Blood and Honor by W.E.B. Griffin

Author:W.E.B. Griffin [Griffin, W.E.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Buenos Aires (Argentina), War stories, 16th to 18th century fiction, World War; 1939-1945, United States - History, Fiction, United States, United States - History; Military - 20th century, Fiction - Espionage, Thriller, Historical, War & Military, General & Literary Fiction, Men's Adventure, Classic fiction (pre c 1945), Intrigue, Espionage
ISBN: 9780515121940
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1997-11-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province

1805 11 April 1943

The strongbox turned out to be just that, a metal box reinforced with thick wrought-iron bands, and closed with two enormous padlocks. It was concealed in a huge leather trunk set against one wall of the library. After Enrico showed it to Clete, he retrieved the padlock keys from behind a set of Compton 's Picture Encyclopedia.

The strongbox held two small wooden boxes, resting on top of what appeared to be legal documents. Clete picked up the first box and started to open it.

"Where's that whiskey you promised us, Enrico?" he asked.

Inside was a collection of discarded male jewelry, cuff links, studs, pocket watches, wristwatches, tie pins, tie clips, and rings. The watches and rings had tags tied to them, identifying their owners. Clete looked at several of them. There was one huge gold ring with maybe a dozen half-carat diamonds surrounding a deeply engraved Frade family crest; its tag read GUILLERMO JORGE FRADE.

That looks just like something Uncle Willy would wear.

He put the ring back in the box and picked up the second box. It contained discarded female jewelry—broaches, necklaces, rings, pendants, and wrist watches. Rolling around loose on the bottom of box were what looked like several hundred pearls. He saw the rotted-through strings they had escaped. More than two dozen rings were each tagged with a name. But only three could pass for engagement rings. He read the tags. Only one name—MARIA ELENA PUEYRREDÓN DE FRADE—meant anything to him, and that tag was attached to the least impressive of the three rings. It was old and worn thin, and the stone was tiny compared to the stones in the other rings.

That's a pity. It would have been nice if that one, in particular, had been the sort of thing I could give Dorotea. The reason "the blood of Pueyrredón "flows through my veins. And now of our baby.

Well, hell, I'll show her these, and tell her to pick one just for the circus tomorrow. I'll tell her I'll buy her any damned ring she wants later.

He untied the tags and slipped the three rings in his pocket. Enrico was holding out a whiskey glass to him. Clete took it. "Close it up, Enrico," he ordered.

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