::  I’ll Be Seeing You ::

Author’s note: Thanks to the ever L&T Laurel. She makes me a better writer for daring to ask the hard questions (like what the heck are you thinking?)

Algonquin Hotel
New York City
Wednesday
November 26, 1941
10:00 AM

Upon returning to the States, Meredith Cavanaugh refused her mother’s request to stay at the family’s home in White Plains or the apartment on 5^th Avenue. Instead, she’d taken a set of rooms at the Algonquin Hotel on West 44^th Street. It was within walking distance of the paper and far enough away from her mother that she could be comfortable; close enough to keep an eye on ‘the enemy.’

She looked down at the preparations for the parade that would kick off the holiday shopping season. Not that everyone was in the mood. There was a forced gaiety. Even the most die-hard isolationists were beginning to understand that this truly would be a global war. The headline in this morning’s paper said it all.

And it appeared that the public was coming around to accepting the inevitability of the US getting involved. The government was pitching a new idea – Savings Bonds – with actors like Carole Lombard and others selling them at theaters all over the country. And sales were brisk.

Editorials in newspapers, even the ones that heretofore had been strictly pro-isolationist, if not outright pro-German, were now preaching the need to keep the war where it belonged – off US soil. If that meant we would have to fight, then so be it. There were hysterical reports of submarines off the coast of New Jersey and California.

She turned away from the window and stared down at the envelope resting on the small desk nearby. She picked it up, hefted it, studied the handwriting and the diplomatic stamp that ensured it was unopened by the censors, and then carefully put it back down.

Ever since she left Bougainville over a year ago, Kate Pike had sent her updates on what was happening to her friends. After the order for all Americans to leave the South Pacific, Bud had taken his wife and son, Caroline Imes, and several other women to Australia. AJ paid for accommodations for the women in Sydney, where they’d promptly joined the Red Cross. Bobbi Latham had refused to go. "She’s helping out at the bar, allowing Sturgis to take a more active role in AJ’s far flung enterprises." Meredith had read between the lines on that letter, and knew exactly what Sturgis and the rest of them were up to – spying and hunting for Taro, the man who’d attacked her two years ago.

Tom Boone was still watching the goings on in Sorong. But Kate was worried about their friend. "I fear for his health, more than his safety. But that brings me to another piece of news. Bud Roberts’ brother (none of us knew of him) showed up one day at the consulate looking for Bud. I was a bit suspicious, but the boy is just that, every bit as enthusiastic as his brother – a real sweet kid. Years ago there’d been harsh words between them, but Mikey wanted to make up. Bud was so happy to see him, but you know how Bud is. I just can’t believe that he never talked about the kid before. He begged Mikey to leave, but he refused, and is now Tom’s new helper at the bait shop. They have a regular little network set up, with Victor’s boat the principal component of the enterprise."

Meredith had couched veiled questions about Kate’s relationship with the smuggler. However, Kate never responded with anything more than that Galindez was healthy and ‘as stubborn as a mule.’ Whatever that meant.

As for AJ, Kate never sent any gossip about him. What she did send was usually a hastily scrawled, one-page note from AJ himself. AJ always kept his communication brief, airy, and nothing close to what Meredith really wanted. For her part, her airmail letters were full of New York gossip and her battles with her mother over the paper. Her mother wanted to sell it, far too cheaply; Meredith wanted to turn it into a first rate paper. It’d been an uphill, vicious battle. But, after a year, it looked like Meredith was winning.

It should have made her happy. Instead, all it did was depress her further when the anniversary of her leaving Selau came and went with no acknowledgement from AJ, just as the anniversary of their first meeting went un-remarked upon. In a fit of self-pity, two weeks ago, when she wrote him of re-hiring the fully recovered Harmon Rabb as the jewel in her editorial crown, she’d bragged that the paper was better than ever, both editorially and financially. "It’s silly to be so excited, I know. I’d come to truly despise my father, and yet, I felt the need to save the one thing he truly loved. Besides, what else do I have?" As soon as she’d seen the letter go down the chute at the post office, she longed to pull it back.

She’d prayed to God that the letter was lost in the chaos of the war-torn world. But this morning, the currier delivered Kate’s message. The envelope, normally so thin, bulged with a thick enclosure. She wished it was later in the day; she’d have a drink, several. But she needed to be at the office in an hour for some meeting her mother insisted upon. Carefully, she picked up the envelope again, sighed, and ripped it open. A single sheet of paper fluttered to the desk as a thicker envelop landed with a thud. Picking up the sheet first, she quickly scanned it. Nothing new from Kate. Steeling herself, she opened the other envelope. She gasped as a small box fell out into her hand. Shaking so badly that she dropped it twice, she pried it open. Inside was nestled a silver band with a single black pearl in a simple setting. It fit her ring finger perfectly. She opened the sheet of paper that accompanied it.

She quickly put the letter down before another tear smeared the ink. "Oh, damn you, AJ Chegwidden." Sobbing, she sank to the chair and buried her head in her hands.

The Sun Newspaper
New York
November 26, 1941
1:00 PM

Meredith stared at her mother in shock. "How could you?"

"Darling, I tried to tell you two weeks ago. I know you loved your father, but one simply has to move on."

"Move on? You’re marrying a God damned Nazi!"

"Meredith! Your language! You might very well speak that way out there on your island paradise; but, here in New York, we have a bit more class. Besides, Bruce is a respected businessman."

"Who’s been slapped with injunctions by the government and forced to register as an agent for a foreign government."

"Those are his enemies."

"He’s fifteen years younger than you!"

Louise Cavanaugh rose to her full five foot two inches and glared down at her daughter. "He loves me."

"He wants to get his hands on the paper."

"That’s all you care about. This damnedable paper. You’re just like your father." Louise turned away. "Well it’s my paper, too. Your father left me forty percent, and I can do with it as I want. If I want to sell it, so I can be happy for once in my life, I will."

"I can’t buy out your share. Even with all my inheritance, I can’t afford that."

"I know dear. Bruce has promised to help with that."

"I just bet he has." Meredith struggled to remain calm. For over a year, her mother had done nothing but throw up roadblocks hindering Meredith’s efforts to build a strong, more viable newspaper. She’d fought the change in editorial content. She’d fought rehiring Harmon Rabb. She’d out and out refused to vote for the capital expenditure required for a new, faster press.

Meredith suspected that her father was laughing himself sick in whatever afterlife he’d found. Meredith almost wished he’d kept his threat of cutting her out of the will entirely. Instead, he’d left her thirty percent. Twenty percent had gone to Edward Sheffield, and ten to Stan Jackson, her father’s oldest friend and the paper’s lawyer. She often suspected that Stan was in love with her mother, or perhaps, he sided with her mother in so many of the fights because he resented the pain that Meredith had supposedly caused her father.

"Not even Stan will support you on this."

"Of course he will; Stan’s my friend." Louise sighed and looked sadly at her only daughter. "You were such a disappointment to me. I never asked you for much. Can’t you at least meet Bruce and see what a wonderful man he is? Not everyone hates the way you do, dear."

"Not everyone has had first hand knowledge of what bastards the Germans are. Don’t you read anything besides Town and Country?"

Louise sighed again and dramatically turned away, tossing her head in dismissal. "We’re dining at the apartment tonight. Please come – after dinner. Talk with him. He really has the most wonderful plans for the paper."

The rest of the day went downhill like a skier on packed snow. The printing press that Meredith and Sheffield had convinced Stan Jackson to side with them on arrived. That threw the pressroom into chaos, and they barely managed to get out the late afternoon edition on the one press. The Herald, an afternoon paper, promised press time for the next three days for the morning edition. It would cost an arm and a leg, but hopefully they’d be up and running for the Sunday edition, late Saturday night.

There’d been a meeting with several of the unions on the upcoming contract renewals. Everyone wanted money she didn’t have to spare. She barely paid attention when Rabb saw her. He’d been enthusiastic about an idea for a series of stories, but she couldn’t remember if she’d approved his request to visit Hawaii and report on the preparations of the fleet down there. She’d ask him tomorrow.

Now, nearly eight o’clock, all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Tomorrow, she would pour out her troubles in a long letter to AJ, tear it up and write something happy. However, she knew she would have to face the snake who’d somehow managed to charm her mother. She’d talked to Stan about it, and he promised to look into ways of blocking the marriage, though Meredith was loath to try to have her mother declared incompetent; wasn’t even sure she could pull it off. But one thing was certain, she wasn’t going to give the American Nazi Party a piece of her paper.

She really didn’t have time to go home. Instead, she hailed a cab. As she settled inside, she really wasn’t surprised to find it was Mickey Carlo driving. The man must have radar. "Evening, Miss Cavanaugh."

"Don’t you ever sleep, Mr. Carlo?"

"Sure, but I just ran Mr. Rabb and the Missus out to Idlewild."

"Excuse me?" What had she agreed to in that meeting with Rabb?

"Yeah. They were both kind of excited and all. I drove Mrs. Rabb and the baby out to her folks; they’re going to watch the kid. Then I picked up Mr. Rabb and drove them out to the airport. I was just coming back to the garage and thought I’d take a swing by the paper. You know, just to see if you or Mr. Sheffield was ready to leave. I think it’s really great that Mr. Rabb is writing for the paper again, and I think it’s great that you’re letting him do a story on the fleet."

"Oh, dear," Meredith sighed. She might very well end up having to foot the bill for Rabb’s trip out of her own pocket. She really would have to listen to the details more closely. «The man could charm Hitler.»

"You okay, Miss Cavanaugh?"

"I’m fine. No, don’t take me to the Algonquin, mores the pity. Take me to Central Park West."

"You seeing your mother?"

«The man really was wasting his talents driving a cab. Webb could probably use him. Maybe he’d trade. I’ll send him Carlo and he could send me back Sarah.»>> "Yes, Mr. Carlo. I’m meeting my mother and her fiancé."

"Fiancé! Holy cow. That’s great news!"

"Is it?"

"Who is it? I know him?"

"I don’t know. Do you know who Bruce Kramer is?"

"That radio guy? The one that keeps saying maybe Hitler ain’t so bad? Oh shit!" In the rear view mirror she met the cabby’s wide-eyed stare. "Sorry, Miss Cavanaugh."

"I totally agree, Mr. Carlo. Oh shit, indeed."

He jumped out and opened the door for her, and, for a moment, she thought he was going to follow her inside. She handed him his fare with a sizeable tip. "You want I should wait for you Miss Cavanaugh?"

"I have no idea how long I’ll be Mr. Carlo. But thank you just the same."

Waldorf-Astoria
New York
Thursday
December 4, 1941
1:00 AM

"Welcome to New York, Mr. and Mrs. Webb. The bellhop will show you to your room." The clerk looked at Sarah as if he recognized her, but shook his head slightly, telling himself that he would’ve remembered such a beauty. And there was no doubt that the woman before him, no matter how tired and ill she looked, was a beautiful woman.

Clay took Sarah’s arm and they followed the bellhop to the elevator. "First time in New York, folks?"

"Why? Do we look like refuges?" Webb snarled. He was tired. The flight had been turbulent, and Sarah had spent most of it throwing up into the bag the crewman supplied.

"Clay!" Sarah tiredly admonished him.

"Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it." The kid led them to their room on the top floor of the hotel.

"We’ve both been to New York before." Sarah didn’t bother to elaborate. She waited until Clay had tipped the boy before throwing off her coat and tossing her hat onto the desk. "God! I’m tired."

"Why don’t you take a shower? You’ll feel better."

"I hope so. I swear, Clay, that flight was the worst ever. Worse than the storm off Gibraltar."

He just nodded as he, too, began to strip off his rumpled suit. He’d got the call to return to DC a week ago. Sarah hadn’t been happy: she’d wanted to do the follow up interviews with Professor Knof to see if there were other scientists who were in hiding in Holland. But he couldn’t ignore the head of the newly formed OSS. And he hadn’t dared leave Sarah alone in London. She’d have figured out a way to get into Amsterdam alone. "You’ll visit your friends here?"

She looked at him as she kicked off her shoes. "I’m surprised you trust me to stay in New York! Or have you called for someone to keep an eye on me?"

He sighed and turned away. He was glad that she no longer had a passport in her name. As his wife, she traveled under his. It sometimes gave him pause that they were really and truly married; that she’d said yes during that one interlude in Salisbury six months ago. Their so-called honeymoon had been spent in Paris. Instead of gay laughter, the City of Lights had greeted them with goose-stepping German soldiers while they met with the Maquis, the strongest of the French resistance groups in Paris.

Sarah watched him, willing the tears not to fall. She wasn’t sure what was wrong. She suspected she knew, but it was the one thing she couldn’t make better. She wouldn’t hide, play the woman’s role in this war. She’d too much to atone for. She’d been a fool to marry him. It only made things worse between them. When he didn’t answer her, she stood there naked for a bit longer, then turned and went to the bathroom.

He kicked his shoes across the room, hitting the radiator. Stripping down to his bare chest, he considered what he should do.

"Clay?" she called from the bathroom.

"Yeah?"

"Could you find my toothbrush?"

He rummaged around in her bag. He pushed the door open to find her staring at her face in the mirror. "You’ve lost too much weight, Sarah. You’re beginning to scare me. You’re pushing yourself too hard."

"No harder than you." She waved at the modern bath with its modern tile and ceramic fixtures. "What a change from London, huh?" She took the toothbrush and spent a good five minutes, rinsing and adding fresh paste to the brush before she was satisfied. She knew he was watching her, fascinated by her swaying breasts. Suddenly, she knew she – they – needed a little peace. They couldn’t go on like this. "Why don’t you join me in the shower?" He shuddered but nodded. She leaned in and kissed him softly. "Don’t worry, I’ll be good."

"You go ahead and get in. I want to brush my teeth, too."

"Well, don’t take too long." She suggestively wiggled her eyebrows at him before stepping into the tub and pulling the curtain between them. "You know, there are places I can’t reach."

Clay stared at his haggard expression. This meeting was important. Donovan wanted everything Clay had on the rumors of the new weapon that refugee scientists were insisting that Hitler was working on. Clay wondered if the vague whispers of hard water – whatever that was – research had anything to do with it. He wondered how he could convince her to stay in the United States. He didn’t want her in danger any longer. He worried about her to the point where he was starting to hold back. He couldn’t afford to do that. However, when she was with him, he knew what she was doing and what kind of trouble she was getting into. If he left her here, God knew where she would end up. He decided he needed to shave before joining her.

"Hey, Mr. Webb, I’m getting lonely in here."

He briefly considered asking her to stay with his parents, but even before he finished the thought, he knew that was a bad idea. He’d sent his father a telegram after the wedding. He’d heard nothing back. Not that it meant anything. Private communications were iffy, at best. He hoped his mother would like Sarah. Porter Webb could be daunting, but no matter. He needed Sarah like he needed air.

He pulled back the shower curtain and his breath caught in his throat. She was standing there, her head thrown back, letting the water sluice the shampoo from her hair. Her expression was close to ecstasy. Soapsuds clung to her breasts, and his cock surged as the very sight of her captured his soul all over again. "Took your sweet time, buster." She opened her eyes and smiled softly at him. "Come here. I’ve got my work cut out for me." He stood there and watched as she took the bar of soap and ran it across the sprinkling of hair on his chest. He rested his hands on her hips. "None of that."

"None of what. I just don’t want to fall."

"Of course." She moved the soap over his body, down towards his groin, stopping short of touching his erection. "Turn around." He growled his disapproval, but did as he was told. She set to work with a vengeance, using the bar to work his muscles. She put the soap down and began to knead his back.

"Damn, that feels good."

She cleaned him thoroughly, causing a blush to creep over his skin as she even cleaned between his ass cheeks, jerking away as she neared his anus. Her hand crept lower. "Put your hands against the wall and spread your legs, Clay." He whimpered as she cleaned his balls. But when she stopped for a moment, he held his breath, waiting for her next command.

Instead, she stepped closer, her mound caressing his ass as she reached around him and began to wash his stomach. He exhaled in relief when she finally took his cock in her hands. "You’re incredible, Sarah. You’re everything that a man could want. An incredible partner, a sexy lover."

"Yeah, but you hate my cooking." She kept her tone light and loving. She did love him. She just couldn’t let him control her.

He turned then and took her by the shoulders, freeing himself from her incredible torture. "We’ll dine out every night. I’ll hire a cook, a maid, a chauffeur. Anything you want."

He kissed her hard and turned her around. Picking up the bar of soap, he began to wash her, even though she’d done a pretty good job herself. Sometimes he wondered about her love. Oh, there was no doubt they were good together. But, sometimes, he thought she stayed with him more out of a need to destroy everything that Adolph Hitler stood for than out of a deep romantic love for him. Silently, he ran the soap over her back, until he reached her crack. Lathering his hands he washed her, as she’d washed him. She groaned at his touch, squirmed as he moved closer to that bundle of nerves that had her crying out his name.

