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

"May I see you a moment, Don Cletus?" the priest asked.

Frade held up a finger to ask Welner to wait, then turned to de Filippi.

"Tell you what we're going to do, Guillermo," Frade said. "Two things. One: It is now standard company policy that the absolute maximum turnaround time for any of our aircraft not requiring scheduled maintenance--like, for example, a one-hundred-hour overhaul--is twelve hours. Two: The day after manana, since Gonzo and I are trying to get this airline off the ground sometime this year, SAA will rent my Lodestar for our trip. Any problem with that, Guillermo?"

He didn't wait to hear Senor Manana's reply, if any, instead pushing himself somewhat awkwardly out of his chair--he had a large cigar in one hand and a large brandy snifter in the other--and motioned with his head toward a relatively unoccupied corner of the library.

When the priest had followed him there, Frade said unctuously, "Tell me how I may help you, my son."

Welner, smiling, shook his head in resignation.

"I don't suppose it has occurred to you that the way you jumped all over de Filippi might be counterproductive?"

"On the other hand, it might not. Manana is not a good way to do business."

"This is Argentina, Cletus. Not the U.S. Corps of Marines."

"I've noticed. Your nickel, Padre."

"Excuse me?"

"An Americanism. Since you dropped a nickel in the telephone to talk to me, the presumption is that you had something to say."

"I never heard that before. What I wanted to ask, Cletus, is if I might stay at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo tonight."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I presumed I was invited on the bird shoot tomorrow."

Oh, shit. I thought I'd gotten rid of him.

"If you would be so kind as to put me up," Welner went on, "I wouldn't have to get up in the wee hours to drive over there. And if I left here, some other of Claudia's guests could spend the night."

"You're a bird shooter?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Did you notice the four Browning over-and-under shotguns in the gun cabinet to the left?"

"Yeah, I did. Two identical Diamond Grade .16s and two .28s. It made me curious."

"One of each, thanks to your father's generosity to a poor priest, are mine."

Frade exhaled audibly.

"You know you're always welcome in my house," he said. "But tomorrow's not such a good idea."

"I thought you might have something in mind for tomorrow in addition to slaughtering innocent perdices, or maybe even instead of slaughtering them."

"Not admitting anything, but would your feelings be hurt if I told you I don't think you'd want to know what that might be?"

"You can't hurt my feelings, Cletus. I would have thought you would know that by now. And you're wrong. I do want to know. I can't help you if I don't know what you're up to."

Frade didn't reply.

After a moment, the priest said, "Maybe I can help in some way to keep Mr. Fischer's parents alive. I would like to try."

Frade met Welner's eyes for a long moment.

"Tell you what, Padre," he said. "Why don't you spend the night at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo? That way you won't have to get up in the middle of the night to drive over there."

"What an excellent idea," the priest said. "I should have thought of that myself."

"Changing the subject: Are you familiar with that old English saying 'In for a penny, in for a pound'?"

"Oh, yes," Welner said.

Frade raised his brandy snifter.

"Mud in your eye, Padre."

[THREE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila

Buenos Aires Province,

Argentina

0630 14 August 1943

While it was assumed that the peones of Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo were completely trustworthy, Enrico pointed out that money talked, and that it was unlikely but possible that some of the technicians working on the place might be on the payroll of someone else.

They knew, for example, that Carlos Aguirre, the airframe and power plant mechanic el Coronel had hired to maintain his Beechcraft Staggerwing and the Piper Cubs, was an agent of the Bureau of Internal Security. They knew because Gonzalo Delgano told them. Delgano knew because, when he had been on the estancia's payroll as the Beechcraft's pilot and as el Coronel's instructor pilot, he had all the time been an army officer attached to the BIS, charged with reporting on el Coronel Frade's activities.

Against the remote--but nevertheless real--possibility that someone besides Carlos Aguirre was in the employ of BIS, or, for that matter, someone in the employ of the German Embassy, would report that when the group came to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo before sunrise, von Wachtstein, Boltitz, Father Welner, and Humberto Duarte had not gone bird hunting as announced, Clete Frade decided that they would in fact go bird hunting.

A fairly complicated hunting expedition was organized. A wrangler had horses waiting for all the men when they came out of the big house after a breakfast buffet. So was a horse-drawn wagon carrying shotguns, ammunition, and the makings of a midmorning snack break. A second horse-drawn wagon carried the dogs--eight Llewellyn setters--and three handlers for them.

Everyone mounted up. Then Clete--to the amusement of the dozen mounted peones who would go with them--had his usual difficulty with Julius Caesar . The large, high-spirited black stallion had never been ridden by anyone but el Coronel and manifested its resentment of its new master by trying very hard to throw Clete. When Frade finally got control of his mount, the party walked their horses through the formal gardens and out onto the pampas, with the wagons following.

Four kilometers or so from the big house, they dismounted and collected their weapons from the wagon. Clete's father's hunting equipment included something he had never seen before: a leather shell bag, which looked to him like a woman's purse on an extra-long strap.

And he was again wearing more of his father's clothing, in this instance boots and a Barbour jacket. He had never seen one of these before, and as Father Welner had seen him suspiciously eyeing and feeling the material, the priest said, "Not to worry, my son, the Queen has one just like it."

"It looks greasy," Clete said.

"They wax the thread before they weave the cloth."

All four of the Diamond Grade Brownings had been brought along in a rack that looked as if it had been made for precisely that purpose. Clete saw the priest take the 28-bore rather than the 16.

Ah, we're going to play King of the Mountain!

He took the other 28-bore from its rack.

"The way your father and I shot," the priest said, "was by turns. You shoot until you miss, and then the other chap."

"After you, Padre," Clete said, grandly waving Welner ahead of him onto the grass of the plain.

The Llewellyns were both very good hunters and superbly trained. They picked up a scent within two minutes, found birds not quite a minute after that, and held the point perfectly until the birds took flight and the priest had fired.

Two perdices fell to the ground.

"Good shooting," Clete said politely.

"Lucky," the priest said politely.

He was lucky six times in a row before he missed.

"Tough luck," Clete said politely as he fed two shells to his over-and-under shotgun.

"I think it was badly loaded shells," the priest said. "You might take that into consideration should you have any difficulty."

The eyes of Texas are upon you, Cletus, he thought as he started after the Llewellyns.

As well as those of the smug Jesuit.

And, of course, the eyes of the members of your private army, who are probably praying the Good Father makes a monkey of el patron.