Honor Bound [calibre 2.45.0]

"If it would not be an imposition?"

"Not at all."

Martin walked to the window.

"What a splendid view."

"It may not be modest of me to say so, mi Coronel—but I say this as a tenant, not as the owner—I think it is the best view in all Buenos Aires."

Martin waited until the coffee had been served and Mallin's secretary had left them alone. Then he reached in his pocket, took the leather folder which held his Internal Security credentials, and extended it to Mallin.

Internal Security. Goddamn it, now what?

"I see," Mallin said. "And how may I assist Internal Security?"

Martin noted the signs of nervousness in Mallin's eyes and

body language.

I wonder why? There's nothing in the files to suggest that he's anything but what he purports to be, a well-educated, wealthy, successful importer of petroleum.

Martin had taken another look at Mallin's dossier just before driving to the Kavanagh Building: He had done his active military service honorably, but without distinction, and had no more to do with the military afterward than the law required. He was friendly, but not intimate, with members of the major political factions— a skillful tightrope walker. His only recorded violation of the laws of God and/or the Republic of Argentina—aside from an extraordinary number of citations for illegal parking—was to maintain one Maria-Teresa Alberghoni, twenty-one, in Apartment 4D at 2910 Avenue Canning in Palermo. And Martin would have been surprised if Mallin did not maintain a Mi?a.

"Let me begin by saying that the BIS does not really eat babies for breakfast, Se?or Mallin, and there is no Tower of London here in Buenos Aires where we chop heads off."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"But we do try to keep an eye on things, find answers to questions which interest us."

"Of course."

"We are interested, frankly, in your houseguest, Se?or—or should I say 'Mister'?—Cletus Howell Frade. Could you tell me what he's doing here?"

Be very careful, Enrico. This could be a very dangerous conversation.

"You are aware, mi Coronel, that SMIPP, in addition to other associations, of course, represents the interests of Howell Petroleum (Venezuela) in Argentina?"

Martin nodded.

"Howell Petroleum (Venezuela) is a subsidiary of Howell Petroleum, which has its offices in New Orleans, Louisiana. Se?or Howell, my houseguest, is the grandson of Cletus Howell, the owner. When I was in the United States, I was a guest in his house..."

He left the rest of the sentence unspoken. Martin would certainly understand reciprocal hospitality. A nod of Martin's head suggested that he did.

"As to what he's doing here: The United States government has somehow concluded that certain petroleum products—Howell Petroleum Products—are being illegally diverted. To the Germans or the Italians, presumably. They are of course sold to us with the understanding that they will be consumed in Argentina and not transshipped anywhere."

"And is that happening? Are there products being transshipped?"

"Not to my knowledge. For one thing, it would be quite difficult. The Americans know what we consumed before the war, and they have been unwilling to raise the amount of product shipped to us, although our demand has risen. If I wanted to, I would not be able to divert any product. In fact, my clients are increasingly unhappy that they can't get what they need. Cutting that amount would be simply impossible, since the government knows to the last liter how much product I receive."

"Nevertheless, the American government has the idea that— what was the term you used? 'product'?—is being diverted, and Mr. Frade's presence in Argentina has something to do with that?"

"As he explained it to me, he will verify to the U.S. Embassy that Howell product is in fact entering our supply channels and is not being diverted."

"Well, that explains his presence here, doesn't it?" Martin said. "Meanwhile, I have a couple of other questions in my mind that probably fall into the category of personal curiosity, rather than official queries."

"I don't quite understand."

"I was wondering how a young man, a man his age, in apparently good health, could avoid military service in the United States. In wartime, that's seems a little odd."

"As I understand it, mi Coronel, he was called up for training as a pilot, and then was physically disqualified and discharged."

"That happened to a cousin of mine when my class was called," Martin said. "He served three weeks."

"I think he finds it rather embarrassing," Mallin said. "That it somehow makes him less a man."

"It will also keep him from getting killed. In time, he will probably decide he was lucky."

"When my class was called up," Mallin said, "I didn't want to go. I was in love. But on the other hand, I was afraid that I would not pass the physical exaMi?ation."

"Precisely," Martin said, smiling. "And my last question, which obviously has nothing to do with internal security, is why Mister Frade is staying with you, and not with his father."

I knew he'd come to that. Of course that would interest BIS. Anything to do with Frade interests them, and now a son that nobody's ever heard of suddenly shows up, and instead of staying with his father or another member of the family, he stays with me. As if he doesn't want it known, or el Coronel Frade doesn't want it known, that there is a son, or that he's here. I would be suspicious of that myself.

"Well, for one thing, el Coronel Frade wasn't in town when young Frade arrived," Mallin said, hoping he sounded more at ease than he felt. "He was at his estancia, I believe. And for another, I welcomed the opportunity to repay the hospitality of Mr. Howell."

"I have heard—what, 'gossip'?—that there is some problem between father and son. Would you feel awkward talking about that?"

"I don't know anything about that," Mallin said. "I would suspect that it is, as you suggested, simply gossip. I do know that young Frade and his father are having lunch today."

"Oh, really?"

"At the Alvear Palace, if that's of interest to you."

"Only in that it puts the gossip to rest," Martin said. He stood up. "I won't take any more of your time, Se?or Mallin. Thank you very much for seeing me."

"It was my pleasure, mi Coronel," Mallin said, walking with Martin to the door.

"May I make a suggestion, Se?or Mallin?"

"Of course."

"I would suggest that you not mention to Mr. Frade, or his father, that we had this little chat. Internal Security has an unfortunate—and as far as I am concerned, unjustified—reputation. You have more than satisfactorily answered both my official queries and my personal curiosity. I can see no point in causing either of the gentlemen in question undue concern. Can you?''

"I take your point, mi Coronel."

"Thank you again," Martin said, smiled, shook Mallin's hand, and walked out of the office.

Enrico Mallin walked to the window overlooking the Rio de la Plata and rested his forehead on the cool glass.

He went over the entire conversation in his mind. He could think of nothing he said that was either untrue or could cause difficulty. But that did not alter the underlying unpleasant truth, which was that Internal Security was interested in his houseguest, and by association, in him.

Everybody knows that el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade is deeply involved with the Grupo de Oficiales Unidos. Will Internal Security now suspect that because I am close enough to Frade to entertain his son in my home, I am also closely connected with Grupo de Oficiales Unidos?