"No, sir," Felter said, hesitated, and went on. "In this case the prodigal is Lieutenant Ellis."

The boy-faced wamor? Where was he?"

"In Vietnam, sir."

"And General Hanrahan considered his return of such significance that he tells you via a cryptic message?" the President asked. "You can tell me, Felter. I'm the President. I can be trusted, despite the opinion of a certain silver-headed senator general The secretary laughed out loud.

"He was over there as a courier," Felter said. "And while he was there, he went on a patrol he shouldn't have where he stepped on a punji stick. They put him in the hospital, and he left the hospital and came home."

"He just took off from the hospital?" the President asked.

"What's a punji stick?" the secretary asked.

The President told her, and then rephrased his question: "He went A.W.O.L. from the hospital? Why?"

"I would guess, Mr. President, that he hoped if he came home it would not come out that he had gone on the patrol."

"But he got caught?"

"The medics were concerned for his health, sir. He really should have been in the hospital. They sent a TWX."

"You think he's in the hospital at Fort Bragg now?"

"If he's at Bragg, Mr. President, he's in the hospital."

"Why do you suppose he wanted to go on a patrol?"

"Vietnam is nectar, Mr. President," Felter said, "and Ueutenant Ellis is a bee."

"Do I infer that he's in hot water with the army?"

"MAC V considers him A.W.O.L., sir," Felter said.

"Well, far be it from me to interfere with good military order and discipline," the President said wryly. "But on the other hand, when you're going to be there anyway, I can't see any reason why you should not, Felter, express to Lieutenant Ellis my best wishes for his speedy recovery. Preferably in the hearing of whoever is concerned with the question of A.W.O.L.."

"I wasn't aware that I was going to Fort Bragg, Mr. President," Felter said.

"I've sometimes noticed that when I tell people to do something they don't really want to do, they tend to forget I told them. If you visited Bragg, I wouldn't be at all surprised that it would serve to keep memories sharp."

"I'm sure it would, Mr. President," Felter said. He wondered whether he was being sent to Bragg because something in Kennedy made him admire a young officer who went on a patrol he hadn't been ordered to go on and then went A.W.O.L. from a hospital, or whether it was because Kennedy meant what he said about jogging memories. He decided it was probably both, with emphasis on the latter.

Felter had come to believe that Kennedy hoped that he could solve the problem of Indochina with unconventional forces rather than getting involved in an all-out war. He suspected that this had a good deal to do with McNamara's ordering the army to come up with a proposal for an air-mobile division.

Felter did not believe that ten times as many Green Berets as were proposed, nor a dozen divisions, air-mobile or otherwise, would be of much use in Vietnam unless the decision were made to carry the war to Hanoi and, if necessary, to Peking.

But his opinions had not been sought, and he knew they would not be listened to if he offered them.

(Three) Ward 3-B-14 Station Hospital Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0930 Hours, 30 January 1962 The candy-striper was carrying a foil-wrapped flower pot. She went to the nurse's station.

"Lieutenant Ellis?" she asked when she finally had the nurse's attention.

The nurse looked at her in surprise. THE BmtiErs "Plowers for Lieutenant Ellis," the candy-striper repeated. "He can't have anything in there," the nurse said.

"Not even flowers?" a tall, sharp featured black woman asked. She was wearing a medical smock to which was pinned a name tag reading Antoinet PARKER, M.D." PATHOLOGICAL SERVICEs.

"He's under arrest, Doctor," the nurse said.

"What's that got to do with flowers? You think she's got a file in among the roses?"

"I don't have the authority to pass anything in there," the nurse said.

"I think I do," Dr. Parker said. "Go ahead, honey, he's in 307, last door on the left."

"Doctor, I wish you'd put that you authorized that in writing," the nurse said.

"Sure," Dr. Parker said. "Why not?"

She took Tom Ellis's chart, which she had just put in the rack, opened the aluminum cover, and wrote "Delivery of flowers authorized. A. Parker, M.D." 0935 hours, 30 ian." She showed it to the nurse and put the chart back in the case.

