W E B Griffin - Honor 2 - Blood and Honor

by Blood

  "I am at your disposal, Herr Standartenf�hrer."

  "You were telling me about tonight?"

  "The Ambassador suggests that you join the official party to pay respects to Oberst Frade at the Edificio Libertador. Inasmuch as the Ambassador and the First Secretary will be in uniform, you might wish to wear uniform yourself."

  Goltz considered that. "It may require pressing...."

  "I'm sure that will pose no problem," Gr�ner said. "May I suggest you wear uniform to the Ambassador's residence?"

  "Yes," Goltz agreed.

  "Following dinner the senior Embassy officers will meet at the Residence, and we will all go to the Edificio Libertador. That shouldn't take long. There is a Corps Diplomatique line. You sign a guest register, enter the Hall of Honor, pay your respects at the casket, then to members of the Frade family in an adja-cent room, and have a glass of champagne with the Argentine protocol officer in another adjacent room. After that you are free to go. The Ambassador will bring you back to the hotel."

  "What, exactly, does 'pay one's respects at the casket' mean?"

  "This is a Roman Catholic country. The custom is that you kneel-a prie-dieu is provided-at the casket and offer a prayer for the quick reception of the deceased into heaven."

  "Are you a Catholic, Herr Oberst?" Goltz asked, almost suspiciously.

  "I was raised Evangalische"-Protestant-"but I rarely enter a church ex-cept when duty requires. There will be a funeral service tomorrow for Oberst Frade at the Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar, with interment to follow in the adja-cent cemetery. It's called Recoleta. I don't know whether the Ambassador would like you to attend that or not."

  "I'll discuss that with him tonight," Goltz said. "I am not fond of either fu-nerals or church."

  "The diplomatic service of the Reich sometimes requires that one do things one would rather not," Gr�ner said, and immediately was sorry.

  Goltz was liable to interpret the remark as referring to the Frade action, and in fact Goltz looked at him strangely.

  "How do I get from here to the Residence?"

  "I would be happy to take you there, but that will mean I will have to stop by my house to change into dress uniform. The other option is to have Major von Wachtstein accompany you. A third option would be to go to the Residence by yourself. In my car. You would be in G�nther's hands. He is both a capable driver and speaks Spanish, which may prove useful to you."

  "Of the three options, I would prefer to inconvenience the Major," Goltz said.

  "The Major works for me," Gr�ner said. "What pleases you would be con-venient for him."

  "Perhaps if he came by here in time to take me?"

  Gr�ner went to the door and motioned G�nther into the room.

  "Do you know where the Major is, G�nther?"

  "The Herr Freiherr is seeing to the Herr Standartenf�hrer's luggage, Herr Oberst," G�nther said. "He should be here any minute."

  "Then it's solved," Gr�ner said. "I will leave you here in G�nther's compe-tent hands until von Wachtstein shows up, and then see you at the Residence."

  G�nther smiled at what he perceived to be a compliment.

  "You have been most kind, Herr Oberst," Goltz said.

  "It has been my privilege, Herr Standartenf�hrer," Gr�ner said, and offered both his hand and the Nazi salute.

  Goltz returned it, and Gr�ner started to walk out of the room.

  "Oh, there is one more thing," Goltz called after him. Gr�ner turned to look at him. "I have to go to Montevideo, as quickly as possible. How difficult a trip is that?"

  "I presume, Herr Standartenf�hrer, that you have visas for both Argentina and Uruguay?"

  Goltz nodded.

  "In that case, it is a rather pleasant trip. One catches a boat downtown, at ten at night, has dinner aboard, goes to a very nice stateroom, and wakes up in downtown Montevideo."

  "That's the quickest way?"

  "One can drive. There is a ferry across the Rio Uruguay at Gualeguaychu. It is about a six-hour drive, but one can, obviously, leave when one wishes."

  "There is no quicker way?"

  "We have a Fieseler Storch, Herr Standartenf�hrer. Von Wachtstein flies it. I'm sure it would be at your disposal."

  The Fieseler Storch was a two-seat, high-wing observation and liaison air-craft powered by a V8 Argus AS 10c.3 240-horsepower engine that provided a top speed of 109 m.p.h. and a range of 400 miles.

  "And how long would it take by Storch?"

  "That would depend, Herr Standartenf�hrer, on how much of the journey one was willing to make over water. As the crow flies, one hour and thirty min-utes. That route is essentially over the Rio de la Plata. The Rio de la Plata ends fifty miles north where the Rib Uruguay begins. By flying north and then south over land to Montevideo, perhaps three hours."

  "Be so good as to ensure that the Storch is available, should I need it."

  "Of course, Herr Standartenf�hrer. Is that all, Herr Standartenf�hrer?"

  "Thank you again, Herr Oberst."

  Gr�ner left the room.

  Adding his reaction to their brief personal contact to his impression of the dossier he had read in the Sicherheitsdienst headquarters in Berlin, Goltz de-cided very much the same thing about Gr�ner as Gr�ner had decided about him: Gr�ner was obviously bright and well-connected, and thus dangerous.

