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

Now a reply was expected, and Boltitz gave it. "Jawohl,

Herr Admiral."

"I would, of course, be interested in anything you develop there, or in Buenos Aires, that Himmler's man does not feel is worthy of the attention of either the Reichsfiihrer-SS or of the

Fiihrer."

The translation of that is that I am to report to him, unof ficially, anything in the report to Himmler I don't agree with, as well as anything I think-or suspect-he should know.

"I understand, Herr Admiral."

"If you can find the time, Boltitz, perhaps you could meet the Condor from Buenos Aires when it lands in Lisbon."

"Jawohl, Herr Admiral."

Admiral Canaris smiled at Boltitz, then signaled with his hand that their little chat was over.

[TWO]

Avenida Pueyrredon 1706

Piso 10

Buenos Aires

0405 29 April 1943

Alicia Carzino-Cormano was twenty years old, tall and slim; and when she came out of the bathroom, her intensely black hair hung down over her shoulders and almost below her bare breasts. The bedroom was flooded with moonlight, and she could see quite clearly.

What she saw made her smile tenderly. Twenty-four-year old Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein was lying naked in his bed, on his back, arms and legs spread, breathing softly, sound asleep.

She walked to the bed and looked down at him.

He was really blond, she thought, blond all over, not just the hair on his head, but the hair on his chest, between his legs, and under his arms.

There were blondes in Argentina, of course. Dorotea Mal 1m, Alicia's friend since childhood-and soon to marry Clems

Frade-was a natural blonde, an English blonde, but she had seen Dorotea changing clothes, and she wasn't blond all over the way Peter was.

She sat down on the bed very carefully, so as not to wake him, and looked at him again. After a moment, she swung her legs into the bed.

She ran her fingers very softly over the hair on his chest, stopping when she encountered a line of scar tissue.

Peter had told her that he had gotten that falling off his bicycle as a child, but she didn't believe him. She was sure he'd gotten that scar in the war, just as he'd gotten the longer scars on his lower abdomen and on his right leg in the war.

He never talked to her about the war.

She wondered if Cletus Frade talked to Dorotea about what he'd done in the war. Or if Peter talked to Cletus about what they'd done in the war. Did they talk about war? Or about women?

When Alicia leaned forward to run her fingers farther down Peter's chest, her hair fell forward, blocking her view, and she pushed it back and over her shoulders.

Her fingers reached the blond hair at his groin. His thing looked like a long, wrinkled thumb, she thought. And ten minutes ago it had looked like… like a banana, a large banana!

She touched it, and that woke him up.

She quickly removed her hand.

"Sorry, baby," Peter said.

"For what?"

"I fell asleep."

"You don't have to be sorry for falling asleep," Alicia said.

He raised his hand to her breast, cupped it momentarily, and then put his index finger on her nipple, causing it to stiffen and rise.

"That's chocolate, right?" he said. "The other one's vanilla."

A moment later, he chuckled. "I love it when you blush," he said.

"I'm not blushing."

He snorted.

"Precious," she said. "I have to go."

"Damn!" he said, and sat up and reached for the wrist watch on the bedside table.

It was American, a Hamilton chronograph, an aviator's wristwatch. Cletus Frade had one exactly like it, and

Dorotea had noticed that, just as Alicia had noticed Peter's.

Cletus had told Dorotea that he'd stolen his from the U.S.

Marine Corps, and Dorotea wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. Peter had told Alicia that he had "found" his American watch, and obviously hadn't wanted to talk about it, so she hadn't pressed him.

"It's six and a half minutes after four," Peter announced indignantly.

That was the German in him, Alicia thought. She would have said "it's four" or "a little after four," not "six and a half minutes after four."

"I have to go to the house," she said. "We're going to

Estancia Santo Catalina this morning."

"What time this morning?"

"Probably in time to have a late lunch at the estancia," she said, and computed the time. "Leave Buenos Aires at eleven." She paused. "You are coming out for the weekend?"

"Unless the Ambassador or Gradny-Sawz finds something for me to do," he replied, and then asked, "So why do you have to leave now? Is Mama sitting up in the foyer waiting for you?"

"She's sound asleep, but she will know five minutes after she wakes what time I came in. The maid will tell her when she brings her coffee."

"So if the maid tells her you came home at half past six?

Half past seven? What's the difference?"

"The roof garden at the Alvear closes at half past four. She knows that. She will expect me to be home half an hour after that."

"That's," he consulted the watch again, "fifty-two minutes from now."

"Yes," Alicia said, and felt herself blushing again. "I didn't say I had to leave this instant. Just very soon."

"Oh, baby!"

"Can you?"

"Of course I can. I'm a fighter pilot."

Her smile vanished.

"I wonder how often you've said that in the past," she said.

"Once or twice, I admit-"

"Once or twice, hah!"

"Always before I met you," he said.

"Do you think you'll hear something today?" she asked.

"That was a quick change of subject," he said.

"Do you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe today. Maybe not until next week."

"And if they tell you to go to Germany?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," he said.

She felt tears form, and she was not quite able to suppress a sob.

"Honey, don't do that," Peter said.

"God, Peter, I'm so frightened!"

He put his arms around her.

"It'll be all right, baby," he said.

She held him tightly. He kissed her hair.

"Sorry," she said.

"Oh, Christ!"

He ran his hand down her spine.

"Senorita, your question has been answered," he said.

"What?"

He took her hand and guided it to his groin. "Our friend has also waken up," he said.

She held him.

"If I could see your face, would you be blushing?" he asked.

"Shut up, Peter," she said, and lay back on the bed, pulling him down on top of her.

Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, now wearing a shirt and trousers, knocked at the bathroom door.

"I'm brushing my hair," Alicia called softly, and he pushed open the door.

She was standing in front of the mirror in her underwear.

She smiled at him. "You didn't have to get up," she said.

"I'm going to drive you home," he said.

"I'm going to take a taxi," she said. "We've been through this before."

"Christ, you're as hardheaded as you are beautiful."

She smiled at him. "I've explained the rules to you," she said. "I pretend to have been dancing with friends at the

Alvear roof garden, and Mother pretends to believe me."

"You've had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, right?"

Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of hurt and anger.

"You know better than that," she said.

He knew better than that. Alicia had been a virgin.

"Just a little joke," he said.

"I don't like your sense of humor," Alicia said, and began to furiously brush her hair.

After a moment she said, "I learned the rules from Isabela."

Isabela was the older of the Carzino-Cormano girls.

"And has el bitcho been dancing at the Alvear tonight, too?"

"Don't call her that, Peter, I've asked you."

It had been loathing at first sight when Isabela and Cletus