‘‘Where’s that whiskey you promised us, Enrico?’’ he asked.
Inside was a collection of discarded male jewelry, cuff links, studs, pocket watches, wristwatches, tie pins, tie clips, and rings. The watches and rings had tags tied to them, identifying their owners. Clete looked at several of them. There was one huge gold ring with maybe a dozen half-carat diamonds surrounding a deeply engraved Frade family crest; its tag read GUILLERMO JORGE FRADE.
That looks just like something Uncle Willy would wear.
He put the ring back in the box and picked up the second box. It contained discarded female jewelry—broaches, necklaces, rings, pendants, and wristwatches. Rolling around loose on the bottom of box were what looked like several hundred pearls. He saw the rotted-through strings they had escaped. More than two dozen rings were each tagged with a name. But only three could pass for engagement rings. He read the tags. Only one name—MARIA ELENA PUEYRREDÓN DE FRADE—meant anything to him, and that tag was attached to the least impressive of the three rings. It was old and worn thin, and the stone was tiny compared to the stones in the other rings.
That’s a pity. It would have been nice if that one, in particular, had been the sort of thing I could give Dorotéa. The reason ‘‘the blood of Pueyrredón’’ flows through my veins. And now of our baby.
Well, hell, I’ll show her these, and tell her to pick one just for the circus tomorrow. I’ll tell her I’ll buy her any damned ring she wants later.
He untied the tags and slipped the three rings in his pocket.
Enrico was holding out a whiskey glass to him. Clete took it.
‘‘Close it up, Enrico,’’ he ordered.
Thirty minutes later, Antonio came into the library to announce the arrival of the Mallín family.
Clete rose quickly out of his chair and started to walk to the library door. The action caused him to realize that his belief thirty-five minutes earlier that Cousin Jorge Alejandro ’s English riding boots fit perfectly was grossly in error.
‘‘Christ!’’ he exclaimed, surprised at the intensity of the pain in his feet.
‘‘New boots, eh?’’ Roberto asked innocently.
By the time he reached the foyer, maids were carrying in the Mallín luggage, Enrico Mallín was himself in the doorway, and Clete was hobbling in pain.
Enrico Mallín’s eyebrows rose questioningly as Clete limped across the tile floor and put out his hand to him.
‘‘Thank you for coming, Señor Mallín,’’ he said.
‘‘How good of you to ask us,’’ Mallín replied, with a smile that Clete thought deserved the all-time, all-category prize for insincerity. The handshake conveyed the same message.
‘‘Have you met el Capitán Lauffer?’’ Clete asked as Pamela Mallín came through the door.
She laid her hands on his arms and moved her face to his ear.
‘‘I don’t know whether I want to kiss you or kill you,’’ she said. ‘‘How could you, Cletus?’’
His attention was distracted when he saw Dorotéa pass through the door. She was wearing a sweater and a skirt, and her hands were folded modestly in front of her. Her head was bent shyly. She looked very quickly at Clete and then lowered her head again.
Christ, she’s beautiful!
‘‘How could I what?’’ Clete asked absently.
‘‘You know very well—’’ Pamela said, and then, blushing, interrupted herself.
Little Henry came in the door.
‘‘Little Mr. Big Mouth,’’ Clete said.
That earned a faint smile from Dorotéa.
‘‘May I see you a moment, Dorotéa?’’ he asked.
Her father glowered at him.
He walked to her, fishing for the rings in his pocket. He held the three of them out to her, displayed in his palm.
‘‘Pick one,’’ he said. ‘‘Just for tonight and tomorrow. I’ll get you another one later.’’
‘‘Are you trying to give me a ring or loan me one?’’ Dorotéa demanded.
‘‘They’re all yours, if you want them,’’ he said. ‘‘I didn’t think you’d like—’’
‘‘This is exquisite!’’ she said, picking up one of the rings. ‘‘You can be such a bloody fool, Cletus!’’
She slipped the ring on her finger, met his eyes defiantly for a moment, and then called, ‘‘Daddy, look at the exquisite ring Cletus gave me.’’
Her father examined the ring for all of half a second.
‘‘How nice,’’ he said.
‘‘That’s old,’’ Pamela Mallín said, an observation, not a criticism.