"Please, Clay."

"Please what?" he hoarsely demanded.

"Take me. Right here. Right like this."

"Jesus, Sarah." He gasped but moved closer, bumping his throbbing cock against her bottom. "Lean over. Brace your hands on the wall." She did as he demanded. He took his cock in hand and parted her labia.

"Please, Clay, don’t tease."

He thrust in deep, then pulled back out almost all the way. Running his hands over her back, the water pounding against his skin, the steam spreading the sweet smell of soap around him, he could almost forget for a moment how hellish things were in Europe. Frantic to forget, he began to thrust deeper and harder. He knew he was hurting her, but she egged him on, encouraging, demanding, "harder, harder, harder."

He erupted deep inside her, and, reaching around, he found that special spot and pinched it, sending her over the edge, crying out his name. He rested his cheek against her back. "I love you, Sarah Webb."

"I love you, too." She moved to stand, forcing him to do the same. He fell from her, but hugged her tight. "Hey," she struggled just a bit. "We’re turning into prunes here. Let’s dry off and go to bed."

He sighed petulantly, but complied. He went out to the door, and put the do not disturb sign on the knob. Returning to the bedroom, he found she was already in bed, sound asleep. "I love you so much. I just wonder how long you’ll stay with me once this war is over." He crawled into bed next to her. She didn’t complain when he nestled against her back. He fell asleep, like he often did, wondering if she would be there when he awoke.

The next morning, she was gone from the bed and panic set in until he heard the toilet flush. She stepped out of the bathroom, already dressed in her slip. "Come on sleepy head. We’ve got time to walk around a bit, and I want to stop in at The Sun to see Meredith and Harm."

"Can’t we stay in bed a little longer?" he pleaded. He really wanted to make love to her again.

"Later, Clay. Come on."

They strolled down Park Avenue. "Where do you want to have breakfast?"

"I’ll show you." She hailed a taxi and gave the man an address near the paper.

"A deli?"

"Snob."

"I am not. I just prefer eggs benedict to bagels and lox."

"Snob."

To prove her wrong, he insisted that they sit at the counter. He ordered eggs and bacon; she ordered bagels and lox. The counterman looked at her, snapped his fingers and announced to the entire diner, "You’re Sarah MacKenzie! Where have you been?"

"Hello, Eddie. I’m surprised you remembered me." Sarah blushed at the attention, but Clay could tell she was eating it up.

"Miss MacKenzie?" Another voice called from behind them.

Sarah twisted around on the stool only to cry out, "Mickey? Mickey Carlo!" She jumped up and hugged the cab driver. "Oh, my goodness. Look at you!" She hugged him again. "Clay! This is Mickey Carlo."

Mickey, who never forgot a face, particularly of a good tipper, smiled cockily. "I know you. You once gave me a ten spot for a two dollar fare."

"I did?"

"Yeah. Talked to yourself, too."

"I did?"

"How have you been?" Sarah said.

"Hey, great. You see Mr. Rabb before he left?"

"Left? Left where? I just got back. Where did he go?"

Even though Clay knew all about Harm, he still felt a twinge of jealousy. But he tried to quash it. She’d married him. She could’ve gone back to the States when she found out Harm had been shot down during a dogfight. She’d married him.

"He and the missus went to Hawaii. Said that Miss Cavanaugh sent him out there to report on the fleet."

"Great. He’ll probably turn up a plot to blow up the base," Clay said.

Sarah glared at him. "Hush." Turning back to the cabby, she sighed. "Well, phooey. So. What’s the latest?" She saw something flicker across his face, but he shrugged. "You seen Miss Cavanaugh or anyone at the paper yet? You read the paper yet this morning?"

"No. We didn’t get in last night until late. I thought I’d pick up a copy before I went in."

"Well. I gotta go. Can’t make no fares standing around jawing. Real good seeing you, Miss MacKenzie."

"That’s Mrs. Webb!" Clay pointed out.

"Hey, no kidding? That’s real nice. Be seein’ you." He hurried out the door. Sarah felt a little sad at the way he ran out, but it wasn’t like they’d been friends or anything. In fact, from the couple of letters Harm had sent her, the two guys had bonded in friendship deeper than she could claim with the man. Even though their association had been brief, the cabby had been there for her when she needed someone. He’d taken her side without question, championed her when she’d been feeling very low about herself. Sighing, she sat back down at the counter.

Webb watched her for a moment, then turned to his eggs and bacon. After finishing his coffee, he took a deep breath. "You had a life here and everything, and gave it all up for this cause, didn’t you?"

She jerked her head up and stared into his eyes. "Yes. Just like you had a life. Sometimes I feel you think your life was more important."

"No." He shook his head, then stood to reach for his wallet. "I never thought that. I’m just sorry that you think I do."

She watched him walk outside to wait for her. "Damn him!" Sighing, she pulled on her coat and followed him out. "Look, Clay, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Are you still angry about Amsterdam? It worked out!"

"No! But you could have…" he bit off the rest. "No. I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry." He crooked his elbow, and, after a long moment, almost too long, she took it. Silently, they walked down the block and into the lobby of The Sun.

Immediately, Sarah sensed something was wrong, and said so to Clay.

"Probably just war jitters." But Clay felt it, too. People were standing in small knots, whispering, glancing up at people as they walked in, before quickly returning to their conversations. It was almost like they were waiting for someone. He led her to the elevator. The operator, who looked like he normally hefted the huge rolls of preprint instead of cranking out the floors, eyed them suspiciously.

"Seventh floor, please," Sarah said.

"Youze got business with Miss Cavanaugh?" The man demanded, making no move to close the gates.

Clay took out his frustrations. "That’s our business. Yours is to run the elevator."

"Clay!" The operator looked like he could take Clay apart, and Sarah tried to soothe the tension. "I used to work here. We’re friends of Miss Cavanaugh’s." When he still didn’t close the gates, she added hopefully, "Sarah… MacKenzie?"

"Look buddy, just take us upstairs." Clay reached out to close the gate himself.

The operator grabbed Clay’s wrist, but didn’t hurt him, didn’t even look at him. "I remember you, Miss MacKenzie. Youze wrote about the mobsters and them guys down on 42^nd Street."

"That’s right. Please let go of my husband." She didn’t add, ‘before he pulls his gun and shoots you.’ Her look told Clay he damn well better not even think of that option. "We’re only in New York for the day, and we wanted to say hello."

"Well? Why din’ you say so?" He released Clay, who was returning Sarah’s venomous glare.

They rode up in stony silence. Clay was furious that she’d sided with the operator. Sarah felt Clay was acting like an elitist snob.

Once the doors opened, they found themselves in the long carpeted hallway leading to the publisher’s offices. "I don’t know why you had to be such a jerk!"

"Jerk!? Excuse me, but I was under the impression that we were no longer in Nazi Germany!"

"We aren’t, and you know it. He was just…" her voice trailed off and she stopped in her progress toward the huge oak doors. Turning around, she continued in a hushed voice. "Something’s wrong. Something’s happened. It’s never this quiet; even up here. Why didn’t we get a paper? Mickey said something…"

His anger fled in the face of her worry. With this, he could deal. Taking her hand, he turned her to him. "Let’s go see, before we jump to conclusions," he said softly.

He’d been here before, but just the one time. The receptionist was different than the haughty woman who’d tried to stop him from telling Thomas Cavanaugh that his daughter had been attacked. This one, mousier, didn’t even look up.

Sarah recognized her immediately. She’d been the secretary in the sport’s department. The one woman, it was rumored, who Teddy Lindsay had never made a pass at. "Shirley?"

Finally, the woman looked up and they could see she’d been crying. Clay kicked himself for not knowing what was going on. Had they just missed the headlines? Didn’t paperboys still scream out what was on the front page? Why hadn’t the counterman said anything?

"Sarah? Sarah Mackenzie? Oh, my God! You’ve heard! You came back to help. Oh, I hope it’s in time!"

"What happened?" Sarah gripped the woman by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Tell me!" Before they could learn anything, the door to the inner office opened, and they saw Meredith Cavanaugh, very pale, standing there. Sarah took a tentative step forward.

Meredith stared first at Sarah, then at Clay, closed her eyes and murmured, "Thank God." Clay just caught her as she sank to the floor.

He carried her into the office. Sarah followed with Shirley, ringing her hands, close behind. "Oh, this is terrible. That awful man!"

Clay laid Meredith on the couch, looked around and pointed to the bar in the corner. "Sarah, bring brandy. Good lord, she’s burning up! What the devil is going on?"

Meredith groaned and struggled against the fumes from the brandy snifter that Sarah was holding under her nose. "Don’t, please."

"Easy, Meredith," Clay said over Sarah’s shoulder.

"Sarah?" Meredith’s eyes opened. "It’s really you? Both of you? How?"

"We’ve just arrived," Sarah explained. Meredith pushed to sit up, and Sarah moved out of the way, sitting down next to her. "We’re here now, Meredith. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Have you seen the papers?"

Clay answered. "No. News other than the war is hard to come by in London. And we didn’t see a paper this morning."

"They think I killed him."

"Who!?" Clay took her hand in his and sat on her other side. "Who thinks you killed someone?"

"The police. They think I killed Bruce Kramer."

"Why would you kill this Kramer guy?"

Meredith just sighed and flopped back against the rich leather to stare up at the ceiling. It was Shirley who finally explained. "Mrs. Cavanaugh has been dating that, that, that Nazi lover! She went and got engaged to him."

"Nazi lover?" Clay shook his head. He was reminded of Lewis Carroll’s book. Sarah looked equally confused.

"He’s a radio commentator. He’s on the same station as Father Coughlin."

"Dear lord."

"Oh, it’s worse. The station here in New York is very small, and there’s evidence that it’s not only funded by America First, but also by the American Bund. Well, Miss Cavanaugh was not happy about that. Why should she be!? She knew what that horrid man would do. It was bad enough that poor Miss Cavanaugh had to fight her mother every step…"

"Shirley!" Meredith sighed. "Please, may I have a cup of tea?"

"Of course." Shirley practically fled from the office.

"What happened that makes the police think you killed him?" Sarah asked once the door was closed.

"I went over there last Wednesday night, the day before Thanksgiving. I was lunching with the Macys after the parade on Thursday, so mother insisted that I meet her ‘beau.’ Oh, God, what a terrible man. Slimy. Obsequious. TOAD!" Meredith shuddered and reached for the brandy snifter. After a healthy sip, she continued. "He made no pretense about what he felt was a betrayal of my father’s viewpoint. He said that he and mother were determined that the paper should ‘get back on track.’ I’m afraid I rather lost control. I threw a rock glass at him and broke the window in mother’s apartment. That was after the screaming fight. The neighbors, of course, called the police."

"Then what happened?"

"I went home. I knew there would be a battle, and I called Sheffield and Jackson, both of whom have stock in the paper. It was an ugly couple of days, with mother screaming and yelling at both men, but I thought I was doing well, holding them with me. But then, two days ago, Stan Jackson said he was selling his shares, he didn’t want to be a part of it any longer. I begged him to sell to me, but he refused, saying he couldn’t do that to mother. He was going to sell to friends of his. That night, they found Bruce Kramer’s body in an alley down the street from here." Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she clutched both their hands. "Clay, Sarah. I swear to God! I didn’t kill him."

They all looked up as the door opened again, expecting to see Shirley bringing in tea. Clay stared for a moment at the man flanked by two uniformed policemen. "Hello, Dalton." He stood and got between the police and Meredith.

"Clay? Didn’t know you were back in town. Didn’t realize you were friends with Miss Cavanaugh." Lowne’s eyes shifted away from his old college friend. "Sarah."

"Hello, Dalton. Why are you here?"

Dalton returned his gaze to Clay. "You dusting off your law degree?"

"Do you mean, ‘Am I acting as Miss Cavanaugh’s attorney?’ No. Just a friend."

"Well, if you’re not her lawyer, then you’ll need to step aside." Lowne didn’t wait for Clay to comply. He motioned for the two policemen to step around Clay. "Get out of the way… Mr. Webb." Then he sighed. "Damn it, Clay! I don’t like this any better than you do. But the old man is insisting!"

Clay stepped out of the way just as a harried man ran into the room. "Meredith!"

"Stan." Her voice quivered and sweat stood out on her forehead.

Stan Jackson glared at the Assistant District Attorney. "Lowne! You know this is wrong."

Lowne sighed. "Mr. Jackson, I’ve my orders. I could’ve just sent the detectives down here with the uniforms. This is a courtesy."

"Who are the detectives, Dalton?" Sarah demanded.

Lowne met her angry gaze. "Barton and Combs caught the call."

"Oh, for God’s sake!"

"Sarah! They’re good detectives."

"Ha!"

"Miss Cavanaugh, I’m not going to cuff you, but you’ll have to come with us." Meredith stumbled as the two policemen flanked her.

"Dalton, please. She’s sick!" Sarah pleaded.

Stan Jackson hurried after them. "Meredith! Don’t say a word. Lowne! I want a doctor to look at her."

Sarah and Clay stood there staring at each other. "Clay?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, then checked his watch. "Damn it. My meeting with Donovan is at noon tomorrow. I can catch the 6:45 train out tomorrow morning – but no later, Sarah." His eyes begged her to understand. "But I can’t miss it. You know how important it is. A lot of lives, not just one, are at stake."

She nodded and stepped up to him. Cupping his cheek, she leaned in and kissed him. "I know. We’d planned on take the 9:30 out tonight so you’d be rested. I know this is important – for a lot of people. But Meredith… Clay… you have to understand."

He pulled her closer. "You want to stay and help."

"I have to. If she hadn’t stood up for me back in ’38…" her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes in pain. "But I have to get back to London. They need me there, too. Oh, God, Clay! What can I do?"

She’d never had to make a decision like this before. In Germany, she’d argued with Lise, but there’d never been any real doubt that she would try and save Günter. She wondered, as she often did, where the baby was now. Was he walking, talking? Did he even remember his sweet, brave mother?

"Sarah." He hated himself for the plan already forming, knew she would see through it. "Meredith needs you. You said she didn’t have that many friends here. You think Chegwidden can get here to help her?"

"We have to let him know!"

"I’ll send a wire when I reach Washington, even if I have to wait until Saturday when traffic is light."

"I can nose around. Barton and Combs are incompetents." She was already planning her attack, wondering if any of her old contacts were still around.

He kissed her nose. "You’re a remarkable woman. Come on. Let’s go see what we can find, and you can see me off – tomorrow morning. I can sleep on the train."

Aloha Arms Hotel
Honolulu
December 7, 1941
5:00 AM

Harmon Rabb gazed out over the ocean. After more than a year of marriage, he and Catherine were finally taking a honeymoon in the tropical paradise. However, the view below him could hardly be considered romantic. Impressive, yes; for this hotel mainly serviced the harbor below them. Pearl Harbor. In the cold gray of approaching dawn, he could see the flurry of activity. He knew the statistics: eight mighty battleships; as many cruisers; thirty destroyers! Fifty-five other ships. The bulk of the Pacific fleet was on show below him. The only thing missing were the aircraft carriers. He would make a point to check out the Enterprise, the Lexington, and the Saratoga before he returned to New York. Over a hundred ships were below him, waiting for war.

He looked back at his sleeping wife. He wished with all his heart he could love her. She’d been the one person who’d stayed by his side during his recovery. She eschewed a year of social functions, much to her parent’s anger, to be with him and the baby.

The baby: Harmon Rabb, III. And there was no doubt that the boy was his. Blue eyes. Black hair. Even when the kid smiled, Harm could see himself.

"You okay?" she asked sleepily.

"I’m fine, Cat. Sorry I woke you."

She threw off the sheet and rose to join him. "You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?"

He froze, unable to answer. She couldn’t know. He owed her that much. "W-w-what?"

She wrapped her arms around his waist, the silk of her nightgown caressing his bare back. "Silly. It’s okay. She meant a lot to you. I’m sorry she’s dead, Harm. But I’m glad you’re here with me."

Guilt joined relief. "Yeah. Meg was a good kid." He’d not thought about Meg Austin for a very long time. He’d been thinking about another man’s wife. A woman who could’ve been his if he’d just said the word – a dozen different times. «Oh, Sarah! What a fool I was.»

Hoping to shake him out of his pensive mood, she kissed his shoulder and declared, "Hey! I’m awake. Why don’t we go down and find a place for breakfast. We can walk along the docks if you want. Then, maybe, the beach?"

Guilt propelled him to agree with anything she said. Turning, he kissed her with more passion than he would ever truly feel for her. "Sure. You want the shower?"

She slapped at his chest. "I showered last night after you fell asleep. Not that I’m complaining." She smiled brightly. "You go ahead.

