Death and Honor (Honor Bound 4)

Clete looked at Hughes, shook his head, and went on, “—there’s no question in my mind that he wants to be president, and probably will be.”

“How much of a Nazi do you think he really is?” Hughes asked.

“I think he really believes that fascism, National Socialism, whatever, would bring some really needed efficiency to Argentina, but I don’t think he thinks the Germans are going to win the war any more than I do.”

“Really?” Graham asked softly.

“And I think the Germans have cut him in for a piece of the action in Operation Phoenix. I don’t know if he’s involved in the concentration camp inmate-ransoming operation or not. Or even if he knows about it.”

“Serious question, Clete,” Hughes said. “If you’re in his way, why doesn’t he take you out?”

“He’s my godfather. They take that seriously down there. That’s one reason. The second reason, probably, is that my father was very popular there, and if I were to get whacked, a lot of questions would be asked about who did it and why. Everybody knows the Germans had my father killed and had a shot at killing me. They’d be suspect. But if I had to bet, I’d bet on the godfather business. I think the sonofabitch really likes me.”

“But you don’t like him, right?” Hughes said. “ ‘The sonofabitch.’ Why?”

“For one thing, he’s a dirty old man.”

“How so?”

“He likes young girls.”

“So does Errol Flynn,” Hughes said. “He almost went to jail last year for diddling a couple of fifteen-year-olds. He’s still a good guy. What does it say in the Good Book? ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged’?”

“Tío Juan likes them younger. Like thirteen.”

“That’s a dirty old man,” Hughes agreed.

“Is that really it, Clete?” Graham asked. “You disapprove of his morals?”

“That’s part of it, certainly. I just don’t like him.”

“Your father did. And I’m sure he knew of the colonel’s proclivities.”

“Yeah, he knew. Enrico told me. Maybe it’s because he likes me. That makes me uncomfortable. I met the sonofabitch for the first time when I first went down there, and he treats me like the beloved nephew.”

“Or maybe the son he never had?” Graham pursued.

Clete considered that a moment, then said, “Well, maybe. Can we get off this subject? Tell me about Lindbergh and Yamamoto.”

“Roosevelt hates Lindbergh,” Hughes said. “Which may be—probably is— why he wants you to start an airline.”

“I don’t understand that at all,” Clete said.

“You want to tell him, Alex?”

“You tell him,” Graham said.

“Okay,” Hughes said. “Lindbergh was big in the America First business. They didn’t think we should get involved in a European war or, for that matter, with the Japs.”

“So was my grandfather an America Firster,” Clete said. “And so was Senator Taft. And Colonel McCormick, and a lot of other people. So what?”

“But Roosevelt couldn’t get Senator Taft. Or your grandfather. Or Colonel McCormick. Or, for that matter, me. But Lindbergh left himself wide open when he went to Germany. Göring gave him a medal, and Lindbergh said the Germans had the best air force in the world.”

“You’re saying Roosevelt thinks Lindbergh is a Nazi?” Clete asked incredulously.

“No, I don’t think that,” Graham said. “What I think is that Roosevelt likes to get revenge on people he thinks have crossed him. And he can take it out on Lindbergh. America First went out of business when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.”

“On December eighth,” Hughes said, “Charley Lindbergh—‘Lucky Lindy,’ America’s hero, whose wife’s father is a senator and who’s a colonel in the Army Reserve—volunteered for active duty. Never got the call. Roosevelt had told Hap Arnold that he was not to put Lindbergh back in uniform, period.”