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

Not quite a minute later, Stein reported that the message had been received in Virginia.

Frade nodded. "Good. Now, let's eat."

Clete had the same uncomfortable feeling--one of intrusion--as he entered the master suite--now his--of Casa Montagna that he had felt the first time he had moved into his father's bedroom in the big house on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

But now it was worse.

There had been nothing of his mother's in the master suite at the estancia.

Here, before a mirrored dressing table, were vials of perfume, jars of cosmetics, a comb, and a hairbrush with blond hair still on it.

And that got worse.

He pulled open a drawer in a chest of drawers and found himself looking at underwear that had to be his mother's.

He slammed the drawer closed.

Dorotea came out of the bathroom in a negligee.

"There's a set of straight razors in there, and a mug of shaving soap," she announced. "All dried out, of course, but I put water in it. That might make it usable. Who knows?"

Clete didn't reply.

"It looks as if they expected to come back," Dorotea said.

"Yeah."

"I wonder what's in here?" Dorotea said, pulled open a door, and gasped. "Oh, God! Clete, look at this!"

He went to the door and looked in.

There was a crib, and infant's toys, and a table--he had no idea what they called it--where an infant could be washed and dried and have diapers changed. And shelves, with stacks of folded cotton diapers and a large can of Johnson's baby powder.

"Jesus Christ!" he said, almost under his breath.

"I wondered what she was talking about," Dorotea said.

"What who was talking about?"

"Mother Superior, when she said you were really coming home. That this house has really been expecting you, is prepared for you."

He looked at her but said nothing.

"She should have said for us," Dorotea said. "For us and our baby."

She saw the look on his face.

"I want to have our baby here, darling. I want to wash him in there, where your mother washed you, and change his nappy with your nappies."

He tried to ask, "How can you be sure the baby's a him?"

But only three words came out before he lost his voice, and his chest heaved, and he realized he was crying.

Dorotea went to him, held him against her breast, and stroked his hair.

[FOUR]

Office of the Deputy Director for Western

Hemisphere Operations

Office of Strategic Services

National Institutes of Health Building

Washington, D.C.

0720 15 August 1943

A second lieutenant of the U.S. Army Signal Corps was sitting in one of the chairs in the outer office when Colonel A. F. Graham, uncommonly in uniform, came to work--as usual, before his secretary had gotten there.

Lieutenant Leonard Fischer stood and more or less came to attention. He was holding a sturdy leather briefcase. Graham saw that he was attached to the briefcase with a handcuff and chain, and that one of the lower pockets of his uniform blouse sagged--as if, for example, it held a Colt Model 1911A1 .45 ACP pistol.

"Good morning, Fischer," Graham said as he waved the young officer ahead of him into his office. "Dare I hope we have heard from Gaucholand?"

"Yes, sir," Fischer said, and held up the briefcase.

"And?"

"That Marine has landed, sir, and the situation is well in hand."

Graham smiled at him, waved him into a chair, and waited for him to detach the briefcase and unlock it. He took from it a manila envelope, stamped TOP SECRET in several places in large red letters, then got up and walked to Graham's desk and handed it to him.

"I would offer you a cup of coffee, Len, but I don't think there is any."

"Not a problem, sir."

Graham tore open the envelope, took two sheets of paper from it, and started to read from them.

From previous messages, Graham knew that BIS was Gonzalo Delgano, the Bureau of Interior Security man assigned to watch Frade and South American Airways; that Galahad (the courageous knight on the white horse) was Major von Wachtstein; that JohnPaul was Kapitan zur See Boltitz (after naval hero John Paul Jones); and that Tio Hank was Frade's Uncle Humberto Duarte, managing director of the Banco de Inglaterra y Argentina.

If Tio Hank's going to confirm Grape history--that Frogger is a South African winegrower--that means Frade probably told him what's going on. I don't know if that was smart or not.

But it's his call. I am sitting behind a desk in Washington.

Why do I think Cletus had more than a little grape when he wrote this? Because that's the code name he gave Colonel Frogger?

The question was answered in the next several paragraphs.

Graham knew the Tourists were the Froggers, Tio Juan was Juan Domingo Peron, Sidekick was Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez, and Beermug was Staff Sergeant Stein.

How in hell will he keep what must have been a hell of a firefight and six dead Germans from coming out?

Jedgar, from J. Edgar Hoover, was el Coronel Martin of the BIS.

Christ, they tried to kill him again!

And he's right. Allen will be interested in the Argentine agricultural attache in Berlin.

Unless he already knows him. Which is likely.

Not only was he half in the bag when he started to write this, he obviously had a couple of belts while he was writing it.

And the one thing I can't do is let Donovan see it.

"It strays a little from the form and substance one expects from an official after-action report, wouldn't you say, Lieutenant Fischer?"

"Just a little, sir."

"Things like that tend to upset Director Donovan. So, what I'm going to do, just as soon as my secretary gets here, is dictate a synopsis . . ."

As if on cue, the office door opened and his secretary, a gray-haired middle-aged woman, walked in.

"Good morning, Colonel," she said.

". . . and send that to him," Graham finished. "Good morning, Grace. Would you get your pad and pencil, please?"

"Before or after I get you your wake-up cup of coffee?"

"Coffee won't be necessary. Lieutenant Fischer and I are going to have breakfast at the Army-Navy Club and put to rest those nasty rumors that the Army and Marine Corps don't talk to each other."

She backed out of the office and returned a moment later with a steno graphic notepad in hand.

"Interoffice memorandum, Secret, dictated but not signed, to the director," Graham dictated. "Subject: Major Cletus Frade, After-Action Report of. The Marine has landed, situation well in hand. Respectfully submitted."

"Do I get to see it?" Grace asked.

"Not only do you get to see it, but after you have it microfilmed and send that over to State for inclusion in today's diplomatic pouch to Mr. Dulles in Berne, you get to file it someplace where it can't possibly come to the attention of the director."