W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound

by Honor Bound(Lit)

  "Absolutely, mi Coronel. You have my personal assurance about that."

  Which means he will know we searched his car.

  "And where is he now?"

  "We have just had word from our man at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo that he is with his father."

  "I don't want him lost again, Habanzo."

  "I understand, mi Coronel."

  "Provide whatever personnel are required. See that they have adequate funds to cover any contingency."

  "S¡, mi Coronel."

  "My function, Habanzo, is to know everything there is to know about el Coronel Frade and his associates. I think that his son could be considered an associate, don't you? His long-lost, re-cently returned son, who just happens to be-he says-a recently discharged American officer?"

  "Yes, of course, mi Coronel."

  Chapter Fourteen

  [ONE]

  Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

  1115 15 December 1942

  Two gauchos, sprawled on the wide steps to the verandah, were waiting for them when they returned from their ride. As they approached, Clete's horse, a magnificent sorrel, shied at some-thing and, with a shrill whinny, reared. Despite the strange saddle, Clete managed to keep his seat and to control the animal, and more than a little smugly noticed both surprise and approval on the faces of the gauchos.

  The Norteamericano did not get his ass thrown. Sorry about that, guys!

  The gauchos took the reins of the horses and led them away. And Clete followed his father and Claudia Carzino-Cormano onto the verandah. The more he saw this woman, the more he liked her. If she and Aunt Martha met, they would form an instant mutual admiration society. Like Martha, Claudia was a first-class horsewoman; and like Martha, she said what was in her mind, rather than what she thought a lady should say. And, like Martha, she ran a ranch. An estancia almost, but not quite, as large as San Pedro y San Pablo.

  He was touched and amused at his father's blustering attempts to paint her as just a platonic acquaintance who happened to drop by now and again. The servants obeyed her orders the way they'd obey the mistress of the place. And last night, when his father suggested, "Since it's late, Claudia, why don't you spend the night? I'll have one of the guest rooms set up for you," she winked at Clete and smiled.

  "Thank you for your hospitality, Jorge," she said.

  And when he got up the next morning and went looking for something to eat, Claudia was already up too, wearing a white blouse and baggy trousers, and soft, black, tight-over-the-calf leather boots, obviously a gentle lady's riding costume-which his father apparently expected him to believe just "happened" to be in the house.

  "Your father is insufferable until he has had his second cup of coffee," she greeted him. "It is best to ignore him, or anything he says."

  Clete had ridden hornless saddles before-at Texas A&M, the ROTC horses had Army-issue McClellan cavalry saddles-and after a few minutes, he became accustomed to the Argentine sad-dle. It was called a recado, Claudia told him. Although everyone else in the area had been using "English" saddles since the turn of the century, his father insisted on keeping them, because he was too cheap to throw anything away.

  When Clete's father overheard her tell Clete that, he flared up at her: "I am not cheap, my dear. I am frugal, and I respect our traditions. Since they have been properly cared for, they have not worn out." She rode close to him then, murmured, "Precioso, I'm sorry," and leaned out of her recado to kiss him.

  Acting as if the kiss-which calmed him down immediately- never happened, Clete's father then delivered a lecture on the history of their saddles. A brilliant saddler made them on the estancia during the tenure of Clete's great-grandfather. The shape of the seat, he went on to say, together with estribando largo- long stirrups-permit the rider to sit in an almost vertical position, the merits of which for herding cattle over long hours do not have to be explained. Except perhaps to a woman.

  "S¡, mi jefe," Claudia replied, laughing.

  When they came onto the verandah, Se¤ora Pellano was su-pervising the arrangement of a little "after the morning canter" refreshment. There were two bottles of champagne in coolers, and an array of sweets and cold cuts.

  "I would suggest, Cletus," Frade said, "that you pass up the champagne."

  "Why?" Claudia demanded.

  "I am reliably informed that it is not wise to fly an aircraft under the influence of alcohol."

  "Is he going flying?"

  "I thought-it is a lovely day-that we would return you to your home in the Beechcraft. I will arrange for your car to be delivered there."

  "And Cletus will fly the airplane?"

  "Certainly. Why not? He is an experienced military pilot. He probably knows more about flying than el Capitan Delgano."

  "Cletus?" Claudia asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

  "After flying the Wildcat fighter, Claudia," his father persisted, "as he did in Guadalcanal, flying the Beechcraft will be like riding a tame old mare."

  "I'm sure I can fly it," Clete said. "But I'd like to solo it an hour or so before I carry passengers."

  "Solo it?"

  "Fly it alone for an hour."

  "Not only experienced, but cautious," Frade said. "It is set-tled. We will have our sandwiches, and he will have coffee. And afterwards he will solo for an hour, and then we will fly you home. I'm sure your daughters will like to meet him. Perhaps he can take them for a ride. You might wish to call to make sure they are at home."