‘‘It belonged to my great-grandmother,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Maria-Elena Pueyrredón de Frade.’’
‘‘Then it belongs in a museum,’’ Pamela said. ‘‘The National Museum, not on Dorotéa’s finger.’’
‘‘It’s mine,’’ Dorotéa said. ‘‘Cletus gave it to me. It’ll go into a museum over my dead body!’’
[TWO] Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province 2010 11 April 1943
Humberto and Beatrice Duarte arrived twenty minutes after the Mallín family. By then Enrico Mallín had had two stiff drinks of whiskey.
It was a very long twenty minutes.
Once Enrico Mallín had inquired into the well-being of el Capitán Lauffer and his wife, little seemed available to talk about, at least that either he or his wife had to say to Cletus H. Frade, at least in front of Lauffer.
Sensing this, Lauffer raised an eyebrow and gave his head a tilt, asking Clete if he should leave the library. Clete placed his hands together as if in prayer and shook his head, meaning that he would very much prefer for Lauffer not to leave him alone with his father-in-law-to-be.
When Humberto came through the door, Clete felt an enormous sense of relief. That, however, did not last long.
With tears in his eyes, Humberto wrapped his arms around Clete and wetly kissed both his cheeks. Feeling another male’s stubble against his own made Clete uncomfortable.
‘‘God is good,’’ Humberto announced emotionally. ‘‘The Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth. A new life! I will pray that it will be a son.’’
Dorotéa looked very uncomfortable.
The face of Roberto Lauffer, who was standing beside Clete, made it quite clear that he understood the meaning of the term ‘‘new life.’’
At the same moment, Enrico Mallín’s face made it quite clear that he did not regard the new life as a manifestation of the generosity of the Supreme Being. He allowed himself to be embraced by Humberto, then held out his glass to one of the maids for a refill.
‘‘I found those documents you were concerned about,’’ Clete said.
It took a long moment for understanding to register on Humberto’s face.
‘‘Oh, good,’’ he said finally.
Since he is anything but stupid, he must be drunk. I didn’t think that was aftershave I smelled when he kissed me. And that ‘‘God Is Good!’’ speech!
‘‘What documents are those?’’ Beatrice asked.
‘‘Some business dealings I have with von Wachtstein,’’ Humberto replied, ‘‘nothing to concern yourself about, my dear.’’
And he has a big mouth. My God!
‘‘Oh,’’ she said, and put the subject out of her mind.
As soon as she walked in, it was immediately apparent to Clete that Beatrice was again—still?—detached from reality, heavily dosed with what Humberto euphemistically called her medicine. The odds were remote that she would ever remember the exchange, Clete decided.
But Enrico Mallín and Roberto Lauffer both heard von Wachtstein’s name, and it caught their attention.
It soon became apparent that while Father Welner had apparently told both Humberto and Beatrice that Clete and Dorotéa were to be married, he apparently told them separately, and left Dorotéa’s pregnancy out of the version for Beatrice.
The minute the priest showed up, just before they were going into dinner, Beatrice went a
fter him.
‘‘I don’t want to talk about it at dinner,’’ Beatrice said, ‘‘but I don’t want to hear one more word about a small wedding here, and in the next few weeks. That’s simply out of the question. What would people think?’’
The faces of Señor and Señora Mallín made it clear they had already considered what people were going to think.
‘‘I agree,’’ Welner said, ‘‘that it is not a matter we should talk about at dinner.’’
Beatrice then talked about nothing at dinner but the wedding she thought Dorotéa and Clete should have, starting with a detailed account of her own wedding, and moving through weddings she thought had been ‘‘done well,’’ and then on to the relative merits and disadvantages of celebrating the Frade-Mallín nuptials at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo or in the city.
Hardly touching her food, Dorotéa sat through it all with her head bent.
It was only with a great effort, buttressed with pity, that Clete was able to keep himself from taking Humberto into the corridor and asking him, for Christ’s sake, to shut his blabbering wife up.
And seeing the looks she was getting from Enrico Mall ín, he was surprised that Mallín didn’t say something to her.
It was Mallín, however, who finally ended it.
The coffee had just been served, and with it snifters of cognac. Antonio moved to each of the men, offering cigars from a humidor.
