"Gracias," he called. He stuffed everything back into Nestor's briefcase and then locked the briefcase in the enormous wardrobe that covered just about all of one wall. He then unlocked the door with a loud clank and went quickly downstairs to the sitting room to the nearest telephone.
The Mallins were there, Mommy, Daddy, and the Virgin Prin-cess.
"It's a woman," Mallin said, somewhat indignantly. "She wouldn't give her name."
A woman? Ah. Nestor's secretary. I was right.
He sensed the eyes of the Virgin Princess on him. She looked either angry or hurt or both.
"What's that? She doesn't like the idea of a woman calling me?
You want to keep your Older Gentleman Friend to yourself, do you, Princess, and not share him with the other virgins at the Belgrano Athletic Club?
He went to the telephone and picked it up.
"Hola?"
"Se¤or Frade?" a woman's voice asked.
"S¡."
"Un momento, por favor," the woman said.
A man came on the line and asked, "Cletus? Cletus Frade?"
"Who is this?"
"This is your father."
Jesus Christ! What do I do? What do I call him? "Dad"? "Father"?
Nestor was right. He did find out that I'm here, and quickly.
"I don't know what to say," Clete said.
There was a chuckle, a deep one.
"Now that I have you on the line, neither do I. What about 'Hola, Padre'?"-Hello, Father.
"Hola, Padre," Clete said.
"Hola, Cletus. I only learned that you were in Argentina three days ago. It was impossible for me to come to Buenos Aires until today."
Clete said nothing.
"Is it an embarrassment for you if I call there?" Jorge Guillermo Frade asked.
"No, Sir. Not at all. You just caught me a little off base."
" 'Off base'? Of course, the baseball."
"Yes, Sir."
"I would like to see you, Cletus."
"Yes, Sir."
"Would tomorrow be convenient? Luncheon, perhaps, here at my home. I could send a car for you..."
"No," Clete said. Why did I say "no"? "I have business downtown tomorrow morning. At the Alvear Palace Hotel. Could we meet there?"
"Certainly. Give me a time."
"Noon. I'll meet you in the lobby at noon."
"I will be there."
"How are you going to recognize me?"
"That will be no problem," his father said. "I will look for-ward to seeing you at noon. Thank you, Cletus."
The phone went dead.
I have just talked to my father. He found out I'm here and called me up. He invited me to lunch. A belated sense of being a father? Simple courtesy? Or simple curiosity. If I had a son, I'd at least want to see what he looks like.
"I'll be goddamned!" Clete heard himself say.
Nice, in front of the Mallins.
He exhaled audibly as he replaced the telephone in its cradle, then turned to face Mommy, Daddy, and the Virgin Princess. They were all looking at him with understandable curiosity.
"That was my father," Clete announced.
The looks on the faces of Mommy and Daddy changed from curiosity to surprise, or confusion. The look on the face of the Virgin Princess changed to disbelief.
"Your father?" Enrico Mallin asked, visibly baffled by the announcement. "He's here? In Buenos Aires?"
Clete was surprised at Mallin's reaction. Considering that En-rico Mallin had been doing business with Howell Petroleum for years, and had actually stayed with the old man on St. Charles Avenue, he had naturally presumed that Mallin had been treated, at least once, to the old man's standard "Oh, let me tell you about that three-star sonofabitch Hor-gay Goool-yermo Frah-day" dia-tribe, and that good manners, not ignorance, were the reason why the subject of his father had not come up.
Is that yet another example of the old man's ' "The Bottom Line Is All That Matters" philosophy? He didn't want to lose Mallin as a source of revenue. And that might have happened if Mallin- or Mallin's father-had known about the bad blood between the old man and my father.
"He lives here," Clete said. "I was born here. Until just now, I thought you knew."
"No, I didn't," Mallin said. "He lives here? He's an Argen-tine?"
"A retired Army officer," he said.
"But you're an American," Pamela blurted.
"My mother died when I was very young," Clete said. "I was raised by my grandfather and my aunt and uncle in the States."
"I see," Mallin said.
"If you were born here," the Virgin Princess announced, "and if your father is an Argentinean, then you're an Argentinean." She seemed pleased.
"No. I'm an American citizen."
"No, you're not," the Virgin Princess insisted.
"I can't imagine..." Mallin said. "How is it... ?"
"I've never met my father," Clete said.
"Henry, this is really none of our business," Pamela said.
"Who is your father?" Mallin asked, ignoring her. "You say he's a retired Army officer? What's his name?"
"Jorge Guillermo Frade," Clete said, hearing his grandfather's acidic pronunciation as he spoke. "El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade."
