Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“Presumably you unloaded it?” Martín asked.

“Yes, mi Coronel.”

“Then I don’t think he will try to hold me at gunpoint, do you?”

“His fingerprints will be all over it!” the Capitán protested.

“Since el Comandante Habanzo has told us the Norteamericano was carrying the pistol when he opened the door to him, his fingerprints are already all over it,” Martín said, with sarcastic patience. “Please have him bring the pistol.”

“Sí, mi Coronel.”

When Cletus Howell Frade stepped off the elevator, Martín was somewhat shocked at his appearance. He was naked, except for a pair of bloodstained white boxer shorts and cowboy boots. His face, chest, and legs were bloodstained, and there were finger marks where he had tried to wipe them. And he was carrying the .45 automatic by lopping a finger through the trigger guard.

“Teniente Frade, I am el Teniente Coronel Martín of Internal Security. We have met. Do you remember that?”

Clete nodded. He handed the pistol to Martín.

“This is the weapon you used to do that?” Martín asked, nodding toward the two bodies.

Clete was silent.

“We must talk seriously and quickly,” Martín said. “Let me begin by saying I k

now you are an intelligence officer of the OSS. I am presuming that you are a very good one, or otherwise your government would not have sent you to Argentina.”

Clete met his eyes but did not reply.

That was a shot in the dark, Teniente Frade. And, while I am not very good at judging reactions by watching people’s eyes and other body signals, I’m not all that bad, either. I would wager three-to-one now that you are an OSS agent.

“I like to think that I am also a competent intelligence officer. A good intelligence officer does not choose sides. He simply gathers information and passes it to his superiors for their decisions. That luxury is no longer available to me. Because of who you are, I must either choose to offend your father…which may prove very costly to me in the future, I’m sure you know what I mean…or I must ally myself with him. I have decided to ally myself with your father.”

Clete said nothing.

“You have no response?”

“Could I go in the bathroom and wash myself?” Clete asked.

“Not just yet,” Martín said. “What I want from you now is for you to tell me what happened here tonight.”

“Mi Coronel, I think I would prefer to wait until my father can find me a lawyer.”

“You don’t have that luxury,” Martín said. “We need a credible story, and we need it before the Chief of the Policía Federal arrives. He’s on his way. Just tell me what happened. We’re alone, and you can deny anything you tell me now later.”

Clete said nothing.

“I’m sure this doesn’t frighten you, but I think I should tell you that unless we can come up with a credible story for el Coronel Savia-Gonzalez, he will insist that you be taken to police headquarters for interrogation. They won’t kill you, but they will make you very uncomfortable, and it may be days before even your father can get you released.”

What the hell have I got to lose?

“I was at the home of my uncle, Humberto Valdez Duarte, following the funeral of my cousin. Later, I drove my father home, then returned here with Señora Pellano. I came up to my apartment. The blinds had not been raised, and it was very hot in here. I took a beer and went out onto the servants’ balcony on the rear. I heard noises, came in here to investigate, and found two men, armed with knives. They attacked me, so I shot them. I went downstairs and found Señora Pellano with her throat cut. There was a pounding at the door, and I opened it. A man who said he was Comandante Habbabo…”

“Habanzo,” Martín corrected him.

“…was standing there with a gun. I gave him the automatic. He tried to question me. I refused to answer until I had a lawyer, and we argued about that awhile, until the police came. I was then locked in the library and was there until just now.”

“Do you know the men whom you shot?”

Clete shook his head no.