  Goltz decided he was going to have to be very careful dealing with Oberst Gr�ner in the accomplishment of his mission.

  Chapter Six

  [ONE]

  1728 Avenida Coronel Diaz

  Palermo, Buenos Aires

  1730 9 April 1943

  A 1940 Ford Fordor sedan was parked at the curb before the massive cast-iron fence. Two men were sitting in it.

  More cops? Clete wondered. Or Martin's men?

  The enormous bronze lights beside the double doors to the mansion were draped in black, and black wreaths were fixed to the wrought-bronze metalwork that protected each of the double doors.

  A dignified, silver-haired man in his sixties, dressed in a gray frock coat with a black mourning band around the sleeve, opened the door to them. Anto-nio had been el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade's butler for longer than Clete was old.

  "Se¤or Cletus, my prayers that you would arrive in time to say farewell to your father have been answered," he said.

  "I am here, Antonio," he said "Would you offer General Ramirez and the other gentlemen something to drink-coffee, whiskey, whatever-while I change? My luggage is here?"

  "You have been unpacked, Se¤or Cletus," Antonio said.

  "Where did you put me?" Clete asked.

  "In the master suite, of course, Se¤or Cletus," Antonio said. "Should I show you the way?"

  "I know where it is," Clete said. "Please take care of my guests." He turned to General Ramirez. "I won't be long, mi General."

  "Take whatever time you need," Ramirez said.

  As Clete crossed the marble-floored foyer and went up to the second floor on the left branch of the curving double stairway, he remembered two descrip-tions of the mansion. His father had told him that his mother referred to the place as "The Museum" and refused to live there. And his father himself had described it as "my money sewer on Avenida Coronel Diaz."

  It was like a museum, both in its dimensions and in the plethora of artwork, huge oil paintings and statuary that covered the walls and open spaces. The first time he saw the building, and the artwork, he had the somewhat irreverent thought that two subjects seemed to capture the fascination of Argentine artists and sculptors: the prairie-here called La Pampa-at dusk, during a rainstorm; and women dressed in what looked like wet sheets that generally left exposed at least one large and well-formed breast.

  He really wished that Antonio had put him in one of the guest rooms- there were certainly enough of them-instead of in his father's suite. Its four rooms spread across the rear of the house, with windows opening on a formal, English-style garden surrounded by a wall.

>   When he reached the double doors to his father's suite, he stopped, his hand actually raised to knock.

  "That's no longer necessary, is it?" he asked aloud, and pushed down on the bronze lever that opened the right door.

  Inside was a living room, one of the few places in the house that seem to have been furnished with anyone's comfort in mind. To the right was a book-lined office. Straight ahead was the bedroom, with a dressing room to one side and a bath to the other. The furniture everywhere was heavy, and the couches and armchairs seemed to him to be constructed lower to the floor than such fur-niture in the States.

  He took off his jacket and tossed it on the bed, then went into the dressing room.

  "I wonder where they hid my stuff?" he asked aloud.

  He slid open the first of a line of doors along the right side of the dressing room.

  "I'll be damned," he said.

  The closet held the three suits and three sports coats he had brought with him, and on separate hangers half a dozen pair of trousers. He took from a hanger a brand-new, nearly black, faintly pin-striped suit-one he had dubbed, when he bought it in Washington, "my diplomat's uniform"-carried it back into the bedroom, and tossed it on the bed.

  It got through to him that his entire clothing wardrobe looked very lonely in the large closet.

  He went back into the dressing room and slid open the adjacent door. That closet was absolutely empty, and so was the one next to it. On the other side of the room, a closet with shelves for God Only Knows how many shirts now held only the dozen new shirts he had purchased-like two of the suits-for his diplomatic assignment, along with half a dozen other shirts. The closet next to that held the three sweaters he had brought with him-on shelves that would accommodate fifty. The final closet held his dozen sets of shorts and skivvy shirts, plus his shoes and boots-including his favorite, battered, ancient pair of cowboy boots, which someone had already made a determined, if unsuccessful, effort to shine-and his half-dozen neckties and two pairs of sus-penders.

  The last time he saw the dressing room, the closets were crowded with his father's clothing. El Coronel Frade was something of a clothes horse. Now it was all gone. He wondered where.

  He picked out a necktie and linen, and suspenders-the salesman in Wash-ington had insisted on calling them "braces"-and after a moment's indecision, his new pair of "dress boots," and carried everything into the bedroom, where he tossed it all on the bed.

  The enormous bathroom, marble-floored and -walled, as large as Clete's bedroom in the old man's house on St. Charles Avenue, was even worse. His battered Gillette safety razor, comb, brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and half-empty bottle of Mennen's After Shave lotion were laid out to the left of the washbasin, a depression two feet across in a twenty-foot slab of marble. On the other side of the basin was arrayed an obviously new sterling silver version of the Gillette in a silver case, and in the event that wasn't acceptable, a set of seven ivory-handled straight razors. There was a shaving brush and a wooden tub of English shaving soap; two different kinds of bath soap; an array of bot-tles of what he presumed were after shave and cologne; a matched set of hair-brushes and a tortoiseshell comb that looked large and sturdy enough to do a horse's mane.