All the while he was cleaning up he berated himself. «She loves me! Sarah made her choice. She didn’t even come to see me in the hospital. Not that she could, really. I never know where she is anymore. But she married that State Department pip-squeak - Webb. Of course, I married Catherine. But I had to! Damn it! I’ve got to stop this. I’ve got a beautiful - RICH – wife who’s given me a son! Be happy! Forget Sarah! Sarah Webb!»

But he knew he couldn’t. Sarah was the one he’d thought of every time he flew a mission. Sarah’s name had been on his lips when he woke in the hospital in London. He knew that because the nurse had asked him if he wanted to write to her – not Catherine.

Catherine was waiting for him. She wore a pretty dress that hugged her curvaceous body. The matching hat sat atop gold blond hair that kissed her shoulders. Her smile was sweet and only for him. He really should love her. Arm-in-arm they walked out onto the street. "I’m sorry the hotel isn’t very nice. After I talk to Admiral Kimmel and a couple of the captains…"

She patted his arm. "It’s okay. I’ve got all these plans and places I want to see – with you! I figure you’re going to owe me." Her laugh turned the heads of several sailors, and Harm had to admit the appraisals of her made him proud.

"We’ll find a decent place for breakfast. The Admiral’s yeoman suggested the Pineapple Grove. It’s considered officer’s country."

Their stroll took them past several gates leading to the ships.

"So many! All in one place! It’s awe inspiring isn’t it Harm?" She stopped and gazed up at a towering battleship. The men leaning against the rail calling down to her were so far away she could barely hear them. She read the banner, "USS Arizona."

"You bet! We’ll show any one who wants to fight us…" His voice trailed off.

She looked back at him, then off to where he was staring. "Harm?"

"Look." He pointed to the black specks in the sky.

"What is it?"

"Planes," he said with conviction. His stomach clenched and he felt a chill in the warm tropical air. "No!" he breathed as the specs grew. He prayed they would break away to the west where Hickam and Wheeler fields were. That would prove they were Navy planes. And half did break away, but the rest kept coming.

"Harm!" All around them, men were beginning to shout and run. He tore his eyes away from the approaching planes, frantically looking for cover for her. Already he could hear 50-pound machine guns cutting through the early morning quiet. Off in the distance, a siren began to wail.

"Run!" He took her hand and dragged her away from the ships. He knew the sound, he still dreamed of the bombs that rained down on England. Maybe he was still dreaming. Catherine was shouting something. The ground shook, water spouts rose into the air and splashed across flames already rising from a destroyer too close to a battleship. ‘Oklahoma,’ he read as two bombs, one after another hit her sending men flying through the air.

Smoke, heat, screams, and still they ran, falling, standing and falling again. But then he saw it - sandbags protecting a heavy machine gun. It’s angry ack-ack-ack-ack-ack nearly piercing their eardrums. He lifted Cat and threw her into the center of the meager protection. "Stay down!"

The gunner, a boy really, was following a streaking Zero across the sky. Harm looked around, saw a rifle and picked it up. He knew it was useless, but it was all he could do. He got off several rounds before the kid screamed, "Ammo!" Harm saw the box. Dropping the rifle, he ripped open the lid. The kid stopped and flipped open the magazine; Harm slapped the belt of bullets in place. "Feed for me!" However, before he could get off another round, a line of bullets ripped through their gun emplacement. The kid looked surprised for a moment before he fell on top of a cowering Catherine.

"Harm!" she screamed as he pulled the body off her.

"Just stay down!" He grabbed the trigger guards and swung the gun around. A Zero had just dropped its load on the Arizona and was heading right for them. Harm began firing, following it as the plane seemed to scream in anger, the line of bullets just missing him. It exploded over a maintenance building just as the forward powder magazines blew out the front end of the mighty battleship less than fifty yards away. The explosions knocked him to the ground, and he thought for sure that he was going to die.

He reached for Catherine, but several of the sandbags fell around him and he had to push them off. And then, everything, for a just a second, seemed to go dead quiet, though he knew somehow that was wrong. Maybe he’d gone deaf. Maybe he was dead. But one thing was certain; it was over. All around him, he saw men running to help comrades and ships long past help. The sound of another ship exploding jarred him from his stupor. He was alive. "Cat, we have to help. Catherine? Honey?" He turned and looked down where she was huddled. "Come on, it’s safe now. We have to help." He stooped down wondering why she’d worn such an ugly color of red. "Cat!" His cries joined the rest of the pandemonium.

Over the Solomon Sea
Monday
December 8, 1941
7:30 AM

Kate Pike sat next to Bud Roberts, lost in thought. She didn’t know how she was going to tell AJ the news. She knew the big man would go wild when he heard that Meredith had been arrested. And, worse, there was nothing he’d be able to do. Transport from the islands to anywhere was iffy, even without America actually in the war. Chegwidden himself was sending reports that grew increasingly bleak. The native populations of many of the islands hated Europeans more than they hated the aggressive Japanese.

"Ma’am?" Bud Roberts glanced over at his passenger, the worry evident on his face. "You never told me why we had to reach Selau."

"I’ve got a message for AJ."

"Has something happened?"

It finally sank in that he thought she was bringing news of war. "Oh, I’m sorry, Bud. It’s about Meredith. She’s in trouble in New York."

"What happened?"

"She’s been arrested for murder."

Bud was so surprised that he jerked on the stick, sending them climbing into the clouds. It took a moment for him to get the plane under control. "Whose murder?"

"Some man named Bruce Kramer. I don’t have a lot of information on the man. There was something on the ticker tape over a week ago, but nothing connecting him with Meredith. I’ve sent for more information, but the telegraph was slow this morning. You’re sure that AJ is in Selau?"

"Yes, ma’am. He and Victor are both there."

Normally, such a tidbit of information would worry Kate. She could still feel that passionate kiss she’d shared with the smuggler over a year ago. However good that kiss felt, she knew that they could never be together. They were just too different. She was proud of the fact that she was one of two women in the entire Foreign Service acting as a head of a mission. Granted, her mission was in the tiny backwater of Port Moresby, but it was start. Victor would never be more than the owner of the Gypsy Girl. No, it would never work.

After their disastrous trip to Sorong, where Taro had murdered Sharkey, Kate made sure that she was never alone with Victor. She was so excessively formal with him, that even Stuart Dunston had mentioned it. "Good God, Kate, just ignore the bloody fool." Even though she’d been cautiously dating the head of the British garrison on the southern half of New Guinea, after that remark, she’d refused to see him. Two weeks, ago Dunston had been transferred to the garrison in Singapore. She was relieved that he was gone. Now she could concentrate on her career. She would manage this meeting. Perhaps she wouldn’t even see him. She’d tell AJ, and Bud could fly her back immediately.

"Sure looks peaceful down there, doesn’t it, ma’am? Miss Cavanaugh should’ve never left."

"People have to do their duty, Bud. She needed to settle her father’s estate and make sure her mother was secure," Kate said absently. Her full attention was on the rickety looking cargo ship. If anything, it looked even more dilapidated that it had the first time she’d seen it nearly four years ago. However, she knew that Victor and AJ had outfitted the supposed rust-bucket with several modifications, and the engine was the best that Victor could build with parts that AJ had ordered special from the States. Several parts had even come with the courier.

"I miss Harriet."

"But you wouldn’t want her here, Bud."

"You really think Japan is going to attack us?"

"Not as long as the Navy is at Pearl Harbor ready to support the British and Australians."

"Hope you’re right, ma’am." He banked the plane and lined it up so they would land at the harbor. "Really quiet down there. I see a couple of people going into the church? Why? It’s Monday, for Pete sakes!"

Kate felt a niggle of fear. Most of the Europeans still on the island did visit the small mission church run by Rev. Mark Falcon, a minister with an eclectic preaching style and a very private past, but usually only on Sunday. In fact, from what Bobbi had told her the last time they talked, it was the only time Falcon could usually be found. No one knew where he went during the week.

There was no one at the harbormaster’s shack, and Bud had to tie up the seaplane himself. He helped Kate up onto the dock, and together they walked across the deserted beach toward AJ’s place. There was the occasional call of the sea birds, but the only human voice they heard was the tinny undistinguishable voice of the radio that rested on the corner of the bar.

Kate and Bud exchanged worried looks and quickly climbed the ten steps.

"…no word as to casualties, but the harbor is black with smoke of the burning ships." The announcer grew silent for a moment. Kate and Bud couldn’t get inside the packed bar. It appeared that every person on this end of the island was huddled inside.

"What’s happened?" Kate shrilly demanded. Everyone turned and parted for her. She found that she was staring right into Victor’s furious eyes.

However, it was AJ who stepped forward. "Kate? What the devil are you doing here?"

"Meredith’s in trouble in New York. Webb wanted me to let you know that he and Sarah were trying to help."

AJ closed his eyes. Then sighed. "What kind of trouble?"

"They arrested her for murdering someone. I’ll get you information when I can."

"Which will be never. Haven’t you heard? When did you leave?"

"Two hours ago. We came right here. What’s happened?"

However, before AJ could tell her, the radio began to squawk again. "Honolulu calling, Honolulu calling. Further reports on the attack this morning at Pearl Harbor. This just in, planes sighted over Wake Island. Planes from Midway and the carrier Enterprise are assisting in the defense of the Island, but only ten planes were able to take off from Hickam and Wheeler. All efforts are being made to salvage what we can of the fleet at Pearl. Five battleships still burn. The USS Arizona has sunk to the bottom of the harbor. Loss of life is inestimable at this time. Makeshift hospitals are being set up in civilian buildings not hit in the attack. There are reports of civilian casualties."

"Dear God!" Kate hadn’t taken her eyes off Victor.

AJ continued, "Damn Japs attacked early this morning. Everyone was asleep. We don’t know why no one saw them and reported that the entire damned Jap fleet was barreling down on them."

"Have the Japanese landed on Hawaii?"

"Not that we can tell. The Jap fleet never got within sight. They sent their planes and maybe a sub or two." AJ took her by the arm and led her to the bar, where one of the men stood and allowed her to take his seat.

"Thank you." She wanted someone, Victor, to hold her, but she knew that she had to be strong. That’s what she’d always insisted upon. "I know a lot of people on…"

"Wake Island calling! Wake Island calling! Three squadrons of Japanese planes approaching!" And then the radio fell silent. Still no one spoke. No one wanted to miss a word of what was being said. Even Victor finally looked away from her. It was AJ’s strong hand on her arm that offered the only warmth in the entire room. She looked around.

Jason Tiner was standing behind the bar with Sturgis Turner. Both men looked stunned, but Tiner looked like he was a heartbeat away from tears. Sturgis was looking past her. She turned to find Bobbi Latham sitting at a table near the front of the bar. Two women Kate recognized as local whores sat with her. Usually the working girls only came into AJ’s at night, where, as long as they were polite and not too obvious about it, they were allowed to ply their trade – back at their small hut on the beach. Bobbi was staring right back at Sturgis.

After several more broadcasts that told them little, she felt AJ take her arm again, this time to pull her off the stool. He led her back to the living quarters behind the bar. She was pleased to see Victor follow.

Once they were in AJ’s private quarters, Kate shook her shock off for a moment. AJ looked every one of the fifty years that she knew him to be. "Tell me about Meredith. What does Webb say?"

"Not much, AJ. Just the bare facts. Before I left to ask Bud to fly me up here, I telegraphed for additional information." She paused, and then turned away from him. The jungle was encroaching upon the bar. She knew that Jason no longer cared for the orchids that he used to plant just outside for Meredith. The sunlight illuminated nothing but green now. She shivered from a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the outside temperature.

"Kate?" Victor watched her, longing to fold her into his arms, but she’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t good enough for her. He accepted that fact, but it didn’t change anything. He would protect her no matter how she felt about him.

"They won’t bother to answer that wire."

AJ was silent for a long time. He’d left New York because he couldn’t stand to be around humans after the carnage he’d seen in France. He’d tried so hard to insulate himself against feeling anything for such a long time. However, Meredith had worked her charms upon him. It was his feelings for her that allowed him to accept the fact that he did feel responsible for the people around him. She needed him, and he was half a world away with absolutely no hope of reaching her. Even if he could commandeer Roberts’ skills as a pilot, or Galindez’s skills as a captain, they couldn’t obtain enough fuel or cooperation from Mother Nature, or the Japanese, to reach her. He took a deep breath. "Will Webb look out for her?"

Kate glanced at Victor trying to get his reaction. Should she lie to him? "I don’t know, AJ. Are you asking me if he has the power to get her released whether she’s innocent or not?"

"Damn it! You know her, Kate! You think she could murder anyone? Who was this guy? I need details!"

"I don’t have them."

"And you can’t get me to her, can you?"

"No." And she burst into tears. She started to sink to the ground, but strong arms wrapped around her, and she smelled the wonderful scent of sea salt, cigar smoke, and diesel fuel that she recognized as Victor.

"Easy, Kate." He led her to the bed and gently sat her down.

AJ ran his hand over his head. "I’m sorry, Kate. But what can we do?"

"I don’t know. I… I don’t even know my standing. I have to get back to Port Moresby. You can come with me. I can see what I can do."

AJ sighed and walked to the window. For three years he’d known this day would come. He’d been thrilled that Meredith was back in the States. She should be safe there. "Just goes to show you," he muttered. Neither Kate nor Victor answered him. "Webb better watch out for her. He or Rabb, now that he’s recovered?"

She hiccupped and wiped her eyes with the very clean handkerchief that Victor had pressed into her hands. "And don’t forget, Sarah’s there."

"AJ!" Jason Tiner ran into the room. "The radio!"

"Now what?"

"They just said that the Japs are attacking Hong Kong."

"But what about Pearl!?"

"No word. They think the Jap fleet is turning away."

"Makes sense," AJ said. "Damn it! We should’ve known! They’ll take the smaller islands, Borneo, the Philippines."

"Here?" Jason’s voice quavered.

"Yeah. Go find Jean Luc. Bring him back here. We have to get ready."

"Ready!?" Kate stared at him, the fear written all over her face. "Ready for what?"

"Why, occupation, of course."

"You think the Japanese will allow you to continue your business?"

"No, Kate. I’m sure they won’t. Webb and I talked about it years ago. They’re not know for their mercy in war. Look what they did in China.

"What are you planning?"

"Now, Kate." Victor tried to calm her down.

"You think because you’re Spanish they’ll allow you to just continue to run your boat?"

"Why not? Spain’s neutral. That bastard Franco made sure he made friends with Hitler. He’s one shrewd son-of-bitch." It was his turn to hide his face from her. "Franco always knew who his friends were. He’ll cozy up to Tojo and Hirohito’s people. As a Spanish national, I’ll be capable of operating my business… as long as I stay away from Santa Isabel. That’s why I based out of Port Moresby; Spain doesn’t have a consul there."

Kate studied him for a long moment, and suddenly realized that Victor Galindez had a history that had little to do with smuggling. "So you’re going to help AJ do what?"

"Where going to spot for the British." AJ turned to Jason, who looked pale but determined. "You’re sure you can do this?"

"I know the island better than anyone but you, AJ. Me and Sturgis have it all worked out. The base camp is all set up. There’s plenty of food and water. Colonel Dunston, before he left for Singapore, left the radio and the pictures."

"What radio? Pictures? What did Stuart talk you into?" Kate demanded.

Victor watched her reaction to the Brit’s name. He felt a surge of something akin to hope, as Kate seemed to blame the man for placing young Tiner into danger. "They’re going to sit on the top of the volcano and watch for planes. They’ll radio anything they see. I’ll do the same."

"You think that the Japs will give you a chance to show your Spanish passport? What if they spot you and decide to just blow you out of the water?"

He shrugged. "Then I die."

She rounded on AJ. "And you?"

"Kate, I’ll do what I’ve always done. Just, like you’ll do what you’ve always done. At least until they recall you." He left the other possibility in the air.

She thought for a moment she would throw up. Her stomach clenched, and she felt lightheaded. "If they attack New Guinea… IF! Oh, God! They will!" She struggled to stand, to flee. She had no idea where, but she knew that, any moment, Bougainville would be overrun with Imperial Marines. This time when Victor took her in his arms, she clutched him to her. "What’s going to happen?"

"First thing, I’m going to have Bud fly you back to Port Moresby. You should be relatively safe there."

"Ha!" She rested her head on Victor’s chest. She was trying hard to draw enough strength from him. Panicked fear was robbing her of the ability to even think. For most of her adult life she’d prided herself on her control. Now, the thought of being captured by the Japanese was frightening. She’d read the real reports of the rape of Nanking and the murderous overrunning of Shanghai. She was scared, pure and simple.

Victor took her by the shoulders and forced her back, until she could see his face. "Kate. I swear it. I will protect you."

