The Honor of Spies

by W. E. B. Griffin; William E. Butterworth; IV

  "Which would start that civil war we've been talking about," Nervo said. "That can't be allowed to happen."

  "Then you had better figure out a way to keep this guy away from Casa Montagna," Clete said.

  "I can stall him for several weeks," Wattersly said. "I mean insofar as 'get ting back to him' is concerned. I can't guarantee he won't act on his own."

  "You better see that he doesn't, Edmundo," Nervo said.

  The library door opened and Dorotea Mallin de Frade stepped into the room.

  "I realize I'm interrupting all the naughty stories, but dinner is ready, gentlemen," she said.

  "You could not have appeared at a better time, senora," General Nervo said. "I think we have said all that needed to be said. Right, Martin?"

  Martin nodded, then looked at Wattersly, who nodded and then looked at Clete, who nodded.

  "General Nervo, darling, was telling this story about the two nuns and the Gendarme--"

  "I don't want to hear it," Dorotea said.

  General Nervo laid his hand on Cletus's arm and motioned for him to follow Dorotea out of the library.

  I don't know what the hell it is, but the touch of his hand makes me think I have just passed inspection.

  XIII

  [ONE]

  Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

  Near Pila

  Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

  0945 2 October 1943

  The Reverend Kurt Welner's 1940 Packard 160 convertible coupe, roof down, was parked in front of the big house when the convoy--a 1941 Ford station wagon, the Horch, and a second Ford station wagon bringing up the rear--arrived carrying Don Cletus Frade and his wife to their home.

  "Oh, good!" Clete said, thickly sarcastic. "Now I can go to confession. I was getting a little worried. I haven't been to Mass in a week!"

  "Cletus!" Dona Dorotea exclaimed.

  "And maybe we can get Father Kurt to say Grace before I have my breakfast," Clete, unrepentant, went on.

  "If you hadn't insisted on getting up in the middle of the night to come out here," Dorotea said, "you could have had your breakfast in Buenos Aires."

  "It was in the hope that I would find peace in my humble home. Peace and breakfast."

  "When we go inside, you behave!" Dorotea ordered.

  Kurt Welner, S.J., and two other priests--both of whom Clete pegged as some kind of clerical bureaucrats--were in the sitting room when Clete and Dorotea, trailed by Enrico, walked in.

  The two priests with Welner rose to their feet. Welner did not.

  "Bless you, my children," Clete intoned sonorously as he raised his hand to shoulder level in a blessing gesture.

  "Cletus!" Dorotea snapped furiously.

  "Father," Enrico said, "Don Cletus is very, very tired. . . ."

  Welner made a gesture that said I understand--or perhaps I understand he's crazy.

  Dorotea went to Father Welner and kissed him, then shook the hands of the other two.

  "I'm Dorotea Mallin de Frade. Welcome to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."

  "I absolutely have to have my breakfast," Clete said. "Anyone else hungry?"

  "Actually, all we've had is coffee and a biscuit," Welner said, and stood. He pointed his finger at one of the other priests and, switching to German, added, "Cletus, this is Otto Niedermeyer."

  Clete now remembered seeing SS-Hauptscharfuhrer Niedermeyer in Lisbon as he boarded the Ciudad de Rosario.

  Niedermeyer snapped to attention and barked, "Herr Major!"

  Clete had a sudden chilling series of thoughts:

  Jesus Christ! When I so cleverly decided that I could get away with not telling Martin and Nervo about bringing these people to Argentina, I didn't think about them actually being here, and that Martin and Nervo will, as sure as Christ made little apples, find out that they are!

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Or not thinking?

  When they find out I lied to them, there goes that "We're all in this together!"

  What the hell am I going to do?

  "Don't ever use my rank again!" Clete said unpleasantly in German, then asked, "And the other fellow?"

  "If you don't know his name," Welner said, "then you could truthfully say you've never heard of him." He let that sink in. "He's going to arrange for National Identity booklets, et cetera."

  And that's just one of the ways they'll find out they're here!

