“You had explosives. If they were in the Guest House, Martín found them. He’s very good at his job, and I’m sure he thoroughly searched the house when you were in the hospital. And if he didn’t mention to me that he found them, then he has them. He will be cooperative, but only to a point.”
“They’re there. I checked. I was at the Guest House before I came here.”
“Then I’m wrong. El Coronel Martín closed his eyes.”
“No. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was looking at. It’s a new kind of explosive, called C4. You can mold it like putty. What I have looks like pieces of a wooden crate.”
“Apparently, you too are very good at your job.”
“There is no way to get close to the Reine de la Mer. She has floodlights, .50-caliber machine guns, and I think a couple of twenty-millimeter automatic cannon. And even if we somehow could get to her and attach the explosives, I don’t think we have enough C4 to do real damage.”
His father looked thoughtful, as if considering the problem.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I don’t have any other options.
“And that isn’t the only problem,” Clete went on. “When I tried to explain to the OSS man here, my commanding officer, so to speak…”
“Mr. Nestor, of the Banco de Boston,” his father said. “El Coronel Martín told me who he is.”
Acknowledging that would be admitting he’s right, and I don’t want to do that. I guess I don’t trust him.
“…when I told him I could see of no way to carry out my orders, I was relieved.”
“Relieved?” his father asked, and his face lit up.
“He as much as accused me of cowardice.”
“Cowardice?”
“Cowardice.”
“But you’ve already proven your courage. In the war in the Pacific, and at the Guest House.”
Clete met his father’s eyes and shrugged, then went on:
“The destroyer may have the ability to communicate with the United States. If it does, then I’ll try to go aboard. If they will let me use their radio, I’ll try to get in touch with the man who sent me down here and give him my side of the story.”
“And if that is impossible? I believe the radios of warships are put under a seal when they enter our waters.”
“I don’t know,” Clete said, smiling. “I’m fresh out of clever ideas. I’m determined to have a shot at that damned ship.”
His father nodded, as if he had expected that answer. He pursed his lips for a moment, then asked, “Tell me about the destroyer. For one thing, if your government has a destroyer here, and if they are willing to send an OSS team down here…why doesn’t the destroyer sink the Reine de la Mer?”
“I think they don’t want to commit an act of war within your waters.”
“That’s splitting hairs,” Frade said. “What’s the difference between you destroying this vessel and one of your warships destroying it?”
“None that I can see,” Clete said. “I’m going to make that argument again to Colonel Graham when I get in touch with him. If I can get in touch with him.”
“Who is Graham?”
“Colonel Graham. The officer in overall charge of this mission.”
“He’s here?”
“In Washington. I hope he’s in Washington. The last time I saw him, he was on his way to Australia.”
“If he’s in Washington, why don’t you go there?”