And she wanted desperately to believe him. She knew better, but somehow, just the fact that he’d said it gave her strength. She took a shuddering breath and gave him a weepy smile. "Thank you." She swallowed several times, then pulled back even further. "Excuse me for a minute?"

"Take all the time you want." AJ pointed to a fabric-hung doorway. There’s a pitcher of water through there. Wash your face. You can get outside through there, too."

"Thanks. I’ll be right back."

When she returned, she was all business again. "Now, what are the plans? How long do you think we’ll have, and what should I telegraph Washington?"

AJ shook his head. "Nothing to report. The ships that attacked Pearl and Wake haven’t been anywhere near us. Maybe other watchers radioed Darwin. That’s where the British have set up their listening post command. We aren’t the only ones doing this Kate. You know that."

She nodded. "Yeah. I’m sorry. I kind of lost my head there for a moment." Victor made no move to comfort her again, and she was grateful for that, too. "What about Bobbi?"

"She’s not going to be happy, but she has to leave. Sturgis won’t be able to do what has to be done if she’s in danger."

Kate snorted. "She’ll be more than unhappy."

"You think you can find her something to do in Port Moresby?"

"Doing what? She’s hardly secretarial material. Besides, there isn’t much for me to do."

"She can stay at Meredith’s apartment," Victor offered. "I don’t think I’ll be using it much."

"You know," Kate began to pace, then snapped her fingers. "If we can figure it all out, Meredith left the facsimile machine and the teletype machine. We can probably put that to good use. We can put Bobbi in charge of that. I’m sure we’ll have pictures that will have to be transmitted."

"Just so she’s off the island. You know if things get… bad… you’re to leave Port Moresby. The house in Sydney is big enough for you and Bobbi. Harriet will make sure of it."

"We’ll talk about that AJ. I’m not leaving my post until I’m ordered to," she said with more bravery than she felt.

They returned to the bar to find most of the people had quietly returned to their homes. Bud and Sturgis were sitting with Bobbi. Bud looked disgusted.

"Jason, would you make coffee?"

"Sure thing, AJ."

"What’s wrong?" AJ asked of Bud as he and the others pulled up chairs at Bobbi’s table.

"Something’s wrong with the Goose."

"What!?"

"I noticed it when I flew Kate in." Kate closed her eyes for a moment, then just sighed and opened them again. "Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you. Besides, you were thinking about other things."

"Well?"

"Looks like the turbine fan is shot."

"The turbine fan!? There’s not another one here on the island, is there?"

"No. I can probably nurse her back to New Guinea, but I don’t want to endanger anyone else."

"Absolutely not!" AJ growled. "Is there another fan somewhere closer?"

"Maybe on Rabual. There’s a Goose sitting there in the harbor because the owner can’t pay the harbormaster’s fees. Brouchard confiscated it."

AJ looked at Victor. "How long will it take you to get there and back?"

"If I leave now, I can be back in two days."

AJ chewed the inside of his cheeks, then nodded. "There’s nothing to be done about it. Take Bud with you so you get the right part." AJ stood and looked at the three other patrons in the bar. "You men get on home to your families. We’re closed." And though they grumbled, they left, leaving just AJ, Sturgis, Jason, Bobbi, and Kate. AJ walked to the bar. He crouched down, disappearing for a long while. When he stood back up, he held a small bag. He tossed it to Bud, who fumbled it for a moment, then clutched it to his chest. "That’s Spanish gold coins. No matter what happens, Brouchard should be happy to take that. Don’t let him cheat you, but get that part."

Victor’s grin frightened Kate. "Don’t worry, AJ. We’ll get the part."

"You do that. Kate. You can have Meredith’s old room. Bobbi, you’ll stay here."

"I’ll be fine, AJ. You don’t need to mother me." With that, she stood and walked out of the bar. Sturgis looked at AJ, then Jason. "I’ll see you in the morning." And he followed Bobbi out into the late afternoon.

AJ turned his attention to Jason. "You have everything you’ll need?"

"Everything’s there, but I thought I’d take a couple of books with me. I saw some in your room the other day. You mind if I borrow them?"

"Take what you can. They’ll probably be safer with you than down here."

Kate visibly shuddered, but kept a firm control on her fear this time. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

AJ looked around as if he was seeing the place for the first time. "I don’t suppose you cook?"

"Not usually. But, today, I can make an exception."

"We should leave now." Victor stood and looked down at Bud. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I guess." Bud gulped, and then pulled a letter out of his pocket. "Kate?"

"What?" She stared at the paper like it was snake.

"If something happens to me…"

"Oh, God." She snatched the letter and then fled from the room.

Victor started to go after her, but then stopped. Turning, he glared at Bud. "Let’s go."

House of Representatives
Washington, DC
December 8, 1941
10:00 AM

As he sat in the crowded chamber waiting for Roosevelt to take the microphone-encrusted podium, Clay gave rein to the myriad of thoughts skittering around in his overworked, nearly exhausted mind. War! War with Japan today; war with Germany and the other Axis powers soon after. He wondered if he would ever sleep in a bed again. He hoped to hell he didn’t nod off during the president’s speech. He prayed he would be able to see Sarah before he returned to England.

Thoughts of Sarah consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, to help her find the real killer so that Meredith could go free. Neither of them doubted that Meredith was innocent. However, duty to friends had to take a back burner to what was required of all of them now.

Sarah, with the help of Mickey Carlo and God knew what other denizens of the streets of New York, would work to solve the strange case of the ‘Nazi Lover’s Murder’ (as The Post so luridly proclaimed it). For the moment, Meredith, confined to her hospital bed recovering from pneumonia, was safe enough from Dalton Lowne’s questioning. Hopefully, it would give Sarah enough time before her talents were needed in England. And, unfortunately, General William Donovan was well aware of Mrs. Webb’s inestimable language skills.

A gavel struck a block on the podium, and Clay straightened in his chair. He’d known the Roosevelts all his life. He admired Franklin Roosevelt for the courage it took to run the country even with his limbs weakened by his polio, and Eleanor Roosevelt for standing by her husband even in the face of a notoriously fierce mother-in-law.

The President looked tired, but even his condition, so carefully glossed over whenever possible, couldn’t keep the determined look from his eye as he addressed Congress, the Senators, and other guests, as well as millions of Americans glued to radios in homes, at department store windows, and public buildings all across the nation.

Clay glanced across the aisle where his new boss sat. For the past five years, Clay had reported directly to the President. However, with the formation of the Office of Strategic Services, he would now be part of something bigger and, perhaps, even permanent. And, after nearly non-stop meetings since he arrived, he felt that Donovan was at least listening to his suggestions regarding intelligence gathering in both Germany and the Pacific. Donovan and the President, during their one meeting late Saturday afternoon, had been very excited by the information regarding the hard water rumors Clay and Sarah had turned up.

He felt guilty not being in the Pacific. They’d heard nothing form Kate since the attack, weren’t even sure where she was. Donovan, however, was content, for the moment, to allow Chegwidden to temporarily report his findings to the British. "They’ve got the manpower to handle the ‘spotters’ out there. Not that they did us any good." Clay just hoped that Chegwidden could hide his people well enough to send radio messages on sightings of Japanese naval and air movements. But Clay knew it would only be a matter of time before some or all of the spotters would be forced to flee or risk capture and probable execution.

The vote was almost unanimous. Knowing Jeanette Rankin as he did, her dissenting vote came as no real surprise. From the look on her face, she had to know that her career was over. Pacifism as a concept was fine and dandy, but there were over two thousand men and women dead in a sneak attack, and half the fleet was damaged. The congresswoman from Wyoming would pay a heavy price for her convictions.

The President carefully walked out of the chamber. Cameras flashed, and radio newsmen spoke rapidly into the microphones now being pulled off the podium. He was prepared to sit and let the Senators and Congressmen precede him out, but Donovan jerked his head toward the doors, and Clay followed him out into the marbled hallway. "Follow me."

"Are we going to interview the German legation now?" They’d already interrogated the Japanese diplomats with little result.

"After."

They were outside, almost barreling down the Capitol’s steps. Clay stopped and demanded, "After what? Where are we going?"

"War Department." The smile on Donovan’s face was anything but friendly. "You’re joining the Army." He continued down the steps.

"I’m what? Why?"

"I want someone I can boss around."

"You already made it perfectly clear who’s boss." Clay really didn’t mind joining up. It would make his father proud, and it would allow him to move freely through the troops, at least theoretically. "What’s this really about?" he said as he opened the passenger door for his boss and climbed in after him. "You really don’t want me to go through basic training do you?"

"Hell, no. Look, Webb, trust me. I want you in the Army. You’ll start out as a Captain, and, as soon as the paper work goes through, I’ll field commission you up to Major, and, later, Colonel. It won’t change the way you operate, but I don’t want any trouble with the generals."

Webb sighed and nodded. "Besides, this way you can always have me shot if I disagree too strongly."

"Well, there’s always that."

They rode in silence to their destination, but before climbing out of the car, Webb asked softly, "Will I have time to check on something?"

"You still trying to get your friend off?"

"Sir, I know Meredith Cavanaugh. She no more killed Bruce Kramer than Cock Robin."

"Well, I’m not sure about Cock Robin, but if she killed Kramer, I’ll put her in for a medal and spot in the OSS. Would that take care of the problem?"

"Perhaps with Miss Cavanaugh, but not with my wife."

"You can’t control you wife, Webb?" Donovan glared at him.

But Webb didn’t rise to the bait. He just sighed and shook his head. "Someday, you’ll have to meet Sarah. I’m not sure a platoon of Marines could control her. You know the operation in Holland?"

"The one where you got Professor Knopf out from under the noses of the Germans?"

"The one where Sarah got Professor Knopf out from under the noses of the Germans." Clay firmly corrected him.

The swearing in ceremony was brief, and Clay got a bit of his own back when he insisted that he call his tailor to have several uniforms purchased and altered for him. Not that his tailor had a clue what the war had done to him. He’d lost weight, but put on muscle. "He’ll have his shop here in DC take the measurements – wherever you want them to do it – and have them to me by noon tomorrow." The scowl on Donovan’s face was priceless, but Clay figured all he’d done was escalate an already seesawing battle between the two of them. Donovan didn’t strike him as a man to concede anything.

"Let’s get over to State. They haven’t issued orders for the Germans and the Italians for transport. Yet. They’ll wait out the formality of the declarations, but we’re keeping an eye on them nonetheless."

"When do you think it’ll happen?" Clay asked.

"Got me. Tomorrow. Hell, knowing Hitler, he’ll wait for some important astrological sign. Crazy bastard."

Clay would be the last man to argue that. He suddenly remembered that Rabb was in the middle of the mess down in Pearl. "Have you seen any news dispatches from the islands? Harmon Rabb of The Sun was heading out to interview Kimmell."

"Don’t mention that idiot’s name to me again. His getting caught with his pants down cost us dearly!"

Clay was shocked by Donovan’s vehemence. However, before he could probe deeper, they’d pulled up in front of the heavily guarded State Department.

After their identification was checked, they entered the building; Donovan’s long stride forced Clay to hurry a bit. "No reason to check the Italians. They’ll not know anything, and whatever they say will just parrot the Germans."

"Hitler owes Mussolini for backing him on Poland. Pity our efforts failed."

"Hitler doesn’t ever feel that he owes anyone. I suggest you keep that thought firmly in mind. He’ll turn on the Italians, just like he turned on Russia."

Two hours later, gleaning exactly what both of them expected - nothing – they walked back down the steps. Donovan was in a foul mood. "What a waste. I suggest you get some sleep. We’ve got more meetings tomorrow. There’s a scientist I want you to meet, see if he can shed some light on the location of these other testing facilities."

"I understand. How late a meeting?" Clay was already trying to figure out if he could hop a train up to New York and see Sarah.

"I’ll make it early." He smirked. "That way you can get your uniforms." The smirk turned to a long appraising look. "And, perhaps, you can get up to New York and settle this business with Miss Cavanaugh quickly. I need to speak with Mrs. Webb."

"Why?" Webb demanded harshly. It was bad enough that Sarah was involved through him. To become directly involved with Donovan would pull her out of his sphere of protection.

"To discuss the report she sent me… Captain Webb."

"You plan on drafting her, too?" The very idea of it was ludicrous, of course.

"I can’t draft her, but somehow, from reading her enthusiastic report, as well as the articles Time still occasionally publishes under her by-line, I suspect that I could interest her in joining the WACs.

Webb snorted. "I doubt it, General. But you’re welcome to try." He knew that Sarah was far too independent to accept a commission of any sort; let alone follow orders. This was the woman who’d traipsed across Germany with a six-month old infant.

"I’m a very persuasive man, Captain."

They’d just reached the car, when they heard the commotion behind them. Two Marines were leading a group of Italians out of the building. One of the men began arguing with another. The discussion became so heated that several more guards ran up. The two men began shoving each other, shouting curses. One threw a punch, and it was suddenly a classic brawl with more and more people involved. Donovan started to pull Clay into the car. "Let’s get out of the way. The Marines will handle it."

There was no reason why Clay should’ve noticed the stooped gray-haired man trying to edge away from the melee. By rights, the diversion should’ve worked. But something, perhaps the ears, perhaps just fate, alerted Clay. He jerked free of Donovan. By the time he reached the corner of the building, the old man had straightened and increased in speed dramatically. Clay made no move to touch him. Instead he pointed his gun to the sky and fired off one shot. Everyone, guards, battling Italians, and the old man froze.

"Webb! What the hell!?" Donovan’s roar broke the silence.

Clay just pointed his gun at the old man’s head. "Give me a reason to not kill you right here. After all, you’re already dead – aren’t you, Clark?"

Donovan stood beside him. A Marine, rifle at the ready, covered them as Clark Palmer pulled off the hat covering his head. Turning to face them, he wore a cocky grin. "Webb! Long time no see!"

Bellevue General Hospital
Monday
December 8, 1941
6:30 PM

Sarah sat, dejected and almost asleep in the one visitor’s chair next to Meredith’s bed. She was worried about so much, she knew that sleep would elude her yet again if she bothered to return to the hotel. Mickey was disgusted with her, but he wouldn’t say anything. For three days, since seeing Clay off at the train, they had searched high and low for information about Meredith’s whereabouts the night of the murder.

There was just too much. War! They were at war, and she had things she needed to do in London. Professor Knopf had made it clear there were other scientists hiding, not only in Holland, but in Germany itself. Something important was happening. Even Clay accepted that. Clay. God, she was surprised by how much she missed him in just three days. They’d been separated for longer. However, when she heard the news, first of the sneak attack, then, just a few hours ago, the President’s speech and the vote, she had wanted him beside her.

Meredith was unaware of any of it. Meredith, who might have shed some light on her whereabouts the night of December 2^nd, had been unconscious ever since fainting in the lobby of The Sun as Dalton Lowne and his goon squad had escorted her out of the elevator. They’d rushed her to the hospital, where the doctors had advised them of her pneumonia and 104 degree temperature. It was touch and go for nearly two days; but, late last night, her temperature broke, and she’d been awake, calling for AJ. They hadn’t told her of the attacks.

Edward Sheffield, at Sarah’s urging, was frantically trying to reach Rabb. Sheffield wouldn’t have known where their columnist was had it not been for Sarah telling him what she’d heard from Mickey Carlo. "Damn it! I need him here. You think he can send a story?" Sheffield said.

Sarah spent her time talking to the few friends that Meredith had here. Save for the doorman at the Algonquin, no one admitted to seeing the publisher between 10:30 Wednesday night and 6:30 Thursday morning, when the night guard at The Sun said good morning to her. The cops hadn’t suspected a thing until late Thursday night, when they discovered the connection between Kramer and Louise Cavanaugh. Meredith’s mother had wasted no time informing them of the fight that had drawn the police to her Park Avenue apartment the night before Thanksgiving.

Meredith, reached at the Algonquin, had informed them that she’d taken a walk, and slammed the door in their faces. Perhaps not very polite, but then, it had been Combs and Barton. There was history there. It was Combs and Barton who investigated a rape allegation against Teddy Lindsay. It had been Combs and Barton who’d finally pulled the wool from Meredith’s eyes about her ex-husband. Evidently, they were convinced that Meredith had withheld evidence then. Now, they seemed out to get her.

The evidence was barely circumstantial, and it infuriated Sarah that they stopped looking into other suspects. And, now that war had been declared, she was sure that they would find even more excuses not to do their job. Considering what a prominent Nazi supporter Kramer had been, it was really surprising that they insisted they had their killer. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Without any leads from Meredith, Sarah was really frightened that her friend would be railroaded.

"Mrs. Webb?" The soft voice of the nurse jerked Sarah out of her twilight musings. She sat up and stretched.

"Yes?"

"Phone call. He seems anxious."

"Who?"

"I’m not sure, ma’am."

Sarah, thinking it was Clay, hurried from the room. Picking up the receiver at the nurses’ station she said, "Hello?"

