"Let me put some things in a bag, Enrico. We might as well go now. There's no point in hanging around here."
"S¡, mi Teniente."
[SEVEN]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1615 22 December 1942
El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade was sitting on the verandah of the ranch house with Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano and her daughters, when Clete drove up in the Horche.
When he saw Clete at the wheel, he quickly stood up and went inside the house.
Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano, shaking her head sadly, moved off the porch and up to Clete and kissed his cheek.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "You weren't seriously in-jured?"
"I'm fine."
"Your father wasn't expecting you. You and he had words?"
"Yes," Clete said simply. "We did. I'm here for Se¤ora Pellano's funeral."
"And you stay angry, don't you, like him? Is that why you drove his car here... you know how he is about that damned automobile... to make him angry?"
"My car is at the Duartes', and when I telephoned to ask about it, there was no answer. I had the Old Man's car, so I drove it."
" 'The Old Man'? Is that what you call him? To his face, I hope not."
They smiled at each other.
"Is there a hotel, or somewhere else I can stay?"
"Where? The hotel in Pila is..." She raised her hands help-lessly. "You're determined to go to the funeral?"
"Yes, of course."
"Good for you," she said, and turned to Enrico. "Enrico, put Se¤or Cletus's things in my car. He will be staying at my estancia for the night."
"Mi Teniente," Enrico asked uncomfortably, "may I have an hour?"
"I don't understand, Enrico," Claudia said.
"I would like an hour with my family, Se¤ora," Enrico said.
"Se¤or Cletus is going to my estancia, Enrico. Not you."
"With respect, Se¤ora, where el Teniente goes, I go."
"I will speak to el Coronel about that, Enrico. It will be all right with him."
"With respect, Se¤ora, this has nothing to do with el Coronel."
She stuck her tongue in her cheek thoughtfully.
"Very well, Enrico," she said. "You go to your family. Take all the time you need. When you are finished, Se¤or Cletus will be here on the verandah, and then you can drive him and the Se¤oritas to my home."
"Gracias, Se¤ora," Enrico said.
"And for the next hour," Claudia said, "the Old Man can sulk in the house while we have a coffee. Or perhaps something stronger, Cletus?"
"Nothing, thank you," he said.
[EIGHT]
Estancia Santa Catharina
Buenos Aires Province
2145 22 December 1942
Clete was startled when he became aware of the human form standing next to him. A female human form, to judge by the perfume.
He was lying on a chaise longue, examining the heavens with a pair of Zeiss 7 X 50 binoculars that he found in his bedroom. The room-actually an apartment-obviously served as the last repository of the personal property of the late Se¤or Carzino-Cormano; there were riding boots and a photo album and other things he suspected Claudia was unable to part with, even though her husband was long dead and she was in everything but law now married to his father.
After dinner, a magnificent entire lomo, roasted whole with red sweet peppers, mushrooms, and two magnificent bottles of vino tinto, Clete went to his room and to its chaise longue for a look at the stars.
He sat up. Enrico, the Remington on his lap, was about to allow himself to doze off again, satisfied that the visitor, whom Clete now recognized, posed no threat to Clete.
"I am not disturbing you?" Alicia Carzino-Cormano asked.
"Of course not."
"Is he... is that, necessary?" Alicia asked, nodding at Enrico and his shotgun.
"He thinks so."
"And do you?"
"I don't know," Clete said. "I am willing to defer to his pro-fessional judgment."
"May I ask you a question?"
"As long as it does not involve my love life. I am an officer and a gentleman, and officers and gentlemen do not kiss and tell."
"I heard my mother and your father talking."
"Eavesdropping on Mama and the Old Man? I am shocked, Alicia."
She smiled at him.
"El Coronel said there is no doubt that the Germans were be-hind what happened at the Guest House."
"I'm sure they were," Clete said.
"Why did they kill Se¤ora Pellano?"
"Straight answer, Alicia? Because they are no-good sonsofbitches who are perfectly willing to kill innocent people to get what they want."
"There was a story in La Nation," Alicia said, "which said that the English and the Norteamericanos... which accuses the Germans of killing thousands of innocent people. You believe that too?"
"Yes, I do," Clete said, now seriously. "I'm afraid it's even worse than that. That they have killed more than thousands. I think they've probably killed millions."
"It is impossible to believe!" she said, and made a strange noise. After a moment he recognized it was a stifled sob. She turned and walked-almost ran-away from him. The sudden motion woke Enrico from his doze. He jumped to his feet with the Remington at the ready.