  "Precioso," Claudia said, laughing, "if it is your intention to marry him off to one of the girls, as I suspect it is, you are going about it in exactly the wrong way. Young people never like the young people their parents consider suitable for them."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade said.

  "El Teniente Frade is a fine pilot, mi Coronel," el Capitan Gonzalo Delgano, Air Service, Argentine Army, Retired, reported. The two of them had just taken the stagger-wing Beechcraft on a thirty-minute orientation flight, with half a dozen touch-and-go landings. "As fine a pilot as I know."

  Don't let it go to your head, Cletus, my boy. Unless you had dumped that airplane, it was the only thing he could say about the boss's son's piloting skills.

  He also doesn't like it a bit that I'm flying what he thought of as his personal airplane. But there's nothing he can do about that, either, except smile.

  "Then we can go?" el Coronel asked. "I will send for Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano.''

  "Not yet," Clete said. "I'd like to solo it first." His father looked disappointed and a little annoyed, but finally said, "Whatever you think is best, Cletus."

  "I won't be long," Clete said, and walked back to the airplane. The pilot in him now took over. He had no doubt that he could fly the airplane, but that presumed nothing would go wrong. A lot of things could go wrong: The checkout had been really in-adequate, and there was no civilian equivalent of a Navy BuAir Dash One, "Pilot's Instruction Manual," to study for the CAU-TION notices, which warned pilots what they should not do.

  But I have to fly it. And not just to take Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano safely home.

  While he was looking the plane over earlier, he noticed a low-level chart in a compartment on the door, an Argentine Army Air Service map of the area. He examined this with great interest. In addition to pointing out the few available navigation aids, a dozen or so civilian airstrips-one was at the Estancia Santa Catharina, Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano's ranch-and a military air base ninety kilometers to the south, the chart showed the entire mouth of the Rio de la Plata, including all of Samboromb6n Bay and a couple of miles of the coastline of Uruguay.

  Within a day or two, he thought with sudden excitement- presuming she's not already here-the Reine de la Mer will be anchored out there, waiting to replenish German submarines. I'm supposed to find her and blow her up. I didn't come here with the idea of finding her myself, but I can't pass up the opportunity to see if I can.

  He strapped himself in and looked out
the window for el Cap-ital Delgano. When they first fired up the stagger-wing, Clete stood by the fire extinguisher for Delgano. And he expected Del-gano to do the same for him; but Delgano was nowhere in sight. Clete pushed himself out of the leather-upholstered pilot's seat, went back through the cabin, and opened the door.

  "Something is wrong?" his father asked.

  "I need the fire extinguisher, Dad," Clete said. "I'm about to start it up. What happened to el Capitan Delgano?"

  "That is the first time you have ever called me that," his father said.

  Christ, he looks as if he's going to cry again!

  He was touched by his father's emotion, and felt tightness in his throat. And his own eyes grew moist. Jesus.

  As if the display of emotion embarrassed him, Frade looked around for Delgano.

  "He probably had to relieve himself," he announced, and then indignantly, "He should have waited for you."

  "No problem, Dad. All you have to do is stand there while I start the engine, and give it a shot if it catches fire."

  It was immediately evident that el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade had no idea where he was to stand, or for that matter, how to operate the extinguisher.

  Clete conducted a quick course in fire-extinguisher operation during aircraft engine start, then climbed back into the Beechcraft, strapped himself in, and slid the pilot's window open. "Clear!" "Clear!" his father responded, with obviously no idea what he

  was saying.

  Clete turned on the main switch, then pushed engine prime, and finally engine start.

  The engine coughed to life on the first try, and he saw his father smile triumphantly at Claudia, who had come to the airstrip from the house to watch him. Clete looked at her and gave her a thumbs-up. She crossed herself but smiled, making it a joke.

  As the needles came off the peg, he removed the brakes, checked the wind sock, and began to taxi to the gravel strip, then down it. By the time he had turned it around, everything was in the green.

  "Engage brain before beginning takeoff roll," he said aloud, and shoved the throttle forward.

  At just about the moment the airspeed indicator began operat-ing, indicating forty, he felt life come into the wheel. The tail wheel lifted off. He held it on the ground, deciding it would take off at sixty or seventy. At sixty, it lifted into the air of its own accord. He eased back on the wheel and saw the ground drop

  away.

  Claudia was waving cheerfully at him.

  He put it into a shallow climb to the north, in the direction of Estancia Santa Catharina and Samboromb¢n Bay. When he reached 4,000 feet, he played with it a little-more than he felt he could do with Delgano sitting beside him-to see how it flew. It wasn't a Wildcat, but it was a damned nice little airplane.

  He found Claudia's estancia and landing strip without trouble. Giving in to the impulse, he made a low-level pass over it, rocking the wings as he did so. So far as he could tell, this dazzling display of airmanship went wholly unnoticed.

