1730 HOURS 28 JUNE 1942.

When the telephone rang, Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, was in the library of The Elms, sitting in a high-backed red leather armchair, jacketless, his shoes off, his tie pulled down, and his feet on a footstool. He was just about ready to take his first sip of his first drink of the day.

He eyed the instrument with distaste; it was sitting out of reach on a narrow table across the room. It had been a busy day, and it was his considered judgment that anything anyone on the phone wanted could wait until tomorrow morning.

The telephone kept ringing. There was a staff of four at The Elms: a housekeeper, a maid, a cook, and a combination yardman, chauffeur, and husband to the housekeeper. They were all personal employees of Captain Pickering. The house was leased from a Melbourne banker Captain Pickering knew from before the war.

The Vice-chairman of the Board of the Pacific & Far Eastern Shipping Corporation (that is to say, Mrs. Fleming Foster Pickering) had arranged for the salary and expense allowance of Chairman of the Board Fleming Pickering to continue while he was on "military leave" from his duties. After having been assigned quarters (a small, two-room hotel suite to be shared with a portly Army Colonel who snored) Captain Pickering had decided that since he damned well could afford something more comfortable, there was no reason not to leave the colonel to snore alone.

Besides, he rationalized, he needed a place where he could discreetly meet people in connection with his duties. The brass hats of MacArthur's Palace Guard could give lessons in plain and fancy gossiping to any women's group he was familiar with. The gossip was at the least annoying, but it could also spread information that deserved to be sat upon, and at worst it could cost people their lives.

"Christ," Pickering asked rhetorically, vis-...-vis his domestic staff, "where the hell are they all?"

He hauled himself out of the chair and walked across the two-story library in his stocking feet and picked up the telephone.

"Captain Pickering."

"Major Banning, please."

It was an American voice.

"I'm sorry, Major Banning isn't here at the moment. I expect him within the hour. Can I take a message?"

"Am I correct, Captain, that you're an American officer?"

"Yes, I am."

"This is Commander Lentz, Captain, of Melbourne NATS."

It took Pickering a moment to decode the acronym: Naval Air Transport Service. Next it occurred to him-after a moment spent digesting the superior tone of the commander's voice-that the NATS officer had jumped to the wrong conclusion: Lentz thinks I'm a Marine captain, and thus inferior in rank, rather than what I really am, an exalted four striper.

"How may I help you, Commander?"

"We've got an enlisted man down here, Captain, one of your sergeants..."

Bingo, I was right. He thinks I'm a Marine. Actually, I wish to God I was.

"... he just came in from Hawaii on the courier plane. He's headed for some outfit called Special Detachment 14. Ordinarily, I would have sent him over to the transient detachment, but he's traveling on a Six-A priority, so I tried to find this Special Detachment 14..."

"He's there now, Commander? Is that what you're saying?"

"You people really ought to make an effort to keep us up to date on your phone numbers," Commander Lentz said. "I spent an hour on the telephone before I managed to get through to some sergeant, who said Major Banning could be reached at this number."

"Tell the sergeant I'll be there in about thirty minutes to pick him up," Pickering said.

"You're going to come get him yourself?"

"Certainly," Pickering said. "I think it behooves those of us who are Naval officers to concern ourselves with the welfare of the enlisted men of our sister service, don't you, Commander?"

Commander Lentz was not stupid.

"Yes, Sir," he said. "Of course I do, Sir. Sir, it won't be necessary for the Captain to come himself. I'll arrange transportation if the Captain will give me an address."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes, Commander. I know where you are," Pickering said and hung up. His annoyance at having to drive into town was easily overwhelmed by his pleasure at having pricked the Commander's balloon of self-importance.

He was sitting on the footstool in front of the red leather chair tying his shoes when Mrs. Hortense Cavendish, the housekeeper, came in. She was a plump, gray-haired, motherly woman in her late fifties.

"I'd hoped to be back before you got here," she said.

"No problem."

"I bought a couple of nice, fresh barons of lamb," she said. "I know you like to feed Major Banning well when he comes. And Charley and I were in the country buying them, which is why we weren't here."

"I've got to go into town," Pickering said. "There was another young Marine for Major Banning on the courier plane. I'm going to fetch him."

"Couldn't Charley fetch him?"

"I'll get him," Pickering said. "What this boy needs after flying from the States is a hot meal, not a wild ride through Melbourne on the wrong side of the road with a crazy Australian at the wheel."

She laughed.

