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

"I wish, Tio Juan, that I shared your confidence in that bastard's sense of honor."

"He is not a bastard, Cletus," Peron said. "And I am sure that he will be as anxious as you were to ensure that the product of his indiscretion will not be a bastard either."

"He's in Germany, as I guess you know. Alicia doesn't even have an address to write to him."

Peron thought that over. "Does Claudia know?"

"Not yet," Clete said.

"I think the thing to do about that is to say nothing to her until I have a chance to talk to Generalmajor von Deitzberg.

Perhaps to Ambassador von Lutzenberger as well, but cer tainly to von Deitzberg. He's a soldier, and will understand.

And he is very highly placed in Germany. I'm sure he will be willing to help."

"That would be wonderful," Clete said.

And if von Deitzberg tells you to go fuck yourself, then what?

"Do you think you could find out when the bastard's coming back to Argentina?" Clete asked.

"You have your father's weaknesses as well as his strengths. He had great difficulty controlling his anger. I would be grateful if you would stop calling Major von

Wachtstein a bastard."

"Sorry," Clete said.

"It's too late to do anything about it tonight," Peron said.

"But I will call von Deitzberg tomorrow and ask him to lunch."

"And you really think he will be willing to help?"

"I'm sure he will," Peron said. "As soon as I have talked to him, I'll call and tell you what he said."

"I don't know how to thank you," Clete said.

"No thanks are necessary. We're family. Not only you and I, but by extension, Claudia and Alicia as well. Your father loved them as his own."

"I know."

"And now, Cletus," Peron said, affectionately putting his arm around Cletus's shoulder. "I think we should join your guests. Your Tio Juan will do whatever he can."

[SIX]

La Casa Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1930 18 May 1943

Clete found Milton Leibermann, Maxwell Ashton, Tony

Pelosi, and the new assistant military attache for air standing together against the wall of the large sitting. Coronel

Bernardo Martin was with them. They all held glasses of

Champagne.

"Ah, our host," Leibermann said. "I was beginning to wonder where you were, Don Cletus."

"I was having a private word, actually, with Coronel

Peron," Clete said. "I'm so glad you could make it, Milton."

He switched to Spanish, and smiled at Martin. "And you, too, mi Coronel."

"So good of you and Senora de Frade to have me, Major

Frade," Martin said.

"I thought we'd already had a little chat about your use of my former military title," Clete said.

"And so we have. My apologies, Don Frade. I seem to have trouble remembering that."

"Cletus, may I introduce Colonel Dick Almond, our new assistant military attache for air?" Leibermann said in English.

Clete by then had had time to run his eyes over

Almond-a tall, sharp-featured man he guessed was in his early thirties-and over the ribbons and insignia pinned to his tunic. There were a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple

Heart, and ribbons indicating he had served in both the

Pacific and European Theaters of Operation. There were other ribbons Clete didn't recognize, but the star above the shield of his pilot's wings he did.

It was the badge of an Air Corps senior pilot, awarded for flying so many years and/or for so many hours in the air.

There were no comparable wings in the Marine Corps. A second lieutenant fresh from Pensacola wore the same golden wings as the two-star chief of Marine Aviation, who had been flying longer than the lieutenant was old.

Nevertheless, Clete liked what he saw.

This guy has been around.

"Welcome to Argentina and Estancia San Pedro y San

Pablo, Colonel," Clete said as they shook hands.

"It's very kind of you to have me, Seiior Frade," Almond said in very good Spanish. "And actually, it's lieutenant colonel."

"I haven't been out of the Marine Corps that long,

Colonel," Clete replied in Spanish. "And-my memory being better than my friend Coronel Martin's-I still remember the difference between an eagle and a silver oak leaf."

Martin laughed good-naturedly.

Clete put his arm around Ashton's shoulders and shook

Tony's hand.

"And is one permitted to ask 'how was the honeymoon'?"

Leibermann asked.

"One is permitted to ask, Milton, but only a goddamn fool would answer."

Leibermann laughed.

"I'm sure you have much to talk about," Martin said. "So I will-what is it they say?-circulate?"

"Don't let me run you off, Coronel," Clete said.

Martin ignored the comment, shook Almond's hand, told him he was sure they would see one another again, and walked away.

"I was telling Dick that Martin is very good at what he does," Leibermann said.

"Oh, yes," Clete said. "Whatever you do, Colonel, don't underestimate Coronel Martin."

"I try not to underestimate anyone, Senor Frade," Almond said. "May I ask you a question?"

"As long as it's not about my honeymoon."

"The last place I expected to see a Lockheed Lodestar is on a dirt strip in Argentina."

"I think you'll be surprised by many things down here,

Colonel," Clete said. "You're familiar with the Lodestar?"

"As a matter of fact, last month, I flew one from the States to Brazil-our air base at Porto Alegre. You know it?"

"I know it's there."

"They're nice airplanes," Almond said.

"Is that what you've been doing? Ferry pilot?"

"No, actually, I was going through the attache course in

Washington before coming here, when a brigadier general I never heard of before or since called me up, asked if I was current in the Lodestar, and when I told him I was-I'd been flying brass around the Pacific in one-told me I was going to ferry one to Brazil the next morning. So I flew one to

Porto Alegre, parked it, and they put me on the next C-54 headed for the States. I never got an explanation."

He either suspects that's the Lodestar he flew to Brazil, or knows it is. But I don't think he's going to ask.

"You didn't get a DFC flying brass around," Clete chal lenged.

"I've got some P-38 time, too," Almond said. "I like to think of myself as a fighter pilot."

"We were getting an Air Corps P-38 squadron on Guadal canal just when I left."

"Then we apparently just missed each other," Almond said. "I made three missions off Fighter One, took a chunk of shrapnel strafing a freighter, and got sent home."

"And that's where you got the Purple Heart?"

"And the DFC. The freighter blew up."

Clete snatched a glass of Champagne from a tray in the hand of a passing maid. "I wonder what the boys on Fighter

One are drinking?" he asked.

"Warm Kool-Aid," Almond said. "War is hell, isn't it?"

"I've got a few hours in that Lodestar," Clete said. "But I need about twenty hours with a good IP."

"You're serious?"

"Absolutely," Clete said.

"Hell, I'm available, Senor Frade."

"I owe you, Milton," Clete said.

"It's nothing, Don Cletus," Leibermann said with a smile.

XVIII

[ONE]

Office of the Director, Abwehr Intelligence

Berlin

1425 22 May 1943

"Korvettenkapitan Boltitz, Herr Admiral," Admiral Wilhelm

Canaris's aide announced.

Canaris signaled Boltitz to enter. Boltitz took six steps inside the office, came to attention, clicked his heels, and said, "Good afternoon, Herr Admiral."

"I expected you earlier," Canaris replied, and pointed to the upholstered chair in front of his desk. "We are expected by Himmler at four-thirty."

"The aircraft was delayed, Herr Admiral."

"I didn't ask for an explanation," Canaris said, then: "You came here directly from Templehof? Then you missed your lunch, Boltitz?"