  A thick terry-cloth bathrobe was laid out farther down the marble slab. And a chrome stand near the glass door to the shower held four towels and a wash-cloth.

  Clete stripped, picked up one of the bars of soap and his Gillette, and opened the shower door. He showered quickly and shaved, using the bath soap, a time-saving device he had learned in his first year at Texas A&M, where cadets were allotted about five minutes each morning for their personal toilette.

  He came out of the shower and took a towel-a warm towel; the chrome stand was obviously a heating device-and dried himself. He looked at the terry-cloth robe, decided there was no time for that luxury, and walked naked out of the bath into the living room to get his underwear.

  A uniformed maid was standing there, a young woman with her hair drawn back severely under a lace cap, who had pushed a serving tray into the room. When she saw him, she flushed and modestly averted her eyes.

  "Sorry," Clete said, grossly embarrassed, and retreated into the bathroom for the terry-cloth robe.

  Modestly covered, he returned to the bedroom.

  "Antonio was not sure if you would prefer coffee, tea, or whiskey, Se¤or Frade," the maid said, indicating the cart, which held silver coffee and tea pitch-ers, three bottles, and all the accessories.

  "Coffee, please, and that will be all," Clete said, went to the bed for his un-derwear, and again retreated to the bathroom.

  The maid was gone when he came out again. Coffee had been poured and was waiting for him on a small round table. He took a sip. grimaced at its strength, put the cup down, and went to the tray.

  He picked up a bottle of Jack Daniel's, uncorked it, and took a healthy swallow from the neck.

  Then he dressed quickly, returning a final time to the bathroom to tie the necktie and brush his hair.

  The uniform caps of General Ramirez and the other officers were lined up in a row on a table in the foyer. He found the officers themselves sitting com-fortably in the couches and armchairs of the downstairs reception room. They all rose to their feet when he walked in.

  [TWO]

  Ministry of Defense

  Edificio Libertador

  Avenida Paseo Colon

  Buenos Aires

  1845 9 April 1943

  There were both ceremonial and functioning guards on the wide steps leading up to the entrance of the fifteen-story Edificio Libertador. The ceremonial troops were in a uniform (*White breeches, dark-blue coats, high black leather boots, and what resembles a silk top hat. The hat dates back even earlier, to 1806. when a volunteer force was recruited and led by thirty-year-old General Juan Mart¡n Pueyrred¢n to resist a British attempt to occupy Buenos Aires. Pueyrred¢n seized a British merchantman in the harbor. Its cargo included top hats, which Pueyrred¢n issued to his troops-primar-ily gauchos from the Pampas-as the only item of uniform he had available. Four years later, together with generals Manuel Belgrano and Jose de San Mart¡n (revered as El Libertador), he led the war for lib-eration from Spain, which concluded with the July 19. 1816. Proclamation of the Congress of Tucum n, declaring the United Provinces of La Plata to be free of Spain and to be the Argentine Republic.) that dated back to Argentina's War of Independence (1810-16). They were armed with rifles and sabers of the period and stood at rigid attention, seeing nothing, like the guards at Buckingham Palace. A dozen other soldiers, in present-day German-style uniforms and steel helmets and armed with Mauser rifles, were shepherding a long line of people into the build-ing.

  The Marine officer in Clete Howell Frade-remembering that the soldiers who march perpetually guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arling-ton Cemetery allow absolutely nothing, not even the President of the United States, to disturb their ritual-wondered if the ceremonial guards here would salute the Minister of War. They did not, but the sergeant in charge of the other detail scurried quickly both to salute Ramirez and to quickly open a door for them.

  Clete followed Ramirez across the lobby of the building to a corridor to the right. The line of people he had seen outside was obviously headed in the same direction.

  To my father's casket? Why does that bother me?

  As Clete followed Ramirez past it, the shuffling line moved slowly through a corridor. The corridor was lined with foreign flags, their flagstaff's resting in heavy bronze, vaselike holders. The Stars and Stripes looked strange somehow, as just one flag among many. He spotted the German flag, with its swastika, and the Japanese, with its red-ball "rising sun," similarly lost among other flags and flags he could not remember seeing before. He smiled, remembering that the Air Group parachute riggers on Guadalcanal had made a very nice buck, in-deed, turning out on their sewing machines Genuine Japanese Battle Flags for sale to gullible replacements and dogfaces.

  They probably use thi
s place for diplomatic receptions, he decided. If you show up, they haul your flag out of the corridor to make you feel welcome.

  The corridor ended at another enormous set of double doors, also guarded by soldiers in ordinary uniforms. Only one of them was open, and as they ap-proached, a sergeant stopped the shuffling line and motioned for Ramirez, Clete, and the officers trailing behind them to enter the room. In turn, Ramirez signaled for Clete to precede him.

  He found himself in an enormous, marble-floored and marble-walled room that reminded him of photographs he had seen of Hitler's Reichs chancellery in Berlin. He started to walk across the room to the end of the shuffling line of people, but Ramirez stopped him with a gentle tug at his sleeve.