"This Sarah MacKenzie?" The guttural growl demanded.

"That’s correct." Sarah had stopped correcting people. Everyone in New York knew her as Sarah MacKenzie. "Who is this?"

"A friend."

"Oh, really. I didn’t know I had any friends left in New York," she replied coolly.

"Listen, sister, you think you can do this by yourself?" The voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

"No. I’m sorry. I’m just tired." She said it meekly, knowing she needed every lead she could get her hands on. "So, friend, what do you have for me?"

"Midnight, tonight. Meet me at the corner of Lexington and 97^th Streets. Come alone."

"I don’t think so, friend. I’m no fool."

"Fine. Then bring your chauffeur, sweetheart. But remember this. I spot anyone else, and I disappear. I don’t want to end up like Kramer." And, with that, the line was dead.

Pearl Harbor Naval Hospital
December 8, 1941
11:30 PM

Harmon Rabb stood in the hallway, trying hard to stay out of the way. He’d helped when he could, but now, all he cared about was the operating room just beyond the double doors. Nurses, their hair askew and their uniforms no longer white, hurried past. Men and women pushed gurneys holding sailors, aviators, and even a few civilians. It was controlled chaos, and he finally had a feel for what it had been like for him back in London.

He couldn’t believe that Catherine was still alive. There’d been so much blood. He wasn’t even sure how many bullets had entered her body. When she’d groaned yesterday he hadn’t even heard it. He’d seen her body move slightly. At first he thought it was just the final death throws, but he lifted her into his arms, screaming "MEDIC" even as he looked into her pain-filled eyes. He wasn’t sure of how they reached the hospital. He only knew this was the second time they had taken her into the operating room to repair damage they’d missed the first time.

He had to get word to his father-in-law. He owed her that much.

"Out of the way, buddy!" a harsh voice demanded even as Rabb felt the push against his back.

He swung around. It would feel good to take out some of his exhausted frustration. His fist was cocked and at the ready. "Farrow?"

The bloodied flyer, half dragging, half supporting another flyer glared at him in confusion. "Rabb?"

Rabb quickly took the unconscious man’s other arm and cried, "Ellen!" He’d gotten to know most of the nurses, helping them when he could. "Ellen! This one’s bleeding real bad."

"They’re all bleeding real bad, Harm," a harried young woman insisted as she ran up to check the man being held between the two men. "Get him over here. How did you get past triage?" she demanded.

"He’s hurt. He needs a doctor. Those nurses…"

"Those nurses are doing what has to be done." They laid Farrow’s buddy on an empty gurney and Ellen quickly checked him. She glanced quickly at Farrow and sighed. "When did he get shot?"

"Two hours ago. He barely landed his plane at Hickam. He shot down three Jap planes out there. You have to do something."

"We can’t." And, before she could say anything else, the man convulsed and the death rattle echoed through the hallway. "I’m sorry."

Farrow seemed to sag, and Harm barely caught him. Pulling the man who’d taught him to fly over to one of the few unoccupied chairs, he pushed him down. "I’m sorry, Farrow."

"Yeah." Farrow hung his head and sighed. "He was a good man. Fresh out of training, but he had potential." He looked up. "Like you had. What are you doing here?"

Harm looked away to the double doors. He hadn’t talked to Farrow since the day he’d caught him with Catherine. He’d finally accepted her explanation. It’d been easier than continued fighting. However, she’d admitted that she and Farrow had meant something to each other once. She never explained why they broke up. He was dreading the man’s reaction. "Cat and I were out here on a delayed honeymoon. We were walking along Battleship alley when the planes hit. She’s hurt."

Farrow paled and whispered, "How bad?"

"Pretty bad. She’s in for the second time. She and the kid in the gun emplacement both got shot. The kid died."

"Why not you?" Farrow demanded. "What the hell were you thinking bringing her out here?"

Rabb blushed in guilty embarrassment. "Catherine wanted to come. I felt I owed it to her. After she spent nearly a year cooped up in that apartment, nursing me back to health."

"Back to health? What happened to you?"

Rabb glared at him. "She didn’t tell you?"

Farrow looked away and rubbed his chin in memory of where Rabb had slugged him. "I haven’t heard from her since that day. I wrote to her twice, but she never wrote back. I guess she really meant it when she said you were the one for her." He looked like he was going to say something else, but he just hung his head.

"How come you two broke up?"

Lifting his head, Farrow showed Rabb his anguish. "I guess she never told you, huh?"

"No. But then we never talked about you that much." That was a bit of a lie. He’d written volumes of vitriol accusing her; she’d simply written back saying Farrow had been a dear friend, but since he caused Harm so much pain, she’d cut off all contact. He hadn’t believed her, but evidently, once again, she’d been telling him the truth. He wished with all his heart that he could paint her as the conniving rich offspring of Charles Gale. He almost missed the beginning of Farrow’s confession.

"Catherine is the most loyal personal I know. But she expects loyalty in return. She takes after her old man that way. Only Charlie is a conniving old bastard," Farrow said, unconsciously echoing Rabb’s sentiment.

"Yeah, I got that impression. I stay out of his way. But then, while I was still out of it – I was shot down over London – he came to the apartment one day and I heard her read him the riot act about the way she felt about me. She told him he could disinherit her and the baby, but if he tried anything funny this time, she’d kill him." At Farrow’s bitter laugh he snapped, "What?"

"I never realized she knew her old man was behind it. I guess that’s why she stayed friends with me. Of course, it didn’t matter who set it up. It’s not like he had a gun at my head. I cheated on her when we were dating." At Rabb’s confused, angry look he stood and paced, sidestepping a group of nurses barreling a gurney past them. "Old Charlie hired a chorus girl from the cast of Babes in Arms to make a play for me." He shrugged. "What can I say? I took the bait, and Charlie’s PI took the pictures." He sighed and walked to the double doors, but didn’t do more than turn around. "She made it clear that she understood what happened, but that she couldn’t keep on dating me. But we could be friends. Funny. Being friends with Catherine is still better than sleeping with a lot of women."

The memory of Sarah finding him in the jungle flashed across Rabb’s mind. "Yeah. I guess I understand."

The doors of the operating room opened. "Mr. Rabb?" The doctor looked from Rabb to Farrow. Farrow pointed to Rabb, then stepped closer to offer his support.

"W-what’s the word, d-doc?" Rabb stuttered.

"We missed one of the bleeders yesterday, but we’re pretty sure we have them all this time. The next couple of hours should prove me right or wrong. However, we found something today that isn’t very good." Rabb closed his eyes, then nodded for the doctor to continue. He took a deep breath. "The bleeding was coming from several small arteries near her spine. There’s damage down there. She’ll never walk again." Farrow grabbed Rabb before he could crumple. The doctor was already looking for the next patient to operate on. The hall was filled with men not as badly injured, but still in need of attention. "Look. She’ll be out for the rest of the day. You should get some rest. Take care of your friend, Colonel."

Farrow nodded tiredly. "Can we see her?"

"For a moment. They’ll settle her in the ward…"

"No!" Both men insisted. Rabb pulled free of Farrow’s support. "No. A private room. Her father will have a fit if he hears she’s in a ward. I’ve got the money." He looked around the Naval hospital, the noise and activity finally getting to him. "I should probably see about moving her to a private hospital. Her father’s going to blame me."

"Easy, buddy." Farrow gripped his forearm tightly. "Let’s go see her, and we can figure out later what to do."

"I’ve got to get her home."

"Later, Harm."

Lexington and 97^th Streets
December 9, 1941
12:15 AM

Sarah paced back and forth in front of the dark Woolworth’s, eying the diner kitty corner from her. Flickering florescent lighting streaked the grime on the windows. The elevated tracks shook with a passing train.

The few people out this time of night were hurrying home, heads hunkered down into their frayed, thin coats, trying to hide from the wind that whipped down the trash strewn street. The second shift had started an hour ago, and most people were home in bed or already into their third or fourth drink at the half dozen bars up and down the two streets.

"Come wait in the car." Mikey Carlo stamped his feet and blew warm air into the thin knit gloves with cutout fingers.

"I’m fine. I just wish I could place his voice." Something about the voice niggled at the back of her brain. Sarah had tried to reach Clay after the mysterious phone call. The desk clerk at the Willard had promised to try and reach him.

A furtive shadow moved down the rickety steps leading from the train. "Who’s there?" Sarah demanded even as Mickey stepped in front of her.

"Tell your bull dog to go away." The whiskey-roughened voice hissed.

"Tell me who you are!" Sarah had faced down Nazis in Berlin, Marseille, and Amsterdam. She was damned if she’d let her rising panic control her in New York City!

The shambling figure finally materialized before her, and still she couldn’t place him.

"Hey! I know you." Mickey snarled and he took a step backwards, forcing Sarah to do the same.

"You do, huh? And you ain’t afraid of me?"

"Oh, my God." Sarah gasped. "Owen Sebring? What are you doing here? Is the mob part of this?"

"Don’t be stupid."

"Watch it, buster." Mickey took Sarah’s hand in his. "Let’s get out of here. He ain’t nothin’ but a runner anyway."

"Hey! It’s cold out here, and I got information that the dame wants. Least ways you can stand me to a drink."

Sarah took in his shabby appearance. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and, even from here, he reeked of booze. "How about I stand you to breakfast instead?" And, not waiting for either man, she hurried across the street to the diner.

Settling into a back booth, she waited for Mickey to finish whatever threat he was making. She quickly dredged up what she could remember about the Sebring case. It’d been four years ago, right before Harm left for China. She tried hard to remember all the details. Owen Sebring had been a minor union organizer working on the docks among men who were twice his size and ten times as rough. He’d held his own with a clear and fine oration style that guaranteed that he’d go far in politics or the union. He was already making powerful enemies – enemies who’d stop at nothing to silence him. There were several attempts on his life. Sarah remembered interviewing him and his wife. Mrs. Sebring had been even more delicate looking than her husband, but she’d supported him completely.

The night of the explosion that destroyed not only the Sebring house, but also the houses on either side of it, Sebring had been at a union meeting. Five people died in the conflagration. Sebring blamed his enemies. However, evidence started showing up to point the finger squarely at Sebring. "Oh, my God." Sarah suddenly remembered that Combs and Barton had been the beat cops who’d turned up the evidence of Mrs. Sebring’s alleged affair with the man next door. Since he and his wife had died in the fire, there was no one to deny it. Dalton Lowne had presented a circumstantial case against Sebring. The jury had deliberated for two days before coming back firmly hung. The second jury returned a verdict of not guilty, but, by that time, Sebring was a broken man.

The door to the diner opened letting in a blast of freezing wind. In the harsh light, Sebring looked much older than the forty-two Sarah calculated he would be now. Mickey didn’t look happy, but the two men made their way back to where she was sitting. Mickey glared at Sebring, who finally scooted over in the booth so the cabby could sit across from Sarah, too.

"How have you been, Mr. Sebring?"

"I’ve managed. I pick up work here and there."

Mickey glared. "You been running numbers and doing other stuff for Big Abe up in Harlem."

"So?" Sebring shot back. "A man’s got to live somehow. It’s not like I can do an honest day’s work. Not after the cops railroaded me."

"You were found innocent, Mr. Sebring," Sarah reminded him softly. However, his penetrating stare made her blush. She knew how the justice system worked in this city. Barton and Combs had been promoted on their shoddy work. The papers – all but The Sun, it had seemed at the time – had decried the second verdict as a travesty of justice. To this day, Sarah had no idea why Edward Sheffield, and old man Cavanaugh himself, had supported her crusade against the lack of real evidence in the Sebring case. She’d checked every source she could turn up, much like she was doing now. And, much like she was finding now, no one was talking about the case.

"As if that meant anything. The union kicked me out. The damn cops harassed me every time I turned around. Even my family looked at me like they thought I was guilty. You were the only person who supported me publicly. Why was that?"

She met his intense gaze. "I don’t know whether or not you were guilty. I suspected that it was a frame – but a sloppy one. I just took the position that the evidence was laughable. And, in America, we shouldn’t convict people on whispers and incompetent police work."

A low harsh laugh erupted. "I’ll be damned. I thought you were a socialist, backing the cause, instead of me personally."

"Whatever made you think I was a socialist?" She was truly shocked.

"You supported all the wrong causes. You knew your share of problems – what was it The Post called you, Miss MacKenzie? A hussy?"

"Hey! That’s Mrs. Webb to you, mack." It was the first time Mickey ever formally acknowledged her relationship with Clay.

Whatever was going on in Sebring’s head, Sarah was getting tired. She needed at least a couple of hours’ sleep before facing Meredith, who, while groggy, was beginning to come around. "What have you got for me?" She saw Sebring eying the pies and cakes in the lighted case behind the counter. She was embarrassed for him. Perhaps, running numbers for the Jewish mob didn’t pay as well as she figured it should. "I’m starved – what do you guys want?"

Plates with eggs, ham and potatoes, all swimming in a yellow sea of what she prayed was butter, were placed before them. Sarah waited even longer as Sebring hungrily dug in with relish. Mickey pronounced the meal ‘pretty good;’ Sarah just moved the food around her plate. Finally, when Sebring accepted another refill on his coffee, she gave him a look that told him he’d better be forthcoming.

Sitting back, he sighed almost contentedly. "I saw Cavanaugh Tuesday morning right after midnight. She was at Joey’s Place up in Harlem. She was blitzed, but not embarrassingly so. She was crying in her beer. I sat with her for a while, then some guy who knew her came up. He was colored, so he was kind of hesitant. You understand?" He glared at her daring her to make some comment.

"I understand." Sarah, who’d grown up around every conceivable race, creed and color, really didn’t, but she’d learned early on that people hated just because they could.

"His name didn’t make sense to me, but she greeted him like a long lost friend." He grimaced. "Then she started blubbering about how sorry she was."

"Alan Mattoni?"

"That’s it! You know him?"

"Yes. He used to work for Miss Cavanaugh’s father in the sports department."

Sebring looked like he didn’t believe her, but continued. "Well, like I said, he looked kind of nervous about being around her, like he was going to be lynched or something. But then, this pretty girl came up and joined them."

"How long was she there? What were you doing there? Will other people…"

"Hold your horses, lady!" He held his hands out between them. Mickey nudged him and he dropped them to either side of this now empty plate. He looked toward the counter and snapped, "Hey! Can you come get this mess?"

"Hold your own horses, buddy." The counterman looked like he wasn’t happy for their business, but came over and cleared the table. "I gotta charge you for more coffee."

"That’s fine," Sarah assured him. Then, once he was back behind the counter, she leaned forward and hissed. "How long was she there? The cops say Kramer was killed between midnight and five in the morning."

"I arrived around midnight and she was already there. I sat with her for about an hour, but I had business in back." He blushed and looked away. Sarah didn’t bother asking him what his business was. She didn’t care. "When I came out four hours later, she was just getting up. She was kind of swaying, and the girl who was with that Mattoni guy was helping her. Mattoni looked embarrassed."

"But Miss Cavanaugh never left while you were in the back room?"

"Now, how can I say for sure?" he snapped. "But I don’t see how."

"Any of these people take this information to the police? On the phone you said you didn’t want to end up like Kramer. You know who killed Kramer?"

Sebring’s eyes shifted around the diner. He glared at Mickey, who just returned his look with a determined one of his own. "You got no idea what you’re dealing with here."

"Treason, Mr. Sebring?" She said it coolly, but she felt anything but cool. She was excited, just like she always got when she knew she was on the trail of a good story.

"Let’s just say, I hear stuff."

"Just tell me." Mickey elbowed him again. Sebring looked like he was going to strike back, but Sarah reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked down at the hand on his faded dirty jacket, and then up into her eyes. She saw pain, self-loathing, and something that she could only describe as resignation.

"There are people out there who weren’t happy that Kramer was with your friend’s mother. They didn’t like the fact that Mrs. Cavanaugh was drawing attention to them."

"Are the cops or the DA involved?"

Sebring shook his head. "Not like you think. Barton and Combs…" he looked like he wanted to spit… "they’re just gorillas, too lazy to look for evidence."

"This girl with Mattoni? She have a name?"

Sebring’s shoulders rose and fell. "I don’t know it. Go down to Joey’s. She should be easy to spot. She ain’t colored. She’s some kind of chink." He took a deep breath, and then tossed back the last of his coffee.

"That’s fine, Mr. Sebring," Sarah said. "Now tell me who was unhappy about Kramer being with Meredith’s mother."

"Look. I told you what I know. What I hear is just snatches of whispers. I only heard one name as a possible hitman, and its common enough."

"What name?" Sarah said, her aggravation already growing. She’d put a lot of hope in this meeting. She wanted it resolved, and soon. With war declared, she wanted Meredith out and free so that she and Clay could get back to London and fighting the Nazis.

