"And what exactly does that mean?"
"When de Montoya feels it would be safe for you to leave the hospital, you will come to the estancia, until I can arrange to send you safely out of the country."
"I'm not leaving the country," Clete said.
His father met his eyes.
"You have no choice in the matter."
"I'm not finished here. I killed the men who killed Se?ora Pellano," Clete said. "Now I want to get at the people who hired them. The Germans."
"You don't know for a fact that the Germans were behind this."
"Of course it was the Germans," Clete said, less angrily than sadly. "Don't tell me you closed your eyes to that too."
As if he had not heard a word, el Coronel Frade went on: "I have arranged for the release of Se?ora Pellano's body. I will accompany it to the estancia, where she will be buried. De Montoya has agreed to release you from here in time to attend Se?ora Pellano's funeral. That will provide a satisfactory reason for you to move to the estancia. You will stay there until I can make arrangements for you to leave the country. In the meantime, Enrico will stay with you."
"What? What for?"
"If one attempt to kill you was made, there will probably be another."
"But there are guards in the corridor."
"I know where Enrico's loyalties lie," Frade said simply. "Enrico will stay with you.
"You have disappointed me, Cletus," Frade went on carefully. "A good woman is dead on account of you. And you have lied to me. The estancia is large. You and I will only have to see a little of one another."
"I want very much to go to Se?ora Pellano's funeral, Dad," Clete said. "But I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay at the estancia."
El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade met his son's eyes, then turned on his heel and walked out of the room. After he passed through the door, Enrico locked it.
Enrico turned, met Clete's eyes for a moment, and then went to the bed, where he unzipped the suitcase and took from it what seemed to be a Browning twelve-bore self-loading shotgun. He assembled it, then loaded it with five Winchester 00-buck cartridges.
"Browning?" Clete heard himself asking. "A Browning, or an Argentine copy?"
Enrico didn't reply for a moment, then held the shotgun out to Clete.
"A Remington Model Eleven, mi Teniente," he said.
Clete examined it and handed it back.
"Marianna was very fond of you, mi Teniente," Enrico said. "She was always talking to me about you, like you were her son."
Marianna? Oh. He means Se?ora Pellano. I never knew her first name. And now she's dead, because of my stupidity.
"I was very fond of her. I am ashamed she is dead."
Enrico met his eyes again.
"I have asked the Blessed Virgin to let Marianna know that you avenged her death, so that she may find eternal peace in the company of the angels, knowing you are alive and they are dead.
"Until just now, I didn't know you and Se?ora Pellano were close," Clete said.
"She was my sister," Enrico said simply. "I will now protect your life, mi Teniente, with my own. But I would also very much like to kill some Germans myself. Do you perhaps have a name? Or names?"
Jesus, he means all of that. If anyone tries to kill me in here, it would have to be over his dead body. And if I gave him the German ambassador's name, he'd kill him. Or die trying.
Clete shook his head no.
"I'll work on this," Enrico said. "Honor demands that I also avenge her death, even if that is against mi Coronel's wishes. I will help you in any way I can, especially if it means I can kill Germans."
And he means that too.
"Thank you, Enrico," Clete said.
I wonder if that means he would let me go, let me escape from my father's protection.
Having said his piece, Enrico went on to immediate, practical matters.
"Mi Teniente, where is the telephone?"
"They took it out," Clete said. And then, curiously: "Who did you want to call?"
"I thought we would have coffee, and perhaps the newspaper, mi Teniente. We will be here a long time.
"I could use something to eat."
"Bueno, I will take care of everything," Enrico said. He walked to Clete and held out the shotgun. "Mi Teniente is familiar with this shotgun?"
"Yes. I've got a Browning. They're about identical."
"It is loaded, and the safety is off, mi Teniente," Enrico said, and handed the Remington to Clete.
He walked to the door, pounded on it, and left the room. Five minutes later, he was back.
"Coffee and some pastry is on the way," he announced. He walked to the window. "It's locked," Clete said. Enrico looked at him and winked.
"The clowns in the corridor asked where I was going. I told them for breakfast, a telephone, and the key to the window. They told me I could have neither the key to the window lock," he held up a small key, "or a telephone."
He removed the padlock, opened the vertical blind three feet, and then opened the window. He whistled. Moments later, a telephone appeared outside the window; it was hanging on a cord. Enrico hauled it in, untied the cord, then closed the window and the vertical blind.
He plugged the telephone in, picked up the handset, listened for a moment, nodded his head in satisfaction, then unplugged the telephone and put it in the cabinet beside the bed.
"We will keep it there until we need it, mi Teniente," he said. "In case the clowns in the corridor become curious."
"How did you do that, Enrico?"
"The Suboficial Mayor of the hospital was in the Husares de Pueyrred?n when el Coronel and I were with the regiment. He was injured in a bad fall, and is on limited duty."
"He gave you the telephone?"
S?, mi Teniente, and he will see that we eat well, from the Sargento's mess."
"When they hear what happened on Avenida Libertador and cannot find me, my two friends will be worried about me. Can I call them, Enrico?"
Enrico met his eyes for a long moment.
He is not going to let me use the phone. All that talk about going against my father's wishes sounded great, but when push comes to shove.. .
"The clowns cannot listen to that line," Enrico said, pointing to the telephone wall plug. "I thought of that. But I think the clowns will be listening to the line of your friends."
"You're probably right."
Probably, shit! Of course he's right.
"It would be better to have them come here. Do you need both of them, or just one?"
Just one. Could you do that? How would you bring him past the clowns?"
"You do not have suboficiales mayores in your army, mi Teniente?"
"I am a Marine, Sergeant Major, not a soldier. But yes, we have men like you in the Corps. They call them 'gunnys.' It means gunnery sergeant."
"And when your officers have a problem they cannot solve, do they turn to the 'gunnys'?"
"Yes, we do."
"It is the same here. This problem may take some time, but it can be solved. I suggest, mi Teniente, that you write a short note to your friend, telling him to accompany the man who gives him the note. And tell me the address."
Chapter Eighteen