W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound

by Honor Bound(Lit)

  "The mentors from the Country Club discussed that in New Orleans," Clete said.

  "Secondly, equally important, we have to teach the Argentines a lesson."

  They just taught us one, didn't they? Don't mess with our neu-trality.

  "Yes, Sir?"

  "I really wish you would call me 'Jasper,' " Nestor said. "I understand, force of habit, but someone hearing you might ask..."

  "Sorry, Jasper. I'll work on it."

  "The Argentines have to be taught that they can't stop us from making sure they stay neutral; that they can't close their eyes to the fact that the Germans are reprovisioning their submarines and surface raiders in the River Plate. More important, that even if they have eliMi¤ated one of our teams, we are capable of, and will in fact, send in another team. And another. And another. As many as it takes."

  "I understand. Will there be another team sent down here now?"

  "I'm sure there will be. No telling, of course, how long it will take to find the men, and then run them through the training school, et cetera, et cetera. For the time being, Clete, you're the varsity team."

  "Varsity team"? Jesus Christ! We're here to blow up a ship, not play football!

  "It will be important for you to keep in mind that we don't want to anger the Argentineans. Ideally, you would render the replenishment ship inoperable, rather than sink it, and do so with-out its coming out publicly that it was done by Americans."

  "Who else would do it?"

  "The British, for one. The Brazilians, for another. The point is that if it became public-as opposed to private-knowledge that the vessel was rendered inoperable by Americans, there would be an inevitable public outcry-fueled by the Germans- against American violation of Argentine neutrality."

  "OK. I get the picture."

  "Blowing the ship up would attract attention-especially if the ship was flying the flag of a neutral country."

  "Is that what happened to the team that was eliMi¤ated?'' Clete's mouth ran away with him. "They 'attracted attention'?"

  If Nestor was offended by his sarcasm, or even noticed it, there was no sign.

  "I don't actually know. Scenario One is that they were detected and eliMi¤ated while actually conducting the operation. Scenario Two is that they came to the attention of members of the Argen-tinean Navy who, with permission from the highest quarters, re-moved the perceived threat to Argentinean neutrality in such a manner that no questions could be asked. Scenario Three is that the threat to the Motor Vessel Sundsvall came to the attention of the Germans. They have a very good Sicherheitsdienst opera-tion..."

  "A what?"

  "Sicherheitsdienst-Secret Service, literally. Actually a sort of a combination of our FBI and OSS."

  "TheSicher...Whatisit?"

  "Sicherheitsdienst. Yes. They're quite good. Scenario Three is that the team's intentions came to the attention of the Sicherheits-dienst, and the Sicherheitsdienst, regarding them as a simple mil-itary threat, eliMi¤ated them themselves. Or arranged for their eliMi¤ation by Argentinean friends. As I am sure you know, there are many Argentineans, not only those of German extraction, who feel that God and reason are on the side of the Germans."

  "And if the Sicherheydinn..."

  "Sicher-heits-dienst," Nestor corrected his pronunciation.

  "... finds out about us, are they going to try to eliMi¤ate us?"

  "Possibly. The threat increases as the threat you pose to the replenishment operation increases. I'm leaving you at the Plaza after we have our lunch. When I do, I will leave my briefcase with you. In it you will find two Argentinean-manufactured copies of the Colt Model 1911A1.45 automatic. Presumably they were stolen from the Argentinean Army. They were acquired illegally. It is against Argentinean law for any foreigner to own a pistol. A foreigner may obtain a permit to purchase a smooth-bore sporting firearm... a shotgun. Mallin, or your father, if you can strike up an acquaintance with him, can probably arrange a permit for you and Pelosi, without difficulty."

  If there wasn't a bonafide threat from the Germans, he would not have come with the pistols.

  "Turning to your father," Nestor went on. "I suggest you leave the initiative to him, for the next couple of weeks anyway. I don't think it will take long for him to find out that you're here. If he does not contact you during that time, you will have to take the initiative. Anyway, acquire permits and buy shotguns. The bird shooting here is magnificent, by the way. As soon as you have the shotguns, return the pistols to me."

  "In other words, there is an immediate threat from the Sicherheitsdienst?"

  "You pronounced it right that time," Nestor said. "I don't know. But it seems prudent to act on the presumption there might be. It took a good deal of effort and money to bring you down here. It would be a shame if the Sicherheitsdienst eliMi¤ated you before you accomplished your mission. Or if you eliMi¤ated your-selves by being found in possession of illegal firearms. Make sure Pelosi understands that."

  "Does Ettinger have a pistol?"

  "Yes. And I have had a word with him about the importance of discretion. Now, I don't want you, Clete, to think that any immediate action is required. Fortunately, we have some time."

  "Sir... Sorry. I don't think I follow you."

