Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 03 - Secret Honor

"Dorotea told me sometimes women miss a period, partic ularly if they're upset. This may be a false alarm."

"Is that what Alicia is hoping?"

"It's what Dorotea and I are hoping. Alicia is convinced she's pregnant."

"You want me to go to Claudia, is that it?"

"Maybe later. Not yet. What I was hoping you could do is find out what's happened to Peter."

"I don't think I understand."

"Peter is suspected of being involved in what happened at the beach of Samborombdn Bay."

"In still other words, he is suspected of being a traitor. Is he?"

"Another shot to the nuts, Padre," Clete said. "I can't answer that."

"You don't have to; the answer is in your eyes. But I don't understand what you want me to do, what you think I could do."

"Don't you have some back-channel communication with

Germany? With other Jesuits in Germany? People who could ask questions and get straight answers?"

"What questions?"

" 'Is Peter von Wachtstein dead?' is the most important one."

"You think that's likely?"

"I think the possibility has to be considered," Clete said.

"There is a much easier way to get what you want done than using my channels," Welner said. "I'm surprised you haven't thought of it."

"I don't understand," Clete said.

"Tio Juan," Welner said.

"Peron? How the hell could he help?" Clete asked, and the answer came to him even before Welner replied.

"The Germans think he's important to them," Welner said.

"Von Deitzberg's apology to him about your father seems proof of that."

"They think he's going to be el Presidente," Clete agreed thoughtfully. "You think they'd tell him about von Wacht stein?"

"His interest in von Wachtstein might even… be helpful."

"Christ, I hate to go to him," Clete said, and then thought of something else: "And if I do, he'll know Peter and I-"

"Not necessarily," Welner replied. "You heard of Alicia's… problem… from your wife, her dear friend. And, as your father's son, despite the natural animosity you feel toward an enemy officer, you feel obliged to help a young woman who is like a sister to you."

"Jesus! You are devious, aren't you?" He chuckled and added: "Thank God!"

"Ignoring the blasphemy, my son, I will accept that as a compliment. Or-what is it you say-'a left-handed com pliment'?"

"You think my Tio Juan will help?"

"I think he will if you can force yourself to say Tio Juan' with a shade less sarcasm."

"When necessary, Father, I can-here's another Ameri canism for you-charm the balls off a brass monkey."

Welner laughed.

"And if Tio Juan can't-or won't-help, then what?"

Clete asked.

"I'll do what I can, of course."

"And what do we do if… things have gone wrong with von Wachtstein and he won't be coming back?"

"There are a number of young men of good family… a suitable marriage can be arranged. Not only is she an attrac live young woman, but she will ultimately own half of,

Estancia Santo Catalina."

"Jesus, that's awful!"

"Yes, it is," Welner agreed. "The best thing that can be said about a marriage like that is that it's in the best interests of the child."

Clete shook his head and reached for the bottle of Merlot.

[ FIVE ]

La Casa Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1905 18 May 1943

With a glass of Merlot in his hand, Don Cletus Frade stood at the window of the cloakroom looking through the slats of the blind at the drive where the cars of his guests would arrive for the reception. The drill, as he thought of it, was that when a car pulled up before the house, one of the ser vants would approach it, open the door, and lead the guests into the house and into the small sitting, which was across the foyer hall from the cloakroom.

There they would be greeted by a reception line of women.

At the head of the line would be Senora Dorotea Mallin de

Frade. Beside her would be Senora Claudia Carzino Cormano; then Senora Pamela Holworth-Talley de Mallin; and then the Senoritas Carzino-Cormano, Alicia and Isabela.

Though Senora Beatrice Frade de Duarte naturally felt entitled to a prominent place in the reception line-she had been born and raised in the Casa Grande-it was the unspoken hope of everyone concerned that her arrival would be delayed (either inadvertently, or intentionally by her hus band) until the guests had passed through the reception line and gathered in the large sitting for cocktails and Cham pagne.

That was not to happen. The very first car to arrive was the black Rolls-Royce of Sefior Humberto Duarte, and Beatrice was out of the backseat before the chauffeur could open his door.

"Shit," Clete muttered, and put his glass on the win dowsill. Then he had a second thought. Beatrice's early arrival might disturb the women-God alone knew what she would do or say in the reception line-but he needed to talk to

Humberto.

He walked onto the veranda and allowed himself to be emotionally greeted by his aunt.

"You look so elegant, Cletus!" she cried happily. "So much like your father, may he be resting in peace with your sainted mother and all the angels."

Clete was wearing a tweed sports coat, a checkered shirt, a blue silk foulard, gabardine breeches, and glistening

British-style riding boots. Their reception was informal,

Dorotea had announced, and the riding costume would set the proper tone.

After examining himself in a full-length mirror in his dressing, Clete had come to two conclusions. First, he looked like the Duke of Whateverthehell about to have tea and crumpets-whatever the hell a crumpet is-with the

Duchess of Windsor. The second, truth to tell, Cletus Frade, you do look pretty spiffy,

"And you are as beautiful as ever, Beatrice," he said.

"Dorotea's still dressing."

"Then I will go to her," Beatrice announced, and marched into the house.

Clete and Humberto embraced with genuine affection.

"You do, you know, look elegant," Humberto said.

"In Texas, we have a name for people who wear these things," Clete said, pointing at the foulard.

"Please don't tell me what it is." Humberto chuckled.

"And, as you may have noticed, Cletus, you are not in

Texas."

"Have I ever," Clete said, and adding, "We have to talk."

He led Humberto into the cloakroom and closed the door after them.

"Something's wrong?" Humberto asked.

Clete walked to a table on which sat an array of bottles and glasses. "You want wine, or something stronger?" he asked.

"A little wine, tinto, please," Humberto said. "I think it may be a long day."

Clete poured Merlot in two glasses and handed one to

Humberto, then stationed himself where he could look through the slats in the blind. He glanced out, and then faced

Humberto. "Alicia's in the family way," he said.

"Oh, my God!" Humberto said softly. "Peter's the father?"

Clete nodded. "I found out a couple of hours ago."

"Does Claudia know?"

"Just Dorotea, me, now you, and in a few minutes, Juan

Domingo Peron."

"Why him?"

"Add Welner to the list," Clete said. "He thinks my Tfo

Juan's influence with the Germans may be helpful."

"Alicia went to Father Kurt?"

"I did," Clete said then. "Oh, shit, I forgot about them."

Humberto walked to the window. Four men were getting out of a 1942 Buick Super with diplomatic tags. Three of them were in the pink-and-green uniform of U.S. Army offi cers, all with the golden rope of military attaches hanging from the epaulets. The third man was in a somewhat rum pled suit. Humberto recognized two of the officers and the civilian. They were Milton Leibermann, "Legal Attache of the American Embassy"; Captain Maxwell Ashton III; and

Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi. The third officer he had never seen before. "Who's the officer?" Humberto asked.