Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“Did I understand you to say that you know Captain Duarte’s family, Colonel Perón?” von Ruppersdorf asked quickly.

“I am acquainted with his parents,” Perón said. “His uncle, Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade, is an old friend. We shared a room at the School of Cavalry as lieutenants, and we were at Command College together.”

“I see,” von Ruppersdorf said. “Then this is a personal loss for you, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Perón said simply.

“Would you like another glass of champagne, Colonel?” von Ruppersdorf asked. “Or shall we go into lunch?”

“Two glasses of champagne, except when I am in the company of a beautiful woman, gives me a headache,” Perón said.

“The same thing happens to me,” Peter was astonished to hear himself blurt, “the morning after I have been with a beautiful woman.”

Perón looked at him, astonished. And just at the point where Peter had become convinced that he had really put his foot in his mouth, Colonel Perón laughed. Heartily.

“Are you sure you have no Argentine blood, Captain von Wachtstein?” he asked.

“No, Sir,” Peter said. “I am a pure-blooded Pomeranian, two-legged variety.”

Perón laughed again, delightedly, and touched Peter’s arm.

“You will fit right in in Buenos Aires, Captain,” Perón said.

[TWO]

1420 Avenue Alvear

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1430 31 October 1942

The chauffeur of the 1941 Buick Roadmaster station wagon, a heavyset man in his forties, glanced at the man in the front seat beside him and saw that wherever his attention was, it was not on the Avenue Alvear.

“Mi Coronel,” he said, “the gates are closed.”

Jorge Guillermo Frade, who was wearing a gray linen suit and a soft straw snap-brim hat, looked out the window and saw that was indeed the case. The twenty-foot-high double cast iron gates in front of his sister’s house were unquestionably closed. He also glanced around and realized that Enrico, on seeing that the gates were closed, had elected to stop right where he was, in the middle of the Avenue Alvear, to wait until the problem was solved for him. At least four cars behind him were blowing their horns.

“Make the turn, Enrico,” Frade said softly. “Pull as far onto the sidewalk as you can, so as not to block traffic, and then leave the car, enter through the small gate, and either open the driveway gates or have someone open them for you.”

“Sí, mi Coronel.”

Enrico is not stupid, Frade thought. It is simply that he has not mastered—never will be able to master—Buenos Aires traffic. He can alone and without difficulty maneuver a troop, a squadron, the entire regiment of the Husare di Pueyrredón at the gallop in a thunderstorm, but a closed gate, one that he cannot leap over or go around, is simply beyond his understanding. As is the notion that it is not acceptable behavior to simply stop in the middle of a busy street because you don’t know what to do next.

Enrico made the turn, sounded the horn to warn pedestrians on the sidewalk, and stopped the Buick with its nose no more than six inches from the massive gate. He applied the parking brake, turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car.

As soon as he was out, Frade slid across the seat, turned on the ignition, and started the engine. He saw Enrico enter the courtyard inside the fence and move immediately to the gate. There was an enormous brass padlock and a chain holding the gate closed. Enrico threw up his hands in disgust, then trotted toward the twenty-foot-high double doors of the mansion.

Maybe they’re not here? Is it possible they would have gone off to their estancia without telling anyone? After Jorge was killed, anything is possible. So what will I do? It’s three hundred kilometers out there!

He saw Enrico banging the cast iron clapper on the door.

If there is a clapper, use that. Doorbells sometimes do not work.

The door was opened by Alberto, Beatrice and Homer’s butler. Enrico pointed indignantly toward the closed gates and the Buick sitting outside them. Alberto looked stricken, then disappeared into the house, leaving the door open.

A moment later, one of the other servants appeared, this one in an apron. He was armed with an enormous key for the enormous padlock.

His name is Roberto…Ricardo…and he is Alberto’s nephew, Frade remembered. Or a second cousin, something like that.