Death and Honor

Dorotea knows nothing about that . . .

“Where’s Stein?” Frade said.

“With the Froggers. If you keep interrupting, Don Cletus . . .”

“Sorry.”

“I took them to the estancia, and picked up a few gauchos, all old soldiers, and took them back to Casa Chica.”

“But you didn’t say anything to Doña Dorotea?”

“Of course not. She is in the family way, thanks be to God, and I didn’t want to worry her with this. I knew how to handle it.”

That explains why she didn’t know!

Frade discreetly looked back toward Delgano and Martín. They were deep in discussion. Frade turned to Enrico.

“And how did you handle it, Enrico?”

“Well, we drew the blinds and left the lights on, and the radio, and then we went and hid down by the road. That’s where I saw El Coronel Perón. It was late in the afternoon . . .”

“And took his picture?”

“Yes. Him with the colonel of mountain troops and the Nazis in black uniforms.”

“And?”

“What surprised me, Don Cletus, what shamed me and broke my heart, was that the mountain troops set up two machine guns, one behind the house and one in front, and fired maybe five hundred rounds, maybe a little more than that, at the house. They didn’t try to arrest anybody. They just tried to kill whoever was in the house.

“Then the Nazis went in the house. And of course no one was there.

“So they went and told Colonel Perón and the colonel of mountain troops, and Colonel Perón told them they should stay—not in the house, but around it—in case somebody came back, and that he would send a truck back for them in the morning. So then he and the mountain troops left and the Nazis stayed.”

“And then?”

I shouldn’t be smiling; getting this story out of him is like pulling teeth.

“And then we waited until the trucks had gone far enough so that they couldn’t hear the shots, and we killed the Nazi bastards. I personally killed two of them myself.”

“What did you do with the bodies?”

“Left them there. I also took pictures of them, and took their identification papers and one of the hats with the skull on it.”

“You think the photos came out?”

“I had them processed in Pilar the next morning—that would be yesterday morning. They came out very well.”

“Why didn’t you tell Doña Dorotea about any of this? Or at least El Jefe?”

“I tried. But when I came up to the house, I saw her and El Jefe had just driven off in the Horch. I couldn’t catch them, as much as I would have liked to, to spare Doña Dorotea, in her delicate condition, what she would see when she got to Casa Chica. I was too late, I am sorry to say.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her when she came back?”

Sergeant Major Enrico Rodríguez, Cavalry, Retired, looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot. He broke eye contact, looked at his feet a long moment as he gathered his thoughts, then looked back at Clete.

“You know, Don Cletus, that I love you as if you were my own son,” he began cautiously. “So I will tell you the truth: I was afraid she would not understand what I had done and would say something that she would later regret.”

Clete forced back a smile.

“You can bet on that, Enrico.”

“And then there was word that you would be coming back, so I thought I would come here and wait and tell you what had happened.”

Now Clete did smile.

“Fess up, Enrico. You’re afraid of Doña Dorotea.”

“Do not be silly. She’s a woman. A wonderful one, to be sure. . . . You will explain to her when we get back to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, Don Cletus?”

“I’ll try, Enrico. I will try.”

“We are going there now?”

"No, first I have to see El Coronel Perón. I’ll be riding with Martín. You follow.”

[FIVE]

4730 Avenida Libertador Buenos Aires, Argentina 1515 12 August 1943

“Leave us, please, Colonel Martín,” Colonel Juan Domingo Perón said.

“Would you like me to wait, sir?”

“That probably won’t be necessary. But, yes, it might be a good idea.”

They were in the library. Perón was seated in one of the red leather-upholstered chairs.

A clear memory came to Clete Frade of Hans-Peter von Wachtstein sitting in that chair, half in the bag and listening to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the night they first had met.

Seeing Perón in the chair angered him.

“How was the flight, Cletus?”

“Long and tiring, but everybody’s going to get their airline transport ratings. That, however, is not what this is about, is it, Tío Juan?”

“No, it’s not. Have you been to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo? Talked to anyone there?”

“Is that any of your business?”

Perón’s face tightened.

“To put a point on it, have you heard what happened in Tandil?”

“I heard you led some mountain troops there, along with the half-dozen SS troops who got off the U-405, and they shot up the house pretty badly.”

“I have no idea where you got that. It’s preposterous!”