  If somebody in the Interior Ministry is passing out National Identity booklets to people who shouldn't have them, Martin knows about it.

  And so does Nervo.

  And by now Martin's people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo--Good Ol' Carlos Aguirre, "my" airframe and power plant mechanic, who I know works for Martin, pops quickly to mind--are already wondering what Welner and the other two Jesuits are doing here. And does Nervo have his own people on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, keeping an eye on Don Cletus Frade?

  You bet your ass he does!

  And are they wondering the same thing?

  You bet your ass they are!

  "If I don't know his name, how am I going to get in touch with him if I need him?" Clete asked.

  "Through me."

  "I don't like that," Clete said flatly.

  They locked eyes for a moment.

  "Cletus," Welner said finally, "this is Father Francisco Silva. Also of the Society of Jesus."

  Clete went to Silva and shook his hand.

  "Make sure I have your phone number before you leave, Father," he said. "But right now let's get some breakfast."

  He walked to the door to the dining room, but before he reached the door, it opened.

  Elisa Gomez--Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo's chief housekeeper, a plump female in her late forties who was wearing a severe black dress and had a large wooden cross hanging around her neck--stood there.

  "Don Cletus?" she said.

  But Clete saw that Elisa was looking at the priests, and with great curiosity.

  "We're going to need breakfast," Clete said. "A lot of it." He looked at Welner and asked, "Where are the others?"

  "They should be here soon," Welner said. "They're coming in a Little Sisters of the Poor bus."

  And when Aguirre and whoever Nervo has watching me see a busload of priests, nuns, and orphan children showing up here in a Little Sisters of the Poor bus, then me flying everybody off in the Lodestar, they're going to say, "How nice! Don Cletus has found religion!"

  In a pig's ass they are!

  On a scale of one to ten, Major Frade, you have fucked up to at least twelve!

  "For a dozen people, Elisa," Clete went on.

  "Si, Don Cletus."

  "And bring coffee and sweet rolls while we're waiting, please."

  The first people to arrive--unexpectedly--were Lieutenant Oscar J. Schultz, USNR, in his gaucho clothing, and Staff Sergeant Jerry O'Sullivan of the United States Army, who was in uniform except that he was wearing neither a necktie nor any headgear. He had a Thompson submachine gun hanging from his shoulder.

  Schultz took one look around the room and said, "Oops! Sorry."

  Clete waved them into the dining room.

  "Padre," Schultz said to Welner.

  "Father," O'Sullivan said.

  "Jefe," Welner replied. "Jerry."

  Clete saw Niedermeyer looking at Schultz with interest bordering on in credulity.

  "Say hello to Otto Niedermeyer," Clete said, pointing to him. "When he's not dressed up like a Jesuit priest, he's an SS sergeant major."

  Schultz crossed to Niedermeyer and offered his hand.

  "I never know when he's kidding," Schultz said in German.

  "I kid you not," Frade said.

  "And sometimes he even explains things to me," Schultz added, then glanced at Clete. "Is this one of those times?"

  "In a minute," Clete said. "Had your breakfast?"

  "Cup of coffee is all," Schultz said. "The Other Dorotea spent the night with her mother. The perimeter gauchos said you'd just driven
onto the estancia. We thought we'd welcome you home." He looked at Niedermeyer. "Not one of those from the U-boat?"

  "There was SS on the U-boat?" Frade asked.

  "About a dozen of them, the best I could see," O'Sullivan said.

  "Anybody see you while you were looking?" Clete asked.

  O'Sullivan shook his head.

  "No, sir," he said, and with a smile added, "And there was some kind of big shot. All dressed up. Complete to homburg hat and briefcase. His rubber boat struck something and sank like a rock. He got soaked."

  Looking at Niedermeyer, Frade said, "That was probably SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter Manfred von Deitzberg. You know who he is?"

  Niedermeyer nodded, then blurted, "He's here? He came here by U-boat?"

  Clete nodded.

  "Which makes me wonder how he came here," Schultz said, nodding toward Niedermeyer.

  "On my airplane," Clete said.