Suddenly understanding why she was doing that, Clete jumped off the chaise longue and ran after her and caught her arm.
"Listen to me, honey," Clete said. "I don't believe for a min-ute that Peter von Wachtstein had anything at all to do with killing Se¤ora Pellano, or with what they tried to do to me. And I know him well enough to be certain that if he was aware of what was going on in Germany, he would do anything he could to stop it."
She looked up at him. He could smell her breath.
"Is that true?" she asked, just barely audibly.
"Yeah, honey, it's true. Ol' Hans-Peter is an officer and a gentleman and a fighter pilot. We officers and gentlemen and fighter pilots don't do things like that."
Alicia Carzino-Cormano then threw her arms around him, hugged him tightly, put her face on his chest, and said, "Oh, Cletus, thank you very much!"
Then she kissed him square on the lips and ran from the room.
[NINE]
La Capilla de Nuestra Se¤ora de los Milagros
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1105 23 December 1942
The Chapel of Our Lady of the Miracles seems to be a wholly owned subsidiary of Saints Peter and Paul Ranch, thought First Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR, onetime acolyte of Trinity Protestant Episcopal Church, Midland, Texas.
Until he walked into this one, he assumed that a "chapel" was sort of an altar off to the side of the main part of the church. The chapel at Trinity, for example, was in fact a small church within a church used mostly by a small group of the unusually devout for the celebration of seven a.m. Sunday Morning Prayer before they hit the links of the Midland Country Club.
Or once in a while, he thought, remembering two specific in-cidents, for the quiet, family-members-only marriage of a bride who wanted a church wedding but was reluctant to march down the main aisle to the strains of "Here Comes the Bride" in a white dress which could not entirely conceal the fact that she was about to add to the world's population.
La Capilla de Nuestra Se¤ora de los Milagros was a large re-ligious edifice, seating normally maybe three hundred people (it was almost as large as Trinity Episcopal, and a hell of a lot more ornate). Today it held more than that. It came fully equipped with an organ, a choir loft, a cemetery, and a rectory. And two priests in absolutely stunning vestments heavy with golden thread, one a doddering old man who seemed to have trouble staying awake, and the other who looked as if he was ordained last week.
And there were three social classes of worshipers: First, there were two kinds of pews in the church itself. All but the first three rows were si
mple wooden benches. The first three rows were softly upholstered in red velvet.
These were reserved for important worshipers, which today meant the family of the late Se¤ora Marianna Maria Dolores Rod-riguez de Pellano, whose beautifully carved solid cedar casket now rested just before the communion rail. And today, at the invitation of Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodriguez, Cavalry, Ar-gentine Army, Retired, included First Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR.
The Old Man, Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano, the Carzino-Cormano girls, Uncle Humberto and Aunt Beatrice, and some people Clete did not recognize were seated in the VIP section of La Capilla de Nuestra Se¤ora de los Milagros, a wing off the main body of the church, where there were individual prie-dieux and nicely upholstered chairs with arms.
The healthy-looking young priest delivered an angry homily, promising eternal damnation for those who lived by the sword. Clete suspected that the homily was directed mostly at him and Enrico, who had his Remington with him, not at all well-concealed in a poncho.
Just for the record, Padre, I didn't come down here because I wanted to. I didn't go in the goddamned Marine Corps because I get my rocks off shooting people. I would even have obeyed Christ's "turn the other cheek" rule if those two bastards hadn't come at me with knives.
But what about the one I shot in the forehead while he was actually screaming, "Please, Se¤or, for the love of God, help me!"?
Martin was right: That was murder, Cletus Frade. You didn't have to kill that sonofabitch. You shouldn't have killed him.
Familiar words from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer came into his mind: "I have done those things that I ought not to have done, and I have not done those things I ought to have done, and there is no help in me."
Come to think of it, Cletus, the only thing you have done lately that you ought to have done is to keep your hands off the Virgin Princess. You get a small gold star for that.
His meditation on his own guilt and innocence was interrupted when Enrico nudged him. And then he saw that Enrico had not nudged him, and was in fact completely unaware of him. Enrico was weeping.
More than a little awkwardly, Clete put his arm around him and held him comfortingly.
[TEN]
The Ranch House
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila. Buenos Aires Province
1425 23 December 1942
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Clete called. He was lying on the bed.
El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade entered the room and stared at Clete without speaking.
