W. IV - Honor Bound 05 - The Honor of Spies

Km 40.4, Provincial Route 60

Mendoza Province, Argentina

1650 3 October 1943

Mother Superior had made it plain that she regarded Clete Frade's treatment of the mother of his unborn child as the despicable behavior to be expected of someone who had obviously inherited his father's insanity. But, aside from that, Mother Superior had been so cooperative that Clete suspected she had been given her marching orders from whoever in the hierarchy of Holy Mother Church had the authority to order a Mother Superior around.

One of the most important things she had done was to calm Senora Moller and Senora Kortig--and, as important, the children. She spoke fluent German, which made things easier.

"The first thing we have to do," Mother Superior told them, "is get you to speak Spanish, and the best way to do that, of course, is to get you in school. We run a bus up here every morning to take the children who live here to our school. It's inside the convent. And then, of course, it brings them home after school. Is there any reason, Don Cletus, they couldn't do that tomorrow?"

Frade thought, Translation: Would it be safe to do that?

Clete had looked at Inspector Peralta and saw that he was looking at Subinspector Nowicki, who after a thoughtful moment made a subtle thumbs-up gesture, which caused Inspector Peralta to nod in Clete's direction.

Translation: The Gendarmeria Nacional can and will protect the bus.

"I can't think of one," Clete said. "It sounds like a very good idea."

"And for the first few days," Mother Superior said, "I suggest that it would be a very good idea if Senora Moller and Senora Kortig came to school, too. Would that be all right?"

As long as I've got their husbands under my thumb here, why not?

"I think that would be a very good idea," Clete said.

"And now, so as to leave you gentlemen to your wine, I suggest that I take the ladies and the children to their apartments. I'll see what things they'll need for school, and answer any questions they might have."

"I think the fathers would like to be in on that," Clete said. "Would that be all right?"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Mother Superior said.

"Would you like to come along, Dorotea?" Mother Superior asked.

"What I think I am going to do is have a little lie-down," Dorotea said. "I'm tired from the flight."

Translation: I am now going to stand behind a partially open door and listen to what the men will say that they probably wouldn't say if I was in the room.

"Well, I can certainly understand why you're tired," Mother Superior said, flashing Clete an icy smile.

A minute later, Clete saw that the bar held men only. Stein was missing.

He's sitting on the SIGABA and waiting--probably in vain--for the graven-on-stone messages from Mount Sinai.

What was it Graham said about the more people knowing about a secret the less chance there is that it will remain a secret?

I trust Nervo and Martin. I trust Inspector Peralta because Nervo trusts him. And I suppose I can trust Subinspector Navarro because he works for Peralta.

That's a hell of a lot of people being told a hell of a lot of secrets.

Not to mention the local Gendarmeria boss, Subinspector Nowicki. I don't know him, or where he comes from.

"Don Cletus, did Inspector General Nervo tell you I can read faces?" Inspector Peralta asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I can look at a face and tell what that person is thinking," Peralta said seriously.

What the hell is this?

"Really?"

"Would you like me to tell you what you're thinking?" Peralta said, and then went on without giving Clete a chance to reply. " Who the hell are all these people? How the hell do I know I can trust them? Am I close?"

"That thought has run through my mind, now that you mention it," Clete said.

"Don't be embarrassed, Don Cletus. I would have been worried if you were not worried. So let's deal with it: Me, you can trust, because the inspector general said you can, and you trust the inspector general. Subinspector Navarro can be trusted because I tell you he can. That leaves Subinspector Nowicki , whom you keep looking at through the corner of your eye. Despite his shifty eyes, I have learned he is trustworthy. But let him speak for himself. Estanislao?"

Subinspector Nowicki--a burly, totally bald, muscular man in his early forties, who had been sitting slumped in an armchair while sipping steadily at a glass of wine--stood.

"Don Cletus, I am a Pole. I hate Nazis and Communists. I know what they have done to Poland and I don't want either taking over in Argentina. Before I came here, I commanded the Gendarmeria squadron in Pila. I was privileged to call your father my friend. When the Nazi bastards murdered him and nearly killed my old friend Enrico, I prayed to God for the chance to avenge el Coronel's murder. I swear before God and on my mother's grave that you can trust me."

He nodded once, then sat down.

"Enrico, why didn't you tell me you were friends?" Clete challenged, more in wonder than anger or even annoyance.

"You didn't ask, Don Cletus," the old soldier said matter-of-factly.

"Well, Don Cletus?" Peralta said. "Now that you're a little less worried about Estanislao . . ."

"I apologize, Inspector," Clete said.

"No need," Nowicki said simply.

". . . where shall we start?" Peralta finished his question.

"The arms cache?" Clete replied. "The perimeter defense of this place?"

"There are more arms, heavier arms, than I expected," Peralta said. "Fifty-caliber machine guns, mortars. And a great deal of ammunition. Which makes me wonder whether el Coronel Schmidt is really after that, rather than using the weapons cache as an excuse to look for the Froggers."

"Why would he want the weapons? He's got a regiment."

"Doesn't the U.S. Corps of Marines teach its officers that guns are like sex? You can never have too much."

"Point taken, Inspector," Clete said.

"But now that we're on the subject of el Coronel Schmidt, let's get that clear between us, Don Cletus. My orders from Inspector General Nervo are to assist you in any way I can, short of helping you start, or involving the Gendarmeria in, a civil war."

"I have no intention of starting a civil war," Clete replied. "Is that what Inspector General Nervo thinks?"

"It's not you he's worried about," Nowicki said. "It's that Nazi bastard Schmidt."

"Schmidt wants to start a civil war? What the hell for?"

"To put in the Casa Rosada someone who understands that the Nazis--and until last week, the Italians--were fighting the good fight against godless Communism," Peralta said. "And what makes him especially dangerous is that the bastard really believes he's on God's side."

"Who does he want to put in the Casa Rosada? A colonel named Schmidt?"

"Maybe a colonel named Peron," Peralta said. "But probably Obregon."

"The head of the Bureau of Internal Security?"

"I've known for some time--as have Nervo, Martin, and some others--that el General de Division Manuel Frederico Obregon likes to think of himself as the Heinrich Himmler of Argentina," Peralta said. "Not the concentration camp Himmler, of course, but as the patriot rooting out godless Communists and other opponents of National Socialism wherever found. Rawson--and others; el Coronel Wattersly, for example--keep him on a pretty tight leash, which Schmidt would love to remove.

"Rawson is a good man, but not very strong. He could be talked into resigning if he thought the alternative was civil war."

"And Obregon would move into the Casa Rosada?"

"More likely Pepe Ramirez--el General Pedro Pablo Ramirez--with Peron as his vice president. They get along pretty well, and nobody really likes Obregon."