The Honor of Spies

Inspector General Santiago Nervo and Don Cletus Frade were sitting in wicker chairs on the verandah of the big house. A wicker table between them held bottles of scotch and bourbon.

Frade was wearing khaki trousers, a polo shirt, and battered Western boots. Nervo was in uniform, save for his tunic, which he had shed before they had gone riding.

Nervo had expressed interest in the radar, and Clete had really had no choice but to offer to show it to him.

"It's not far," Frade had said. "I usually ride out there . . ."

It was a question, and Nervo had picked up on it.

"Whatever happened to that magnificent stallion of your father's? What was his name?"

"Julius Caesar. Would you like to ride him out to the radar?"

"No," Nervo had replied immediately. "I watched him throw your father before God and five thousand spectators at the Rural."

The Rural Exposition was the Argentine version of an American county or state fair--but a national affair. The bull, sow, stallion, hen, or whatever that earned a blue ribbon became the best of its breed in Argentina.

"I never heard that story."

"It was considered impolite--even dangerous--to remind el Coronel that he had landed on his ass in dress uniform before everybody he knew," Nervo said.

"Every time I get on that big beautiful bastard, he tries to throw me," Clete said. "After, of course, he tries very hard to bite me as I get on him."

Clete saw in Nervo's eyes that he was going to have to ride Julius Caesar to wipe out the disbelief in the policeman's eyes.

And he had done so. And had kept his seat without getting bitten.

They had ridden out to Casa Numero Cincuenta y Dos, where Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USNR--who of course had driven, not ridden, out there--had proudly shown Nervo how the radar functioned, and introduced the gendarme to the rest of the team.

And now Nervo and Frade were back at the big house, enjoying what Clete had described to Nervo as the sacred Texas tradition of "having a little sip to cut the dust of the trail."

After a short time, there was the sound of a vehicle approaching, and they watched Schultz drive up at the wheel of a Ford Model A pickup truck.

Nervo gestured toward Schultz, who wore full gaucho regalia.

"I'm having trouble believing that," Nervo said. "He never rides?"

"Never," Frade confirmed. "When he was a kid, he went on a pony ride, and when he got off, the pony stepped on his foot. He swore he would never get on anything with four legs again, and he hasn't."

"Hola, Jefe," Nervo called cheerfully, and waved.

Then he said: "That isn't the only thing I'm having trouble believing."

"Excuse me?"

"Wait until el Jefe 'dismounts,' " Nervo said, and reached for the bottle of scotch. "I want him to hear this."

Schultz climbed down from the pickup and came onto the verandah. He pulled up a wicker chair, reached for the bourbon, poured himself a steep drink, announced, "In my professional opinion as an officer of the Naval Service, the sun is over the yardarm," took a healthy sip, and then added, "Even down here in Gaucholand."

Clete chuckled and said, "You better tell General Nervo what you mean."

"Cletus, please, 'Santiago,' " Nervo said.

"Me too?" Schultz asked.

"Of course you too," Nervo said.

Why do I not think he's not just schmoozing us?

Why was I not surprised that Nervo and Schultz had immediately taken to each other?

We're the same kind of people?

I think deciding to come clean with Nervo and Martin was probably the smartest thing I've done in the last six months.

"Well, Santiago," Schultz began, "in the old days in the North Atlantic, on sailing ships, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, the sun would rise above the yardarm. That's that horizontal spar"--he demonstrated with his hands--"that's mounted on the mast."

Nervo nodded his understanding.

"Which meant," Schultz went on, "that the officers could go to the wardroom and have a little sip to give them the courage to face the rest of the day."

"Fascinating," Nervo said, chuckling. "May I say something about the way you're dressed, Jefe?"

"Of course," Schultz said, just a little warily.

"As one professional officer to another," Nervo said, "your gaucho costume is complete except for one small detail."

"What's that?"

"I was raised on an estancia in Patagonia," Nervo said. "And never can I remember a gaucho who did not have, very close by--"

"She's visiting her mother," Schultz interrupted, smiling knowingly. "She should be back sometime today."

Nervo literally convulsed; he stood up, spilled his drink, and then, laughing heartily, wrapped his arm around Schultz.

They're buddies, delighted with themselves!