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

Frade. Cletus was a North American and could get away with not bothering to conceal his contempt for the Germans, but Cletus was not the mother of a girl about to bear a half German baby. And perhaps, she tried to tell herself, the time had come to put that awful tragedy behind.

Claudia arranged for six Mercedes buses to be brought from Buenos Aires to transport the wedding guests and the

Estancia Santo Catalina workers to La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros, on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, and back. The trucks of both estancias would be put to the same use.

Peter, thank God, did not get on his high horse about having a Protestant clergyman participate in the ceremony; and

Father Kurt dealt with the Right Reverend Manuel de Parto, bishop of the Diocese of Pila, who waived the usual routine for wedding banns and was pleased to be the celebrant, assisted by Father Welner.

Another set of problems for Claudia came in the person of Juan Domingo Peron. On one hand, he had arranged to have Peter returned from Germany. The baby would have a father. A good father, from everything Claudia had seen of

Peter.

On the other hand, Peron was close to the Nazis who had ordered Jorge's murder.

Not to mention his disgusting behavior. His sick interest in very young girls was at least private. But he had now focused his public interest on that dreadful Radio Belgrano

"actress," Eva Duarte, whom he had taken as a mistress.

Worse, the sale of Radio Belgrano had come through. Eva

Duarte and her sleeping partners were no longer Cletus's problem, but Claudia's. And the little tramp had already been making noises about being grossly underpaid.

Dona Claudia was a nervous wreck by the time it was over, but the wedding went off without a hitch.

As it turned out, Don Cletus Frade managed to avoid the whole thing, claiming a serious problem at one of his vine yards, San Bosco, in Cordoba Province. He telephoned his profound regret that he would be unable to attend the wedding or the reception.

Claudia saw him, however, peering through the slats of the cloakroom blinds at La Casa Grande, as Major and

Senora Hans-Peter von Wachtstein left La Capilla Nuestra

Senora de los Milagros between an honor guard of dress uniformed officers, Army, Navy, and Diplomatic, of the

German Embassy.

The only thing that went wrong after that was that the wedding trip didn't go as planned… and that wasn't really such a problem. Claudia had arranged for a suite in the

Provincial Hotel in Mar del Plata, but the newlyweds never went there.

Instead, they flew in one of the Piper Cubs to God Only

Knew Where. Someone, either Peter or Clete, had left it on the pampas for a getaway after they left the reception at

Estancia Santo Catalina.

Alicia left her a note: They would be back in seven days.

[ TWO ]

Avenida Pueyrredon 1706

Piso 10

Buenos Aires

1605 20 June 1943

Having received no response to the ringing of the bell,

Major Hans-Peter von Wachtstein let himself into his apart ment. "Hey, anybody home?"

"In here, Peter," a familiar voice called.

Peter went into his sitting room, where he found Korvet tenkapitan Karl Boltitz, in civilian clothing, behind his desk.

His hand was resting on a folded copy of La Nacion.

"Hello, Karl," Peter said. "What are you doing here?

Where's my maid?"

"After she let me in, I gave her the rest of the day off,"

Boltitz said.

"What's going on?"

"Sit down, Peter," Boltitz ordered coldly, pointing to a leather armchair.

"I'll stand, thank you," Peter said, his temper starting to flare.

Boltitz pushed the newspaper to one side. It had con cealed a Luger 9mm Parabellum pistol. "Sit down, Peter,"

Boltitz repeated.

"What's going on?" Peter replied, but sat down.

"It says here-if we are to believe Reuters, and I do-that

Rome was bombed by five hundred American planes last night. Is that what happened, Peter, you decided we will lose the war? And wanted to be on the winning side?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Peter said.

"While you were flying off on your honeymoon, I took a trip by car," Boltitz said. "To Puerto Magdalena. There I spoke with Lothar Steuben and other members of his family.

Now do you know what I'm talking about?"

Peter didn't reply.

"Herr Steuben reported that you left his home, 'to conduct business,' after you had convinced Herr Loche that you needed to know where exactly the boat from the Oceano

Pacifico would land on Samborombon Bay. That's how the

Americans-or the Argentines, it doesn't really matter- knew where to be, and when. You told them, Major Freiherr von Wachtstein."

Peter didn't reply.

"Do you deny this, Peter?",

"No," Peter said simply.

"Did you know the intention of your friends, vis-a-vis

Oberst Griiner and Standartenfuhrer Goltz?"

"No."

"Why, Peter?"

"You know what they are bringing ashore, of course?"

"Radios to assist in the repatriation of the GrafSpee offi cers, you mean?"

"No, I mean cash, and gold taken from the mouths of Jews after they had been murdered in concentration camps, intended to provide sanctuary for the Bavarian corporal and his filthy friends after Germany loses this war."

"You swore a personal oath, on your honor, to the Fiihrer."

"That was a terrible mistake. I spent time in Russia. I know what the Nazis really are."

"The point is, Peter, I took the same oath you did, and I am honor-bound to adhere to it. By your own admission, you are a traitor."

"All right," Peter said, "now what?"

"Your treason, among other things, has kept German sub mariners on the high seas, starving, in great risk of being discovered and sunk, because the Oceano Pacifico could not resupply them. Some of them are friends of mine."

"Some of them are friends of mine, too."

Boltitz shrugged. "I suppose that's true," he said. "A gen eration ago, Peter, if this confrontation occurred between your father and mine, this would have solved the problem."

He tapped the Luger with his fingertips. "My father would have left your father alone with one cartridge in the pistol, and your father would have done the honorable thing, and that would have been the end of it."

"My father would probably have tried to take the pistol away from you," Peter said.

"I wouldn't try that," Boltitz said. "I have a full clip in here, and I could get off three shots before you got out of the chair."

"I think I would rather be shot than shoot myself," Peter said.

Boltitz quickly picked up the pistol and pointed it at him.

Peter felt pain in his stomach.

"I don't really want to shoot you, Peter. Please don't make me."

"If I'm a traitor, why should you hesitate?"

"Because then your treason would have to come out. And that would hurt other people besides yourself. Your father, for one. I am unable to believe that he's aware of your treason.

General Galland, for another. He thinks you are an honorable

German warrior-"

"So do I," Peter said. "We just see honor differently. My allegiance is to Germany, not Hitler, not National Socialism."

"-and it would be very awkward for General Galland if it came out that an officer he personally asked the Fiihrer to have assigned to him was a traitor."

"Christ!"

"And the child your wife will bear would for all of his life be stigmatized by having a traitor for a father."

"What are you going to do? Turn me loose?"

"My honor forbids that, although, personally, I would like to. I've come to like you, Peter."

"Oh, shit!"

"There is a path you could take," Boltitz said.

"Really?"

"Tomorrow you're going to fly to Montevideo."