From what Jack had been able to see from the backseat of the Packard, Houses A, B, and C were-although their architecture was individual-alike in that they were large, substantial, and surrounded by manicured greenery to assure the privacy of the inhabitants.

If he could judge by what he found in House C, they were luxuriously furnished and equipped. In addition to a glass-walled shower, plus a pool-sized tub, his bathroom had a black marble bidet. One rarely encountered bidets in the United States, much less black marble bidets.

The towels he found in the bathroom were too large and too thick to be wrapped around his waist, as was his custom, but that was not really a problem, because there was a terry-cloth robe hanging on a hook.

He put it on and walked into the bedroom, where he found Lieutenant Colonel Lowell sprawled comfortably in a chaise lounge. He had a whiskey glass in his hand, and there was another on the table beside the lounge.

Lowell got off the lounge.

"I knocked, but you were in the shower, I guess," Lowell said.

"No problem, sir."

"I've got two things you need," Lowell said. "Which would you rather have first, a nice, new king-sized Band-Aid for your nose? Or the drink?"

"The drink, please, sir. It's been a long day."

"And a long night before, according to General Hanrahan," Lowell said, a little smugly. He waited a moment, indicated the glass of whiskey, and waited until Jack had it in hand before going on: "These are your orders, so pay attention, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir?"

"You will not talk to the press, and will not permit your photograph to be taken by the press," Lowell said.

He's serious. What the hell is that all about?

"Sir?"

"Starting at about the time you left Kamina, the press was all over the place, and there is a rumor that an American Green Beret jumped with Belgians on Stanleyville. Everybody denies it, of course."

"I understand, sir."

"They are looking for an American hero right now, and if they could find you, get your name, it would be you. Felter thinks the frenzy will die down quickly. But then, when your permission to accept a foreign decoration goes through Congress, it's liable to come up again. Felter does not want your name or your photograph published. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. That's fine with me, Colonel."

"For the immediate future, you can count on ten, twelve days, two weeks here. Have a good time. I'm going to McDill in the morning, so the house will be yours alone."

"I'm awed by these houses, Colonel," Jack confessed. "Are they all yours?"

"This one's mine. And my cousin's is his. House A is owned by the company."

"You spend a lot of time here?"

"This is the first time this year. If you're looking for some place to take Marjorie on your honeymoon, this might be ideal."

"I don't know what to say, sir."

"Try thank you," Lowell said. "I'll set it up. All you have to do is call, and tell them when you're coming, and they'll send somebody over to turn up the air conditioner, make the beds, et cetera, et cetera. . . ."

He paused and changed the subject.

"We haven't finished with your orders," Lowell said. "Felter wanted to keep you at MacKall indefinitely, but I convinced him that sending you back to Rucker made more sense. So, in the absence of orders to the contrary in the meantime, you'll report to Rucker on 17 December. Back to the Instrument Board."

"Yes, sir."

"And get a regular cap. If you show up wearing a Green Beret, it'll cause talk. And we don't want talk."

"Yes, sir."

"That was Felter's idea. To hell with him. You earned it, you want to wear it, wear it. Just don't talk about Stanleyville."

"Yes, sir."

"That's it. Now let me look at your nose, and then we'll have to go face my sister-in-law."

"Yes, sir."

III.

[ ONE ].

"Soft Breezes" (aka House B) 33 Ocean View Drive The Ocean Reef Club Key Largo, Florida 2345 3 December 1964.

Hors d'oeuvres-plates of shrimp and oysters on beds of ice- and cocktails-served from behind a wet bar made of coral by a white-jacketed barman-and dinner-steaks and chicken to be broiled over charcoal by a chef in full white uniform on the patio by the pool-had been waiting for them in the enormous, L-SHAPED, open-to-the-rafters living room.

And so was the thank-you speech by Geoff's parents, which didn't go as badly as Colonel Lowell hinted it would.

When they walked into the house, Geoff's mother-a tall, elegant, silver-haired woman-and father-a somewhat portly, balding man-had walked quickly to him.

She put her hand up and touched his cheek and looked into his eyes.

"I'm Helene Craig," she said softly. "You're very welcome here, and I want you to know that I will pray for your health and happiness every night for the rest of my life."

Geoff's father had been worse. He looked as if he was going to say something, then couldn't find his voice. He wrapped Jack in a bear hug, and his body shook with sobs.

"My God, Helene," Colonel Lowell said. "What will our guests think? They've only been here half an hour, and Porter's already as drunk as an owl."

"He is not!" Helene Craig said, somewhat indignantly, but by then the laughter had started, and what could have been far more awkward for everyone had passed.

