"What made you think I'd be out here?"

"I just knew. I know how you think."

Jesus Christ, I hope not.

He didn't reply.

"I'm surprised they let you in. You really don't work for Trans-Global anymore, do you? I mean, you're on military leave, right?"

"I own the airline," Pick said. "That probably had something to do with the station manager letting me in."

"You own the airline like I'm Marilyn Monroe."

Jesus Christ, she doesn't know!

"I slipped him twenty bucks from my poker winnings," Pick said.

Jesus, I can smell her.

"What happened to your shoes? Blister?" he asked.

"No. I didn't want to startle you, so I took them off. How you doing?"

"After twenty, thirty minutes of solemn contemplation, I decided that Jeanette is not really inside this Container, Human Remains," Pick said. "So it doesn't really matter that it's not covered with the flag."

"There'll be a flag tomorrow, won't there?"

"Probably. I don't know. I don't care. I'm not going. I said good-bye to her twice, once over there, and I'm doing it again now. Have just finished doing it, now."

She took his hand with both of hers.

You don't really want to do that, Mrs. Babs Mitch.e.l.l. My high moral character is weakened in direct proportion to the amount of imbibed booze. The needle on the Moral Scruples Remaining indicator is already in the red.

"I'm sorry, Pick."

"You shouldn't be. Despite popular legend to the contrary, the real b.a.s.t.a.r.ds of this world do get what is coming to them. Or don't get what they would really like to have."

"I'm not sure I follow that."

"That's probably because I am just a wee bit tiddly."

"I noticed," she said matter-of-factly. "If you're really finished, I'll take you home."

By that, obviously, you mean home to room 39A in the loony ward.

"I thought I'd catch a cab and go back to the Coronado Beach," he said. "But I will take a ride as far as the pa.s.senger terminal, where I can catch a cab."

"Why there?"

"Because that's where the cabstand is."

"I meant the Coronado Beach Hotel?"

"Because I have an apartment there, where I can have a few drinks in private, and thus not disgrace my officer's uniform by being s.h.i.tfaced in a public establishment, or run afoul of the hospital O Club regulations."

"You have an apartment there?"

"Yeah, I have an apartment there."

"If you're ready, I'll take you there."

"That would be a very bad idea," he said. "As a matter of fact, I will not, thank you just the same, take a ride to the pa.s.senger terminal."

"Why would that be a very bad idea?"

"Because I'm having a h.e.l.l of a hard time keeping from putting my arms around you while standing in front of Jeanette's casket, and I know G.o.dd.a.m.n well what would happen in your car. Much less my apartment."

She looked into his eyes.

"Okay. Now you know," Pick said. "That's the kind of a p.r.i.c.k I am. And the sooner you get away from me, and the farther away you get, the better."

"Okay. I'm warned," she said. "Let's go."

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard you."

"But you don't believe me? Is that it?"

"I had a couple of drinks before I went looking for you," Babs said. "Time to think very seriously about the dangers of someone like myself being desperate for another man in my life, of someone like you being especially vulnerable to someone like me."

"And?"

"I had another drink and went looking for you."

"Jesus, Babs!" he said softly.

"The drinks I had are wearing off, so if we're going to do this, you'd better get another couple in me pretty soon."

"I don't think you know what you're saying," he said.

"Yeah, I do. Why not, Pick? Who are we going to hurt?"

"The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you, add to your problems," Pick said.

"I know," she said. She put her hand on his cheek. "Likewise. Who knows? Maybe we can solve each other's problems. It seems to me worth trying. What has either one of us got to lose?"

"Jesus H. Christ!"

"Come on, let's go," she said, and took his hand and led him away from the Container, Human Remains. Halfway to the hangar door, he freed his hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Six steps farther, he stopped, put both arms around her, and kissed her.

[NINE].

APARTMENT A THE P&FE/TRANS-GLOBAL SUITE CORONADO BEACH HOTEL SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA 0830 3 NOVEMBER 1950.

"I think this is what your friend Dr. McGrory would call 'postcoital depression,' " Babs Mitch.e.l.l said to Pick Pickering.

They were having a room-service breakfast; both were wearing hotel-furnished terry-cloth robes. The robe concealed all the curvature of her body.

It doesn't matter. I can see her face. Even without makeup, she's beautiful.

Okay. Here it comes. You knew G.o.dd.a.m.n well it would.

"Now that I've thought it over . . ."

"Something bothering you?"

"I had too much to drink last night," she said. "You must think I'm really a s.l.u.t."

"No I don't," he said.

"You don't?"

"I don't."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Believe it."

"Oh, G.o.d, what have we done?"

After a moment, Pick solemnly said, "If that question was addressed to the Deity, I'm sorry to have to tell you He's not available at the moment. But-as one of His favorite people on this particular planet-I feel confident in telling you that when He finally gets around to answering your query, He will say something like 'Nothing wrong.' Or 'Good for you.' "

" 'One of His favorite people'?" Babs parroted incredulously.

"I have the proof," Pick said. "He put us together, didn't he? Just when we really needed each other. Would He have done that if He didn't like us?"

"Oh, G.o.d, I'd like to believe that."

"I told you, He's not available at the moment. But you can believe it."

She stood, walked around the room-service cart, and put her arms around his neck from behind.

"Oh, G.o.d, I really hope this works," she said.

"For the third time, I'm sorry to have to tell-"

"I'm going to have to stop saying that, aren't I?"

"I don't know. He'll probably wonder why you stopped talking to Him."

She pulled on his ears, and he twisted in his chair, and somehow his face wound up inside her bathrobe. And then, somehow, the bathrobe became completely unfastened and fell from her shoulders.

He had just picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder and announced, "Me Tarzan, you Jane! We go make whoopee-whoopee, okay?" when the door chimes sounded.

"Come back next year," Pick called loudly.

"It's Captain McGowan, sir."

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Pick said softly. Then he raised his voice. "Be right with you, Art."

He carried Babs into the bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and went to answer the door.

"Got a message for you, sir," Captain McGowan said.

"From General Dawkins?"

"No, sir. From j.a.pan." He handed it to him, then said, "Sir, when you go back to the hospital . . . The general told them he'd asked you to spend the night, and didn't think he had to ask their permission. They were about to send the Sh.o.r.e Patrol looking for you."

"My compliments to the general, Captain, and please relay my appreciation for his understanding of the situation."

"Yes, sir, I'll do that. Good morning, sir."

Pick tore open the envelope.

UNCLa.s.sIFIED.

URGENTOFFICE OF THE CIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA TOKYO0305 3NOVEMBER1950 TOKYO TIME.

TO MAJOR MALCOLM S. PICKERING, USMCR.

DETACHMENT OF PATIENTS.

US NAVAL HOSPITAL SAN DIEGOVIA BRIG GEN C W DAWKINS, USMC CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIAPERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO TO MAJ PICKERING BEGINSMAJOR AND MRS KENNETH R. MCCOY, USMCR, ANNOUNCE THE BIRTH OF THEIR SON, PICKERING KENNETH MCCOY, IN TOKYO j.a.pAN AT 0215 3NOVEMBER1950. MOTHER AND CHILD ARE DOING WELL.END PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO.

Pick went to the bedroom door.

"What was that all about?"

"One more proof that He likes me, sweetheart," Pick said, and sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the message.

Christ, she doesn't even know who the Killer and Ernie are.

She handed it back to him.

"Friends of yours?" Babs asked.