"Palmer."

"Sarah?" Mickey never called her by her first name, but now he jumped up and was at her side, touching her shoulder, the worry evident in his voice and on his face. "What’s the matter?"

Sarah wasn’t sure where she found the strength. She stared at Sebring, the horror nearly clouding her vision. "Describe him."

Confused but worried at her reaction, Sebring shook his head. "Never saw him. Funny thing though, one of the guys was making a joke about him. Said they must’ve used his ears as the model for that new Disney movie everybody’s talking about. You know, the one about the elephant with the really huge ears."

She barely noticed Sebring leaving the diner. Mickey threw some bills on the table, and dragged her out to the cab. It wasn’t until he pulled up in front of the Waldorf-Astoria that she became aware of her surroundings. "I’ve got to find Clay!"

"We’ll do what we gotta. You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

She shook herself, pushing the stupefied fear back. "Come upstairs. I’ve got to track him down." She checked her watch. "I hope he’s at the hotel and not in meetings. I have to find him!"

They’d just reached the elevator when they heard, "Where the hell have you been?" And, somehow, she wasn’t even surprised to see him when Clay roughly turned her around. He stared at her for a brief moment as if assuring himself that it was really her. "Clark Palmer’s alive. I’ve seen him."

"I know. He killed Kramer." And, as if they could communicate without words, she nodded complete understanding. "What do you know? Can we get Meredith off? What’s going to happen?"

Clay released her shoulders, took her hand, and pulled her into the open elevator. After a brief glance, he jerked his head at the cabbie. "You might as well come, too."

They rode up on the elevator in silence. Clay wished that he’d insisted Carlo take a separate elevator. He wanted to hold Sarah, assure her that he would do everything in his power to get Meredith released. But he needed to explain. If what Palmer had told them was even half true, then this was bigger than just one woman’s freedom. Of course, Sarah wouldn’t see it that way.

Still feeling that eerie connection with him, Sarah took his hand in hers. He looked at the connection with longing; he was unable to meet her piercing gaze. "You’re upset about something. I’m going to be even more upset. Aren’t I?"

All he could do was nod. He let her lead them down the hall to the suite. She looked at him before opening the door. "Does Mickey need to stay out here?"

He wanted that more than anything, but he shook his head. "No. Might as well have you both mad at me at the same time."

"What’s this all about?" Mickey demanded sharply.

Clay let them settle into the comfortable chairs in the sitting room part of the suite, then began to pace. "I caught him trying to sneak out of the State Department with a group of Italians. He’d talked two of them – threatened them, most likely – into starting a diversion. But I caught him. I should’ve killed him right then. But Donovan and I pulled him in for questioning."

"What lies did he tell you?" Sarah’s voice was calm and completely dead. He wondered how long she would stay in control.

"Well, I got him to clear up a bunch of details of his escape. None of which can’t be checked. But why would he lie about how he escaped? He didn’t implicate anyone that we didn’t already know about. He hid in the jungle. Several of the natives took care of him. Things on Bougainville aren’t any better than they are in the rest of the islands. The natives hate the Europeans. Germany and Japan are making promises that they won’t keep, even if they’re in a position to do so – for a while. Anyway, he mended and managed to get off the island. He made it to Australia, and blended into the European community. Germany sent him here."

"Is he the one who ordered Taro to try to kill Meredith the first time? Is that what he was trying to do this time?"

"Sarah!" He ran his hand over his face. "Let me just tell it." He let out a long breath of air. "Yes and no." He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. Closing his eyes, he called up the entire interrogation. He’d wanted to shoot Palmer several times during the course of the four hours. "Donovan’s excited about the possibility of tracking down a spy ring right here. He wants me to be in charge of it."

"And?" Sarah ground out.

"And, for now, we aren’t publishing the fact that we have the confessed killer of Bruce Kramer in custody."

"What!?" Mickey Carlo yelled. "That ain’t fair."

"No, it’s not," Clay agreed, not even looking at the furious cab driver. He only had eyes for Sarah and her reaction.

"Okay," she said.

"Huh?" Mickey gaped at her.

"Sarah?" Clay was more nervous than if Sarah had attacked him verbally or even physically.

"I can understand that Palmer can lead us to some important people and the real reason why Kramer was killed has to be hidden." She met Clay’s perplexed gaze with an enigmatic smile.

"We’ll get Meredith off somehow. I told Donovan that no way was she going to stay in prison. Donavan thinks we can convince the doctors to insist that she has to recuperate somewhere upstate. A hospital will…."

"Forget it, Clay. I’ll handle it." Sarah was already laying out her plan of attack. "This is still America. We don’t have to show who really killed him; just that Meredith couldn’t have."

"What have you found out?" Clay demanded.

She gazed at him for a long moment. She didn’t have a clue to the identity of the mysterious woman who’d sat with Meredith. But a trip up to Joey’s Place was in order. She looked at the clock and grinned. "I’m going up to Harlem. Who’s coming with me?"

Mickey and Clay exchanged concerned gazes. "Sarah? Honey?"

"Well, Mr. Webb?" She arched an eyebrow at him, then looked at Mickey. "Mr. Carlo? I’m sure I can find a cab downstairs."

"Hey! I didn’t say I wasn’t goin’." Mickey jumped up and grabbed his cap. "I ain’t gonna let no Nazi get Miss Cavanaugh down."

Clay heaved a sigh. "I don’t suppose it could wait until I got a little sleep?" he asked hopefully.

"You can stay here, Clay," she said softly with no recrimination.

«God, she knows just how to play me.» He glared at her bitterly. "Let’s go. I just hope you know what you’re doing. I have to be back in DC tomorrow by 6:00 PM. The President wants a briefing."

"The President?" Mickey’s eyes grew round. "Roosevelt?"

"You know a different President, Mr. Carlo?" Clay snapped as he jerked opened the door and bowed Sarah out into the hallway.

As they rode through the pre-dawn streets of New York, they saw little evidence of a state of war. "I can’t believe they didn’t go to black out conditions," Clay said as they drove past Times Square."

"Bad for business," Mickey pointed out. And, in fact, he seemed to be right. Even this late in the evening (or early in the morning depending on your perceptive) there were still plenty of people on the streets; even more so as they drove into Harlem. Here, the clubs stayed open until dawn. The police seldom raided any of the bars up here for closing violations; doing so put them in danger of having to arrest a prominent official.

Joey’s Place, on Lenox, was a few doors down from the Savoy, and light years away from the Cotton Club. Like the Savoy, it allowed white and black patrons to intermingle without discouragement. The Cotton Club almost exclusively curried the favor of slumming white patrons. Even at this time of day, Mickey had problems finding a parking spot. Finally, Clay touched his shoulder. "Double park and wait for us."

"You don’t need me inside?"

"I need you outside. You never know when you might need a quick get away." He smiled at Sarah, reminding her of another time when her driving the ‘getaway’ car had saved his life. "Right, babe?"

"This is Harlem, not Marseilles, Clay. But…" she nodded. "Wait here, Mickey, and keep an eye out. You never know."

"Sure thing." Mickey grumbled but threw the car into park and glared at a livery coated doorman, daring him to say anything. "I’ll be here or a little way down, in case somebody’s just has to leave."

Sarah didn’t wait for Clay to come around and open the door for her. Instead, she stalked up to the door, forcing Clay to hurry. "Damn it, Sarah!" He reached out and took her arm. "I’m with you on this. If we can come up with even the slimmest possible alibi, I’ll personally shove it down Dalton’s throat."

"You better, Clayton."

"Help you folks?" The burly doorman stood barring their way. "We’s closed now."

"A friend of ours is playing inside," Clay said even as he was pulling out a twenty-dollar bill from his money clip. The bouncer just eyed it for a moment, then snatched and stood aside. "Ya’ll ain’t dressed like slummers."

And he was right. Sarah was dressed in the simple gray linen suit that she’d worn all day. Clay’s wool suit was equally rumpled. But they both kept their heads high as they walked into the smoky interior. The bar was sparsely populated, but the band on the stage was priceless. Most of the musicians normally didn’t play together. They’d met here to jam after their paying gigs. Pete Johnson was on piano, Sidney Becket on clarinet, and Louis Armstrong was on trumpet. "Clay? Isn’t that Gene Krupa on drums?" Sarah scanned the bar even as she listened to heady music. She’d no idea where Alan Mattoni lived, so this was the best bet to find him.

A young woman came up and waited. Clay took out another twenty and looked a Sarah. The waitress was suitably impressed. "Can I help you, sir?" she purred.

"Bring me a scotch. Sarah?"

Sarah shook her head, then held up her hand. "Just coffee."

"Sure ‘nuff."

She returned and placed their drink order down and reached for the bill. However, Clay held onto it. "What are you really wantin’ mister?"

"Sarah?"

"Sarah MacKenzie?" a voice from behind them said.

They twisted around and Sarah let out a long relieved sigh. "Hello, Alan."

"I’ll be. It is you. I figured one of you would be here – you or Rabb. I’m surprised it took you so long. Unless, Miss Cavanaugh didn’t remember that night."

"Mr. Mattoni." Clay stood and held out his hand. Mattoni looked at him in surprise, but accepted the respect inherit in the offer and shook his hand. "I’m Clayton Webb, Sarah’s husband. We just found out about Meredith’s plight and are endeavoring to help her in any way possible."

Sarah, tired as she was, picked up on the way Clay wanted to handle it. "That’s right, Alan. Please join us."

"Bring me a whiskey, June."

"Sure thing, Mr. Mattoni."

"I’m so glad we found you, Alan. Can you tell us about the night Meredith was here?"

"What did Miss Cavanaugh say?"

Sarah chewed her lower lip. For some reason, she just knew it would be better to keep Sebring out of it, in case he was involved deeper than he let on. "Meredith has been sick."

"Yeah, I read she’d collapsed a couple of days ago. The cops are really hounding her. I told her she should’ve let me call her a cab that night, but she said she wanted to walk a bit. Crazy. White woman in this neighborhood! But what was I supposed to do? Argue with her? Things ain’t changed enough for me to do that. Tracy walked with her and she told me she finally found a cab down on 106^th."

"What time was that?"

"Bout four, four-thirty in the morning, I guess." They barely heard him when he continued. "I guess she was too drunk to remember."

"Remember what?"

"She promised me a job. Said I could come back. Not that the Amsterdam News hasn’t been good to me. Gave me a job after that bastard Lindsay got me fired. But right is right. She said she would have a job for me."

"What else did she talk about that night, Alan?" Sarah asked softly.

"Oh, you know. What everyone was talking about. How the war was coming sooner or later, and how she was damned if she was going to let a Nazi take over her paper."

Clay interrupted Sarah’s next question. "She say how she was going to do it?"

Mattoni looked long and hard at Clay. "You said your name was Webb, right?"

"That’s right."

"She said she was going to get some State Department guy the information. Kept saying how she knew this guy in the State Department and how he would help her – if she could get word to him. Swore she said his name was Webb. Any relation?"

"Yeah." Clay hung his head. "You said she was here all night?"

"Far as I could tell. I was in and out. I stopped in around midnight before the Billy Coen fight. Chased off that no-good bum, Owen Sebring. He went out back." Mattoni’s lips thinned to a bitter line. "Bad things happen out back. Don’t want to know about it. I sat with her until I could get Tracy’s attention. Then, when I got back, Tracy told me she sat with Miss Cavanaugh most of the night. Didn’t leave her too often, and when she did, one of the other girls kept an eye on her. Joey didn’t want no trouble. And a drunk woman – alone – white or black – is just plumb trouble."

"Tracy oriental?" Clay asked.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" Mattoni asked belligerently. "Tracy Manetti’s as American as any of us. Her daddy was Italian and her momma was Chinese."

"I’m not saying anything about her at all at the moment. Why didn’t you go to the police with the information?"

Mattoni just snorted.

"Damn it, man! Will you tell them what you told me if I set it up?"

"Papers say that the coroner’s putting the time of death between midnight and five in the morning."

"That’s right. It’s a pretty wide window." Sarah glared at Clay, but he had to ignore her. They had to come up with a plan that would keep the real murderer out of it. Palmer would buy each minute of his life dearly. However, Clay hoped that Sarah knew that in the end, it would do the man little good. He would gladly pull the trigger himself if Palmer somehow managed to convince the powers in Washington to let him go.

"Well, I guess you better talk to Tracy. Like I said, she left with Miss Cavanaugh between four and four-thirty. I doubt that Meredith was in any condition to kill anyone. I’ll be happy to tell those fools on the force that."

"Well." Sarah sipped at her coffee, letting the caffeine force her awake. "We better find this Tracy Manetti then."

"You know where we can find her?" Clay eyed his drink and pushed it away. He needed his wits about him. Besides, he didn’t dare fall asleep now. Lord knew what Sarah would do if he did.

"She’s around. Good kid. Works over in Chinatown for her momma’s father. He sells herbs and things. Her daddy has a garage over on West 79^th."

Clay stood. "Come with us. I’d like to get this settled as soon as possible."

Mattoni sat back and concerned him. "You’re sure of yourself aren’t you?"

"Sure enough. I know this. If you help me, I’ll help you. That’s a good thing, Mattoni."

"Alan, please." Sarah stood and waited.

Mattoni sighed, tossed back his drink, and then stood up. "Regardless, I want an exclusive. That means we get to print it before you do, Miss MacKenzie."

"Fine." Sarah turned and the two men followed her.

If it bothered Mickey to have a Negro sitting in the seat beside him, Clay couldn’t tell. He filled the cabbie in on the information that they had, and all Mickey said was, "I know Chinatown," and took off. The cab was silent, and snow started to fall in the gray darkness of dawn. Delivery trucks and buses were starting to operate, and people coming off third shift were hurrying home.

Sarah settled next to him and put her head on his shoulder. "I’m glad you’re here, Clay." He took her hand in his and squeezed it, unable to respond. "We’ll get her off… then…"

She let the question hang between them, but he just brought her hand to his lips. "Clay?"

"After we get her off, we’re both going to sleep. Then…" He glanced up at Mattoni. "Later."

She sat up and considered him. Would it always be like this now? Would they always have secrets that couldn’t be discussed in the back of a cab? She shuddered at the blackness she could almost feel surrounding their lives. When had she made this decision? And the image of the survivors of the SS St. Louis as well as Günter’s cold little face appeared before her. Sighing, she returned her head to Clay’s shoulder.

Chinatown was a world unto itself. Tourists came here, but the residents made little concessions to the white people who ventured into their neighborhood. Signs were in the characters that were incomprehensible to most visitors. Clay, more familiar with Japanese characters, struggled but managed, with the help of the wares in the windows to eliminate many of the storefronts. "You’re sure she lives with the old man?"

"Yes. Evidently, her father remarried after Tracey’s mother died – to a nice Italian girl. I guess she and Tracy don’t get along, though Tracy visits her father often."

"Well, this place might be it. Damn, it’s early."

Mickey pulled over to the curb, and Clay got out. "No need for all of us to freeze. Mr. Mattoni and I will find out if this is the right place, okay?" Sarah nodded.

"You know we ought to let everyone think we’re cops." Mattoni pointed out as they stood together. "There are a couple of black detectives, all of them assigned to Harlem, but they don’t know that here."

"Why would we pretend to be cops?" Clay pounded loudly on the door next to the shop entrance. Peering in through the glass, he could see the steep staircase leading up to the second floor.

"Just a suggestion. They don’t like… hell, no one likes cops pounding at their door at…" Mattoni checked his watch, "five-thirty in the morning. But they’ll tolerate it. But just folks? Hell, I’d run you off."

Clay nodded and started to pound again, when the high-pitched cry in angry Chinese floated down the staircase. Light spilled out of the upper reaches, and, finally, Clay could make out an old man hurrying down. He glared at them through the door, and for a moment, Clay wished he had a badge. Then, he remembered his glossy new card, identifying him as a member of the United States Army. He pulled it out and held it up, suspecting that the old man didn’t speak much English and probably read less.

"What you want!?" the old man demanded as he jerked the door open. "No want trouble!"

"No trouble, old man. We need to speak with Tracy Manetti."

"Who?" And the old man looked genuinely confused.

Before Mattoni could say anything, Clay launched into an impassioned speech in Chinese. Both Mattoni and the old man looked at him in surprise, but finally, the old man grumbled back in the same language, and, leaning out, pointed down the street. Then without another word, slammed the door in their faces.

"Where’d a white boy like you learn Chinese?"

"Where else? I was in China for two years. My father was attached to the embassy there." He shrugged. "What can I say? I’m good at picking up languages. Let’s go. I know where she is."