Porter Craig shook his head, patted Jack on the back, and, still unable to find his voice, led him to the bar, where he gestured to the barman to give Jack a drink.

Marjorie came up to him and kissed him, on the cheek, and then Ursula, and then Hanni, his stepmother, and his father.

"Jeanine really wanted to wait up for you, Jacques," Hanni said. "But she was playing tennis all day and she just collapsed."

Jeanine was his eleven-year-old half sister.

"I'll see her in the morning," Jack said. "And Mary Magdalene? "

"Where do you think Mary Magdalene is?" his father said. "With her, of course."

"I really can't wait to meet both of them," Marjorie said, "Jack's told me so much about them."

"We're going fishing in the morning," Captain Jean-Philippe Portet said. "If you feel up to it?"

"Great."

"Am I invited?" Marjorie asked.

"Of course," Hanni said. "We're all going."

"It'll give us a chance to talk, Jacques," his father said. "About the business."

Jack looked at him curiously but said nothing.

"I think it's time to leave the Congo," his father said, then added, "we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Fine," Jack said.

Helene Craig clapped her hands.

"Why don't we all go out by the pool and get something to eat?" she said.

They went out to the netting-protected grill by the pool and watched the chef cook. Marjorie's shoulder touched Jack's as they watched, and Marjorie's foot caressed his calf beneath the table by the pool as they ate. This caused him to have an involuntary vascular reaction to stimuli, and he was afraid his condition would be evident in his new white tennis shorts if he had to stand up.

He also reached the conclusion that there was not going to be an opportunity to be alone with Marjorie, at least tonight, with all these people around, and with her staying in a different house.

After dinner they went back into the living room. Jack took one of the stools-they were actually red-leather-upholstered captain's chairs on very long legs-at the wet bar and asked for a beer. Marjorie sat beside him and asked for a Tom Collins. Not at all accidentally, he decided, Marjorie's knee pressed against his.

That's her second Tom Collins. She is not used to drinking.

If we were not in this living room out of a Fred Astaire/Cary Grant movie, the chances are pretty good that I could get a little. Not only is she on her second Tom Collins-and one drink usually wipes out her maidenly inhibitions-but we are now engaged to be married, and that should eliminate whatever other objections she might raise.

But we're not even in the same house, and if I suggest we go for a walk, everyone will know what I have in mind, and I don't want to embarrass her. So I'm screwed. Correction, I am not screwed.

I suppose that's the way things go. The bitter with the sweet, et cetera.

Think of your goddamn nose, or something else unpleasant; the last thing you want is a hard-on poking out of your shorts.

Barbara Bellmon and Hanni Portet came in from the pool, arm in arm, laughing and smiling at each other.

"Oh, look at that!" Barbara cried happily, pointing upward.

His mother-in-law-to-be was, Jack decided, a little plastered. And so was Hanni. They were each on their third Tom Collins.

"Helene, I love your fish!" Barbara added.

Jack looked up. The living room open to the rafters, and from them, suspended by nearly invisible wires, a huge sailfish moved slowly in the breeze from the air-conditioning. The ceiling was painted a soft blue, and it appeared the fish was swimming overhead.

"That's Geoff's first big fish," Porter Craig said. "He caught it when he was eleven."

"He insisted on having it mounted, of course," Helene Craig picked up the story, "and I didn't have the heart to tell him no. So we had it stuffed, and then we didn't know to where to put it, so it wound up there."

"I think it looks great there," Barbara Bellmon said, and giggled. "But I want to be here when someone tries to dust it!"

"It takes two people, on two ladders," Helene said. "One holds the fish, and the other vacuums it. Very delicately."

The mental picture was amusing, and Jack smiled.

Colonel Lowell joined them.

"Have you got a pocket in your shorts, sweetheart?" he asked.

"That's an odd question," Marjorie said. "But yes, I do."

He handed her a sheet of typewriter paper, folded twice.

"Stick this in it, and don't let anybody see it," he said.

"What is it?"

"Take a look at it later, when you go to bed," he said.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"None of your business, Sergeant. Butt out. This is between the young lady and me."

She put the sheet of paper in her hip pocket.

Barbara and Hanni walked up to them.

"Is this the time to tell everyone about Second Lieutenant Lowell and his Packard?" Barbara said. "Or has liquor loosened my tongue?"

"I'd love to hear it," Jack said.

"I've heard it," Marjorie said. "So you can start, Mother, while I powder my nose."

She touched Jack's arm, smiled at him, and walked away.

"I think I'll have another one of these, please," Barbara said to the barman. "I really don't know where to begin. There are so many twists and turns. . . ."