  "You are going to tell us what's going on, right?" Schultz said.

  Clete looked at Schultz.

  Maybe, after I figure out how I'm going to explain everything to everybody.

  Right now, I don't have a clue how to do that.

  "I'm going to wait until everybody is here," Frade said, stalling. "I don't want to do it twice."

  Someone else almost immediately appeared at the dining room door, but it wasn't whom Clete expected. It was a svelte, formidable woman in her mid-fifties who had gray-flecked, luxuriant black hair and wore a simple black dress with a triple strand of pearls.

  Shit!

  I should have realized that Claudia was likely to show up!

  But why the hell couldn't she have invited herself for a late lunch? By then, I'd be out of here.

  And how am I going to explain any of this to her?

  He said: "Senora Claudia Carzino-Cormano! What an unexpected pleasure."

  Claudia went to Dorotea and embraced her affectionately. Then she looked at Cletus: "I've got a message for you, Senor Sarcastic. Can I give it to you now?"

  "Whisper it in my ear," Clete said.

  "You're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

  He nodded.

  She went to him.

  "I probably shouldn't kiss you," she said, "but I will. I missed you at the airport."

  Then she kissed him and, covering her mouth with her hand, whispered in his ear.

  He immediately parroted it out loud.

  " 'Von Wachtstein's on his way in his Storch to meet von Deitzberg at the airport in Carrasco,'" he said, then added rhetorically: "I wonder what the hell that's about? Von Deitzberg went over there on the SAA flight yesterday afternoon. You'd think he would come back that way."

  "Unless," Dorotea offered, "he wanted to take advantage of Peter's diplomatic immunity and have him fly something back here he didn't want to risk carrying through customs."

  "Yeah," Clete said, accepting that immediately. He gave Dorotea a thumbs-up.

  She smiled and shrugged as if to say, Well, what did you expect?

  "That's all Peter said to tell you," Claudia said, then went to the priests, kissing Welner first.

  "I passed a Little Sisters of the Poor bus on the way over here," Claudia said. "That yours, Father Kurt?"

  He nodded.

  "It's nice to see you again, Father," she said, offering her hand to the bona fide Jesuit. Then she turned to Niedermeyer. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, Father."

  "His name is Niedermeyer," Clete said. "He's not a priest."

  "What did you say?" Claudia asked, but before Clete could respond, she looked at Welner.

  "What is going on here, Father Kurt?" she demanded.

  "Claudia, I think Cletus would much prefer to answer that."

  She looked at Cletus.

  "What I would much prefer is not to answer at all," Clete said. "But pull up a chair, Claudia, and I'll think of something."

  Why the hell didn't you think of a story to tell all these people, Senor Superspy?

  You didn't think anybody would be curious?

  Claudia sat at the table, looked at him, waited all of thirty seconds, and then asked, "Well?"

  "I'm waiting for the others to arrive."

  "What others?"

  "They should be here any minute," Clete said.

  "Why can't you tell me now?" she demanded.

  Because I don't know what to say.

  "They should be here any minute," Clete repeated.

  "I think I just heard somebody drive up," Schultz said.

  A minute later, one of the maids opened the door from the foyer.

  "Sister Maria Isabel of the Little Sisters of the Poor asks to see you, Father," the maid announced to Welner.

  Welner looked at Clete, who nodded.

  "Ask the sister to come in, please," Welner said.

  "There are nuns and a priest and children with her, Father," the maid said.

  "The more the merrier," Clete said. "Bring them all in."

  When the nun came into the room, she had with her a priest wearing a brown cassock with a rope belt, his bare feet in sandals--That has to be SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Alois Strubel; I remember him from the plane--two boys Clete decided were about ten, a girl he thought was probably a year or two younger, and three other nuns.

  Two of those nuns clearly are the mothers of the children--and the wives of Strubel and Niedermeyer. But I don't have a clue as to who's who.

