“You’re a real friend, Dad,” Clete said, angrily sarcastic. “I’d hate to think how you treat people you don’t like.”
His father did not reply, but Clete saw the immense pain in his eyes.
“I’ll talk to him, try to patch it up between you,” Clete said. “If that’s what you want me to do.”
“Thank you, but that will be unnecessary,” Frade said.
“Your pride, of course, your Argentinean pride, won’t permit you to do that, right?”
“I will go to him and beg his pardon. But before that, I wanted to come to you…”
“You don’t need my permission to talk to Enrico.”
“…to ask your pardon as well, and to tell you that I will do whatever I can to help you against the Germans.”
That’s a switch. A one-eighty-degree turn. What brought that about?
“Because of what they did to Señora Pellano?”
“Partly, and partly because you are my son and need my help.”
I’ll be damned, Clete thought as he felt his throat tighten painfully, he means that.
“Before the funeral, I called el Almirante de Montoya, the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Security, and told him that the price of your expulsion from Argentina would be the loss of my friendship,” Frade said. “He told me I was a fool—and I have known him since we were at the university—but you will not be expelled.”
“Thank you,” Clete said.
“You are determined to go through with whatever it is you intend to do to the German ship?”
“I intend to carry out my orders.”
Frade shook his head, started to say something, stopped, and then said, “Presumably you have a plan?”
Clete’s hesitation was evident.
“You don’t know if you can trust me?” his father asked. “Is that it?”
Clete’s face gave him his answer.
“No matter what you think of me personally, Cletus, I am a man of honor. Would you take my word as an officer and a gentleman that I am prepared to help you?”
I’m not sure.
But my only other option is the vague hope that the destroyer will have radios capable of communicating with Colonel Graham in the States, and that they will give me access to them.
“I don’t have a plan,” Clete said. And when he saw his father’s face, he added, “Really, I don’t. I’m not just saying that.”
“But I don’t understand.”
“Harming the Reine de la Mer is impossible with what they have given me to work with.”
“Which is?”
“A radio expert and an explosives expert. And a small quantity of explosives. Even if we could get to the Reine de la Mer—”
“You have explosives?” his father interrupted him. “Where?”
“About twenty pounds, ten kilos. In the Guest House.”