"How about a large-breasted, sex-starved blonde?" Clete asked with a smile.
From the look on the bellman's face it was evident that he thought Clete meant it.
"Just kidding," Clete said.
"Lieutenant," the bellman said, "I don't think you're going to have any trouble finding women."
"I hope not," Clete said.
Clete went back to the bedside table, took another dollar, and gave it to the bellman.
Then he made himself a drinkcarefullysavoring that luxury too. Just a little water and one large ice cube, which he twirled around the glass with his finger. He took a sip.
Then he put the glass down and got dressed. He was not pleased with his reflection in the mirror. His shirt collar was not only limp, it was too large. The tunic, for which he paid so much money, hung loosely on Him. He looked like a stranger, wearing somebody else's uniform.
How the hell much weight did I lose over there?
The new set of shiny gold Naval Aviator's wings displeased him. In a moment, he decided that was because they added to the illusion that whoever was looking back at him from the mirror was not Clete Frade.
He took the tunic off and replaced the new wings with his old ones. Then he put the tunic back on and looked at his reflection again.
Better,he thought. Much better. They are a connection with reality, with the past.
Finally, he sat down on the bed, reached inside Francis Xavier Sullivan's left Half Wellington boot, and pulled out the wad of twenty-dollar bills he had been paid in Pearl Harbor. They were folded in half. He took three of these, put them in his trousers pocket, then flattened out the stack that remained and put them in the left lower pocket of his tunic. After that, he pulled the boots on and walked around the room until they settled around his feet.
He picked up his drink and raised it.
"Francis Xavier, old pal. Thank you," he said aloud, and took a healthy sip of the bourbon.
He started for the window, intending to push the drape aside to see what was outside. Before he reached it, there was a double knock at the door. He turned and went to it and opened it.
A Marine officer stood there. He was a short, trim, tanned, barrel-chested, bald-headed, bird colonel wearing a pencil-line mustache. He carried an expensive, if somewhat battered, civilian briefcase. There was something vaguely Latino about him.
Hell, yes, he spoke to me in Spanish. I'll bet three-to-five that Colonel A. F. Grahams first name is either Alejandro or Antonio. And the "F" is for "Francisco."
"Buenas noches, mi Coronel," Clete said.
"May I come in?" Colonel A. F. Graham asked in Spanish.
"Yes, Sir."
Clete stood out of the way, let Colonel Graham into the room, and closed the door.
"I thought I asked you to hold off on the drink until we had a chance to talk," Graham said, still in Spanish.
"With all respect, Sir, the operative word was 'asked.' "
"Then I shall have to remember to choose my words carefully when dealing with you," Graham said, smiling.
"May I offer you a drink, Colonel?"
"Yes, thank you. Bourbon?"
"Yes, Sir."
Clete made the drink and handed it to Colonel Graham.
"For the record, Sir, this is my first," Clete said.
"Good," Graham said.
I have no intention of disgracing the Corps on this War Bond Tour, Colonel."
"I'm sure you don't," Graham said.
"Why are we speaking Spanish, Sir? May I ask?"
"I wanted to confirm that you spoke Spanish, and that it wasn't pure Mex-Tex Spanish."
"I can speak pretty good Mex-Tex, Colonel."
Is that what he wants? This War Bond tour is going to Texas, the Southwest, and the Corps's looking for somebody who speaks Spanish to give patriotic speeches to the Mexican-Americans? Good God!
"Sir," Clete said in English, "my Spanish isn't all that good and I am a lousy public speaker."
Graham looked at him for a moment in confusion, and then, understanding, he smiled.
"Very nice. Jack Daniel's?" he said, now in English.
"Yes, Sir."
"Actually your linguistic ability has nothing to do with the War Bond Tour," Graham said, and took a sip of his drink. "And for that matter, neither do I."
"Sir, I don't understand ..."
Adding you to the War Bond Tour roster seemed a convenient way of bringing you back from Guadalcanal without raising any awkward questions. Conveniently for me, you turned out to be a bona fide hero."
What the hell is he talking about?
"I don't consider myself any kind of a hero, Sir."
"In my experience, few bona fide heroes do," Graham said matter-of-factly, meeting his eyes. "What it is, Fradewhy I asked you to hold off on the whiskeyis that I wanted to have a talk with you, to ask you a couple of important questions. And I wanted you to be sober when I did."
"A talk about what, Sir?"
"Let me ask the important question first, to save your time and mine," Graham said. "Would you be willing to undertake a mission involving great personal risk?"
"Excuse me?"
"The nature of which I am not at liberty to discuss right now," Graham went on, "beyond saying that it's outside the continental limits of the United States and is considered of great importance to the war effort."
This man is absolutely serious. What the hell is this all about?
"Colonel, Sir, with respect, I have no idea what you're asking of me."
"Then I'll repeat the question: Are you willing to undertake a mission involving great personal risk outside the continental limits of the United States?"
He didn't say "overseas." He said "outside the continental limits of the United States.''
Oh!
"Has this something to do with my father?" Clete asked.
"You weren't listening, Lieutenant," Graham said. "I said I was not at liberty to discuss the nature of this operation."
Sure, it has to do with my father. I could see that in your face, and the only possible thing about me that would interest an intelligence type like you is my father and that's certainly what you are, Colonel, an intelligence type. And Argentina is "outside the continental limits of the United States,' as opposed to 'overseas.'
"Colonel, are you aware that I hardly know my father, that I wouldn't recognize him if he walked into this room?"
"Yes, I am," Graham said. "But that's the last question on that subject I'm going to answer. Or let you ask."
"Until I volunteer for this mission of yours, you mean?"
Graham nodded.
"Colonel, I just got home from Guadalcanal."
Graham nodded. "I told you, I arranged that. To save me a trip over there to have this conversation."
"This mission.It's that important?"
Graham nodded, then said, "It's that important."
"Do I have to decide right now?"
"That would make things more convenient for both of us."
"And what if I say yes now, hear what you have to say, and then change my mind?"
"I wondered if that possibility would occur to you. The answer, frankly, is that there's really nothing I can do but appeal to your patriotism."
"Isn't patriotism supposed to be the last refuge of the scoundrel?" Clete asked, smiling.
"I've heard that said," Graham replied, smiling back at him. "I'm not sure if I believe it. I'm an Aggiejust as you were once, for a while. We Aggies take words like 'patriotism' and 'honor' seriously." (An Aggie is an alumnus of the Texas Agricultural and Mechanical Institute.)