"I've got another thirty intercepts."

"I'll get on them," Moore said.

"The reason I was hoping you would bring the Deaconess with you was so that she could help. Why should we do all the work? She's making all the money."

"Lieutenant," Moore said, in mock shock and outrage, "that's very ungentlemanly of you."

"I haven't been admiring her legs. I don't have to be gentlemanly."

"I'll take the intercepts out to the cottage."

"I thought you said she was playing tennis?"

"You don't play tennis all afternoon."

"OK," Hon said. "Now listen to me, John. I'm not pulling your leg. I don't trust that woman. She looks to me like she has taken post graduate courses in how to take credit for what other people have done, while simultaneously keeping her own ass out of the line of fire."

"You better go deeper into that," Moore said.

"So far, she has not put her ass on the line with any analysis we've taken to the Emperor. Think about it. So far we have been right. She's getting credit for that, because they think she's in charge. But if we had been wrong, I think she would have said, 'Lieutenant Hon never discussed that with me.'"

"You really think she's that much of a bitch?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's something damned cold about her, I'll admit that."

"I want to make sure she reads every goddamned thing that comes through here. I don't want her to be able to say she never saw something."

"What are you going to do about the Emperor?"

"I'm going to call Sid Huff and tell him I have some MAGIC. What you read. Before we offer an analysis, I want the Deaconess's two cents."

"I'm on my way," Moore said.

"Take a pistol and use the chain on the briefcase. Do it by the book, Sergeant."

"OK.".

"Do I have to tell you that making a pass at the Deaconess would earn you a prize for Stupid Action of the Century?"

"Jesus Christ, that never entered my mind."

"Bullshit. That leg crack didn't just pop into your head."

"Believe what you want. But rest assured, the lady's virtue is in no danger from me."

"OK. One final thing. Did you know that you're on the AWOL report this morning?"

"I heard they were looking for me."

"Well, you are. I think I fixed it. But you better not go anywhere near the headquarters company barracks until I know for sure."

"Don't worry about that either," Moore said.

He picked the briefcase off the floor, opened it, and set it on the table. Hon put the intercepts into it-it looked more like fifty or sixty than thirty, Moore thought. And then Moore closed the briefcase and snapped the handcuff around his wrist. Hon took a.45 Colt automatic from a file cabinet. Moore hoisted the skirt of his tunic and put the pistol in the small of his back under his trouser waistband.

"You're going to shoot yourself in the ass one day doing that," Hon said.

Then he picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

"Colonel Huff? Sir, this is Lieutenant Hon. I have several MAGIC messages that I believe should be brought to the Supreme Commander's attention."

Moore unlocked the steel door and let himself out. When he reached the security post by the elevator, an Army technical sergeant from headquarters company was waiting for him.

"Sergeant Moore, you went AWOL last night."

"There's been a mistake, Sergeant," Moore said. "I don't live in the barracks any more. I'm not supposed to be on your duty rosters."

"You tell that to the first sergeant, Sergeant. He told me to find your ass and bring you home."

"I'm sorry," Moore said. "I can't do that." He held up the briefcase.

"I don't give a shit about any fucking briefcase," the sergeant said. "You come with me."

"I'll have to tell my officer where I'm going," Moore said and went back to the office. Hon was locking the steel door when he got there.

"There's a tech sergeant out there who wants to haul me off to headquarters company," he said.

"Oh, shit!" Hon said. "Come on."

The tech sergeant was waiting at the outer security point with his arms folded.

"All right, Sergeant, what's this all about?"

"Sir, I'm here to return Sergeant Moore to Headquarters Company. We're carrying him as AWOL."

"That's in error. Sergeant Moore is not attached to Headquarters Company."

"Sir, I got my orders."

"And I have mine, Sergeant. Mine are to dispatch Sergeant Moore, with a briefcase full of classified documents, to-to who is none of your business. But to someone who ranks much higher around here than the first sergeant of Headquarters Company. For that matter, than the Headquarters Company commander. You will not interfere with that. If necessary, I will have this MP place you under arrest. Do you understand me, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir."

"All right, Moore, get going," Hon said.

"Yes, Sir."

"Sergeant, you will return to Headquarters Company. You will tell your first sergeant that (a) Sergeant Moore is no longer his responsibility and (b) if he ever does something like this again around here, I will be forced to bring the matter to the attention of Captain Pickering-that's Navy Captain Pickering-and I think he would speak to General Sutherland about it. You understand that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You may go, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir."