"Claudia called the Duarte house," Clete said without getting up, "and arranged for my car to be driven to her estancia. In an unusual manifestation of Argentine efficiency, it was actually sent there. So she's having it brought here. I'll be out of here just as soon as it arrives."
"It's here," Frade said.
Clete rose to his feet. "Thank you," he said. "I'll be on my way."
"Do you think we could have a small talk, as officers and gentlemen?"
"We could have a shot at it. What's on your mind?"
"Enrico, leave us, please," Frade ordered.
"Mi Teniente, should I put your bags in the Buick?"
"Please, Enrico. I'll be right out."
Frade waited until Enrico picked up the bags and left the room. Then he checked to make sure the door was closed, and finally turned to Clete.
"You are planning to leave without greeting your aunt Beatrice and your uncle Humberto?"
"Well, I thought I would avoid a-a what?-a possibly awk-ward situation."
"I see."
"And the truth is, now that I think about it, blood aside, the two of them don't really feel like my aunt and uncle. They're just two nice people I feel sorry for because they lost their son. I just met them; I hardly know them."
"I had trouble with that too," Frade said.
"With what?"
"Realizing, blood aside, that you are really my son. A flesh-and-blood creature... not a dream."
Clete could think of no reply to make.
"After you arrived yesterday," Frade said, "Enrico came to see me. He told me that honor requires that he leave my service."
"I had nothing to do with that," Clete said.
"Enrico left Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo to enlist in the Army shortly before I was to be commissioned. That way he could complete his training by the time I became an officer, and he could be my batman."
"Your what?"
"My personal servant. Officers in the Corps of Marines do not have servants?"
"No, we don't," Clete said, chuckling. "I thought he was a Suboficial Mayor?"
"He was, of course, much more than a servant. As long as I can remember, back to when we were boys on the estancia, he has been my friend. So I saw to it that he became a soldier, not a servant in uniform. He ultimately became a Suboficial Mayor, and a very good one."
"I understand, I think."
"When I retired from the Army, he retired with me. And when he came to me yesterday and told me he must leave my service, I told him to do what he wished, but that he was never to visit San Pedro y San Pablo again, after today."
"You're a real friend, Dad," Clete said, angrily sarcastic. "I'd hate to think how you treat people you don't like."
His father did not reply, but Clete saw the immense pain in his eyes.
"I'll talk to him, try to patch it up between you," Clete said. "If that's what you want me to do."
"Thank you, but that will be unnecessary," Frade said.
"Your pride, of course, your Argentinean pride, won't permit you to do that, right?"
"I will go to him and beg his pardon. But before that, I wanted to come to you..."
"You don't need my permission to talk to Enrico."
"... to ask your pardon as well, and to tell you that I will do whatever I can to help you against the Germans."
That's a switch. A one-eighty-degree turn. What brought that about?
"Because of what they did to Se¤ora Pellano?"
"Partly, and partly because you are my son and need my help."
I'll be damned, Clete thought as he felt his throat tighten pain-fully, he means that.
"Before the funeral, I called el Almirante de Montoya, the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Security, and told him that the price of your expulsion from Argentina would be the loss of my friendship," Frade said. "He told me I was a fool-and I have known him since we were at the university-but you will not be expelled."
"Thank you," Clete said.
"You are determined to go through with whatever it is you intend to do to the German ship?"
"I intend to carry out my orders."
Frade shook his head, started to say something, stopped, and then said, "Presumably you have a plan?"
Clete's hesitation was evident.
"You don't know if you can trust me?" his father asked. "Is that it?"
Clete's face gave him his answer.
"No matter what you think of me personally, Cletus, I am a man of honor. Would you take my word as an officer and a gentleman that I am prepared to help you?"
I'm not sure.
But my only other option is the vague hope that the destroyer will have radios capable of communicating with Colonel Graham in the States, and that they will give me access to them.
"I don't have a plan," Clete said. And when he saw his fath-er's face, he added, "Really, I don't. I'm not just saying that."
"But I don't understand."
"Harming the Reine de la Mer is impossible with what they have given me to work with."
"Which is?"
"A radio expert and an explosives expert. And a small quantity of explosives. Even if we could get to the Reine de la Mer-"
"You have explosives?" his father interrupted him. "Where?"
"About twenty pounds, ten kilos. In the Guest House."
"You had explosives. If they were in the Guest House, Martin found them. He's very good at his job, and I'm sure
he thoroughly searched the house when you were in the hospital. And if he didn't mention to me that he found them, then he has them. He will be cooperative, but only to a point."
W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound Page 57