Tom Ellis was sick and uncomfortable. flying halfway around the world with open wounds, a fever, and an infection that was not under control had been both insane and debilitating. His foot and calf were swollen, inflamed, and painful, and they weren't going to get much better anytime soon. He was subject to periodic sweats and chills, and they weren't exactly sure what were causing them, although infection and any number of odd Asiatic viruses were under consideration He had intravenous systems in both arms, one feeding him antibiotics, the other feeding a saline solution in case something unexpected should happen to him. His electrocardiogram had shown certain irregularities. As a precaution, to rest his heart, they were feeding him oxygen through his nostri is Pirst thing that morning, they had given him a barium enema and subjected him to a painful and humiliating X-ray examination of his entrails.

Flowers, Dr. Parker decided professionally, and especially flowers delivered by a pretty young girl, were not containdicated.

Dr. Parker was looking at her watch impatiently when an air force captain came to the nurse's station. She had hoped to see a bone-and-muscle guy and at least one of the four internal medicine guys who were working on Tom, to get their prognosis. But none of them were with him, and she had to get back to her lab.

"Flowers for Lieutenant Ellis," the air force captain said.

"Popular devil, isn't he?" Toni quipped, smiling sweetly at the nurse.

"Very popular, Doctor," the air force captain said. "With friends in high places."

He pointed to the green stick in the pot of flowers. There were two pieces of paper wired to it. One read, "Capitol Florist, 13th and M N.W." Washington, D.C.," and the other was a small white envelope with gold embossing: mE wsu'rn uousn, Washington.

"Really?" the nurse squealed.

"Delivered to the plane by limo just before we took off to come down here," the captain said. "Where is he?"

"Right this way, Captain," Dr. Parker said. "I'll show you myself."

When she pushed the door to 307 open, a young woman who was not the candy-striper was in Lieutenant Ellis's room. He was still on his back, with the oxygen pipes in his nostrils, and the intravenous devices in each arm. The girl was sitting on the bed beside him, tenderly mopping his forehead with a washcloth. She had been crying, and her mascara had run, and her lipstick was mussed. There was lipstick on Tom Ellis's forehead and cheeks and mouth, and it looked as if he, too, had been crying.

"Miss Eaglebury, I presume?" Dr. Parker said. "General Hanrahan told me he thought you might drop by."

(Four) Office of the Commanding General U.S. Army Special Warfare School and Center Fort Bragg, North Carolina 1245 Hours, 30 January 1962 Sergeant Major Taylor entered the office without knocking and closed the door after him.

There's a gentleman from the CIA outside, General," he said. "I told him you were busy, but he insists."

General Hanrahan looked at Lieutenant Colonel Felter, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Ask him to come in, Taylor, please," Hanrahan said. A man of about thirty walked briskly into the room. He wore a gray flannel suit, a white button-down collar shirt, a red-striped necktie, and highly polished plain-toed cordovan shoes. He carried an expensive camel-hair overcoat over his arm and held a snap-brimmed hat in his hand. He looked, Sandy Felter thought, as if he were a bright and successful young stockbroker. "General Hanrahan?" he said, extending a leather folder. Thank you for letting me interrupt."

He didn't give Hanrahan what Hanrahan considered a long enough look at his credentials, and Hanrahan asked, "May I see that again, please?"

With visible impatience the credentials were returned to Hanrahan. The CIA man looked at Felter.

"Colonel, I don't mean to run you off, but I'll have to see General Hanrahan in private."

"I didn't catch your name," Felter said.

"I didn't give my name," the CIA man said.

"J. Croom Winston the Third," Hanrahan read from the credentials, earning him a look of displeasure from J. Croom Winston III.

"Colonel Felter," Hanrahan went on, "is authorized access to anything here, Mr. Winston."

"I'm afraid I must be the judge of that," Winston said. Would you excuse us, Colonel?"

"Certainly," Felter said. He got up and walked out of the office and closed the door behind him.

"Was it all right, my coming in there?" Sergeant Major Taylor asked.

"How could you resist?" Felter asked. "Is there a scrambler phone around here?"

