by Blood
"The people on the estancia naturally expect it. And there will be a number of other people. Your father's-our-close friends. A private mass, so to speak, as opposed to what they did here today. There will be about forty people, count-ing wives and family."
"And I have to go, naturally?"
Going out there would give me a chance to go to the radio station. And the sooner I do that, the better.
"Of course you must, Cletus. You're the new Patron of Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. You'd better start getting used to that."
"That's not going to be easy."
"The people of your estancia, many of whom have never seen you, will ex-pect to see their Patron there."
"OK. Anything to get out of my father's bedroom in the museum," Clete said, and quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it came out."
"I know," she said, then went on: "There's something else, Cletus. There are some papers in your father's safe that belong to General Rawson. He'll be staying with me at Estancia Santo Catalina, and I'd really like to have his papers for him when he arrives."
What kind of papers?
"Oh?"
"You do have the combination to the safe, don't you?"
And that was just a little too casual a question.
"I've never even seen the safe," Clete said "Enrico, what do you know about el Coronel's safe? Where's the combination?"
"Only el Coronel knew the combination, Se¤or Clete," Enrico said.
"Well, then, I guess General Rawson will have to wait for his papers until we can get a locksmith out there," Clete said. "Or we could blow it open, if the papers are that important."
Claudia did not find that amusing.
"I just can't believe that your father didn't write the combination down somewhere," Claudia said. "Would you mind if I looked for it?"
Yeah, as a matter of fact, I would. I don't understand why, but the idea bothers me. Why do I have the feeling, Claudia, that you would rather that I don't see what's in the safe?
"If this is important to you, Claudia, as soon as I get out there, I'll call you, and we'll look for it together," he said.
"I'm... the girls and I... are driving out to Santo Catalina tonight," Clau-dia said. "I thought I'd go over to San Pedro y San Pablo tomorrow and see if I could find the combination. If you have no objection to my looking for it, that is."
I can't have her getting into the safe before I do. I don't want her looking through the records of what Humberto has been doing for Peter.
And have I just been sandbagged? Is that persistence innocent, or because she knows damned well I'm not likely to tell her no again, no matter how po-litely? And what is in that safe that she-and General Rawson-don't want me to see?
"Does 'G.O.U.' mean anything to you, Claudia?" Clete asked.
He could see in her eyes that she knew what it was.
"What do you know about the G.O.U.?" she asked.
"Not nearly as much as I would like to," he said.
"Clete... ," she began, and stopped when a servant opened the door.
"Se¤or Frade, Se¤or Mallin and his family wish to pay their respects." "I'll leave you, Clete,"
Claudia said. "This has been a very long day for me.
She gave him her cheek to kiss.
"I need to talk to you, too, Claudia," Clete said, thinking of Dorotea.
"Call me when you get to San Pedro y San Pablo," she said, and then, "Let's go, girls."
They left the room, exchanging quiet greetings with the Mallins as they came in.
Chapter Nine
[ONE]
1420 Avenida Alvear
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1320 10 April 1943
Clete walked to the door to greet the Mallin family.
Enrico Mallin was forty-three years old, six feet two inches tall, and wore a full mustache. "Henry" met and married his wife, the former Pamela Holworth-Talley, while taking a degree at the London School of Economics. And they had two children: blond, fair-skinned, lanky "Little Enrico," their fif-teen-year-old son; and Dorotea. In her black dress and veiled hat, Clete thought, she looked more beautiful than any female he had ever seen.
Clete was aware that Enrico Mallin believed his daughter had shown an in-terest in Clete that was inappropriate for one of her tender years, purity, and standing in the community.
If you could, Henry, you'd have paid pro forma respects to Beatrice and Humberto and taken your family out of here as quickly as possible. The only reason you're up here to smile at me is because your business is dependent on the crude and refined petroleum products it gets from Howell Petroleum, and you don't want to risk offending the Old Man's grandson.
What the hell, if I was in your shoes, I'd probably feel the same way about me. Me being too old for your innocent nineteen-year-old daughter-which is true-isn't one tenth of what's wrong with Cletus H. Frade as a suitor. After what they tried to do to me-what they did to my father-only a lunatic would want his daughter-or any member of his family-within five miles of me.
"Good afternoon, Se¤or Mallin. How good of you to call," he said politely.
"Our sympathy for your loss should go without speaking, Cletus. Your fa-ther was a magnificent man, who will be sorely missed."
"Thank you."
"Mrs. Mallin," Clete went on. "How are you, Ma'am?"
"For the fifty-fifth time, Clete, please call me 'Pamela,'" Se¤ora Mallin said, and gave him her cheek to kiss. "I'm so sorry about el Coronel."
"Thank you," Clete said.
