W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound

by Honor Bound(Lit)

  "Yes, Sir."

  "At the time I thought it would give my daughter a little walking-around money, so she wouldn't have to go to Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day every time she wanted a dress or a pair of shoes. So they got married and went on their honeymoon. To Europe. All over Europe. But no matter where they were, or what they were doing, my daughter wrote me a letter, two, three times a week.

  "And then, before they left Europe-they were in Venice; I still have the letter-she wrote that she was in the family way, and that she wanted me to come down to Argentina and visit them, just as soon as she got her feet on the ground.

  "Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day didn't invite me, you under-stand, my daughter did. So I went down there several months later. Went supercargo on one of our tankers. She was eight months along when I got there. She looked terrible. She was all alone in their house in Buenos Aires. Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day was out at the estancia, and sent his regrets, and would be in town in a couple of days. That poor child was lonely. Hardly any of the servants could speak any English, and she didn't speak a hell of a lot of Spanish. But I was concerned about the way she looked, so I called the Ambassador, and he recommended a good American doctor to me... his name was Kennedy, he'd trained at Massachusetts General, and he was down there teaching Ar-gentine doctors at the medical school of the University of Buenos Aires... and I took my daughter to see him.

  "And I was right. She was a sick girl. The details are unim-portant, but she was a sick girl; he took me aside and told me if she got through this confinement, she should never have another child. He told me he wasn't sure how that pregnancy was going to turn out, either. Well, he was wrong about that, of course. Cletus has been as healthy as a horse all his life. But he was right about my daughter. She damned near died in childbirth.

  "Anyway, when Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day finally could get away from his estancia and come to Buenos Aires, I not only pulled him aside for a little chat, but I took him to see Doctor Kennedy. He didn't want to go, I could tell that; he didn't say anything, but I could tell he thought I was putting my nose in where it had no business. And Dr. Kennedy told him what he told me, that if my daughter managed to pull through this con-finement, she should never try to have another child. It would kill her.

  "So I stayed down there until the day came. She had... she had a terrible time, and we damned near lost her. She was in the hospital over a month. And I was there when they baptized Cletus into the Roman Catholic Church. They make a big thing of it down there. They did it in a place called the Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar. Their Archbishop did it.

  "And then when I was sure my daughter was all right, a week or two after that, I came home. It was a pity, of course, I thought, that they could have only the one child... one child tends to get spoiled. But at least they had that, and with a little bit of luck, she could get her health back.

  "Nine months after that, I got another letter. She was in the family way again. I decided against going down there... God only knows what I would have said to Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day for doing that to her, knowing what was at stake. But I telephoned Dr. Kennedy-telephoning down there in those days wasn't as easy as it is now-and asked him to see her. And two days after that I got a cable from Kennedy, saying that Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day had told him his services would not be required."

  "Why?" Ettinger asked. "Did he say?"

  "I think Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day was telling me to keep my nose out of his business," the old man said. "So I didn't know what the hell to do. So I went down there again, and when I saw her, she looked even worse than I imagined she would. So I had a real man-to-man talk with Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day, and he finally gave in, and I took my daughter to Dr. Ken-nedy. And he said-and I was there when he said it, and I know damned well that Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day understood what he said-that it was his advice, considering the clear threat to the mother's life, that the pregnancy be terMi¤ated."

  "I understand," Ettinger said.

  "And Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day said that he would have to talk that over with his wife and his priest, and that he would let us know what had been decided."

  "Abortion is against the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church," Ettinger said.

  "Yeah. It is. That's what he said. But he said that under the circumstances, he was willing to let my daughter come to the United States to have the baby. Our medicine was better than their medicine, and he knew it. So we got on a ship and came here. She was sick all the way, never got out of her bed. Lost a lot of weight. Had no strength. I radioed ahead and we had an ambulance waiting on the dock when we got to Miami. I put her in a hospital in Miami and telephoned down there and told him she was in pretty bad shape. I suggested he get on a ship and come to Miami. He said he couldn't get away right then-that's what he said, he couldn't get away-and would I please keep him posted.

  "Well, they fixed her up in Miami well enough so we could put her on a train and bring her here, and I put her in the hospital again here. They fixed her up well enough so I could take, her to the house, and I found nurses and whatever else she needed. She was even able to get out of bed for my son's, James Fitzhugh Howell's, wedding. We took her to Texas on a train, and she got all dressed up and watched him get married.