Taylor reached in the neck of his fatigue shirt and came out with his dog-tag chain. This held three keys in addition to his dog tags. He unlocked a steel credenza, took a telephone from it, and set it on top of the credenza. How does it work?" Felter asked, going to it. "You tell the operator. You need a scrambler access anthority code."

"Will mine work?" "If it doesn't, I'll give you ours," Taylor said. Felter nodded and dialed 0.

"Able One-Nine Willy," he said. "Get me a military liaison at the CIA in McLean."

There was a pause as the operator checked the access code. "One moment, sir." There followed a series of buzzes and clicks. "Military liaison, Martindale."

"You have an incoming, sir. Would you please engage your scrambler?"

"Engaged," the man said again in a moment.

"Go ahead, please; signal when finished. I am going off the line at this time."

"Sandy Felter, Marty," Felter said. "What can we do for the White House?"

Does the name J. Croom Winston the Third mean anything to you?"

"Never heard of him."

"He's got credentials, and he's waving them around to Paul Hanrahan. Find out who he is, will you?"

"Hang on. You seem annoyed." "I am." There was a ninety-second wait.

"He works out of Southeast Region, for the East German desk."

"Who's got the East German desk?"

"Which would be quicker, you calling Hoare there, or me breaking this down and starting from scratch?"

"What do you want to know" "What he wants from Hanrahan, why, and who authorized it." "Quickest is me walking down the hall and getting Hoare." "Would you, please' Marty?" There was another ninety-second wait. "Joe Hoare, Sandy. What can I do for you?"

"You have an arrogant young man named J. Croom Winston the Third working for you, Joe?"

"I suppose, on balance, that is a reasonable description. I gather he's annoyed you somehow? How?"

"He just ran me out of Paul Hanrahan's office," Felter said. "Hanrahan told him I was cleared, but he announced he would be the judge of that. Is something going on that I don't know about?"

"I would be very surprised, Sandy, if anything went on anywhere that you didn't know about," Joe Hoare said. "Give me a minute to check to make sure, but I don't think Hoare has been assigned anything important."

"I'll wait," Felter said. "Thank you, Joe."

Sandy, what he's doing down there is looking for a man named Karl-Heinz Wagner. Do you remember the East German Pioneer lieutenant who came through the wall in a truck?"

"No," Felter said.

"Well, this guy did and made it to the States, enlisted, and joined the Berets. We're still digging tunnels over there, and the action officer came up with this Wagner's name, and he wants to search his brain. He knows something about the other side, or the action officer hopes he does. Winston was sent down there to talk to him and, if he appears to have any information of importance, to ask the army if they can borrow him for a month or six weeks."

"That's all?" Felter asked incredulously. "Yeah. You thought there was more?"

"The close working relationship everyone hopes can be maintained between the company and the army is not going to be helped at all, Joe,.if you don't train your people to recognize the difference between a routine matter and something important."

"You are annoyed, aren't you, Sandy?"

"Or," Felter went on coldly, "if you permit them the misconception that because they have been hired and given a piece of plastic with their picture on it, that they have the authority to order sergeants major, much less general officers, around like clerks." There was a pause before Hoare replied. - "I take your point, Sandy. Is he around there somewhere?" "He's in with Hanrahan." "Would you please call him to the phone?"

"I'm sure you understand that my concern is not solely with this young man," Felter said.

He covered the microphone with his hand. "Sergeant Major, would you please tell Mr. J. Croom Winston the Third that Mr. Joseph Hoare hopes he can be torn away from his duties to chat a moment on the telephone?"

"It would be my very great pleasure' Colonel Felter, sir," Taylor said.

He went to Hanrahan's door, knocked with his knuckles, and went immediately in.

"Mr. Winston has a telephone call, General," he said.

That's a bit odd," J. Croom Winston said to General Hanrahan. "It must be important if they called me here."

He followed Sergeant Major Taylor out of Hanrahan's office.

"Is that line secure?" he asked the small, balding Jewish lieutenant colonel who held a telephone out to him.

"It's a scrambler line," Felter said.

"I'd like to take this in private, if you don't mind," Winston said. "I'm sure you understand."