The room was neat and clean, and almost bare of furnishings. Clay sat cross-legged before the small table. Sarah sat to his right, and Mattoni sat most uncomfortably to his left. The tiny woman, a long braid resting over her shoulder, glared at Mattoni. "Why did you bring him here? This early in the morning? We’ve done nothing!" She looked to the old man, who sat on a stool next to the small brazier that was heating a pot of tea. "He’s done nothing!"

Clay ignored her outburst as well as Matonni’s discomfort. "On the morning of December 2^nd, you were seen with Miss Meredith Cavanaugh at Joey’s Place in Harlem."

Her eyes widened, fear pinched her face. "I swear, I told no one. Honestly officer! After I went to the station and talked to Detective Barton, I swear I told no one else!"

"Damn them!" Sarah spat out and would’ve risen from the table, had Clay not grabbed her wrist.

Clay kept his excitement to himself. "Well, Barton was wrong, and I’ll see to him. You tell me what you told Barton, and tell me who else was with Barton when you told him."

"I went to the station on Saturday. The desk sergeant didn’t want to call the two detectives down. But I insisted. I showed him the copy of The Herald. The detectives took me into a small room, and I told them that I was with Miss Cavanaugh from the time she left Joey’s at four-thirty until the time she got out of the cab in front of The Sun. I told them she didn’t kill anyone."

"And what did they say to that?"

"Well, first they asked me how long she was at Joey’s Place. I told them that I’d seen her there most of the night from about midnight on. She’d come in and sat at a table and talked to this one very bad man for a bit."

"Who?"

"I’m not sure of the name. I’ve seen him around. He works for Big Abe Levison. Odd jobs mostly. He’s a vile man. Made a pass at me once. Didn’t take rejection very well, but Alan here steered him away from me." She smiled at the black man.

Clay considered the two and realized that there was nothing there but friendship. "So why are you a frequent visitor to Joey’s Place?"

She cocked her eyebrow at him in much the same way Sarah did when he’d crossed the invisible line of acceptable behavior. However, he held her cold stare. Finally, she sighed. "I work there." She gave him a cold smile and added. "As Joey’s bookkeeper. Why? You thought something else?"

Clay met her look with an appraisal that lasted so long, even Mattoni and Sarah became uncomfortable. However, it was Clay who finally nodded. "If you say so, Miss Manetti. Now, you left at four-thirty, and did what until six?"

"We walked to 106^th Street. There was a cab just letting off a couple of people, and I grabbed it. I don’t think she wanted to, but I told her I was really getting cold. She had on this long fur coat, and she was probably feeling no pain anyway."

"You remember the cab?"

Tracy shook her head. "Just that it was a Yellow. I guess you can check that out."

"Yeah, we can. Then what?"

"I wanted to take her home. I told her I had classes in the morning – I didn’t, but I was really tired. She offered to drop me off, but I was worried about her. I don’t know why. She comes into Joey’s Place and sits in the corner and listens. Joey gets some of the best bands. And it’s an easy place to have fun. I’ve seen her there a couple of times, and even talked to her. She seemed really interested in my desire to get my degree in Art History. I want to work at a museum." Tracy blushed a bright red, then quickly rose to take the teapot from her grandfather. She whispered for him to go back to bed, but he just shook his head and remained on his stool. She poured tea for all four of them, then returned to her place. "She’s a very nice woman who’s very sad. Sometimes she talks about this man, AJ. He’s some fantasy guy." She snorted delicately. "Island paradises."

"It’s no fantasy, Miss Manetti," Sarah corrected her softly. "I’ve been to that island and it is paradise – or was, before the war started." She shuddered.

"Well, she didn’t talk about paradise or AJ that night. Even drunk as she was, she was furious about Kramer. There’s no way she could’ve done it in the time frame though. I told that to the police, but Barton threatened to have me charged as an accomplice. Said I must’ve helped her."

"Did he now?" Clay sat back and considered it. "What did you do in the cab?"

"Rode around and looked at people. She was on this diatribe about how people in America didn’t know how bad it could be. She told me about the Jap who stabbed her, then she told me about this reporter of hers, Harmon Rabb, and how he had sent back awful stories of the way the Japanese treated the Chinese. I had to remind her that I had an even bigger interest in what happened in China than she did. My great-grandparents are still alive over in Peking. At least they were the last time I heard from them. My father’s people are all over here. If there’s anyone left in Milan, I don’t know about them, neither does he." She took a deep breath. "But I told the police she didn’t kill him. I don’t know what else I can do."

"We’ll take care of it. I know the DA. Just stay healthy until I get back. Can you stay here today?" He looked from Mattoni to Carlo. "No. I think you better come with us."

"No. I’ll stay here with my grandfather." She saw them out, then locked the door before going back upstairs.

Clay looked at Mickey. "You think you can find the cabbie who drove them around?"

"Sure thing!"

Dalton Lowne’s Office
December 10, 1941
2:30 PM

Clay kept looking at his watch. He was going to be late for a meeting with the President of the United States. His fury at being kept waiting flushed his skin and darkened his eyes. Even Sarah’s hand on his arm didn’t seem to help calm him like it usually did. Finally, he stood up and stalked over to the receptionist. He gave a glare to the cop standing in front of Lowne’s office, then returned to the woman who looked like she would prefer to be anywhere but sitting where she was. "Miss Rush, I…"

"Look, Mr. Webb, I can’t help it. He’s in a meeting with the DA. I can’t just let you in there."

"I don’t have a lot of time, miss."

"Look, buddy, just sit down," the cop growled. "You ain’t so important you know."

"Clay?" Sarah knew he was going to have to leave. He had less than thirty minutes to make the plane that would barely get him to Washington in time.

Clay looked hopelessly at her, then he realized what he had to do. It was a desperate plan, likely to get him into trouble, but he was just angry enough to not care. He knew that if he weren’t here to back up Sarah, they would ignore the evidence of Meredith’s innocence. He knew they could give the evidence to Stan Jackson and let them take it to trial and embarrass the hell out of Lowne. But, because Meredith had fainted in the lobby of the newspaper, the police hadn’t yet officially charged her. From what he heard, that’s what they were preparing to do right now. That’s why Dalton and his boss were stonewalling him. He’d overheard the cop tell the secretary that they’d finally found the judge. They were going to go the hospital and have her formally charged there. «Well two can play this game, gentlemen.» He gave the woman the smile that usually got him what he wanted. "I understand that you’re in a rough spot. I tell you what. Can I use your phone?"

"Sure." She started to push it towards him. Then she stopped. "It isn’t long-distance is it?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Don’t worry. I’ll reverse the charges." He picked up the received and tapped the button. "Yes, operator. This is a military emergency. My name is Captain Clayton Webb, and I need to speak, person to person, with General William Donavon. He should be in the War Department. But if you can reach him there, would you try the White House? No, I’ll hold."

He smiled at the shocked look on Sarah’s face. He hadn’t had time to tell her. Mickey looked suitably impressed, and even the other cabbie, Joe Martin, who was prepared to swear that Meredith had not left his cab until he let her out in front of the paper at 6:00 AM on the morning of the 2^nd, grinned in acknowledgement of his ploy. Of course, Webb was paying Martin two bucks an hour to sit there. However, it was the shocked hiss from the police guard, followed by the door opening and closing behind him that warmed his heart.

He was surprised that the operator found Donovan so quickly. Just as the door behind him opened again, he heard his boss’s voice demand, "Webb! Where the hell are you?"

"Sorry, General. I’ve been trying to get in to see the District Attorney and his assistant for over an hour. I have the proof that Miss Cavanaugh couldn’t have killed Bruce Kramer. It looks like police corruption to me."

"I don’t care about that! You’re not going to make your flight are you?"

"No, sir. It looks like you’ll have to tell the President that Mr. Neary’s reelection campaign is more important than the President being briefed."

"Webb?" There was a long pause, then Donovan made a sound that Webb prayed was a laugh. "Let me guess. Mr. Neary is standing right there."

"I hope so, sir." Webb didn’t dare turn around. He kept his gaze on Sarah.

"You’re a pistol, Webb. Good thing you called. The meeting’s been cancelled. Not that you have to let Neary know; obsequious political hack that he is. You’re sure about the information that will free Miss Cavanaugh?"

"I’ve got a witnesses who’ll swear that Miss Cavanaugh never left their sight for the hours in question. It’s not up to me to do their job and find the real killer." Clay winked at Sarah, letting her know the last was for Neary’s benefit. Sarah shook her head, silently chiding him. But he could see the twinkle in her eye. He didn’t get to see that twinkle very often.

"Well it might be your job to make sure they don’t," Donovan snapped. "I’m flying up there tomorrow morning. I’ve got plenty to go over with you. Make sure I meet Mrs. Webb, too." With that, Donovan severed the connection, leaving Webb feeling relieved and worried all at the same time. When he turned around, he found Dalton Lowne glaring at him.

"Sorry you had to go to all that trouble Clay. We were just getting ready to come out and tell you that we’ve decided to hold off charging Miss Cavanaugh until we can verify some of our evidence."

"Sure you were, Dalton." He turned to Sarah. "Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go tell Meredith the good news."

She didn’t say anything until they were outside, and Clay handed Joe Martin a twenty. "Keep it. Thanks for coming down. You’ll be available if we need you?"

Martin gave Clay a two-finger salute off his cap. "You got it, mack. Be seeing you, ma’am."

"Mickey," Clay said as he handed Sarah into the back of the cab. "Drive us to the hospital, then take a couple of days off. I’ll make up the difference in what you would make in fares." He leaned over and tucked a small roll of bills into the cabbie’s front pocket. "Thank you for watching out for her," he whispered before settling back beside Sarah. "Tell you what, Mrs. Webb, we’ll go and let Meredith know everything’s fine, then go back to the hotel and take a nice long nap. Then tonight, you and I are going to do the town."

"I thought you had to get to Washington!"

"Nope. The mountain is coming to Mohammed, my dear." His smile faded. "And don’t think that I’m not worried about that."

Pearl Harbor Naval Hospital
Honolulu, Hawaii
December 12, 1941
12:30 PM

"Harm?" Her soft plea jerked him out of his light sleep. He braced his hands on the bed rail.

"Catherine? Sweetheart?" He pulled himself up, and, leaning down, gently kissed her. "How are you feeling, honey?"

"What happened? Where are we?" She looked around at the hideous green walls and sighed. "Is this Hawaii?"

Harm tried to keep his voice light. "Yeah. Don’t you remember what happened?"

She struggled to sit up, but it was too hard. She tried to grip his hand, but she didn’t have the strength. He took her pale hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. "Tired," she sighed even as her eyes fluttered shut again.

"Sleep, honey." He squeezed her hand again, and, when her breathing evened out, he released it. Turning toward the window, he let his shoulders slump as he stared out onto the ruined airfield before him. He’d been able to watch the cleanup ever since they moved her out of recovery up here three days ago. He was worried sick about her. Farrow had convinced him to leave her at the base. "It’s much better than Honolulu General."

He considered Colonel John Farrow, and found he felt nothing but admiration and respect for the man he’d once considered a rival. Between checking on the remnants of his squadron, meeting with the brass and general running around the base, helping out where he could, he also found the time to check in on Cat. He insisted upon spelling Harm so he could shower and change. He’d been the one who found someone to go to the hotel, pack up Harm’s suitcase, and return with it. For his part, Harm had allowed guilt to consume him. He refused to leave her side, sleeping in the small chair until Farrow had talked one of the orderlies into bring up a narrow cot for him to sleep on. And it’d been Farrow who arranged for Charles Gale to be informed of his daughter’s injury. Harm hadn’t heard anything back from his father-in-law.

As if just thinking about him had the power to call him, Harm heard a tired, "How’s she doing?"

"Same as last night. She woke up, asked me what happened, then went back to sleep."

"Maybe it’s for the best. Let her get her strength back."

"I was awake ten hours after my first operation. Something’s wrong."

"She a woman, Harm. She doesn’t have our strength."

"Maybe you’re right." Harm had always thought that Catherine Rabb was by far the strongest woman he knew – apart from Sarah. Now, lying there she looked so helpless.

"You want to go out and get some fresh air?" Farrow said as he walked to the hospital bed and looked down at her.

"Why are you doing this, Farrow?" There was no jealousy in Harm’s voice. He really didn’t feel he had the right. It was his fault that she was hurt. He should’ve loved her more. Should’ve never taken her somewhere like Hawaii. He should have known better.

Farrow shrugged. "What else am I supposed to do? I still care about her. I go to the barracks and try and sleep, but the nightmares wake me up."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. I’ll see those planes diving at us and hear those dying men’s screams as long as I live."

"Well, in my case, it won’t be too much longer."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"I’ve been transferred to the Enterprise. I’m heading out to fight those bastards. They outnumber us now. But I’ll take out as many as I can before they get me."

Harm felt like he was being torn apart. On one hand, with his skill, he should be out there, fighting the sneaky bastards. However, Catherine had stuck by him when every doctor swore that he would never walk without a cane. He owed it to her to get her healthy again.

"Mr. Rabb?" A pretty young woman in a WAVE uniform stood at the door. "Admiral Whelan sent me to fetch you, sir."

"Excuse me?" Harm looked at Farrow who looked equally confused.

"I’m Petty Officer Jennifer Coates. I’m the Admiral’s yeoman, and he asked me to come and drive you back to his office."

"Why?"

She looked like she was going to say something, then just shrugged and said, "I’m not sure, sir."

"I don’t like to leave my wife for very long," Harm began.

"You better go, Rabb. I’ll stay with her until you get back."

It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the base commander. "Fine." He followed Coates out of the hospital, and climbed into the passenger seat as she climbed behind the wheel of a jeep. "What’s this all about, Petty Officer?"

"I’m really sorry about your wife, Mr. Rabb. It’s a terrible thing."

"Thank you. How is it that one civilian rates the Admiral’s notice?" But he already knew the answer to that question. Charles Gale had lots of friends, many of them in Congress. He would think nothing of calling in favors to get the latest word on his daughter. Harm wondered if Gale had done as Thomas Cavanaugh had done, and flown out. No. He would’ve immediately come to Catherine’s room. Besides, they were at war, and even Charles Gale had to comply with travel restrictions. Whatever it was, Harm would soon know. Coates pulled up in front of the Hickam base command center, and Harm hopped out. She had to run to get in front of him and open the door.

He found Admiral Whelan standing at a large backlit table, a transparent map over-layed on it. On the map sat small ships in various groups. It almost looked like a child’s game, but Harm knew better. He was looking at the position of every US ship in the South Pacific, as well as the estimated position of the Japanese fleet. In the old days he would’ve given his eyeteeth for such information. "You wanted to see me, Admiral?" Several line officers looked up at his intrusion.

"My office," Admiral Whelan barked before turning on his heel. Harm quickly followed him. "Shut the door."

Harm steeled himself for whatever Whelan was going to throw at him. When Whelan didn’t immediately say anything further, he cleared his throat. "I really appreciate what your doctors have done for my wife, Admiral. I can never repay you."

"No. But that’s not why you’re here. Actually, I guess it is." He picked up a wire and read it again, a look of distaste on his face. "I’ve got plenty of Marines and sailors who are in critical condition, who need to be flown back to the States for further operations."

"I understand that, sir."

"Do you? You’re wife’s condition is stable."

"I understand that too, sir. I know she’s getting excellent treatment here, and that many people are worse off than she. What’s this about?"

"I’ve been ordered to make room for her on the next transport out."

"What?!" But Harm already knew what was going on. "I see. My father-in-law pulled in some major favors."

"Son, your father-in-law can pretty much ask for anything he wants. His munitions plants are going to be vital to the war effort." Whelan looked tired, and sat down in the leather chair. Harm suspected it was the first time he’d sat down all day.

"Will I be able to fly back with her?"

"There’s no room."

"I could fly second seat. I’m a pilot. Hell, I was a decorated veteran two years ago. Let me go with her, Admiral."

"Sorry, son." And Harm thought that Whelan was on some level. It wasn’t fair. But then, Charles Gale had made it perfectly clear that he hated his son-in-law. Now a cold fear seized him. Gale would do everything in his power to keep Harm from seeing Catherine again. And, if he couldn’t see his wife, he knew damned good and well he’d never see his son again. He’d have to fight Gale in the courts, and what chance did he have?

"When will you take her?"

"The transport leaves this afternoon."

"She’s too sick. She hasn’t even regained consciousness for more than a few minutes. She doesn’t even know what happened to her."

"I’m sorry. Besides. We’re going to need the bed," Whelan said gruffly.

"What can I do? How can I get back?"

"You can’t. There won’t be another transport for a week, and that one will be filled, too."

"I see."

"Look, son. This is best for her. I read your father-in-law’s telegram, he seems like a real bastard, but my hands are tied."