  "Hor-gay Goool-yermo' Frah-day wrote that he would do what-ever he could to be in New Orleans when the baby was born. My daughter really wanted him to come. He got here five days after my daughter's funeral, Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day did. He was all upset about that. He said that his wife should be buried in their family tomb in Buenos Aires, not in what he called 'un-consecrated ground' here. I buried her, with her baby in her arms, in our family plot. I told him she was going to stay buried where she was buried, where she belonged. And then finally he got around to asking about Cletus... asked when could he take him back to Argentina, and could I recommend a nurse to care for the child on the trip. I told Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day that my son and his wife were caring for my grandson in Texas, and that if he went near him, my son was going to kill him."

  "And what was his reaction to that?"

  "I had the feeling that Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day was relieved, that the whole unfortunate business of his marriage to the foreigner from North America was over. He wouldn't have to concern himself with raising a child, he could spend all of his time on his estancia, and he could get married again to some Argentine woman without having to worry about a child."

  "That's a tragic story," Ettinger said.

  "I don't like to air the family linen in public, Mr. Ettinger..." the old man said.

  The family linen, maybe not, Clete thought, but I've never known you to pass up an opportunity to proclaim what an un-mitigated sonofabitch Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day is. I won-der if it has ever occurred to you that it's damned embarrassing for me.

  Probably not. You expect me to hate him as much as you do- after all, he killed my mother. And since the child cannot choose his father, it's obviously nothing for me to be embarrassed or ashamed about.

  But it is, damn it, it is. And there's no way I have ever been able to stop you.

  "... but I thought, since you are going down there, a little insight into the way their minds work might be useful to you. They're all, pardon the French, sonsofbitches. The man my daughter married is not some anomaly. I, for one, haven't been surprised at all that the Argentines are on the side of the Germans in this war against us."

  "I appreciate your sharing this with me, Mr. Howell," Ettinger said.

  "I thought it was my duty," the old man said. "And now, Mr. Ettinger, unless you've made other plans, I was going to suggest you ride out to the house with us. I've got a bottle of cognac out there, much too good for Cletus, that I think you might appreci-ate."

  "I hate to impose, Mr. Howell."

  "Nonsense. No trouble at all. We'll have a little cognac and a cigar, and whenever you feel you should, I'll have Samuel drive you back to the Monteleone."

  "Thank you very much, Si
r. I'd like that."

  "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to wash my hands," the old man said, and stood up. "If the waiter should get lost and come in here, Cletus, will you ask him to have Samuel bring the car around?"

  "Yes, Sir," Clete said. He waited until the old man had gone, then said, "David, I'm sorry you had to sit through that. There was no stopping him."

  "Actually, it was a fascinating story," Ettinger said. "And no, you couldn't have stopped him. He's like my mother."

  "Your mother? Where is she?"

  "In New York. She and I got out. She hates like he does. When I told her I was going to Argentina, she was disappointed. She had visions of me blowing up the Brandenburg Gate with Adolf Hitler on it."

  "You told your mother you were going to Argentina?" Clete asked incredulously, angrily. "Jesus Christ, Ettinger, what the hell were you thinking about?"

  Ettinger looked both shocked and distinctly uncomfortable.

  I guess I sounded like a Marine officer, and he didn't expect that. Well, that's what I am.

  "I presume you signed the same form that I did, which made it pretty clear it's a General Court-martial offense to have diarrhea of the mouth about what we're doing?" Clete went on coldly.

  "I felt relatively sure that whatever I told my mother, she would not rush to the telephone to pass it on to the Abwehr."

  "Don't be flip with me, Sergeant!" Clete said coldly. "Exactly how much did you tell your mother?"

  "Just that I was going to Argentina, Sir."

  That's right, Sergeant, you call me "Sir."

  "To do what?"

  "She knew what I've been doing here..."

  "You told her what you were doing for the CIC? She and who else?"

  "Just my mother, Sir. I had to tell her something. I couldn't just suddenly vanish. And what I told her seemed to be the best story I could come up with. The subject of what I was supposed to tell my mother never came up at the Country Club..."

  "You should have been able to figure that out without a dia-gram. You were supposed to tell her nothing! Damn it, Sergeant, you were in the CIC! You certainly should have known better than to tell anyone, much less a civilian..."

  "Sir, I don't mean to be insolent, but your grandfather seems..."

  "What my grandfather knows or doesn't know is not the sub-ject here. What you told your mother is."

  "Yes, Sir. I led her to believe that I would be doing the same thing there that I'd been doing here. Making sure that the refugees are in fact refugees. I told her that when I had an address, I would send it to her, but that she shouldn't expect to hear from me for a while."

  "I can't believe you told her where we're going!"

  "Sir, I thought it would put her mind at rest," Ettinger said.

  "You did?" Clete asked sarcastically.

  "Mother knows that Argentina is neutral," Ettinger explained. "And her memories of Argentina seem to begin and end with the Teatro Col¢n:"-Buenos Aires' opera house-"Spanish-speaking people with exquisite manners."