"My God, he's a friend of mine!" Mallin exclaimed. "And, Cletus, if you don't know this, he is not just 'a retired Army officer.' He's one of the most prominent men in the country."
"So I've been told," Clete said.
"You've never met him?" Pamela asked.
"There is bad blood between my grandfather and my father."
"How sad," Pamela said. "But-I couldn't help but over-hearing-you're going to meet him tomorrow?"
"Yes, I am."
"He's Alicia Valdez's uncle," the Virgin Princess said. "She introduced me to him on Independence Day. At the reception at the officers' club."
"Who?" Pamela asked..
"Alicia," the Virgin Princess said.
"I really wish I had known all this," Mallin said. "I can't imagine what your father is thinking. You here, in my home, and..."
"If I have in any way embarrassed you, I'm sorry," Clete said. "But I... I simply presumed you knew."
"You haven't embarrassed us," the Virgin Princess said, walk-ing across the room to him and touching his arm. "Has he, Mother?"
"Of course he hasn't," Pamela said. "It was a simple misun-derstanding."
"When I see my father tomorrow, I will make sure he under-stands that you didn't know my relationship to him," Clete said.
"Funny," the Virgin Princess said, rubbing his arm and looking up into his eyes, "you don't look like an Argentinean."
Clete averted his eyes, which meant that they fell on the V of her dress, and into the valley between her breasts.
She's no older than Beth. And her feelings for you are as in-nocent as Beth's. Remember that.
"But you are, you know," the Virgin Princess went on, her fingers still on his arm. "An Argentinean. It was a question in a political science exaMi¤ation."
"No, I'm not, Princess," Clete said firmly.
Pamela laughed.
"Princess? Why do you call her 'Princess'?" Pamela asked, smiling.
"Yes, why do you?" the Virgin Princess asked.
"Princesses are beautiful young girls, adored by their parents, who live in a castle like this one, waiting for their knight in shining armor to ride up on his horse," Clete said.
"I don't think I like the 'young girl' part. And why should my knight have to wear shining armor? Why not cowboy boots?"
"Dorotea, you're embarrassing Clete," Pamela protested.
"Am I embarrassing you, Clete?"
"Yes, you are."
"You can go to hell," the Virgin Princess said.
"Ignore her, Clete," Pamela said, one adult to another. "All of her friends think it's chic, and makes them seem mature, to swear like sailors."
[THREE]
Office of the Managing Director
Sociedad Mercantil de Im
portation de Productos
Petroliferos
21st Floor, Edificio Kavanagh
Calle Florida 1065
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1030 27 November 1942
"Excuse me, Senor Mallin," his secretary said, walking to his desk and extending a visiting card to him. "This gentleman says it is quite important that he see you." Mallin took the card and looked at it.
Alejandro Bernardo Martin
Teniente Coronel
Ministerio de Defense
Goddamn it! I knew something like this was going to happen!
"Ask him to come in, please," he said.
Martin, in a tweed jacket and gray flannel trousers, came into the office smiling and held his hand out.
"I very much appreciate your time, Se¤or Mallin," he said. "I know that you're a very busy man."
"I always have time for the Ministry of Defense, mi Coronel," Mallin said, shaking his hand. "May I offer you a coffee?"
"If it would not be an imposition?"
"Not at all."
Martin walked to the window.
"What a splendid view."
"It may not be modest of me to say so, mi Coronel-but I say this as a tenant, not as the owner-I think it is the best view in all Buenos Aires."
Martin waited until the coffee had been served and Mallin's secretary had left them alone. Then he reached in his pocket, took the leather folder which held his Internal Security credentials, and extended it to Mallin.
Internal Security. Goddamn it, now what?
"I see," Mallin said. "And how may I assist Internal Secu-rity?"
Martin noted the signs of nervousness in Mallin's eyes and
body language.
I wonder why? There's nothing in the files to suggest that he's anything but what he purports to be, a well-educated, wealthy, successful importer of petroleum.
Martin had taken another look at Mallin's dossier just before driving to the Kavanagh Building: He had done his active military service honorably, but without distinction, and had no more to do with the military afterward than the law required. He was friendly, but not intimate, with members of the major political factions- a skillful tightrope walker. His only recorded violation of the laws of God and/or the Republic of Argentina-aside from an extraor-dinary number of citations for illegal parking-was to maintain one Maria-Teresa Alberghoni, twenty-one, in Apartment 4D at 2910 Avenue Canning in Palermo. And Martin would have been surprised if Mallin did not maintain a Mi¤a.
"Let me begin by saying that the BIS does not really eat babies for breakfast, Se¤or Mallin, and there is no Tower of London here in Buenos Aires where we chop heads off."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that."
"But we do try to keep an eye on things, find answers to questions which interest us."
"Of course."
