Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

“He is not a bastard, Cletus,” Perón said. “And I am sure that he will be as anxious as you were to ensure that the product of his indiscretion will not be a bastard either.”

“He’s in Germany, as I guess you know. Alicia doesn’t even have an address to write to him.”

Perón thought that over. “Does Claudia know?”

“Not yet,” Clete said.

“I think the thing to do about that is to say nothing to her until I have a chance to talk to Generalmajor von Deitzberg. Perhaps to Ambassador von Lutzenberger as well, but certainly to von Deitzberg. He’s a soldier, and will understand. And he is very highly placed in Germany. I’m sure he will be willing to help.”

“That would be wonderful,” Clete said.

And if von Deitzberg tells you to go fuck yourself, then what?

“Do you think you could find out when the bastard’s coming back to Argentina?” Clete asked.

“You have your father’s weaknesses as well as his strengths. He had great difficulty controlling his anger. I would be grateful if you would stop calling Major von Wachtstein a bastard.”

“Sorry,” Clete said.

“It’s too late to do anything about it tonight,” Perón said. “But I will call von Deitzberg tomorrow and ask him to lunch.”

“And you really think he will be willing to help?”

“I’m sure he will,” Perón said. “As soon as I have talked to him, I’ll call and tell you what he said.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Clete said.

“No thanks are necessary. We’re family. Not only you and I, but by extension, Claudia and Alicia as well. Your father loved them as his own.”

“I know.”

“And now, Cletus,” Perón said, affectionately putting his arm around Cletus’s shoulder. “I think we should join your guests. Your Tío Juan will do whatever he can.”

[SIX]

La Casa Grande

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1930 18 May 1943

Clete found Milton Leibermann, Maxwell Ashton, Tony Pelosi, and the new assistant military attaché for air standing together against the wall of the large sitting. Coronel Bernardo Martín was with them. They all held glasses of Champagne.

“Ah, our host,” Leibermann said. “I was beginning to wonder where you were, Don Cletus.”

“I was having a private word, actually, with Coronel Perón,” Clete said. “I’m so glad you could make it, Milton.” He switched to Spanish, and smiled at Martín. “And you, too, mi Coronel.”

“So good of you and Señora de Frade to have me, Major Frade,” Martín said.

“I thought we’d already had a little chat about your use of my former military title,” Clete said.

“And so we have. My apologies, Don Frade. I seem to have trouble remembering that.”

“Cletus, may I introduce Colonel Dick Almond, our new assistant military attaché for air?” Leibermann said in English.

Clete by then had had time to run his eyes over Almond—a tall, sharp-featured man he guessed was in his early thirties—and over the ribbons and insignia pinned to his tunic. There were a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple Heart, and ribbons indicating he had served in both the Pacific and European Theaters of Operation. There were other ribbons Clete didn’t recognize, but the star above the shield of his pilot’s wings he did.