"Under our laws, you're an Argentinean; citizenship comes with birth in Argentina."
"Is that going to pose any problem?" Clete asked.
"No. But it's probably fortunate that you have done your mil-itary service. You were a Marine, I see?"
"That's right."
"We have, as you do, compulsory military service," Galle said. "And we, like you, have our share of young men who would rather not serve their country. If you hadn't done your service, then perhaps it could have been awkward. But since you have, I'm sure there will be no problem. But may I suggest you take your discharge documents with you? You'll probably never need them, but if the question came up somehow..."
"Thank you for the advice," Clete said. "I will. And I'll tell Pelosi."
Galle put his initials on Clete's application and then on Pelo-si's.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to give Miss O'Rourke twenty dollars-visas are ten dollars each-I think we can finish this up."
Clete handed the redhead the money. She opened a drawer in her desk and took from it a small metal box. It was unlocked. She put the money in a tray, then removed the tray. From the bottom of the box she took a rubber stamp and a stamp pad, and with great care stamped each of the passports. As she finished she handed them to Galle, who signed the visas with a flourish.
Then he returned the passports to Clete.
"Have a nice voyage. When did you say you were leaving?"
"In the next several days. Whenever we can get seats on Pan American."
"One final bit of advice," Galle said. "Take summer clothing. Our seasons are reversed, you know. It is now summer in Buenos Aires, and sometimes the weather, the humidity, you understand, is not very pleasant."
"Thank you," Clete said, putting out his hand. "Thank you for your courtesy and the advice."
"Have a good time in Buenos Aires," Galle said. "I wish I was going with you. You're not married, I gather?"
"No, Sir."
"I think what I miss most, here, are the women of Buenos Aires," Galle said, smiled, added, "Bon voyage," and walked away.
Thirty minutes later, Galle left his office, walked out of the busi-ness district and across Canal Street into the Vieux Carre, then went on to a building on St. Peter's Street. He let himself into a small apartment which he had rented at an exorbitant price under a name that was not his own. The landlord believed he was a Mexican-American named Lopez from San Antonio who visited New Orleans frequently on business-and to see a woman. Once a month, at least, Galle took pains to see that the landlord noticed him entering the apartment with a woman.
Galle doubted that the FBI or the New Orleans police were even aware of the apartment. And if they were, he doubted that they either tapped the telephone or intercepted his mail. To make sure, however, he sent mail to the apartment. When it arrived, he saw no indication that it was tampered with.
He had the operator connect him, station-to-station, with a number in Silver Spring, Maryland. He doubted the FBI knew of the existence of that apartment or that telephone number either, and he thought the odds were remote indeed that they had tapped that line.
He gave the woman who answered the names of Cletus Howell Frade and Anthony J. Pelosi, and asked her to inform the appro-priate functionary that he had just issued visas for their residence in Argentina and that in his judgment they should be watched on their arrival to make sure they were indeed in Buenos Aires to open a local office of Howell Petroleum (Venezuela). As an after-thought, he asked the woman to add that Cletus Howell Frade had been born in Argentina, and that the security forces might be interested to learn who were his relatives, if any, in Argentina.
[FOUR]
Office of the Managing Director
Sociedad Mercantil de Importaci¢n de Productos Petroliferos
21st Floor, Edificio Kavanagh
Calle Florida 1065
Buenos Aires, Argentina
0930 18 November 1942
Enrico Mallin, the Managing Director of SMIPP (pronounced "smeep"), was six feet two inches tall, weighed one hundred ninety-five pounds, had a full head of dark-brown hair, a full, immaculately trimmed mustache, and was forty-two years old. He was educated at the Belgrano Day School, operated by two En-glish expatriate brothers named Green; the University of Buenos Aires; and the London School of Economics. After that, he em-barked on what he referred to as "postgraduate schooling" in the United States. In 1938 he spent six months in Louisiana, Oklahoma, and Texas learning what he could about the operation of the American petroleum industry. There was no question in his mind that the Americans knew more about doing business imag-inatively, efficiently, and profitably than anyone else, including the Dutch Shell people and British Petroleum, who were supposed to be the best in the world.
He spent a month actually working as a roughneck on a rig in East Texas, and wound up in Tulsa, learning something about seismological data. Argentina wasn't quite ready to develop its own production...Although there was certainly oil in the coun-try, it was not now economically feasible to search for it, much less produce it. But someday these things would change, and
when they did, Mallin would be ready.
He also returned from the United States with a number of "bar-baric Yankee habits," as his wife (n‚e Pamela Holworth-Talley, whom he met at the Victoria & Albert Hall in London when she was nineteen and he was twenty-two) only half jokingly referred to them. In the States, for instance, he acquired a taste for sour-mash bourbon whiskey, jalapeno peppers, chili con carne (which he insisted on not only making himself, but forcing upon civilized people), and the really outrageous habit of rising in the middle of the night to go to work.