"What do you say, Enrico?" Clete said, and punched Little Enrico, man-to--man, on the arm.
"I am very sorry about your father, Cletus," Little Enrico said.
And then Clete turned to Dorotea.
"And the lovely Se¤orita Mallin," he said, putting out his hand. "How have you been, Dorotea?"
"Very well, thank you, all things considered," Dorotea said. "I'm very sorry about your loss, Clete."
"Thank you."
"And how is your grandfather, Cletus?" Henry Mallin asked.
"Mean as a rattlesnake, as usual," Clete said, immediately regretting it. The Argentine-and particularly the Anglo-Argentine-sense of humor was markedly different from that of Texas and Louisiana.
Little Henry made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a giggle.
His father glared at him, then moved the glare to Clete.
Clete smiled at the man who was blissfully unaware he was about to be-come both a grandfather and a father-in-law.
"My grandfather asked me to extend his best regards to you and your fam-ily, Se¤or Mallin," he said.
"How kind of him."
"May I offer you some refreshment?"
"No, thank you. We must be going. We wished to pay our respects."
"It was very kind of you."
"Clete, you come to see us, lunch, dinner, or just to visit, just as soon as you find time," Se¤ora Mallin said, to her husband's discomfiture.
"Yes, do that," Dorotea chimed in mischievously. "We have so much to talk about."
Her father headed for the door, followed by Little Henry, his wife, and Dorotea. Without realizing he was doing it, Clete went after them, his hand reaching to touch Dorotea's shoulder as if with a mind of its own.
She turned, looked into his eyes, then touched her lips with her fingers and moved the kiss to Clete's lips. Clete didn't think either her father or her brother saw this, but he knew her mother did. She looked at Clete, asking without words what that was all about.
Clete met Dorotea's mother's eyes, nodded his head, and shrugged.
I am forced to confirm herewith, Se¤ora, your worst suspicions and fears. Well, maybe not your worst suspicions and fears.
"Oh, my!" Pamela Mallin said. "Oh, my!" And then scurried quickly down the corridor after her husband.
Clete watched them for a moment and then turned.
Enrico was standing there, startling him, and then mystifying him. He was simultaneously solemnly winking at
Clete and tapping his temple with his in-dex finger.
What the hell is that all about?
"it is here, Se¤or Clete," Enrico said.
"What's there?"
"The combination to el Coronel's safe."
"Oh, really?"
"If you would like, I can drive out there tonight and bring the contents of the safe to you."
Clete's next visitor interrupted the conversation. And again startled him.
"Christ, where did you come from?" Clete blurted.
First Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi, Corps of Engineers, Army of the United States, had come through what a moment before Clete believed to be a solid, paneled wall.
"What we will do, Enrico, is leave for San Pedro y San Pablo very early in the morning," Clete said. He waited for Enrico to nod his understanding, then gave in to his curiosity and went to examine the door.
A masterpiece of fine carpentry-or is it cabinetmaking?-it blended in-visibly with the paneled wall when closed. Only on close examination could Clete find a toe-activated panel that functioned as a doorknob.
"It leads to the kitchen" Tony Pelosi said. "Your uncle sent me up that way."
He was a swarthy, short young man who had two weeks before celebrated his twenty-first birthday. His muscular arms and chest strained the tunic of his pink and green Class "A" uniform.
The insignia of the Eighty-second Airborne Division was sewn on the sleeve of his tunic, and the breast carried silver parachutist's wings and two medals. One was the Silver Star medal, the third-highest award for valor, and the other announced that the wearer had served in the American Theater of Op-erations. It was automatically awarded after ninety days of service. Pelosi's sharply creased pink trousers were bloused around the tops of highly polished parachutist's jump boots.
Tony, Clete thought, is probably the only man in the U.S. Army, Navy, or Marine Corps who has won the Silver Star for service in the American Theater of Operations, which is defined as the continental United States and South America, theoretically far from any shots fired in anger.
"How are you, Tony?" Clete said, turning to him and shaking his hand. "I went looking for you yesterday. You weren't home."
"I was probably standing in line at the Edificio Libertador," Tony said. Ital-ian emotions overwhelmed him. The handshake turned into an embrace. "Jesus, Clete, I'm sorry about your dad."
"Thank you," Clete said.
After the emotional moment passed, Tony, looking a little embarrassed, went to Enrico.
"How are you, Sergeant Major?" he asked.
"Mi Teniente," Enrico said. Visibly torn between saluting an officer and embracing him, he finally did both.
"You all right?" Tony asked when Enrico finally released him.
"I am fine," Enrico said.
"He is not," Clete said. "He took what was probably a.45 slug-it gouged a three-inch hole in his head-and he took 00-buckshot in his chest and arm."