  "The replenishment vessel that was in the River Plate has left, presumably because it was out of supplies. Its replacement is al-most certainly on the high seas, inbound from Europe, but won't be here for three weeks or so. We don't have a name. One pos-sible candidate, of French registry, was sunk by a submarine off the coast of Morocco. The French blame the British; the British deny any knowledge and blame the Germans. The United States government has also denied any knowledge of the incident. That leaves three ships of interest now on the high seas; all of them are capable of the replenishment mission. As soon as I hear anything specific, if I hear of anything, I will, of course, let you know. You'll find the names in the briefcase."

  Well, his intelligence is apparently good, if he has the names of three ships. But what good are the names if we don't know which ship it is? Or are we expected to take out all three of them?

  "I have high hopes that David Ettinger will be helpful in find-ing out which of the ships is the one we're after," Nestor said, as if he knew what Clete was thinking.

  "I don't follow that," Clete said.

  "There are a number of Jews in the ship chandlery business here. One of the things the replenishment vessel cannot bring from Europe-it's at least a three-week voyage, more often a month-is fresh produce, meat, milk, and other nonfreezable per-ishables. Additionally, the more canned goods the replenishment vessel can buy here in Buenos Aires, the better for them; the longer they can remain on station. The only reason the Sundsvall left Argentinean waters was that her supply of torpedoes and diesel fuel was exhausted. So one of the things David will be looking for is a vessel which purchases more than the usual quantities of perishable goods or of canned and/or frozen supplies."

  "You think people will tell him?"

  "I hope so. He was trained as an investigator, for one thing, and more important, we were able to provide him with a list of names of Jews from Berlin now resident in Buenos Aires. It's likely that he will know some of them, or have mutual friends. He should be able, through them, to make contact with the people in a position to help."

  "Here we are," Nestor announced, pulling into an off-the-street hotel entrance not unlike that of the Alvear Palace Hotel's. "We'll have a drink in the bar, and then have our luncheon. Did I tell you El Grill is the oldest restaurant in Buenos Aires?"

  "I'll pass on the drink, thank you," Clete said.

  "Oh, I think we really should have a drink," Nestor said, and there was a tone of command in his voice. "Taking an important client for a drink in the Plaza bar before lunch is the sort of thing a vice president of the Bank of Boston would be expected to do."

  A uniformed doorman and a bellman walked to the car and opened the doors. The doorman greeted Nestor by name. Nestor took his briefcase and motio
ned for Clete to precede him into the hotel, then led him to a staircase and down it to the bar.

  The room was paneled with dark wood. There was a bar, with stools, three quarters of them occupied, and a dozen tables, each with three or four leather upholstered chairs, half of them occu-pied.

  Most of the customers were men, but there were some women. All but one of the women were striking; she was silver-haired, plump, and wearing a small fortune in diamonds on her fingers. She and the man with her, obviously her husband, were almost certainly Jewish.

  And there were three Mi¤as, one at the bar, two at tables, one with a man old enough to be her father, the other with a young man in a beautifully tailored suit. When he saw Clete looking at the girl, his right eyebrow rose in indignant question. Clete smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  Nestor led him on a tour of the bar, introducing him to three of the men there as "Cletus Howell Frade," just as he'd done in the bank. One of the men had a Mi¤a with him. She was introduced only by her Christian name, Estrellita. Estrellita smiled shyly at him.

  Then they took a table, and a waiter immediately appeared. Nestor ordered Ambassador-Twelve scotch. Clete had the waiter recite the short list of available bourbon, heard nothing he liked, and told the waiter he would have what Nestor was drinking.

  The whiskey was served with a plate of hors d'oeuvres and with the same little ceremony that Alberto, the Mall¡ns' butler, had used.

  It's classy, Clete decided. They know how to do things down here.

  He glanced around the room. There were mirrors. He found himself looking at the reflection of the good-looking Mi¤a with the young man in the beautifully tailored suit. And she was look-ing at him. He winked. A faint but unmistakable smile touched her lips.

  "That's a nice touch," Nestor said. "I understand they're re-ally quite comfortable."

  What the hell is Spymaster talking about? What's "really quite comfortable"? The Mi¤a? Come to think of it, I'll bet she is.

  "Pardon me?"

  "I just noticed your cowboy boots," Nestor said.

  "These are boots," Clete explained. "Cowboy boots are usu-ally old, cracked, and covered with horseshit."

  He glanced down at his boots, and flicked a dried spot of mud off the glistening left toe.

  When he looked up, he sensed eyes on him and glanced around the room. The good-looking Mi¤a was smiling at him.

  If I can escape the Mallins' hospitality, maybe I could come back here and see what develops.

  [TWO]

  23 Calle Arcos

  Belgrano, Buenos Aires

  1605 25 November 1942

  The key to the lock on Clete's bedroom door was a massive device as long as his hand; and when he turned it, the bolt fell with an audible metallic clunk. It could probably be heard the length of the corridor; if so, it would probably make people wonder why he was locking the door.

  But it couldn't be helped. He didn't want one of the servants barging in while he was going through the briefcase.