In the middle of the night-which, so far as Pamela was con-cerned, was somewhere between five-thirty and quarter to six in the morning-Enrico (whom Pamela called "Henry") would rise quietly from their bed in the master's suite of the large, Italian-style mansion on the corner of Calle Arcos and Virrey del Pino in Belgrano. He would then have a quick shower and a shave, dress, back his Rolls-Royce drop-head coupe out of the garage, exchange an early-morning wave with the policeman on guard at the Mexican Ambassador's house across the street, and drive downtown to the Edificio Kavanagh. The Kavanagh Building, built in 1937 (in the style now called Art Deco), was in 1942 Buenos Aires' first and only skyscraper.
Sometimes, if he was hungry, or for other good reasons, he would drive the drop-head Rolls into the courtyard of the apart-ment building at 2910 Avenue Canning in Palermo, where he maintained an apartment (4D; two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen with a nice view of the gardens) for Teresa, his twenty-one-year-old mistress. Teresa could be counted on to provide him with coffee or whatever else he needed. But most of the time he drove directly downtown to the Edificio Kavanagh.
There he would turn into the driveway to the underground park-ing garage, sound the horn, and wait until the uniformed attendant emerged from his cubicle and opened the gate. He would roll down the window and hand the attendant a coin. The attendant would touch the brim of his cap, smile, and murmur, "Gracias, Se¤or Mallin."
Enrico would have much preferred to deal with the attendant on a monthly basis. That way he would find the gate already open when he arrived, and his secretary could deliver an envelope to the attendant once a month. The arrangement would save him at least a minute a day, but this was Argentina.
He would then park the Rolls in space number one of the seven reserved near the elevator for employees of Sociedad Mercantil de Importaci¢n de Productos Petroliferos, enter the elevator, exchange greetings with the operator, and ride to the twenty-first floor. Although office hours did not begin until nine, and the first employees would not begin to arrive until half past eight, once he reached his offices, one of the ornately carved mahogany dou-ble doors would be open, waiting for him.
The night man worked for Sociedad Mercantil de Importaci¢n de Productos Petroliferos, not for the Edificio Kavanagh. He could be counted on to have the door open in anticipation of Mallin'
s arrival. He could also be counted on to have a kettle of water simmering in the small kitchen in Se¤or Mallin's private office, and to have checked with the Communications Department to make sure that all communications Se¤or Mallin would possibly be interested in were neatly laid out on the conference table in Se¤or Mallin's office.
Enrico would brew his own tea (Hornyman's Special) in a china teapot, remove his jacket and loosen his tie while he was waiting for it to steep, and then begin his day by reading the material from the Communications Department.
Very little of this was addressed to him personally. And very little of what he read required any action on his part. He made the odd note now and again to query one of his Division Chiefs, but the basic purpose of his spending an hour or two reading the communications was simply to get an idea of what was going on.
One piece of wisdom he brought home from America-an in-sight that was ignored at the London School of Economics-was the leadership philosophy he acquired from a marvelous cur-mudgeonly character of an American oilman, Cletus Marcus Howell. Howell told him-actually proclaimed-that if you have to look over the shoulder of the people you've hired to make sure they do what you tell them to do, you've hired the wrong people.
The philosophy was simplistic, of course, but in practice it worked. And in the case of Cletus Marcus Howell, in that won-derful American expression, he put his money where his mouth was in his relationship with Sociedad Mercantil de Importaci¢n de Productos Petroliferos. SMIPP had represented both Howell Petroleum and Howell Petroleum (Venezuela) in Argentina for many years. There were twice-annual visits (annual now, because of the war) by Howell's accountants to have a look at the books. But aside from that, Howell (or his people) rarely asked questions and never offered any criticism of the way Mallin was running things.
They offered, of course, constructive suggestions, but these were precisely that: both constructive and suggestions. Generally speaking, when other SMIPP clients offered "constructive sug-gestions," they were actually criticizing. And "suggestions" was a euphemism for orders.
Over the years, Mallin had taken more care handling the Howell accounts than any others, simply because he knew he had a free rein, and it would have been terribly awkward and embar-rassing if he was caught doing something unwise. Or stupid. Mal-lin took a little private pleasure in knowing that in his case, Cletus Marcus Howell was sure he had hired the right man.
Mallin almost casually glanced at the material laid out on his conference table, then poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and lemon. He then went to the window and slowly sipped it, gazing out at the boats on the River Plate as he did. As long as the office was his (he inherited it, so to speak, on his father's death three years before), the view fascinated, almost hypnotized, him. He privately acknowledged that looking out the window was one of the reasons he came to the office so early. If others wanted to believe he spent every moment reading the mail, no harm was done.
Now that he was here, he regretted not stopping in to have a coffee with Teresa. There was something wonderfully erotic about letting himself into her apartment, walking quietly to the bed-room, and watching her sleeping. Especially now, in the summer, when he could often find her without a sheet covering her, and with a flimsy nightdress more often than not riding high on her legs. When she was sleeping, there was a strange and entirely delightful warmth about her, and a slight musky smell. Teresa kept an apple on her bedside table. She wouldn't let him kiss her on the mouth until she'd taken a bite or two. Then her mouth tasted of apples.
