The whiskey was delivered. Frade watched impatiently for about thirty seconds as the maid fussed with a silver-handled shot glass, then he took the bottle from her and poured an inch and a half in his glass.
"And then get out," he concluded to her. He waited until the maid fled again before going on.
"So we were married. We went to Europe. It was a splendid time. And then she became pregnant with you. And fell ill. Her doctor informed me that further pregnancies were ill-advised. That was fine with me. We were to have a baby. Two or three babies might increase the chances of having a son, but if the choice was between a second baby and your mother..."
He took a healthy swallow of his drink.
"I told her, before you were born, that there is some sort of an operation performed during-what is the word-delivery that prevents future pregnancies. She flatly refused. She said her life was in God's hands; God would protect her. She had sworn a vow before God; she was honor bound.
"I thought I would talk her out of this nonsense at a later time. There are... certain measures... one can take to prevent preg-nancy. After a while, after you were born, she told me she had discussed this question with her confessor, and the priest told her there was only one thing she could do to avoid children. You know what I mean."
No, I don't. Oh, yeah. Abstinence.
"What happened thereafter is clearly my responsibility," Frade said. "I knew the risk, and out of selfishness, I took it. And you know what happened. But I loved her so much, with such pas-sion..."
"Why did you leave me in the States?"
"Your grandfather hated me, with obvious good cause. Your uncle James hated me."
"You could have told them."
"They would not have believed it. And I could not, in any event, try to blame your mother's religious fanaticism for what happened. God didn't make her pregnant, I did."
He looked at Clete.
"I asked you, why did you leave me in the States?" Clete said.
"I hoped not to get into this, Cletus."
"Get into it."
"When I went to Midland and drove to the ranch, I was ar-rested-by two Texas Rangers, by the way-and charged with trespassing. I was sentenced to ninety days in the county prison. When I was finally able to get a lawyer-I was employed on the county roads, clearing drainage ditches-he told me that an ap-peal of my jail sentence, much less an application to the courts to have you returned to me, would be a waste of effort."
The Old Man is certainly capable of arranging that.
"The lawyer did tell me that he could have the sentence va-cated on my promise to leave Texas and never return. So I ac-cepted that offer and sought other legal counsel. When I arrived at the courthouse seeking an injunction to have you returned to me, I was rearrested by the Texas Rangers for parole violation, and returned to Midland to complete my sentence."
"I never heard any of this."
"I'm not surprised," Frade said simply. "When I was released from jail, officials of the Immigration Service were waiting out-side. My visa had been revoked on allegations that my morals were not up to the standards required of visitors to the United States. I was taken to El Paso, Texas, and escorted across the Mexican border."
"Incredible!"
"In Mexico City, a firm of lawyers-I was assured they were the best around-informed me that my case was virtually hope-less. In order to petition a Federal Court for your return to me, I had to be physically in the United States. Otherwise-I remember the phrase well-I 'had no legal status' before the court. And I could not, of course, obtain another visa to enter the United States. Your grandfather hates with a great depth, Cletus. In a way, it's admirable."
"My mother was his only daughter," Clete said softly.
"Yes, of course. In Buenos Aires, I consulted with our Foreign Ministry, who took the case to the Argentine Ambassador in Washington." He shrugged, holding out his arms helplessly. "Little pressure could be brought to bear... especially now that several United States senators had already brought the case to the attention of the State Department. The senators were furious that an American child might be expatriated into the care of a father whose morals were..."
"Jesus H. Christ."
"I considered having you taken-kidnapped. But I finally... Your aunt Martha loved you. I knew that. She would be a mother to you. I was alone. It would be better for you to be raised by Martha than by my sister, who has never been entirely sound mentally. Or by servants. So I quit, Cletus. Gave up."
"All I can do is repeat that I knew nothing."
"I was right about one thing. Jim and Martha raised you well."
Very hesitantly, one of the maids entered.
"We do not wish to be disturbed," Frade said softly.
"The Se¤ora is here, mi Coronel. She asks to be received."
"I will be a son of a bitch!" Frade exclaimed.
"The Se¤ora?" Clete asked.
"She is the Carzino-Cormano widow," Frade explained. "She has an estancia nearby. Pushy woman. Comes here whenever she feels like it. Does not have the good manners to telephone to see if it would be convenient. I had hoped she would spare me to-day." He turned to the maid. "Tell the Se¤ora that we will join her shortly."
The door opened again and a svelte woman in her fifties walked into the dining room. Her gray-flecked, luxuriant black hair was folded up under a hat with a veil; a double string of pearls hung from her neck; and a golden sunburst with diamond-chip deco-rations was pinned to the right breast of her black silk dress.
