"In the bed, please, Se?or," the man with the .45 said.
"I have to urinate," Clete said.
"Over there," the man said.
Clete walked naked to a small room equipped with a toilet, a bidet, and a shower.
When he returned, the room was empty.
It was also hot. The heavy vertical shutters had been lowered. When he went to them, he saw that the lowering belt had been padlocked. It could not now be moved.
Shit!
He went to the door. It was locked. He banged on it, and finally it was opened. There were two men, obviously armed, in the corridor. The man with the .45 who had been in the operating room was not there.
"I want the window open," Clete said. "It's as hot as a furnace in there."
"Sorry, Se?or," the taller of the two men replied. "That is prohibited."
"By who?"
The man shrugged.
Clete went back inside, and as he walked to the bed, heard the door being locked.
He lay down on the bed, put his hands under his head, and started to wonder about what was going to happen next. Then he heard the door being unlocked again. It opened, admitting a hospital attendant who handed him a small gray paper-wrapped package and left. The door was locked again.
Clete opened the package and found it contained a tiny bar of soap, a tiny towel, shaving cream, a razor, toothbrush (no toothpaste), a glass, a hospital gown, and cotton slippers.
"To hell with it," he said aloud. "It's too hot in here to put that on."
He lay down on the bed, and again began to wonder what would happen next.
[FIVE]
Clete woke up suddenly, and with a reflex action, he looked at his Hamilton. It was eight-fifteen in the morning. On the crystal of the chronograph he noticed a small piece of whitish substance, flaked with now darkened blood. The large, unpleasant nurse did not look for brain tissue on his watch.
He left the bed, walked to the washbasin, and carefully scrubbed the watch clean. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror. His face was covered with violet patchesthe disinfectant the nurse had painted him withand so was the rest of his body.
I look like a clown. I wonder what the hell that purple stuff is.
He scrubbed at his face with no success, then tried a shower, which proved equally ineffective.
Maybe alcohol will get it off.
He went back to the bed and put on the hospital gown, then slipped his feet into the slippers. Another glance at the mirror confirmed his suspicion that his ass was hanging out.
And he was hungry. And thirsty. He banged on the door again, and in a moment it was unlocked and opened. Two strange men were in the corridor, cast from the same mold as the previous two. Though both were standing, now they had chairs. One waved forefinger at him as if he were a small child.
"You must remain in your room."
"I'm hungry and thirsty."
Both men shrugged helplessly.
He closed the door himself, heard it being locked, and then returned to the mirror to examine himselfwith mingled shock and amusement. There came the sound of the door being unlocked again.
Breakfast?
The door opened. A little pale, but otherwise showing no signs of passing out drunk eight hours before, el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade entered the room, freshly shaven, perfectly dressed. He was trailed by Enrico, who was carrying a small leather suit case.
"Are you all right? Clete's father demanded. "You are not seriously injured?"
"I'm pretty sick about what those bastards did to Se?ora Pellano.
His father nodded.
"I will of course help you, Cletus, any way I can. But the time has come for you to tell me what you are really doing down here."
"I'm here to make sure that Howell Petro"
"Refuse to answer me, if you must. But don't lie to me again," his father interrupted him.
Clete met his father's eyes. His father nodded, as if he was satisfied that he had gotten through to Clete.
"The Bureau of Internal Security believes you are an agent of the OSS," he said.
"Do they?" Clete said. And then he decided he didn't want to lie to his father anymore. That did not mean telling him everything; but he wouldn't lie about what he told him.
"I'm a serving officer of the U.S. Marine Corps," he said. "I'll tell you that much."
El Coronel Frade nodded again, as if he thought he was making progress.
"And you're here to damage the German ship in Bah?a Samboromb?n?" his father asked.
"If I were, I couldn't tell you that. You're an officer, you know what it is to be under orders."
"Or to try to influence me?" He gave Clete a hard look. "Depending on who I talk to in the BIS, I am offered both possibilities."
"I'd like to influence you," Clete said. "Your neutrality, your alleged neutrality, in this war makes me sick to my stomach."
"Does it indeed?" his father asked, his face tightening.
"Youand the BISapparently know all about the Reine de la Mer. You even called it a German ship just now. And you close your eyes to it. If you were really neutral, you'd have done something about it."
"You seem to know a good deal about it yourself," Frade challenged. "You know its name ... very informative."
"If you hadn't closed your eyes to the Germans' replenishing their submarines in your sacred neutral waters, it wouldn't have been necessary for the U.S. government to send people down here to do something about it."
"Has it occurred to you that if the United States government had not sent you down here, Se?ora Pelwhat happened to Se?ora Pellano would not have happened?"
Clete felt anger welling up.
"I'm as sorry as you are that Se?ora Pellano was killed. I was goddamned fond of her. She'll be on my conscience, all right. But not because I'm here doing what I was sent here to do, but because I forgot for a moment that the Germans have no qualms about killing innocent people. They kill innocent people by the millions. What's one more?"
"In the First World War, Allied propaganda showed German soldiers bayoneting babies in Belgium. That Allied Declaration, if that's what you're talking about, is the same sort of thing."
"If you believe that, I feel sorry for you." Clete said softly. He was aware that the flash of anger was replaced by a sad resignation, as if their roles were now reversed ... as if he was now the parent talking to the child who would not accept the unpleasant truth.
"International law ..." Colonel Frade began, and stopped.
"I should have protected her," Clete said, his voice calm and sad, "and I didn't. I'm ashamed of that. But I'm not ashamed of coming here to do what I was sent to do. If there's any shame, you should feel it, because Argentina is too stupid or selfish to know or care what this war is all about."
His father's face grew white. It was a moment before he spoke.
"El Almirante de Montoya believes it will be best for you, under the circumstances, to remain here in the hospital for the next few days."
"Who? Admiral who?"
"El Almirante de Montoya is Chief of the Bureau of Internal Security. He has assumed jurisdiction in your case. Fortunately, he and I are friends, because your fate is in his hands."