  He looked at the elapsed time function on his Hamilton, and saw that it had taken him fifteen minutes to reach the estancia.

  If I'm gone more than an hour, they will start shitting bricks. So I have to be back in forty-five minutes. Half of forty-five is twenty-two thirty. I can fly over the Bay for twenty-two thirty. If I can't find the Reine de la Mer in twenty-two thirty, I'll have to

  quit.

  Eighteen minutes later, ten minutes after crossing the coastline, all alone on a vast expanse of bay, he spotted a ship dead in the water. He put the Beechcraft in a shallow descent from 5,000 feet, taking it right down to the waves. He retarded the throttle- watch it, Clete, you don't want to stall it into the drink-and approached her from the stem. Her sternboard had a legend, which at first he couldn't see.

  He flew closer.

  Don't run into the sonofabitch!

  A flag was on her stern pole. The wind was such that it was flapping, fully extended. Surprising him, he recognized it as Por-tuguese from one of the briefings Adams had given them in New Orleans.

  And then the letters on her sternboard came into focus: Reine DE LA MER-LISBOA.

  There you are, you sonofabitch!

  He banked sharply to pass her on her port side, and waved cheerfully as he flew past.

  Twenty crewmen waved cheerfully back, most of them stand-ing beside canvas-draped objects that he strongly suspected were searchlights and machine-gun mounts.

  He put the Beechcraft into a shallow turning climb until he was, on a heading for Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

  No wonder those other guys got themselves killed. There is no way to approach a ship like that, at anchor twenty miles offshore, without being detected. Certainly not in the daytime. And even at night if you rowed out there, so they wouldn't hear the sound of your engines, if that captain knows shit from shinola, he's going to use his searchlights every couple of minutes to see what else is floating around out there.

  So how do we fix explosives to her hull?

  It can't be done, not the way we've planned. I'll have to come up with something else.

  What? Find some excuse to bring a boat alongside and have Tony fix his charges while I go on board and...

  And what?

  The last team was probably eliMi¤ated trying something just like that.

  By air?

  Not with this airplane, certainly. Not even with a Wildcat. You can't take out something that large with.50-caliber machine guns. I know that for a fact. And that ship has more antiaircraft weaponry on it than any Jap freighter I ever strafed.

  What the hell do I do now?

  [TWO]

  Estancia Santa Catharina

  Buenos Aires Province

  1425 15 December 1942

  "Take a good look, my darlings," Claudia said to the two very beautiful, black-haired, stylishly dressed young women who came out to the Beechcraft as Clete was tying it down, "this is Cletus. El Coronel has decided that Cletus will marry one of you. Which of you will have him?"

  "I said nothing of the kind," el Coronel protested as the girls gave him their cheeks to be kissed.

  The younger girl-she looked about twenty-blushed, giggled, and smiled. The other girl, who looked several years older, was obviously not amused.

  "How do you do?" she said in English. "I have seen your pictures, of course. I am Isabela Carzino-Cormano. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

  It sure doesn't sound like it.

  "I am overwhelmed," Clete said. "How soon do you think we can schedule the wedding?"

  "I see that you take after Uncle... your father," Alicia, the younger one, said with a giggle.

  Isabela treated both of them to an icy smile.

  They started to walk toward the ranch house.

  "Somehow, I don't think she intended that as a compliment," Claudia said. "You may have to settle for Alicia."

  "Can't I have both?"

  "That's an idea," el Coronel said. "That is an American cus-tom. The Mormons in Utah can have as many wives as they wish."

  "Really?" Alicia asked. "That's terrible!"

  "A man must be prepared to make many sacrifices in life," el Coronel said. "Two wives, four, six... whatever duty requires."

  "Now, I am not amused," Claudia said. "Jorge, you always go too far!"

  She said that because she's pissed that he hasn't proposed marriage to her. Why not? I have no idea.

  The faces of Claudia's daughters showed that they had made the same interpretation.

  "I saw you, Cletus," Alicia changed the subject quickly, "at the English Tennis Club, playing with Dorotea Mallin."

  "If you two play hard to get," el Coronel said, "I am sure that Dorotea would be happy to have him."

  "She's only a kid, Dad," Clete blurted.

  "She's what, eighteen, nineteen years old," his father said. "That's old enough."

  "And she looked at him as if he gives milk," Alicia said. "Everybody at the English was talking."

  "That is q
uite enough!" Claudia Carzino-Cormano flared. "You're embarrassing Cletus. That includes you, Jorge!"

  El Coronel did not seem at all repentant, but he moved to another subject.

  "We have decided, your mother and I, about the travel arrange-ments for tomorrow," he announced to the girls, then stopped. "Why don't we go into the house? I don't suppose that you have any champagne chilled, Claudia?"

  "You can have coffee. You have had quite enough cham-pagne."