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

"There is no choice," Schultz agreed. "Well, there's one good thing."

"What?"

"That guy is smart, Clete. But he doesn't have any balls. He's not going to call your bluff."

"You don't think so?"

"It doesn't come out often like it did just now, but when it does, it's really impressive."

"What doesn't come out often?"

"With all possible respect, Major, sir, the major is a stainless-steel hard-ass. And that really got through to Moller. Hell, it even got to me; I was already wondering: What happens to the wives and kids when Clete blows this sonofabitch away? "

"Let's see if we can keep that from happening," Clete said. "Okay, go get Father Pedro. And then call Cortina and tell him about having Martin and Nervo at the airport."

[THREE]

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Moron, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1325 2 October 1943

As he landed in the Piper Cub, Cletus Frade saw that there were four Lodestars and two Constellations on the field.

He also saw that the extra security he had ordered after learning that Hitler had ordered von Deitzberg to destroy the Constellations was in place.

He was still having trouble really accepting that Adolf Hitler himself even knew about the Connies, much less had ordered their destruction, but all the cliches from "Be Prepared" to "Better Safe Than Sorry" seemed to apply.

He was not surprised that the extra protection was in place. He'd told Enrico to set it up, and that the old soldier knew all about what the military called "perimeter defense."

There were more peones than he could easily count--at least twenty--on horseback, every one of them a former trooper of the Husares de Pueyrredon, moving slowly and warily around the field, with either a Mauser rifle or a Thompson submachine gun resting vertically on his saddle.

As he taxied past the Constellations, it seemed as unreal to consider that he had just flown the Ciudad de Rosario back and forth across the Atlantic as it was to consider that they personally annoyed Adolf Hitler.

He looked at his passenger to see how he had survived the flight. Father Francisco Silva's smile was nowhere near as strained as it had been when Clete had strapped him into the Piper Cub at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

Then the priest had confessed a bit shyly that their flight to Buenos Aires was going to be his first flight in an airplane.

Hearing this, Clete had made a decision. Instead of flying to Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade as he usually did--that is, direct cross-country to Moron at about three hundred feet off the ground, which afforded him the opportunity to look at his own fields and cattle and those of his neighbors--he had climbed to fifteen hundred, flown to Dolores, picked up Ruta Nacional No. 2 there, and flown up it to Buenos Aires, where he flew over the Casa Rosada and the National Cathedral, and from there to the airport outside Moron.

For some reason, he liked the young Jesuit and suspected that, whatever other satisfactions the priest found in his vocation, he didn't have much personal fun or any little luxuries. Fun and luxuries, for example, like Father Kurt Welner S.J.'s Packard convertible, bejeweled gold cuff links, luxury apartment in Recoleta, and box for the season at the Colon Opera House.

And Frade had thought that they had plenty of time for the aerial tour. While there was no question in his mind that Martin would eventually show up at Jorge Frade in response to Schultz's call, he was equally convinced that Martin would not be there when the Cub landed, if for no other reason than to impress on Cletus that the head of the Bureau of Internal Security did not dance to Don Cletus Frade's whistle.

This assumption proved to be wrong.

As he got closer to the passenger terminal building, he saw that el Coronel Martin indeed was waiting for him, and in uniform. Martin was standing beside another uniformed officer, whom Clete recognized after a moment as General Nervo. His military-style uniform was brown. They were standing beside a black 1941 Buick Roadmaster.

"That's General Nervo, Don Cletus," Father Pedro said.

"We've met," Clete replied. "Well, what we'll do now is get you a ride into town."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Clete said at the passenger terminal building.

Martin and then Nervo embraced Clete cordially.

For the moment, I am a good guy. That may change in the next two or three minutes.

"Not a problem," Martin said. "The general and I were here anyway. Your friend had a reservation on the eleven-thirty flight from Montevideo. Santiago had never seen him, and I thought this would give him the chance."

"What did you think?" Clete asked.

"He missed the flight," Martin said. "And changed his reservation until tomorrow."

"This is Father Silva, General," Clete said.

"I know the Father," Nervo said. "And aren't you lucky to have Don Cletus fly you to Buenos Aires, Father? And spare you the return trip with Father Kurt at the wheel?"

Okay. As if I needed proof, Nervo, as well as Martin, knows just about everything that happens on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

"Yes, it was very kind of Don Cletus," Father Silva said.

"Cletus, in the Gendarmeria," Nervo said, "they say that if Father Kurt wasn't the president's confessor, he would have lost his driving license years ago. Have you ever ridden with him?"

Frade shook his head.

"Don't! He thinks that Packard of his has two speeds, fast and faster. And they know that the more he's had to drink, the faster he drives. The Gendarmes along Route Two call him 'Padre Loco.'"

"Oh, I can't believe that's true!" Father Silva said loyally.

"Would I lie to a priest?" Nervo asked righteously.

Martin took pity on the priest.

"He's pulling your leg, Father," he said. "Can we give you a lift into town? We're headed for Plaza San Martin."

"That would be very kind," Silva said. "I'm going to the cathedral."

"Right on our way," Martin said.

"I need ten, fifteen minutes of your time, maybe a little more," Clete said. "Father, would you mind waiting?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why don't you go in the passenger terminal and have a cup of coffee while the general, the colonel, and I take a little walk?"

They walked across the tarmac toward one of the Constellations, the Ciudad de Buenos Aires . It was being prepared for its flight to Lisbon the next day; mechanics and technicians swarmed all over it.

About halfway, Cletus touched Martin's arm, a signal for him to stop.

Martin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to tell us why you're flying a Jesuit priest around?" Nervo asked.

"Well, he's getting me National Identity booklets for two SS men and their wives and children, and the sooner he can do that, the better."

"Somehow, I don't think that's your odd sense of humor at work," Martin said.

"So that's who was in that Little Sisters of the Poor bus," Nervo said. "What's this all about? Who are these people? Where did they come from?"

I can't--I don't want to, and I can't--play any more games with these two. It is now truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth time.

"They were on the plane from Lisbon," Clete said.

"And you knew about that?" Martin said.

"I knew they were probably going to be on the plane. I didn't know for sure, and I didn't know who they were, until Father Welner brought them to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."

"Who are they?" Nervo asked.

"One of them is an SS major, the other an SS sergeant major. . . ."

"Traveling as priests, nuns, and orphans on Vatican passports," Nervo said bitterly. "Sonofabitch! I knew something smelled when I saw the Papal Nuncio at the airport!"