  The afternoon was not going well. There was something about Jasper Nestor he didn't like, even if he couldn't put his finger on it. The three-ounce drink Nestor forced on him made him feel thick-tongued and stupid at lunch. And after he left the air-conditioned hotel into the summer heat, it made him dizzy and gave him a headache.

  He decided in the taxi on the way to Pelosi's new apartment on Avenida Corrientes that it was probably a delayed reaction to coming from Guadalcanal, a to-be-expected resentment toward any military-age male who hadn't been there, who had been sit-ting around in a neutral country drinking whiskey with ice in it in an air-conditioned saloon, while he and the others were in the heat and mud and humidity of Guadalcanal eating captured Jap-anese food and wondering if today was the day the odds would catch up with you and your next takeoff in a battered and worn-out Wildcat was going to be your last.

  And then he wasn't able to find Pelosi. Carrying the pistols in a briefcase like a Chicago gangster, he went to the apartment on Avenida Corrientes. But Pelosi wasn't there-the building man-ager said he would return tomorrow and finish moving in. So Clete tried the Alvear Palace Hotel.

  When Pelosi wasn't there, either, Clete decided he was follow-ing his orders to familiarize himself with Buenos Aires. Clete had told him to get on a bus, any bus, and ride it as far as it went.

  The bus-riding was one of the really helpful, practical sugges-tions they'd gotten from the mentors in New Orleans. That Pelosi was following his orders reminded Clete that he himself was vi-olating the military equivalent of the Golden Rule: that a com-manding officer should never order his men to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. He had yet to ride on a bus. His rationale, which he knew was empty, was that he'd been too busy, and when the Buick arrived, he would make up for his failure by driving around the city.

  He left a note for Pelosi in an envelope at the concierge's desk in the Alvear Palace, telling him he would meet him there at ten in the morning.

  He sat down on the bed and opened Nestor's briefcase. Two en-velopes were inside, unsealed. In one was a single sheet of paper on which was typed:

  Sud Atlantico Mercader-Cadiz-19 Nov

  Reine de la Mer-Lisbon-23 Nov

  Aguila del Mare-Barcelona-16 Nov

  Those are the names of the three possible ships-where the hell is Cadiz? I should have paid attention in geography class. And when they sailed. Nestor probably gave them to me in case I hear something on my own about them. He said the voyage was at least twenty-three days. Twenty-three days minimum from where? Anyway, that means the first of them will be here in the next couple weeks.

  He found a sheet of paper in the writing desk and copied the names down for Pelosi.

  I don't think Pelosi stands any better chance of learning any-thing about these ships than I do, but if Nestor thinks there's a chance-and he's the expert-no harm can be done. And even if we don't learn anything on our own, Pelosi will at least know what we're looking for.

  The second envelope contained a thick stack of money, Amer-ican twenty- and fifty-dollar bills. And a sheet of paper, on which was typewritten:

  Receipt of Two Thousand Five Hundred Dollars ($2590.00) in reimbursement of expenses incurred in the Service of The United States is acknowledged.

  Cletus H. Frade

  25 November 1942

  Well, that's interesting. Nestor forgot to have me sign for what is obviously our expense money. He didn't even mention the money. Maybe his mind was on other things, once he met me. Such as ' 'What is the OSS thinking of to send an absolutely un-qualified airplane driver down here to do something important?"

  What do I do about it? Drop the signed receipt off at the bank in an envelope? Or let him ask for it? "What twenty-five hundred?"

  He'll ask for it. Probably telephone. And if he does, I can ask him how I can get together with Ettinger. I'm pretty forgetful myself, especially when I have three ounces of scotch in me before lunch.

  He took the pistols from the briefcase and laid them on the chest of drawers. They were each in holsters, separately wrapped in small towels. The holsters were different from U.S. military issue. They were stiff-molded-and had a hard molded cover, fixed in place with a rather ornate catch instead of the flap used by American armed forces. And they had a pocket holding an extra magazine sewn to the long side.

  The two magazines provided for each pistol were loaded. When he thumbed the cartridges out, he saw that while they were iden-tical to the.45 cartridges he was familiar with, their head stamps (which he didn't understand) were foreign.

  I guess they make their own down here. Why not?

  While the pistols themselves functioned identically to the Colt he'd carried in the Pacific, they were not exact copies. He couldn't put his finger on the difference, but there was a difference.

  The grip safety? The horn, or whatever it's called, looks longer. And the safety on the side of the receiver. That's shaped differ-ently, too, I think.

  What does it matter, so long as i
t goes off when you pull the trigger?

  He stripped and then reassembled both pistols. Both were dirty and required cleaning and lubrication. And there were pits in both barrels. He used a handkerchief and a toothbrush to clean them And for lubrication he used what was left of the jar of gray U.S. Navy Medical Corps paste he was sure was Vaseline.

  He had just about finished with the pistols when there was a knock at the door.

  "S¡?"

  "Tel‚fono, Se¤or."

  That must be Nestor, who's remembered I didn't sign the ex-pense money receipt.