Death and Honor

[THREE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2030 30 July 1943

Enrico had insisted on driving, so on the long ride to the estancia, Clete had the opportunity to think about what had happened, what was probably going to go wrong, and what difficulties he was likely to—or certainly would— encounter.

Heading the latter category was the reaction of Doña Dorotea Mallín de Frade on her learning (a) that her husband very shortly was going to fly to the United States, (b) that he didn’t know how long he would be gone, and (c) that, no, she couldn’t go along with him.

His lady greeted him at the door. He kissed her.

“You’re just in time for dinner, darling. Why do I suspect that’s either pure coincidence, or that you’ve done something really awful, and this is your way of making amends?”

“A lot’s happened, baby. I’ve got to message Graham, and I’d rather do that before we eat.”

“And are you going to tell me what’s happened?”

“How about I write the message, you run it through the SIGABA, and then I answer the questions you’re certain to have?”

She nodded.

“I did a random network check about an hour ago,” she said as they went inside and closed the door. “The Collins is up.”

“And you know how to operate it. That’s more than I know how to do.”

“That’s because I’m smarter than you are, darling.”

She waved him down the corridor toward the study.

Twenty minutes later, Clete watched as Dorotea thoughtfully and methodically tore into six-inch lengths the long tape that had run though the SIGABA device.

“What are you thinking, baby?” he finally asked.

“That there has to be a better way to get rid of the tape than tearing it into pieces,” she said matter-of-factly, “then taking it onto the verandah and burning it. But so far—”

“That’s all?”

She met his eyes.

“That, and that you can take the portrait of your mother with you to give to your grandfather.”

“Excuse me?”

“The one in the upstairs corridor in your Uncle Guillermo’s house on Libertador. ”

“Granduncle Guillermo,” he corrected her automatically. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There is a portrait,” she explained patiently, then spread her arms wide to illustrate the size, “a large oil portrait of your mother. It’s hanging in the upstairs corridor in your Granduncle Guillermo’s house. You grandfather wanted it. I gave it to him. There was no way he could take it with him. I tried to ship it, but that proved impossible. The war, don’t you know? You can fly it with you to the United States. Do you understand now?”

“That’s all you’ve got to say about my going to the States?”

“What is there to say? You obviously have to go, for the reasons you gave in your message to Colonel Graham. And, as obviously, I can’t go with you for a number of reasons, including of course our Nazi houseguests.”