Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 04 - Death and Honor

Thus Cletus Frade was prepared for the assassins when they came after him. He killed both of them, but not before they had cut the throat of Señora Mariana María Dolores Rodríguez de Pellano, the guesthouse housekeeper and the sister of Enrico Rodríguez, sergeant major retired.

“We were headed for Santa Catalina,” Hans-Peter von Wachtstein lied to Cletus Frade. “The hydraulic pressure warning light came on. I thought I’d better sit it down and check it out.”

Frade nodded but said nothing.

“Don Cletus, may I present Korvettenkapitän Boltitz? Herr Korvettenkapitän, this is Don Cletus Frade.”

Frade examined Boltitz coldly, said “Mucho gusto” with absolutely no gusto, and did not offer his hand.

Boltitz clicked his heels and bowed. “Señor Frade.”

“I’ll have a mechanic look at your aircraft,” Frade said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Cletus,” von Wachtstein said. “He knows.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He knows, Cletus. Just about everything. That’s why I brought him here.”

“Oh, my God!” Dorotea said, horrified, and looked at her husband.

What the hell does that mean ? Boltitz thought. That she knows what “just about everything” means?

And if she knows, how many other people know what von Wachtstein has been up to?

“Shit!” Frade said bitterly, and met Boltitz’s eyes. “Do you speak English, Captain?”

“Yes, I do,” Boltitz replied in English.

“Then you just heard how I feel about Peter’s announcement,” Frade said. Then anger overwhelmed him. “Jesus H. Fucking Christ, Peter! What did you do, lose your mind? Why the hell did you tell him anything, much less everything?”

“Clete!” Dorotea said warningly.

“Señor Frade,” Boltitz said. “Major von Wachtstein did not betray your confidence. I was sent here to uncover the traitor in our embassy, and I did so.”

Frade examined him, his eyes revealing his incredulity.

“I don’t pretend to understand you Germans,” he said. “But do you have any idea at all how close I am to telling Enrico to take you out on the pampas and make really sure you can’t tell anyone what Wachtstein has told you about anything?”

“Clete, my God!” Dorotea exclaimed. “You can’t mean that!”

“Put a round in the chamber, Enrico,” Frade ordered. “And don’t take your eyes off him.”

Enrico said, "Sí, señor,” and pushed the button on the side of the shotgun’s receiver. There was a metallic clacking as a shell was fed to the chamber.

Boltitz had two chilling thoughts:

If Frade tells that tough old soldier to shoot me, he will.

Frade is entirely capable of giving that order.

“I suggest we go into the study,” Dorotea said. She inclined her head toward the Lodestar. A man wearing mechanic’s coveralls was examining something in the right engine nacelle. This placed him in a position where he could overhear the conversation.

Yes, she knows , Boltitz thought.

What the hell is the matter with Frade, making his wife party to business like this? His five-months-or-so pregnant wife?

Boltitz felt Frade’s unfriendly eyes on him.

“Does the name El Coronel Alejandro Martín mean anything to you, Captain? ” Frade asked.

Boltitz nodded.

Martín was chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Bureau of Internal Security of the Argentine Ministry of Defense. He was the most powerful man in Argentine intelligence and counterintelligence.

“Just as soon as that guy with his head in my engine can get to a phone,” Frade went on, “good ol’ Alejandro will be wondering what the two of you were doing here.”

He raised his voice. “Carlos!”

He had to call three times before Carlos admitted to having heard him and came trotting over to them.

“Carlos, this is Major von Wachtstein of the German embassy,” Frade said. “He has some trouble with his hydraulic pressure. Would you please do what you can to make it right?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“May I offer you gentlemen a coffee?” Frade said. “Carlos will come to the house when he knows something.”

“That’s very kind of you, Señor Frade,” von Wachtstein said.

Frade gestured toward the Horch.

Boltitz was surprised when Dorotea Frade got behind the wheel. Her husband got in beside her and turned on the seat as von Wachtstein, Boltitz, and Enrico got in. He looked at Boltitz.

“Captain, I don’t like to kill people unless I have to,” he said, almost conversationally. “Don’t push your luck by doing something stupid.”

“I fully understood that I would be putting my life in your hands when I came here, Major Frade,” Boltitz said.

" ’Major’ ?” Frade parroted, disgustedly. “Jesus Christ, Peter, you really had diarrhea of the mouth, didn’t you?”

He turned away from the backseat as the Horch began to move slowly, first making a wide turn on the tarmac, then turning onto a road lined with eucalyptus trees. There was grass between the trees. It was being patiently mowed by workmen swinging scythes. As the car passed them, they stopped and took off their hats in deference to Don Cletus, his lady, and their guests.

Frade replied with a casual wave of his hand and sometimes by calling out a workman’s name, as if greeting a friend.

The tree-lined road was almost a kilometer long. Then it opened onto the manicured garden surrounding the house Boltitz had seen from the air. From the ground, the house was larger than it appeared from above.

As Señora Frade pulled the Horch up before the door of the house— beside a Buick convertible—the door opened and a middle-aged man in a crisp white jacket came out. He walked quickly—but too late—to open Señora Frade’s door.

“Antonio,” Frade ordered. “Have coffee brought to the study, then see that we’re not disturbed.”

"Sí, señor.”

Frade added: “And when the mechanic comes here, keep him waiting on the porch.”

He waved his wife ahead of him into the house, and started to follow her, gesturing for Boltitz and von Wachtstein to follow them.

[TWO]

There was first a large reception foyer with a fountain in the center. Corridors radiated from the foyer. The Frades led the way down one of them, to a set of double doors Boltitz decided must be just about in the center of the house. He was surprised to see the doors were locked; Frade took a key from his pocket and unlocked them.

A real key , Boltitz thought, one for a pins-and-tumbler lock, not the large key one would expect.

He doesn’t want anyone—servants included—in that room.

Frade waved his wife ahead of him again, and again signaled for Boltitz and von Wachtstein to follow them inside. Señora Frade sat down in a dark red leather armchair.

Boltitz glanced around the room. It is in fact a study. Or maybe a library .

There were no windows. Two of the walls were lined with bookcases. There was a large rather ornate desk, with a high-backed leather chair to one side. An Underwood typewriter sat on an extension shelf.

Two maids scurried into the room with a coffee service as Frade sat down at the desk.

God, that was quick! What do they do, keep coffee ready at all times in case the-master-of-all-he-surveys has a sudden urge for a cup?

Frade pointed somewhat imperiously to two chairs facing a low table, and Boltitz and von Wachtstein sat down. The maids put the service on the low table and Señora Frade began to serve the coffee.

Well, that makes it pretty clear that she’s staying. Which means she does know everything, except what we’re about to tell them.