalry?"

Leibermann nodded.

"Galahad is obviously the Luftwaffe pilot. The confirmation of that we got tonight. Frade leaves the room to see the Carzino-Cormano girl. He comes back three minutes after seeing her with the location of the Oceano Pacifico and the information that the Germans are going to smuggle the money ashore in the morning, and where they're going to land it. And you tell me she is running around with a Luftwaffe pilot—what's his name?"

"Hans-Peter von Wachtstein."

". . . named von Wachtstein."

"Yeah," Leibermann agreed.

"Von Wachtstein tipped Frade that they were going to try to kill him, and Frade figures he owes him his life. He doesn't want to give me his name because—with good reason, I'm sorry to say—he doesn't trust Donovan, and figures if the OSS was willing to consider him expendable, they wouldn't hesitate to use von Wachtstein to manipulate his father, which is likely to get von Wachtstein, pere etfils, killed. You heard that couldn't-look-himself-in-the-mirror business."

Leibermann shrugged, clearly meaning he agreed with the identification.

"And Cavalry?"

"I'm not sure about Cavalry. One moment I think it's the BIS guy, Martin, and the next moment I think, really think, that it's Rawson. He and Frade's father were great buddies. . . ."

"So were Frade's father and el Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n."

"Rawson obviously trusts Frade enough to let him get close to the coup d’?tat, not to mention letting him fly him around during the revolution. And who but somebody like Rawson would have the authority to let Frade land his airplane at Santo Tome?"

"Martin," Leibermann said. "Either at Rawson's bidding, or on his own authority."

"Bringing me back to square one," Graham said. "Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"So what happens if you take a chance—you understand Frade is not going to identify either one of them, don't you?"

"You'll notice I didn't stand him at attention and order him to tell me," Graham said.

"So what happens if you take a chance and tell Donovan what you think, that Galahad is von Wachtstein . . ."

"I know von Wachtstein is Galahad."

". . . and Cavalry is Rawson. Or Martin. And Frade finds out about it?"

"You tell me."

"You know what I really think? That it would be the first time in history that a Marine major with the Navy Cross told you 'fuck you all, I quit.'"

"You really think he'd do that? That would be desertion in time of war. That would mean he could never go back home."

"Where's home. Alejandro? Down here he's a great-grandson of Pueyrred?n, which is like being the great-grandson of Washington or Jefferson. And this is all his. . . ." Leibermann gestured around the library. "And, very important, he's going to marry that gorgeous blond."

"He's an honorable man. He swore an oath as a Marine officer," Graham argued.

"He's an honorable man with a clear conscience. He didn't get all those medals running away from the Japanese. And he came down here and did his Marine officer's duty— afterhe found out the OSS considered him expendable—and nearly got himself killed lighting up the Reine de la Mer so the sub could torpedo it."

"It would still be desertion. Maybe even treason."

"Yeah. And none of the usual things that happen to deserters in time of war would happen to him. Even if you could get him back to the States to try him— and I don't see how you could; among other things, the Argentines consider him a citizen—even if you did, do you really want to try for desertion or treason a man who won the Navy Cross? You couldn't keep it out of the papers. And his grandfather would hire a half-dozen U.S. Senators to defend him. The whole story would come out."

Graham grunted.

"You can't even eliminate him," Leibermann said. "And not only because of Cletus Marcus Howell. Rawson—if you're right about him being Cavalry, and I think you are—would be furious. Not only would Frade's window into what's going on down here be slammed shut, but there's no telling the damage that would do to Franklin Roosevelt's diplomatic plans for South America. And we would get not one more item, period, from von Wachtstein. And Frade's family here . . ."

"Eliminating Frade was never one of my options," Graham said.

"So what are you going to do?"

"The President of the United States wants to know the identity of Cavalry and Galahad. What do I do about that?"

"You know what I do when I have problems like this?" Leibermann said. "Problems with no solution? I go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Then in the morning, when you wake up, the problems might still be there, but you've had a good night's sleep."

"What is that, Yiddish wisdom?"

"Go to bed, Alejandro," Leibermann said. "Let's see what happens tomorrow."

Chapter Twenty-Five

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

0445 19 April 1943

Se?orita Dorotea Mallin came into the library with Clete. She was wearing a man's silk dressing robe, and her hair was done up demurely in a loose braid hanging down her back.

Beautiful girl.Colonel A. F. Graham thought. Even at this hour of the morning, with no makeup, just out of bed, she sort of glows.

With that came insight: My God, she's pregnant! Of course. That's why Clete's marrying her, and now, rather than after the expected year of mourning for the late el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade.

And home for Clete Frade,he thought, remembering his conversation with Leibermann, is where the woman who will bear his child is.

"I didn't mean to disturb your sleep, Miss Mallin," Colonel A. F. Graham said. "Only Marines have to rise at this ungodly hour."