"There's plenty of food," she said. "I'll just slice the barons before I serve them."

"I'm not going to bring him here," Pickering said, as he stood up. "The one thing that kid does not need is dinner with a Navy brass hat. I'll get him a hotel and let Banning take care of him in the morning."

He drained his glass of scotch and walked out of the library.

First Lieutenant Hon Song Do, Signal Corps, U.S. Army Reserve, arrived at The Elms ten minutes after Pickering left, and Major Edward J. Banning, USMC, arrived five minutes after that. Both men were there at Captain Fleming Pickering's invitation.

Major Banning had called Captain Pickering on the telephone that morning to tell him he had "something interesting" and was about to fly to Melbourne to show it to him. Pickering asked him then to go directly to The Elms, not only because he liked Banning and wanted to have him to dinner, but also because he liked to keep Banning away from MacArthur's headquarters as much as possible. If the gossips didn't see him, they didn't ask questions. Pickering had also asked Pluto for dinner, not only because he-and Banning-enjoyed Hon's company, but also because he believed that Hon should know about anything "interesting" Banning had found.

After Mrs. Cavendish told them that Captain Fleming would be a little late, she set out a half gallon bottle of scotch, a soda siphon, and a silver champagne cooler full of ice for them in the library.

Major Banning had been driven to The Elms from the airfield in a Ford station wagon bearing the insignia of the Royal Australian Navy. He had just flown in from Townesville, Queensland, where he commanded Special Detachment 14, USMC. The very existence of Special Detachment 14 was classified CONFIDENTIAL. Its presence in Australia was classified SECRET. Its mission, "to support the Coastwatcher Establishment, Royal Australian Navy and to perform such other intelligence gathering activities as may be directed by Headquarters, USMC," was classified TOP SECRET.

Lieutenant Commander Eric A. Feldt, Royal Australian Navy, who commanded the Coastwatcher Establishment, had surprised a large number of Australians and Americans by taking an immediate liking to Major Banning. He had previously run off every other American officer sent to work with the Coastwatchers. In the process he often used language so colorful that some thought it inappropriate for a senior naval officer.

But Captain Pickering heard from Rear Admiral Keith Soames-Haley, RAN, a pre-war friend of long standing, that Feldt had described Major Banning as "the first sodding American officer I've met who could find his sodding ass with both hands."

Admiral Soames-Haley and Captain Pickering both agreed that the rapport between Feldt and Banning was probably based on the mysterious chemistry that sometimes developed between seemingly dissimilar men-each surprisingly recognizing in the other a deep-down, kindred soul, the two of them bobbing along alone and unappreciated in a sea of fools.

Soames-Haley and Pickering also agreed that the friendship between the two men almost certainly had much to do with the long years that Banning had spent in the Orient before the war. Banning understood the Japanese as well as Feldt did-which is to say as well as any Westerner could. Both officers spoke fluent Japanese. And finally, Feldt probably felt a connection with Banning because of Banning's personal stake in the war: Banning had been forced to leave his Russian-born wife behind in Shanghai when war came.

Whatever the reasons, both Soames-Haley and Pickering were truly delighted that the problems of Australian-US Cooperation vis-...-vis the Coastwatchers was solved. Soames-Haley was all too aware of how valuable that cooperation would be to both allies. For his part, he was not just eager, he was hungry to get his hands on some of the logistical largess available from Americans with the right connections. The Coastwatcher Organization needed desperately the latest communications equipment, as well as access to aircraft and submarines. And for his part, Pickering was fully aware of the value of the intelligence that would now flow from the Coastwatchers. Now that Banning was close to Feldt, and not regarded by him as one more arrogant, sodding American over here to tell us how to run the sodding war, the intelligence Feldt could provide would arrive far more quickly than through standard channels.

Major Banning had been met at the airport by a RAN Lieutenant, and transported to The Elms in a RAN Ford station wagon, because Commander Feldt had spread the word that Banning was "not too sodding stupid for an American." This was, for Feldt, praise of the highest order. Commander Feldt was highly regarded by his peers in the RAN, and any friend of his...

Lieutenant Pluto Hon had driven to The Elms in a 1941 Studebaker President, which had the letters USMC on its hood and the Marine Corps insignia- stencilled on its doors.