"We are interested, frankly, in your houseguest, Se¤or-or should I say 'Mister'?-Cletus Howell Frade. Could you tell me what he's doing here?"
Be very careful, Enrico. This could be a very dangerous con-versation.
"You are aware, mi Coronel, that SMIPP, in addition to other associations, of course, represents the interests of Howell Petro-leum (Venezuela) in Argentina?"
Martin nodded.
"Howell Petroleum (Venezuela) is a subsidiary of Howell Pe-troleum, which has its offices in New Orleans, Louisiana. Se¤or Howell, my houseguest, is the grandson of Cletus Howell, the owner. When I was in the United States, I was a guest in his house..."
He left the rest of the sentence unspoken. Martin would cer-tainly understand reciprocal hospitality. A nod of Martin's head suggested that he did.
"As to what he's doing here: The United States government has somehow concluded that certain petroleum products-Howell Petroleum Products-are being illegally diverted. To the Germans or the Italians, presumably. They are of course sold to us with the understanding that they will be consumed in Argentina and not transshipped anywhere."
"And is that happening? Are there products being trans-shipped?"
"Not to my knowledge. For one thing, it would be quite difficult. The Americans know what we consumed before the war, and they have been unwilling to raise the amount of product shipped to us, although our demand has risen. If I wanted to, I would not be able to divert any product. In fact, my clients are increasingly unhappy that they can't get what they need. Cutting that amount would be simply impossible, since the government knows to the last liter how much product I receive."
"Nevertheless, the American government has the idea that- what was the term you used? 'product'?-is being diverted, and Mr. Frade's presence in Argentina has something to do with that?"
"As he explained it to me, he will verify to the U.S. Embassy that Howell product is in fact entering our supply channels and is not being diverted."
"Well, that explains his presence here, doesn't it?" Martin said. "Meanwhile, I have a couple of other questions in my mind that probably fall into the category of personal curiosity, rather than official queries."
"I don't quite understand."
"I was wondering how a young man, a man his age, in ap-parently good health, could avoid military service in the United States. In wartime, that's seems a little odd."
"As I understand it, mi Coronel, he was called up for training as a pilot, and then was physically disqualified and discharged."
"That happened to a cousin of mine when my class was called," Martin said. "He served three weeks."
"I think he finds it rather embarrassing," Mallin said. "That it somehow makes him less a man."
"It will also keep him from getting killed. In time, he will probably decide he was lucky."
"When my class was called up," Mallin said, "I didn't want to go. I was in love. But on the other hand, I was afraid that I would not pass the physical exaMi¤ation."
"Precisely," Martin said, smiling. "And my last question, which obviously has nothing to do with internal security, is why Mister Frade is staying with you, and not with his father."
I knew he'd come to that. Of course that would interest BIS. Anything to do with Frade interests them, and now a son that nobody's ever heard of suddenly shows up, and instead of staying with his father or another member of the family, he stays with me. As if he doesn't want it known, or el Coronel Frade doesn't want it known, that there is a son, or that he's here. I would be suspicious of that myself.
"Well, for one thing, el Coronel Frade wasn't in town when young Frade arrived," Mallin said, hoping he sounded more at ease than he felt. "He was at his estancia, I believe. And for another, I welcomed the opportunity to repay the hospitality of Mr. Howell."
"I have heard-what, 'gossip'?-that there is some problem between father and son. Would you feel awkward talking about that?"
"I don't know anything about that," Mallin said. "I would suspect that it is, as you suggested, simply gossip. I do know that young Frade and his father are having lunch today."
"Oh, really?"
"At the Alvear Palace, if that's of interest to you."
"Only in that it puts the gossip to rest," Martin said. He stood up. "I won't take any more of your time, Se¤or Mallin. Thank you very much for seeing me."
"It was my pleasure, mi Coronel," Mallin said, walking with Martin to the door.
"May I make a suggestion, Se¤or Mallin?"
"Of course."
"I would suggest that you not mention to Mr. Frade, or his father, that we had this little chat. Internal Security has an unfor-tunate-and as far as I am concerned, unjustified-reputation. You have more than satisfactorily answered both my official que-ries and my personal curiosity. I can see no point in causing either of the gentlemen in question undue concern. Can you?''
"I take your point, mi Coronel."
"Thank you again," Martin said, smiled, shook Mallin's hand, and walked out of the office.
Enrico Mallin walked to the window overlooking the Rio de la Plata and rested his forehead on the cool glass.
He went
over the entire conversation in his mind. He could think of nothing he said that was either untrue or could cause difficulty. But that did not alter the underlying unpleasant truth, which was that Internal Security was interested in his houseguest, and by association, in him.
W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound Page 25