That may work, Hon thought. If it doesn't, fuck it, I'll go to Sutherland.

As Moore was unlocking the door of the Studebaker, the Marine Aviator lieutenant colonel he had seen before walked up to him.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant," he said.

Moore straightened and saluted.

"Good afternoon, Sir."

"I'm delighted to see a familiar uniform around here," Dailey said. "I'm Colonel Dailey. I've just been assigned here as the CINCPAC liaison officer."

"Yes, Sir," Moore said. He remembered-the radio Captain Pickering had sent SECNAV asking that a liaison officer be assigned.

"What have they got you doing around here, Sergeant?"

"I work for Major Banning, Sir."

"Major Banning is assigned to this headquarters?"

"No, Sir. I mean, he works with SWPA, Sir. But he's not assigned here."

"Oh?"

"He commands Special Detachment 14, Sir."

"I see," Dailey said. "Do you happen to know, Sergeant, who is the ranking Marine officer here?"

"I suppose that would be Major Banning, Sir."

Well, that's nice to know, too, Dailey thought. Since this man Banning is only a major, that makes me the senior Marine officer present.

"When you see Major Banning, Sergeant, would you please tell him we bumped into each other, and that I'd like to meet him?"

"Yes, Sir, I'll do that."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Dailey smiled at Moore and went back to the front door to wait for the car and driver that had been assigned to the CINCPAC liaison officer by General Douglas MacArthur's personal order.

He wondered what Special Detachment 14 was and what it did around here.

(Five) WATER LILY COTTAGE.

MANCHESTER AVENUE.

BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA.

1730 HOURS 13 AUGUST 1942.

Ellen Feller was annoyed when she returned from the Doomben Tennis Club to see that the Studebaker was not there. She parked the Jaguar drophead coupe Fleming Pickering had left for her to use and went into the house.

She wondered why it should annoy her that the car-and thus, Sergeant John Marston Moore-was not there. She concluded that it was because it left her with the choice of either driving to the Lennon Hotel for dinner, which she did not like to do alone, or making herself something to eat, alone, here. Neither option was appealing.

She was desperately thirsty. The water at the tennis courts tasted as if it had been stored for a decade in a rusty barrel; and of course the Turf Club was closed for the duration, so there was no place to get even a soft drink.

She found a bottle of water in the refrigerator. And beer. She shrugged and reached for a beer bottle and opened it. And since there was no one around to see her, she drank from the neck. It was good beer, more bitter than American beer, and reminded her somewhat of the beer she'd grown to like in China.

On the sly, of course, she thought. The wife of the Reverend Glen T. Feller of the Christian & Missionary Alliance could not afford to have the recent heathen see her sucking on a bottle of beer.

I wonder what that bastard is up to these days?

The Reverend Feller had elected to go about The Lord's Work during the war years by bringing the Gospel to the Indians in Arizona.

Which is probably where he has the jade he smuggled out of China when we left. I know it's nowhere around Baltimore or Washington. If it was, I would have found it.

He's probably waking up right about now in bed with some well-muscled, smooth-skinned young Indian lad in whom he was taking a special interest.

Well, what's wrong with that? There is a lot to be said for being in bed with well-muscled, smooth-skinned lads. Like Sergeant John Marston Moore, for example.

Oh, God, is that why I was so annoyed when I found out he wasn't here? Am I in that dangerous condition again? That's absurd. I know better. Only a stupid ladybird dirties her own nest, to coin a phrase.

She finished the bottle of beer and was surprised at how quickly she did it.

It was the lousy undrinkable water at Doomben. I'm dehydrated. I'm not even very sweaty.

She tested this theory by raising her arm and sniffing her armpit. There was an unpleasant odor, but not what she expected after an hour and a half on the court with an Australian woman who was built like a boxcar but who moved around the court with really amazing speed and grace.

Ellen opened the refrigerator door again and started to reach for another bottle of beer, and then changed her mind.

It will make me flatulent and probably keep me up all night.

There was a quart can of Dole's pineapple juice in the refrigerator.

Moore's, she thought. Lieutenant Hon got it for him somewhere.

Well, fuck him, I'm thirsty.

There you go again. Dear. Thinking dangerous thoughts.

She took the can of pineapple juice from the refrigerator, punched a hole in the top with a beer can opener, and then poured it in a glass and added ice cubes.