"1 was planning to bring him by to meet you tomorrow," Frade
said.
"So you said," she said. She looked around the room, and turned to the maid. "Clean up the mess on the floor, remove the whiskey, and bring champagne. I told Ramona to chill half a dozen bottles this morning."
The maid hurried to obey her orders.
"I have not finished my drink," Frade protested.
"Yes, you have," she said. She walked to Clete. He rose to his feet as she put out her hand. "You are Cletus. I am Claudia de Carzino-Cormano. You may call me Claudia."
"Yes, Ma'am."
She turned to Frade. "There is much of his mother in him, but also much of you. Which may not be entirely a good thing."
Three maids entered the room, one stooping to clean up the mess on the floor, the others carrying a silver wine cooler and a tray of glasses.
"Can you open that?" Claudia inquired. "How much have you had to drink?"
"I have had this one drink."
"And how many before? You were as nervous as a virgin on her bridal night when I talked to you this morning."
This woman is not simply a pushy widow woman from the next spread, Clete thought.
Claudia took the champagne bottle from the cooler, expertly uncorked it, and poured.
She handed Clete a glass, then handed one to his father, and finally picked hers up.
"Welcome to Argentina," she said, and raised her glass. Clete followed suit.
Claudia held up her hand to stop the toast.
"No," she said. "More importantly. Welcome home, Cletus. Your father has been waiting for you for a long time."
"Thank you," Clete said, and his voice broke.
Claudia walked quickly to him and laid a hand on his cheek. Then, with a little hug, she kissed him. He could smell expensive perfume.
"It is all right to cry," she said. "Your father cries often."
She was right. When Clete looked at his father, tears were running down his cheeks.
[SIX]
Bureau of Internal Security
Ministry of Defense
Edificio Libertador
Avenida Paseo Colon
Buenos Aires
2045 14 December 1942
El Teniente Coronel Bernardo Martin, in a foul mood, parked his car directly in front of the main entrance of the building and stormed inside.
It is almost nine o'clock, after all, and unless Paraguay or Chile has invaded Argentina as an evening sur
prise, there will be no one superior in rank to me in the building, and I can park wherever the hell I choose.
The ornately uniformed guards standing by the door moved from parade rest to rifle salute as he passed (the formal guards at the Edificio Libertador wear the dress uniforms of the Patricios Regiment, circa 1809). Martin, who was wearing civilian clothing, forgot that he wasn't in uniform and returned the salute.
The door to the building was locked, and he pressed the bell button impatiently. A sargento appeared, immediately followed by a teniente, to tell him the building was closed. These men were in the field uniform, with German-style helmets and accou-trements, of the army unit charged with actually protecting-as opposed to decorating-the building.
He finally produced his Internal Security credentials. He dis-liked using them-and did not, unless he had to-because there was a lamentable and uncontrollable tendency on the part of peo-ple like this to remember him and point him out to their girl-friends: See the funny man? He's Internal Security!
With profound apologies, the teniente finally opened the door.
He would now almost certainly remember him; he could tell all his friends that Internal Security, ever vigilant, worked all night. Martin walked across the lobby and took the elevator to his sev-enth-floor offices.
The sargento on duty and Comandante Carlos Habanzo were waiting for him there. They rose to their feet as Martin walked through the door.
"Buenas noches, mi Coronel."
"I was playing bridge with the father-in-law when you called, Habanzo. I hope your reasons are important," Martin said, and waved at Habanzo to follow him as he walked to the door of his office and opened it.
"I took the liberty of putting the agent's reports on your desk, mi Coronel," Habanzo said.
Martin sat down at his desk and read the reports. They told him nothing that Habanzo had not told him-or hinted at-on the telephone.
"Why did this idiot not follow young Frade and the other one to Uruguay?"
"Mi Coronel, as you yourself have often said: Without specific, previous authorization, an agent's authority stops at the water's edge."
If I say now what I would like to say, I will regret it.
"Habanzo," he said a full thirty seconds later-which of course seemed much longer to Comandante Habanzo-"I will explain our policy to you one more time. I would appreciate it if you would not only remember it, but pass it on to our agents: The authority of an agent does indeed end at the water's edge. But this agent's instructions were to surveille young Frade, not arrest him. No authority is needed to follow someone across a border. Do you see the difference?"
"S¡, mi Coronel," Habanzo replied. "Mi Coronel, in this spe-cific case, in addition to his misunderstanding of his authority, our agent did not have sufficient funds to take the boat to Mon-tevideo for an unknown period of time. There would have been a hotel bill. Perhaps he would have been required to rent an au-tomobile..."