  "She's been there?" Clete asked, wondering why he was sur-prised.

  Ettinger nodded. "So have I. But I was a kid, and I can't remember a thing. My grandfather took us there."

  "And how much did you tell your grandfather?"

  "My grandfather died in a concentration camp, Sir."

  "What's that, an attempt to invoke my sympathy?" Clete snapped, and was immediately ashamed of himself. "Sorry, Et-tinger. Colonel Graham told me about your family. I was out of line."

  Ettinger met his eyes. After a moment, he said, "So, appar-ently, was I. What happens now?"

  "I don't know what the hell to do about this, frankly."

  "If it would make it any easier for you, I'll report my... indiscretion to the people from the Country Club tomorrow."

  " 'Indiscretion'?" Clete snapped. "I'd call it stupidity. Incred-ible stupidity."

  "Yes, Sir. I can see from your standpoint that it would be."

  "And from your standpoint?"

  "I had to tell her something, Lieutenant. That was the best I could come up with."

  "Incredible stupidity," Clete repeated.

  Ettinger stood up.

  "Where are you going?" Clete demanded.

  "Back to the hotel, Sir. Under the circumstances, it would be awkward with your grandfather. I'll make a report..."

  "If a report is made, Sergeant, I'll make it," Clete thought aloud, and then added, "The damage, if any, has already been done."

  "Sir, I don't think there will be any damage. I made the point to my mother that this assignment, including our destination, was classified. She won't say anything to anybody."

  "We don't know that, do we?"

  "No, Sir. We don't."

  If I turn him in for this, it will really screw things up. Colonel Graham feels that getting us down there as soon as possible is damned important. If they have to scrounge around for a replace-ment for Ettinger-and that would obviously be difficult-God only knows how long a delay there would be.

  Or this fellow Pelosi and I will get sent down there by our-selves.

  I need him. It's as simple as that.

  "We never had this conversation, Ettinger," Clete said. "You understand me?"

  "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

  "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not being a nice guy. I just think turning you in would do more damage to this mission than taking you with us."

  "I understand."

  "I wonder if you do," Clete said. "But the subject is closed. The conversation never occurred. Clear?''

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Besides," Clete said, smiling. It took more than a little effort. "If you were missing when my grandfather finishes his piss call, I would have to explain your absence. My grandfather, as you may have noticed, is a difficult man."

  "I repeat, Lieutenant, thank you. I really want to go on this mission. It's much more important than what I've been doing."

  "Try to keep that in mind," Clete said. "Now let's change the subject."

  Ettinger nodded, then smiled.

  "My grandfather was not unlike yours. A difficult man."

  I don't really give a damn about your grandfather, Ettinger.

  "Really?"

  "He believed what he wanted to believe, and the facts be damned. He chose to believe that despite what was going on, he was perfectly safe in Berlin. What was happening to the Jews there was happening only to the Slavic Jews, not to good German Jews like him. After all, he had won the Iron Cross as an infantry officer in France in the First World War."

  "That didn't do him any good?"

  "No. They took him away. He died 'of pneumonia' in a place called Sachsenhausen."

  "You hate the Germans? In the way my grandfather hates the Argentines?"

  "No. I understand that the flesh is weak. If you hate weak people, you hate everybody. If you're asking if I'm motivated to go to Argentina, yes, I think I can do-we can do-some good down there."

  "Blowing up 'neutral' ships?"

  "That, certainly. And perhaps doing something about keeping the Argentine equivalent of the Nazis from taking over the coun-try. The Nazis took over Germany because nobody fought back."

  Cletus Marcus Howell pushed open the curtain and came back into the small room. His eyes passed back and forth between them as if he sensed something was wrong.

  "Have you asked for the car?" he demanded after a moment's hesitation.

  "No, but I will bet it's been waiting outside for the last half hour while you bored David with our family linen."

  "I don't think I bored Mr. Ettinger, did I, Mr. Ettinger?"

  "Not at all, Sir."

  "Sometimes, Cletus, I don't understand you at all," the old man said. "Shall we go?"

  [TWO]

  The Gulf, Mobile & Ohio Railway TerMi¤al

  Canal Street

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  1030 2 November 1942

  Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi, CE, AUS, late of the 82nd Airborne Division, had been th
inking-especially for the last cou-ple of hours-that Captain McGuire was right after all: Applying for this OSS shit was a mistake; where he belonged was with the 82nd Airborne.

  In another couple of weeks, he would have made first lieutenant (promotion was automatic after six months' time in grade), and as a first lieutenant he could not be ranked out of command of his platoon. He would have been the permanent-not the tem-porary-commanding officer of an Engineer platoon in the 82nd Airborne Division... and not where he was, masquerading as a goddamned civilian.