Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“How ‘interesting’?”

“The theory is interesting,” Ettinger said. “But I wondered about harmonic synchronization before crystal temperature stabilization.”

“The way it comes from the factory, harmonic synchronization’s not worth a shit,” Chief Schultz said, the tone of his voice making clear his relief at finding a peer on whom he would not be wasting his valuable time, effort, and knowledge. “Somebody get me a sheet of paper and a pencil, and I’ll show you the fix I come up with.”

From that point onward, Clete and Tony understood not one word of their conversation. Chief Schultz and Staff Sergeant Ettinger, talking in tongues, filled sheet after sheet of paper with esoteric schematic drawings of radio circuitry and mathematical formulae, determining among other things the optimum length and orientation of the antennae that would be erected on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.

At twenty past one, one of the maids came into the kitchen and handed Clete a large, well-sealed envel

ope, bearing the return address of the Anglo-Argentine Bank on Calle San Martín.

“A messenger brought this for you, Señor Frade,” the maid said.

Clete opened the envelope. It contained documents, each stamped, embossed, and signed with flowing signatures in several places by various functionaries. These documents stated that the financial obligations incurred by one Señor Francisco Manuel Alberghoni in connection with the Ristorante Napoli and associated property in the District of Boca, Buenos Aires, to the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., had been satisfied in full by the transfer this date of certain funds to the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., from the funds held by the Anglo-Argentine Bank, S.A., in trust for one Señor Cletus Howell Frade, of Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, Pila, Province of Buenos Aires, thus relieving the original guarantor of the aforementioned financial obligations of the aforementioned Señor Alberghoni, one Señor Enrico Mallín, of the Sociedad Mercantil de Importación Productos Petrolíferos, Edificio Kavanagh, Buenos Aires, of any further financial liability of any kind with regard to the Anglo-American Bank, S.A.

“I’ll be damned!” Clete said.

“What is that?”

“You owe me thirteen grand, Tony,” Clete said. “Your girlfriend’s father is off the hook.”

“Jesus, Clete,” Tony said. “Thanks. Can I see that?”

Clete hesitated, then remembering Tony’s very poor Spanish, handed it to him.

“I can’t read this,” Tony said after a moment.

“Don’t bother,” Clete said. “Take my word for it.”

Tony looked at him curiously.

“Sometimes when you turn over a rock,” Clete said, “slimy things crawl out. It’s all done, Tony. All you have to do is come up with the thirteen grand to pay me back.” He retrieved the stack of paper from Tony and smiled at him.

Tony looked distressed.

“Something else on your mind?” Clete asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve had second thoughts about your lady friend?”

“No,” Tony said quickly. “Nothing like that. Jesus! She’s really a nice girl, Clete.”

“But?”

“Lieutenant, I’ve been thinking,” Tony said uncomfortably.

“Lieutenant”? We’re back to “Lieutenant”?

“Second Lieutenants are not expected to think, Lieutenant,” Clete said. “I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t want to sound like a wiseass.”

“Out with it, Tony.”

“I don’t think your idea of making that fucking ship turn on its searchlights by shooting at it with a .30-caliber Browning makes a whole lot of sense, Lieutenant, is what I’ve been thinking.”

Clete made a “come, let’s have it” gesture with his hands.

“For one thing, you’re going to have to get pretty close to it to hit it, and I don’t know how the hell you plan to mount a machine gun in that little airplane, but it’s not going to be easy.”

That problem is actually Number Two, or maybe even Number One, on my list of Problems to Be Resolved.