Martin held up his hand to stop him. "Be so good as to refresh my memory, Habanzo."
"I will try, mi Coronel."
"Do we have an officer on our staff who is charged with seeing that our agents are properly equipped to perform their duties?"
"S¡, mi Coronel," Habanzo said, somewhat unhappily, now sensing what was coming.
"Charged, in other words, with providing them with automo-biles, appropriate documents, weapons where necessary... and of course sufficient funds to fulfill their duties?"
"S¡, mi Coronel."
"And who, precisely, is that officer on our staff, Habanzo? What is his name?"
"It is I, mi Coronel. I have obviously failed to carry out my duty."
"Unfortunately, that is the conclusion I myself have reached."
He let him sweat for a full minute before he went on.
"The damage is done, Habanzo. We will speak no more of it."
"It will never happen again, mi Coronel. Gracias, mi Coronel."
"We know from this," Martin said, tapping a document on his desk, "that young Frade and the other one..."
"Pelosi, mi Coronel. Anthony-it is the English for Antonio- Pelosi."
"... returned from Uruguay at approximately nine-thirty last night."
"Whereupon, mi Coronel, surveillance of the subjects was re-sumed by our agents, who were stationed at customs in the ex-pectation that they would return."
"Did it occur to them to speak with the customs officer who inspected their luggage?"
"No, mi Coronel, it did not," Habanzo replied, and hastily added, as he saw the clouds form on Martin's face: "I personally went to the individual concerned and questioned him myself."
Proving, 1 suppose, that you are only half stupid.
"And?"
"There was nothing suspicious in their belongings, mi Coronel. They had boxes of straw ducks, chickens... you know what I mean. And two beach radios that didn't work."
"One thing at a time. The straw ducks. Why would two bach-elors have boxes full of children's toys?"
"I have no idea, mi Coronel," Habanzo confessed. "Perhaps for the children of their servants."
"And perhaps they contained enough explosives to blow up the Edificio Libertador! Did that occur to you?"
Habanzo considered the question seriously.
"I do not think it was possible that the boxes contained that quantity of explosives, mi Coronel."
"I was speaking figuratively, Habanzo."
"Yes, of course, mi Coronel."
"Tell me about the beach radios."
"You know the type, mi Coronel. They are powered by bat-teries, and you can take them with you. To the park, for example, or the beach. Theirs did not work."
"They had two portable radios? And they did not work?''
"S¡, mi Coronel. They did not work. The customs man tried them, and all he heard was a hiss."
"You don't think it suspicious that each had a radio?"
Habanzo shrugged and held up his hands helplessly.
"Did he tell you what these portable radios looked like?"
"Like oversized telephones."
Habanzo, you are an idiot of unbelievable magnitude!
"Habanzo, two months ago, through the courtesy of el Coronel Grner of the German Embassy, I was treated to a lecture of the latest German communications equipment. One of the items he was kind enough to show me was a portable communications radio. It had a range of several kilometers, weighed three kilo-grams, and looked like an oversized telephone, to which was at-tached an automobile antenna. Do you suppose that only Germans possess such electrical genius, or do you think it is possible that the norteamericanos might come up with something compara-ble?"
"You think they were communications radios, mi Coronel?"
"I think we must consider that possibility, don't you?"
They didn't go to Uruguay to pick up a couple of radios. Those would have been sent to them via the diplomatic pouches of the American Embassy. So what were they doing in Uruguay?
"I could send someone into the Frade guest house, mi Coronel, to examine the radios. If they are still there." "If they are still there?"
"On his way to the port to pick up his car, Frade stopped at Calle Monroe 214, in Belgrano, at the apartment of Se¤or David Ettinger, an employee of the Banco de Boston. He carried a shop-ping bag containing a straw chicken. He did not have the straw chicken with him when he left."
"We must consider the possibility, mustn't we, that the straw chicken was a present from Se¤or Frade to Se¤or Ettinger?"
"The shopping bag was large enough, mi Coronel, to also con-tain the radios. Or something else."
"Permission denied," Martin said after a moment. "I don't want any intrusion into the living quarters of any of these three without my specific approval. Understood?"
"S¡, mi Coronel."
"Who inspected young Frade's automobile at the port?" Mar-tin asked, picking up a report from his desk.
"Two of our men, under my personal supervision, mi Coro-nel."
I
n that case, he could have smuggled in two elephants.
"And?"
"Absolutely nothing, mi Coronel."
Three elephants.
"And was the investigation conducted carefully? Will it go undetected?''
W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound Page 41