Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1105 27 November 1942

El Teniente Coronel Martín found a pay telephone in a cigar-and-candy kiosk around the corner from the Edificio Kavanagh and called his office.

El Comandante Carlos Habanzo answered. It was not a Comandante’s function to answer the phone; there were e

nlisted men and junior officers to do that. But in this case Martín decided to say nothing. For one thing, he was aware that he had been finding fault with just about everything Habanzo was doing; and for another, he wanted to speak to him.

“Habanzo, I need two good men—well-dressed, who won’t look like whores in church—to be in the lobby of the Alvear Palace, with cameras, from eleven-thirty. They are to surveil a meeting between el Coronel Jorge Guillermo…”

“Mi Coronel, I regret that we have no one available at the moment.”

“What do you mean, no one’s available?”

“Mi Coronel, you reviewed and approved the assignment list this morning. I can, of course, call two men back from the pistol range, but there is no way they can reach the Alvear Palace by eleven-thirty.”

“Comandante Habanzo, are you wearing a clean shirt?”

“Sí, mi Coronel.”

“The lobby of the Alvear Palace Hotel from eleven-thirty, Habanzo. Do not say hello to me. We’ll dispense with photography.”

“Sí, mi Coronel. Mi Coronel, I could bring a camera.”

“That won’t be necessary. Just be there. You will be able to recognize young Frade?”

“Of course, mi Coronel.”

[TWO]

1728 Avenida Coronel Díaz

Palermo, Buenos Aires

0945 27 November 1942

El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade was already awake and out of bed, bathed, shaved, and sitting, dressed in a summer-weight red silk dressing robe, in an armchair reading yesterday’s La Nación* when Antonio, his butler, wheeled in the breakfast cart.

“Buenos días, mi Coronel.”

“I was wondering what happened to you,” Frade said. He dropped the newspaper on the floor, walked to the cart, and lifted silver covers from several dishes on it.

“It is quarter to ten, mi Coronel,” Antonio said, which was both an announcement of the time and a statement that breakfast was being served at the time it was supposed to be served.

Frade looked at his watch.

“So it is,” he said. “I think melon and ham, Antonio, and a couple of eggs. Presuming they are neither raw nor hard-boiled.”

“Four minutes exactly, mi Coronel,” Antonio said. “I boiled them myself.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Frade said.

Antonio began moving items from the breakfast cart to a table, as Frade picked up a chair and carried it to the table. He sat down and watched as Antonio poured orange juice and then coffee, and then began to cut the meat from a cantaloupe.

Frade picked up the orange juice.

“And what are we going to wear today, mi Coronel?”