  Sister Maria Isabel looks like the economy-size version of Mother Superior of the Little Sisters of Santa Maria del Pilar. She's a foot taller, probably sixty pounds heavier, but is also old, leathery-skinned, and has the same intelligent eyes and the same fuck with me at your peril aura of self-confidence.

  For an important intelligence officer--especially an SS officer--Strubel is not very imposing in that monk's costume.

  And what do the bona fide nuns think is going on?

  Those kids are frightened.

  Who wouldn't be?

  They look like they need a bath, some new clothes, and something to eat. They look like they're starved.

  "Elisa," he called loudly in Spanish. "Where the hell is breakfast?"

  Clete saw the children flinch.

  Nice work, Cletus--if they were scared before, now they're terrorized!

  He stood up and walked to the children.

  Is this smart, or am I making things even worse?

  "Good morning," he said in German. "My name is Clete. I'm the headwaiter. In just a minute, we'll get you some breakfast."

  They looked at him with sad eyes. No one responded.

  The door to the kitchen opened. The odors of frying bacon and freshly baked sweet rolls came into the dining room. A line of maids came through the door carrying silver-dome-covered trays of food.

  Thank God!

  "See?" Clete said.

  Now there was some interest in their eyes.

  Another maid appeared, a large glass pitcher of milk in each hand.

  "Milch?" the young girl asked softly.

  "Enough for you to swim in, sweetheart," Clete said.

  The young girl giggled.

  Thank God again.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her toward the table. After a moment's hesitation, the girl allowed Clete to lead her to the table. The boys started to follow.

  Thank God yet again.

  No. I mean it. That's not just a figure of speech.

  There's no reason for these kids to have to go through what they have and still be hungry, not quite able to believe they can have all the milk they want.

  Thank you, God.

  He saw Welner get up from where he was sitting and walk toward them. Jesus H. Christ . . . I've got it!

  I know how to explain everything to everybody!

  Where the hell did that come from?

  Doesn't matter. It'll work!

  The maids began uncovering the trays of food. There were fried and scrambled and soft-boiled eggs, bacon, ham, toast, rolls, two bowls jammed with butter
curls, and half a dozen bowls of marmalade.

  "My God," one of the nuns said softly, wonderingly. "So much food!"

  That's somebody's mother.

  Welner, now back at his place at the table, tapped his glass with his fork and, when he had everyone's attention, began, "Our Father: We offer our thanks for the safe conclusion of our hazardous journey, and for the bounty we are about to receive. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

  Dorotea said, "Amen."

  She then looked at her husband, who finally got the message and said, "Amen."

  He saw tears rolling down the cheeks of one of the nuns-who-had-to-be-somebody's-mother as she generously buttered a roll and handed it to the girl. Clete had thought it over very carefully as everyone ate. He concluded that not only did he have no choice but to go with the explanation that had suddenly popped into his mind, but also that they very likely just might believe it.

  "I suppose everyone is wondering what's going on," he said.

  Everyone but the children looked at him.

  "What I'm going to do is ask Father Welner if he will please interrupt me whenever I go wrong."

  Welner's eyes were wary. But he said, "Of course."

  "Do you want to burden Sister Maria Isabel with this, Father?" Clete asked politely.

  In other words, am I supposed to trust her to keep her mouth shut?

  "Well, I think Sister Maria Isabel should hear what you have to say," Welner said. "But if I might make a suggestion, Sister?"

  She looked at him suspiciously, but nodded.

  "I was thinking that it might save a good deal of time, Sister, if we sent Sister Maria Encarnacion into Dolores to get our guests some regular clothing."

  Sister Maria Isabel nodded.

  "And perhaps Enrico could go with her, to see about clothing for the boys and men?" Welner went on.

  Rodriguez looked at Clete, who nodded.

  "Enough for several days, Sister," Welner said. "Just ordinary clothing, until we can get our guests settled."

  "You have money, Enrico?" Clete asked.

  "I'll get him some from your desk," Dorotea said. "Don't start your explanation until I get back."

  Father Welner looked at Clete and explained, "This way, the sisters can return with the bus to Buenos Aires more quickly. I'm sure it's needed there."