Death and Honor (Honor Bound, Book 4)
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In 1943, Argentina Marine pilotturned- agent Cletus Frade is setting up an OSS-operated airline. But before Frade can get airborne, two interwoven German operations must be grounded. And for Frade-whose father was killed by the Nazis-the mission is about to get personal.
If El Coronel Martín of the Bureau of Internal Security suspected—which was entirely likely—that not only was Fischer more than the technical representative of the Collins Radio Company of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, but further suspected—which also was entirely likely—that Cletus Frade had something to do with the missing Froggers, he might suggest that the customs officials pay special attention to Fischer’s luggage before he was allowed to board the Varig flight to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. If the film
Argentina is Roosevelt’s idea.” “You think he’s heard?” Donovan nodded again. “He’s heard that an Argentine airline is starting up. Hell, that was in the newspapers down there. And then he wondered where they were getting their airplanes. And then he wondered how neutral Argentina was getting Lodestars that allies—for example, Canada and Mexico—would love to have. Who would have the authority to order that besides FDR? Sure, he knows.” “What about Varig going to Lloyd’s?” “Same story. They
his wheelchair around so that he faced the door. The Secret Service agent was just able to get to the door and open it as Roosevelt rolled up to it. And then the President was through it and gone. A long moment later, Frade said without thinking, “Jesus H. Christ!” “Is it true, Mr. Frade?” Frogger asked. “That you know the names of those officers who plan to . . . remove . . . der Führer?” “If it were true, why the hell should I tell you?” “If it was not true, you would have said it was, to
wife, too—wherever and whenever found.” “So what are you going to do with them?” “This is where telling the truth gets uncomfortable.” “Do you have any choice?” Frade shook his head. After a moment, he said, “Do you remember having breakfast with a man called Stevens, an assistant consular officer, when we were at Canoas?” Delgano nodded. “Well, he solved my problem of what to do with the Froggers. He’s not an assistant consular officer at the embassy in Rio de Janeiro.” “I didn’t think he
said, “but I do.” Why am I surprised that he knows Juan Trippe owns Pan American Airways? Because you’re not listening to Humberto, Clete, who keeps warning you Tío Juan is a lot smarter than you give him credit for being. “We’re not a Sociedad Anónima until everything has been signed,” Duarte said, “so a vote isn’t necessary. When everyone has signed, it will be for the establishment of South American Airways, S.A. Agreed?” No one said anything, but no one raised any objection. Ten minutes