Mallín suddenly pushed himself away from the table and lurched to his feet, knocking over his chair, his wineglass, his water glass, and his untouched cognac snifter. The heavy crystal water glass fell onto the snifter, smashing it. He didn’t seem to notice; but his wife’s humiliation showed on her face. Little Henry giggled.
‘‘With your kind permission, Cletus,’’ Señor Enrico Mall ín said, carefully pronouncing each syllable, ‘‘we will ask to be excused. It has been a long day, and we have a busy day tomorrow.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Cletus said, rising to his feet.
The perfect end, Clete thought, to a perfectly lousy dinner.
The Mallíns left the dining room. Dorotéa didn’t even look at Clete.
‘‘I think Beatrice and I should get our rest too,’’ Humberto said.
‘‘But I’m talking to Cletus about his wedding!’’ she protested.
‘‘You can talk to him tomorrow, darling,’’ he said, and stood behind her chair until finally she got up.
‘‘Poor woman,’’ Father Welner said after they were gone. And then he rose out of his chair. ‘‘I’ll pass on the brandy, Cletus. I’ve had a busy day myself.’’
He touched Cletus’s shoulder, nodded at Roberto Lauffer, and walked out of the dining room.
‘‘It would appear, mi amigo,’’ Clete said, ‘‘that we get all the cognac.’’
‘‘I don’t think, mi amigo, that we should drink all of it, but one . . . a stiff one . . .’’
‘‘Thank you for . . .’’
‘‘Poor woman,’’ Roberto said, obviously quoting the priest.
He raised his glass to Clete, and Clete clinked glasses with him.
‘‘Roberto, I would like to ask you a favor.’’
‘‘Anything within my power.’’
‘‘Could you forget hearing the name von Wachtstein here tonight?’’
Lauffer’s eyebrows rose.
‘‘It’s very important to me,’’ Clete said.
‘‘Whose name?’’ Lauffer said. ‘‘I have such a hard time remembering names. . . .’’
‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘May I say that I admire your taste? Dorotéa is quite beautiful.’’
‘‘I noticed,’’ Clete said.
Lauffer stood up.
‘‘It should go without saying that I wish you every happiness, ’’ he said.
‘‘Thank you,’’ Clete said, and then chuckled. ‘‘That was the first word of congratulations I’ve received, incidentally. ’’
‘‘Then I’m glad it came from me,’’ Lauffer said, and put out his hand. ‘‘We’re all going to have a busy day tomorrow. Thank you for a . . . I was about to say ‘memorable,’ but that wouldn’t be accurate. Thank you for your hospitality. ’’
‘‘Good night, Roberto.’’
Lauffer left Clete alone in the room.
Clete picked up his snifter and took a sip.
Jesus, he thought. I’m going to have to tell the Old Man and Martha, before they hear about it someplace else.
He put the glass down and stood up.
‘‘Will that be all, Señor?’’ Antonio asked.
‘‘Yes, thank you, Antonio,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Please thank the cook for a . . . wait a minute. Is there a typewriter around here someplace?’’
‘‘A typewriter, Señor?’’
‘‘A typewriter.’’
‘‘The housekeeper has—’’
‘‘Will you bring it, and some paper and envelopes, and a pot of coffee, to my room, please?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
Writing the Old Man was even more difficult than Clete imagined, and not only because the venerable Underwood had a Spanish keyboard with the keys in the wrong places.
He had just ripped from the typewriter his sixth failed attempt to write the Old Man a letter when there was a knock at the door.
Now what?
‘‘Come!’’
The door opened. One of the maids was standing there. Behind her, in his gaucho costume, stood Chief Schultz.
‘‘The Señor, Señor insisted on . . .’’
‘‘We got a reply to your radio, Major,’’ Chief Schultz said. ‘‘I thought I’d better bring it over.’’
‘‘Come on in, let’s have it. You want a cup of coffee? Something stronger?’’
‘‘I never turn down a little taste,’’ Schultz said.
‘‘Scotch?’’
‘‘You wouldn’t have a little cognac around here someplace, would you?’’
‘‘Bring cognac, please,’’ Clete said. ‘‘There’s a bottle on the table in the dining.’’ He turned to Schultz.
‘‘How’d we get this reply so quick?’’ he asked. ‘‘I thought you said you had an oh one thirty net call?’’