Tomorrow, Mallin decided. I will visit Teresa tomorrow.
He turned from the window and went to his desk and consulted his schedule for the week. He had an appointment at eleven o'clock tomorrow.
There will be time for Teresa before I have to meet with Schnei-der. And if 1 run a little late, Schneider will just have to wait.
He glanced at the paper spread out on the conference table and sighed.
I better stop thinking about Teresa and do my reading. What the devil is that? A cable. I don't remember seeing that before. I've told that idiot again and again to put the cables on top!
He walked around his desk to the conference table and picked up a pale-pink envelope and tore it open.
WESTERN UNION
NEW ORLEANS
1115AM NOV 19 1942
FROM HOWELL PETROLEUM NEW ORLEANS
VIA MACKAY RADIO
ENRICO MALLIN
SMIPP
KAVANAGH BUILDING
CALLE FLORIDA 165
BUENOS AIRES ARGENTINA
FOR REASONS MY GRANDSON WILL EXPLAIN IN PERSON HOWELL VENEZUELA OPENING BUENOS AIRES
OFFICE STOP CLETUS HOWELL FRADE AND ANTHONY J PELOSI COMMA TANK FARM ENGINEER COMMA
DEPARTING MIAMI PANAMERICAN FLIGHT ONE SEVEN ONE NOVEMBER TWENTY STOP APPRECIATE YOUR
ARRANGING HOTEL ETCETERA UNTIL PERMANENT ARRANGEMENTS CAN BE MADE STOP REGARDS CLETUS
MARCUS HOWELL END
The old man is opening a Buenos Aires office? And sending his grandson down here to do it? What in the devil is that all about?
The first thing that came to his mind was that SMIPP had somehow failed to meet the old man's expectations. Had some- thing gone wrong?... He couldn't imagine what...But was he about to lose Howell Petroleum as a client?
Almost immediately, he realized that couldn't possibly be the case. Their relatively simple business relationship had gone on long enough to work effortlessly; all the little problems that in-evitably occur had been resolved.
In their own bottoms, or hired bottoms, Howell (Venezuela) shipped Venezuela crude to Buenos Aires. This was most often (and now almost always, with the war) off-loaded directly into the tanks of the refinery that was to process it. Since there was an import tax, the government determined precisely how much crude there was. The government inspectors were kept honest during off-loading by the presence of representatives of the refiner (who wanted to make sure the inspectors had not been paid by SMIPP to report a greater tonnage than was the case) and of SMIPP (who wanted to make sure the inspectors had not been paid off by the refiner to report the off-loading of a lesser amount of crude than was the case).
Within forty-eight hours of off-loading, the refiners paid SMIPP for the crude. And within twenty-four hours of receipt of their check, SMIPP paid into Howell (Venezuela)'s account at the Bank of Boston the amount they were due: gross receipts less taxes, stevedoring, and, of course, SMIPP's commission.
Handling of Refined Products (cased motor oil and lubricants) from Howell Petroleum (which Mallin thought of as Howell USA) was a bit more complicated. But this was still done in much the same way. There was, of course, a greater problem with pil-ferage: Refined products were shipped as regular cargo aboard freighters that were not owned or controlled by Howell, and the crews of these freighters had discovered that oil products floated (even in cans and cases), and that some of the operators of boats on the River Plate would make gifts to seamen in proportion to the number of cases of refined products they found bobbing around in the river.
But over the years, even that problem had been minimized by the payment of bonuses to ship's masters and crews for their special care of Howell Refined Products. It was impossible, of course, to keep a half-dozen cases of motor oil from falling over the side when a boat operated by one's wife's cousin showed up - to wave hello. But large-scale theft was really a thing of the past.
After the Refined Products were counted by a government in-spector to make sure the government took its tax bite, they were unloaded into bonded warehouses, with a SMIPP representative watching. And when they were sold by SMIPP, it was on a Col-lect On Delivery basis at the bonded warehouses. A SMIPP rep-resentative was there to collect the check before he authorized release of the merchandise. Within twenty-four hours, SMIPP de-posited a check to Howell USA's account at the Bank of Boston representing the total amount the wholesaler had paid, less taxes, stevedoring, SMIPP's commission, and the value of goods spoi
led in transport.
Mallin generally succeeded in keeping the value of goods spoiled in transport (including goods actually damaged, say, when a cargo net ripped; goods "fallen" overboard; and bonuses paid to ship's crews) below one point five percent of net to Howell.
On reflection, Enrico could not imagine anything in his oper-ation that could displease the old man.
So what is this all about? And why the grandson? He's nothing but a boy!
Mallin had met the grandson. In 1938. He was then a student in New Orleans, a tall, rather well-set-up young man who suffered from acne. The old man, Mallin recalled, doted on him. The boy's mother was dead, and the father had vanished when the boy was an infant (Mallin did not know the man's name).
If the boy was then-what, seventeen, eighteen years old?- what is he now? Twenty-one or twenty-two; twenty-three at most. If you are dissatisfied with someone, you don't send a twenty-odd-year-old to conduct an investigation.
W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound Page 18