"Jesus!"
"I am fine," Enrico repeated firmly.
Tony turned to Clete.
"I couldn't get into Our Lady of Pilar this morning, Clete. No invitation."
"Sorry, I didn't think about that."
"But after the mass was over, I went in and lit a candle for him, and after that I went to the tomb and said a little prayer."
"Thank you, Tony."
"And after that I came here. And had trouble getting in, no invitation. But I threw a fit, and waved my diplomatic carnet around, and finally the cop outside caved in."
"I just didn't think about getting you invitations, Tony. I'm sorry."
"Christ, you had enough on your mind, Clete. Don't apologize."
Clete decided to lighten the conversation.
"You look like a recruiting poster," he said. " 'Join the Airborne and see the World.'"
Tony did not react well to what Clete hoped would be a joke.
"I thought wearing my uniform was the right thing to do," he said. "And when I saw those fucking Krauts downstairs in theirs, I was glad I did. Sorry, if you think that was wrong."
"It was the right thing to do, Tony. My father would have appreciated you wearing your uniform, and I do."
"OK," Tony said, accepting what he recognized as an apology, then moving to what was on his mind: "The Ambassador got a SECRET cable last night say-ing that Lieutenant Commander Frederico J. Delojo, the new Naval Attach‚, would be on the Pan American flight today. You want to tell what that's all about?"
"How did you get access to a SECRET addressed to the Ambassador?"
"I seduced one of the crypto guys," Tony said. "A real feather merchant from Iowa or someplace like that. Buck sergeant."
"'Seduced'? Or 'corrupted'?" Clete interrupted, smiling.
"Whatever. I showed him my OSS ID. He practically pissed in his pants. Anything you want to know about cable or radio traffic to the Embassy, just ask me."
"And you're not worried he'll tell anybody you... seduced him?"
"I told him we shoot people who identify OSS agents," Tony said. "And he believes me."
"Maybe we can make a spy out of you yet, Tony," Clete said.
Tony flushed with Clete's approval.
"You going to tell me about Commander Delojo? You were supposed to be the Naval Attach‚. What's going on?"
"Not here, Tony," Clete said. "You remember where my father's house is?"
Tony nodded.
"OK. Give me twenty minutes to get out of here. I'll catch a taxi over there-"
"Your Buick is here, Se¤or Clete," Enrico interrupted.
"You had it brought here?" Clete asked, surprised. "Why?"
"It attracts less attention to carry a shotgun in a private car than in a taxi, Se¤or Clete."
"So it does," Clete said, smiling. "It's in the basement?"
"S¡, Se¤or Clete."
"OK. Tony, anytime in the next twenty minutes, go down to the garage in the basement. I'll make an appearance downstairs, and meet you there."
After Tony realized that Enrico was hurt worse than he was willing to admit, he finally persuaded him to take the front passenger seat in the Buick, but only af-ter he argued that using the shotgun from there would be easier than from the back, if using it became necessary.
Clete came to the garage a half hour later, having taken longer to do his manners in the reception than he imagined. The exit from the basement garage let them out behind the house, on Avenida Posadas, and they were thus able to avoid the crowd still on Avenida Alvear.
When he adjusted the rearview mirror, Clete noticed a car, an English Ford, called an "Anglia," pull away from the curb and follow them. When he reached Avenida del Libertador and turned left, the Anglia was still on his tail. There was no question they were being followed.
He considered, and immediately dismissed, the idea that it might be an-other set of German-sent assassins. There hadn't been time to plan something like that, and he didn't think even the Germans would try to kill the son on the same day he buried his father!
But who is trailing me? And why? To keep track of my movements, or to protect me ?
The route to the Avenida Coronel Diaz took them past the residence of the Ambassador of the United States of America to the Argentine Republic. The American flag flew over the four-story mansion, whose grounds took in most of the block.
Primarily to keep Enrico from finding out they were being trailed-God only knows how he would react-Clete leaned across him and pointed out the statue of George Washington in the park across from the Ambassador's resi-dence.
"George Washington, Tony. You ever see that before?"
"Yeah," Tony replied without much interest.
"He had bad teeth," Clete announced.
"What?"
"While I was futzing around Washington, I drove over to Mount Vernon," Clete said. "They've got his false teeth on display. They're wood. Jesus, he probably couldn't eat anything but mush."
"No shit?"
"If they had shown me those wooden choppers when I was
a kid, they wouldn't have any trouble getting me to brush my teeth."
"Between bullshit lectures on how I was supposed to behave 'as a member of the diplomatic community' and that crypto class at Camp A. P. Hill, I didn't have any time in Washington to do anything but piss and brush my teeth," Tony said.