One of the sixteen enlisted men assigned to Special Detachment 14 was Staff Sergeant Allan Richardson, who was a scrounger of some reputation. Richardson had learned that shortly after the war broke out, a transport under charter to the U.S. Navy and loaded with equipment intended for the Chinese had been diverted to Melbourne. The cargo, which included a large number of Studebaker trucks and twenty President sedans, had been off-loaded and turned over to the only U.S. Navy group then in the area, a small Hydrographic Detachment. Richardson reasoned-correctly-that since Special Detachment 14 needed vehicles and had none, and since it was, furthermore, under the control of Captain Pickering, all it would take to get the needed vehicles would be a call from Captain Pickering to the Commanding Officer of the Hydrographic Detachment, a Lieutenant (j.g.). As a general rule of thumb, Lieutenants (j.g.) tend to comply with requests of Naval Captains.

Captain Pickering made the call. Special Detachment 14 got all the trucks and sedans it needed, plus one additional President. Two days after he made the telephone call on behalf of Staff Sergeant Richardson, Richardson gave Pickering the extra President, now bearing USMC insignia.

Pickering's rank entitled him to a staff car. Nevertheless, in order to avoid worrying about a driver, he had borrowed a Jaguar drophead coupe from a pre-war business associate for his personal transportation. Consequently, he promptly turned the Studebaker over to Lieutenant Pluto Hon. Pickering was immensely fond of Lieutenant Hon; he also felt himself to be in Hon's debt, for many courtesies rendered.

It did not surprise Pickering at all that Commander Lentz was waiting at NATS Melbourne, a small frame building plus a warehouse on Port Philip Bay. What surprised Commander Lentz was Captain Pickering's automobile; he was expecting either a Navy or an Army staff car, with a driver; and so a frown crossed his face when the Jaguar drophead coupe with Victorian license plates pulled into his OFFICIAL VISITORS parking space.

But Commander Lentz noticed the gold braid and the four gold stripes on Pickering's sleeves when he stepped out of the car, and he was suddenly all smiles.

"Captain Pickering? Commander Lentz, Sir."

"How are you, Commander?" Pickering replied, returning Lentz's salute with a far more crisp salute than was his custom.

Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, stood at attention beside his seabag.

"Welcome to Australia, Sergeant," Pickering said.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Put your gear in the back," Pickering said, and then turned to Commander Lentz. "Do I have to sign for him or anything?"

"No, Sir. Nothing like that. I hate for you to have to have driven all the way down here, Sir. I would have been happy to arrange..."

"No problem," Pickering interrupted him. "Thank you for your diligence in finding somebody to take care of the sergeant, Commander."

"My pleasure, Captain."

Pickering got behind the wheel, and after John Moore got in beside him, he drove off.

"My name is Pickering, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir."

'That's a long flight. I suppose you're tired, Sergeant? Sergeant what, by the way?"

"Moore, Sir."

"Are you tired?"

"I'm all right, Sir," Moore said, although that wasn't the truth. He had had trouble staying awake waiting for Captain Pickering.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Sergeant," Pickering said. "I'm one of the good Naval officers."

"Sir?"

"Major Banning, your new CO, identifies good Naval officers as those who have previously been Marines. I was a Marine Corporal in what is now known as World War I."

Moore looked at him directly, for the first time, and saw that Pickering was smiling. He smiled back.

"And I have a boy about your age in the Corps," Pickering said. "What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-two, Sir."

"How long have you been in the Corps?"

"About four months, Sir."

"You made buck sergeant in a hurry," Pickering said. But it was more of a question than a statement.

"When they took me out of boot camp to send me here, they made me a sergeant, Sir. I was originally supposed to go to Quantico and get a commission."

"Oh, really? You went to college, then?"

"Yes, Sir. Pennsylvania."

"Well, I'm sorry about the commission. But the Corps needed your skill here and now. What is that?"

"Sir?"

"Why did they take you out of boot camp and rush you over here?"

"Captain, I was told not to talk about anything connected with my transfer here."

"I understand, but, for all practical purposes, I'm Major Banning's commanding officer."

"Captain, with respect, I don't know that."

Pickering chuckled. "No, you don't. Good for you, Sergeant."

"Are we going to Special Detachment 14 now, Sir?"

"They're in Townesville, in Queensland, sort of on the upper right-hand corner of the Australian continent. What we're going to do is get you a hotel room. Have you got any money?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You're sure? Don't be embarrassed."

"I've got money, thank you, Sir."

"OK. So we'll get you a hotel. You can have a bath, and get something to eat, and in the morning, we'll get you together with Major Banning."

"Yes, Sir."

"I suppose I'd better have a set of your orders, and your service records, if you have them."

"Yes, Sir, they're in my bag."