‘‘Oh one thirty, oh nine thirty, and seventeen thirty, three times a day,’’ Schultz explained. ‘‘But we monitor the frequency all the time when someone’s there. We just don’t acknowledge, unless they ask for it special. Once a day, at oh nine thirty, if they’ve sent something, we acknowledge. Or, if we have something for them—like your 0001—we acknowledge everything we got, starting with their oh one thirty. The idea is for us to go on the air as little as possible. You understand?’’
‘‘They monitor us all the time?’’
‘‘Sure. And when we send something off the schedule, I add a service message to any Navy station asking them to copy and relay. I did that with your 0001.’’
Clete opened the envelope Schultz had handed him and read the message.
TOP SECRET
LINDBERGH
URGENT
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
FROM ORACLE WASHDC
MSG NO 2545 DDWHO 0030 GREENWICH 12 APRIL 1943
TO STACHIEF AGGIE
REFERENCE YOUR NO. 00011. PROCEED WITH LINDBERGH INVESTIGATION AS HIGHEST PRIORITY.
2. LIAISON WITH VACUUM IN ANY ASPECT OF LINDBERGH IS FORBIDDEN REPEAT FORBIDDEN.
3. INTELLIGENCE DEVELOPED IS TO BE CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET LINDBERGH EYES ONLY DDWHO AND TRANSMITTED BY RADIO ONLY. FACILITIES OF USEMBASSY ARE NOT REPEAT NOT TO BE UTILIZED.
4. IDENTIFY SOURCE CAVALRY, INCLUDING MOTIVATION FOR HIS COOPERATION.
5. PERSONAL TO SARNOFF FROM ORACLE QUOTE GOOD JOB UNQUOTE .
6. ACKNOWLEDGE DELIVERY THIS MESSAGE TO STACHIEF BY TRANSMISSION OF PHRASE GOT IT. REPEAT GOT IT.
GRAHAM END
‘‘I wonder why we’re not supposed to use the Embassy’s radio?’’ Clete asked. ‘‘Or the diplomatic pouch?’’
> ‘‘I guess Graham figures the FBI gets its nose in just about everything around the Embassy,’’ Schultz said. ‘‘Tony . . . Mr. Pelosi . . . got to the Army crypto guy, I guess he told you. That place is a fucking sieve, security-wise. ’’
Clete grunted.
‘‘Do you write home, Chief?’’
Schultz looked at him strangely for a moment.
‘‘I got a sister in Milwaukee,’’ he said. ‘‘Once a month, like, I drop her a note. Send her a couple of bucks. She’s married to a bum.’’
‘‘How?’’
‘‘Through the Embassy. They put a pouch—you know this—on all the Pan American flights. You just write your name and serial number and ‘free’ where the stamp is supposed to go on the envelope, and that’s it.’’
‘‘I’m no longer in the service. . . .’’
‘‘Yeah, so you keep saying.’’
‘‘Would you put your name and serial number on a couple of letters and get them in the mail for me?’’
‘‘Sure. You got ’em?’’
‘‘I’m going to have to write them. Is Tony still out there?’’
‘‘He said he would stick around in case you wanted to say something about it when you got this.’’
‘‘Then he’s going back to Buenos Aires?’’
‘‘Right.’’
‘‘Make sure Ettinger does not go to Buenos Aires, Chief. If you have to chain him to a tree. He’s a good man, but he hasn’t quite grasped the idea that an order is an order. He ignores those he doesn’t like.’’
‘‘Well, Mr. Frade—’’ the Chief interrupted himself. ‘‘I was about to say he’s got a personal interest in this war we don’t have. But now you’ve got one too, don’t you?’’
‘‘Ettinger told you about his family?’’
‘‘His family, and a lot more. I hate to admit it, but before I got to know Dave, I thought all this business about the shit the Nazis are doing was propaganda bullshit—the concentration camps, putting people in rooms and gassing them, just because they’re Jews. You know, like in World War One, they said the Germans were bayoneting babies in Belgium.’’
‘‘It’s not bullshit. What they do is so bad your mind doesn’t want to accept it. And when it hits you personally ... I understand Dave, Chief. But I can’t permit him to wage a private war. For one thing, we can’t afford to lose him. You keep him out here until you personally get the word otherwise from me.’’
Blood and Honor Page 38