"Yes, sir." Rabb turned and walked out of the office without another word. He walked across the field, ignoring Jenny Coates’ frantic warning. He didn’t even duck when the plain flew so close overhead that the wind buffeted him, nearly knocking him down. He kept walking until he left the field. He didn’t bother to return to her room. A cold fury shook him. «Fine. You wanted to be rid of her. She has her father. She doesn’t need me. Little Harm will grow up with everything that I can’t give him. Damn it! He’s my son. She’s my wife!»

He had no idea how long he walked. He wasn’t even aware of the plan that was forming in his head. He turned on his heel and looked around to get his bearings. He wasn’t surprised that he found himself outside the now heavily guarded gates leading into Pearl Harbor. He hailed a jeep and found his press pass. "Hey buddy, drive me back to the base hospital?"

"Headin’ there anyway."

He found Farrow pacing back and forth outside Catherine’s room. "What the hell’s going on? Where are they taking her?" Harm pushed past him and into the room where a doctor, two nurses and an orderly were moving the unconscious Catherine onto a stretcher. "Hold on for a second."

The doctor started to protest, but must’ve seen something in Harm’s face because he motioned for the others to step back. "We have to get her to the plane. They won’t hold…"

"Sure they will, Doc. Give us a minute." He kissed her lips and was pleased when she moaned softly. "Cat, honey. I know you can hear me. Don’t try to move. I love you, sweetheart. I love you and Little Harm, and no matter what your old man does, I’m going to come home to you. Remember that, Cat. I’m going to come home." He straightened and nodded for the doctor to continue. Then he walked out and grabbed Farrow.

"Hey, where are we going?"

"The recruiting station. You’re getting yourself another pilot."

"Rabb! What the hell’s going on? Where are they taking Catherine?"

"Chuck got the brass to ship her home. Some poor sailor’s probably going to die because he couldn’t get back stateside for additional surgery. The bastard made sure that there was no room for me, either. Well, he can have his way. He can try to poison Catherine’s mind. But remember this, John – she loves me! I’ll come home and I’ll storm those castle gates, and he’ll regret doing this to me. I’ll destroy him."

"Rabb! Harm! Jesus, slow down."

Harm spun around and snarled. "You know how good a pilot I am, John. You trained me, and fighting the Germans honed me. They couldn’t kill me, and the damn Japs won’t, either. Now, make up your mind. Do you get me into the Navy, or do I go to the British Embassy and offer my services again?"

"Hell. Are you even separated from the British Air Force?"

"Yeah. I think. Hell, I don’t know." Harm stopped in the middle of the path and tried hard to get his breathing under control. "Tell me what to do, John."

Farrow clapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. "Come on, buddy. I’ll take care of it."

And, as they walked back toward headquarters, Harmon Rabb refused to consider the reasons why he’d suddenly fallen in love with his wife, or the fact that he would probably very well die before he could keep his promise to her.

Solomon Sea
December 15, 1941
0100 Hours

The stars shed the only light. The moon was just a sliver in the sky overhead. Victor scanned the indistinguishable horizon, looking for shadows of other ships and of their destination. They’d heard that the Philippines were taking the brunt of the Japanese attack force. However, Victor was taking no chances. Even though he’d assured Kate that his Spanish National status would protect him, he wasn’t so sure.

"Man, I can’t believe it took that long to get the parts we needed." Bud Roberts came to stand next to him. "I just hope everything on Bougainville is still quiet. They must be worried sick about us." They’d sent a brief, blind coded message to let them know they were leaving over two days ago. They were too afraid to radio this close to the island.

Victor tried hard not to worry about Kate. Perhaps Chegwidden had found another way for her to return to New Guinea. He was berating himself for not taking her back to the safety of the British garrison at Port Moresby, then heading for Rabaul. "Damn him for trying to hold us up like that."

The owner of the small harbor, and, by default, the broken down Grumman Goose that they’d further cannibalized for the turbine fan, not to mention a few other parts, had tried to make a year’s profit off Galindez and Roberts. Galindez had taken care of it finally, two nights ago. He and Roberts had snuck in; hit the man over the head, and took what they needed. Then there’d been the trouble with the boat. Victor was beginning to think he was cursed. But they were on their way back to Bougainville, the parts stowed away, and running black. Victor knew these waters fairly well, and he was pretty sure any of the reefs that might be a danger were well away.

Bud stood beside him, helping him watch for the any other ships in the area. They were fairly protected here. New Guinea sheltered them to the west and south. New Britain and New Ireland to the north, and the whole of the Solomon Islands to the east. The Japanese were coming, but they weren’t here yet; soon, but not yet.

Victor wasn’t anxious to get into another war. He’d even considered leaving the islands. But there was no place to run. He’d run away in Barcelona. And, even now, five years later, late at night, he shuddered from the guilt of it. Not that he could’ve stayed. Not when his entire division had sided with Franco.

"There!" Bud pointed. "I see Bougainville."

"Let’s just hope they’re still there. You have to get Kate back to Port Moresby."

"I will. It won’t take long to get the fan in once we get there."

"Yeah, that’s what you said about getting the damned thing in the first place."

"I know," Bud sighed and walked to the rail of the boat. "I hope Harriet and the baby are doing okay."

"I’m sure they are." Victor felt guilty for giving him a hard time over the fan. "Sydney will be safe."

"I sure hope so. I just hope they have enough money and room for everyone. I sure wish I could be there for them, but Harriet would be very angry with me if I let AJ down."

"I don’t think any of us wants to let AJ down." Victor looked away for a moment. He didn’t want to discuss with Bud just how much he owed AJ Chegwidden. Not just for the money to repair the boat. He owed AJ a lot more than that. It’d been AJ, the year that Victor had first arrived in the South Pacific, a deserter’s tag on his identity, who vouched for him when the French magistrate wanted to arrest him. No one knew that AJ had advanced Victor the money to buy the Gypsy Girl. Victor had made sure to pay him back, but still he owed him.

"Hey! Victor! Look at that!" Bud pointed off the starboard side of the boat. "What’s that?"

Victor slowed the engine and peered into the darkness. At first he didn’t see what had Bud so excited. Then he cursed softly. "Hijo de puta."

"Is that…"

"Yeah. I just don’t know whose." Victor and Bud stared as the periscope cut through the water. The pale light from the quarter moon just showing them the black shadow.

"You don’t think they know we see them do you? You think that if they’re Japs, they’ll sink us?"

"Bud, we’ll have to see. They’re not going to waste a torpedo on this tub, if that’s what you’re worried about. But…" And, as if they’d summoned the demon from the deep, they saw the periscope rise higher in the water. Soon the conning tower could be made out. "I’m not waiting around to find out though. We have to get to shore." Victor steered clear of the wake made by the surfacing boat, gunned the engines, and made for the island. Instead of steering around to the north to Selau, though, he pulled into a small cove. "You can steer her around. I’m waiting here."

"Victor! I can’t…" Bud stopped as Victor jumped into the gentle surf washing against the sandy beach. "Damn it, what are you planning on doing?"

"I’m going to stay right here and watch them. I know where we are. I can make it across the island in a couple of days. You need to take the boat up through the Buka Passage. Stay in the middle of the channel until you see the lights of Leta on the north island. Then turn back toward Selau. Get AJ the information, tell Kate…"

He looked away and Bud took the wheel. "You two are stubborn as mules."

"Just get her to safety. Get that plane working and get her back to New Guinea. Hell, fly her all the way to Sydney if you can talk her into it."

"Sure I can." Bud leaned over the boat. "What did you want me to tell her?"

But Galindez was already wading up to the shore. Bud cursed softly, but then followed the shoreline out to the sea. From there, he gunned the engine. As he did, he strained to see any markings on the submarine. He tried to memorize exactly what he saw so he could at least describe the shape of the damn thing.

On shore, Victor made his way around the cove and down the beach again, until he could hide behind a huge block of black lava rock. His hand caressed the service revolver at his hip. He’d strapped it on for the first time since leaving Spain when he left Selau over a week ago. He watched as the crew of the submarine lowered a boat over the side. He could make out the heads of three men rapidly paddling away from the boat. Long before they reached his hiding place, the submarine had submerged. This part of the island was surprisingly free of villages. He watched as the boat approached, he wasn’t surprised when he heard a snatch of Japanese. Now he wondered what the hell he was going to do about it. «Idiot. It’s not like you can speak the damned language.» He watched as the men pulled the boat ashore. One of them pulled out a flashlight and shined it over the beach. Victor hugged the rock as the beam of light flashed past his hiding place. He held his breath, praying they wouldn’t come any closer. Then he heard the snap of a twig somewhere in the jungle behind him. He thought for sure he was caught.

"Took you long enough," a vaguely familiar voice called out, unconcerned with being heard.

"Quiet, you fool." One of the men from the boat spoke in heavily accented English.

"Why? Nothing out here but you three. You bring my money?"

"I have your cash. You have secured us a hiding place?"

"Sure have."

Victor finally placed a name to the voice. It couldn’t be. He had to be sure. Crouching down, he eased around the rock. He was grateful it was so dark, and that there was little debris around him to alert the four men of his presence. In the dim light he was able to make out the shape of the man more than the actual features, but he recognized him immediately. «Reverend Falcon!» What the devil was the minister doing here? Victor tried hard to make out the other man. But it was just too dark to see clearly.

Falcon swung a kerosene lantern, but the light barely caressed the men’s chests. "If you’ll follow me."

"What about Chegwidden?"

"He’s making his plans. Don’t worry. That fool Tiner will lead us to him when we’re ready. I’ve taken the boy under my wing. He’s very lonely.

"I’m surprised that Chegwidden kept him around."

"Chegwidden’s a bigger fool than any of them. He thinks he can work with the British to spot your ships and planes. That Negro manager of his will offer us no resistance. I know I can buy his loyalty until you take over the island."

"Enough. Show us the way."

Victor crept behind them. They were making no effort to cover their passage, and he was able to hang back a bit. Falcon continued to brag about his plans. "I’ve been their shepherd now for nearly a year. They’re all fools, so easy to talk to. The whore who calls herself a painter doesn’t like me, but she’ll do what Turner tells her."

Victor wondered where Falcon was getting his impressions of Turner, or Bobbi, for that matter. Turner was more beholden to AJ than anyone on the island. He’d told Victor about how AJ had gotten him out of a jam once and offered him the job running the small bar. As for Bobbi, Victor had to hold in his laughter. No one told Bobbi what to do. Not even Sturgis Turner.

AJ’s
Selau, Bougainville
December 15, 1941
1200 hours

"Kate, this is really good," AJ said as he sipped the rich fish stew. She barely heard him. She picked at her own food. The lines of worry made her look old. He had no idea what to say to her. He knew better than to suggest that they find another way off the island for her. She’d already refused to go with the British patrol boat, not that it would’ve been that safe an option. He was furious with Galindez for not only doing this to Kate, but for screwing up his carefully laid plans. Sturgis had gone to the look out point. They’d planned for AJ to go up, leaving Sturgis at the bar until the last minute. Now, though AJ couldn’t prove it, Bobbi was with him. He was surprised that Bobbi had left Kate alone with him. Not out of any sense of propriety, more out of a need to comfort the very anxious young woman. For all her standoffishness, Bobbi Latham was one of the most comforting, gentle women he knew. He picked up the last bottle of beer in the bar and tipped it back. He couldn’t imagine what more could go wrong. He wanted to help Meredith, but she was too far away. There was no way he was going to be able to reach her. The next best thing would’ve been for the woman next to him to be able to send him word of what was going on back in New York.

"Where the devil are they? Jean Luc said the message from Rabual had them leaving two days ago. Where are they?" She looked around the deserted bar. They were the only Westerners left on this end of the island. Even the Reverend Mr. Falcon had disappeared. She pushed away her bowl. "You don’t think they went to Sorong for Tom do you?" There was a wild hope in her voice.

"They damn well better not have. Mike Roberts knows what to do. And Bud knows he knows what to do."

"But the fighting’s so close." She took a deep breath. They’ll overrun everything before we can even get half a fleet put together."

She started to pace just as they heard Jason Tiner, who was on watch yell out. "AJ! I see the boat!"

"Oh, thank God!" Kate was already out the door by the time AJ stood. However, he easily outpaced her and reached the dock to tie off the boat.

"Where the hell is Galindez?"

"Where’s Victor!?" Kate gasped as she joined them.

Bud didn’t even bother to get off the boat. "On the other side of the island. We saw a submarine. He made me drop him off."

"Damn it!" AJ bellowed. "What kind?"

Bud described the vessel as best he could, and AJ growled low. "Jason!"

"Yes sir?"

"You know how to find Sturgis?"

"Sure."

"Get up there. Tell him we’re going to check it out."

"You want me to take Kate with me?"

AJ looked at Kate and sighed. "Will you go with him?"

"You know me better than that, AJ. Let’s go." She started to climb on board the boat, but AJ pulled her back.

"Go back to the bar. In the room leading off of my bedroom you’ll find a footlocker. Drag it as far as you can. I’m going to have to help Bud fill the tanks." At her look of disbelief, he reached out and took her shoulder in his hand. "Kate. I can only do one of two things, take you with or send you to the camp with Tiner. I can’t leave you here by yourself. The natives don’t know you. They respect me, but this place will be up for grabs until the Japanese land. We’ve got to find out what’s going on, then we’ll see."

"What about the Goose?" Bud’s voice quavered a bit.

"We’ll do what we can, Bud."

Even as he began pumping the gas into tanks, AJ was fuming, trying to work this latest change into his plans. They’d expected spies to come to the island; they’d made plans just in case. But what had made Victor so suspicious that he’d laid in wait. He knew some of the younger man’s history. Knew he came from an excellent family back in Spain. It gave him no pleasure in knowing that Kate thought so little of him even though Galindez himself perpetuated his murky reputation.

"Ma’am!" His attention was drawn by Bud’s startled cry. Looking up, he couldn’t help but grin. She was spunky. He’d give her that. The footlocker had to weigh at least 150 pounds, but she was dragging it through the sand. How she’d gotten through the bar and down the steps was something he didn’t want to think about. Bud rushed up to help her, and together the two, huffing and puffing, carried it onto the boat.

She was dressed in linen slacks, a soft cotton sweater and loafers. "Get it stowed away, then go back up to the bar and find heavy pants and a sweater in my closet. There might be a pair of shoes of Meredith’s. Something with a rubber sole."

"I can go barefoot." She said it so seriously as she hurried back to the bar. He was just happy she didn’t order him not to leave her. He’d been telling the truth. He didn’t dare leave her here alone. He wasn’t even sure if she shouldn’t have gone with Tiner. He didn’t know how he was going to keep his little band alive. It angered him that Bobbi had snuck off like that on him. But he wasn’t really surprised. The bond she’d forged with Sturgis was almost palpable, at least to anyone with sense enough to see it.

She returned and hopped on board just as he was revving up the engines. He returned her look of rebuke with a shrug. "Get down below and stay there until I call you up on deck." It was a test, but she passed it. In this, she would follow him unquestioningly.

December 15, 1941
Mount Bahli, Bougainville
1600 Hours

Once daylight had penetrated the jungle, Victor finally recognized where they were; halfway between Mount Takuan, where Palmer had his camp three years ago, and the Emperor Range, where AJ had set up his spotter’s hut and radio. This had to be Mount Bahli, the highest damn spot on the entire damned island.

They’d arrived at the small encampment long after the sun was high overhead. Victor stayed in the jungle, and carefully eased his way around until he came to the edge of a cliff. From where he stood, he could see all of the Solomon Sea before him. It was an excellent position. He could clearly see New Britain and most of the nearby islands. This would be a formidable position. From here, you could see any approaching enemy. For just a moment, he wondered why Chegwidden hadn’t chosen this spot. But he realized that this would be a prime target.

The camp was set up much in the way as Chegwidden’s. A small hut, surrounded by several crates of supplies, sat underneath a stand of trees. How Falcon had managed to lug the crates up here was yet another question to be answered. It spoke of native complicity. But times were hard on the island, and as they’d learned with Palmer, there were plenty of men willing to do hard work for a few coins. He crouched down and waited for the men to come back out of the hut. When they did, it took all the control Victor had to keep from crying out. «Taro!»

He was trying to figure out how to return to the shore. He had little doubt that the Japanese watchers would be here when he brought reinforcements back. He’d just stepped back when the ground underneath him moved. He tried to break his fall, but crashed down as the snake moved away from him, away from the men running up to see what was causing all the commotion.

*****

2200 Hours

Victor had no idea how he’d evaded them this long. He had his gun, but hadn’t been able to get off a shot without betraying his position, and they were just far enough apart that he could only take out one at a time. Now, after nearly an entire day of hiding, crawling slowly down the hillside, he rested. Their footsteps were farther away, but he didn’t dare chance making any noise. Falcon had been swearing in a most un-preacherly fashion. Falcon didn’t concern him. Taro did. He sensed the man’s uncanny ability. «Hell, he can probably smell me.»

"I don’t know who you are," Taro called from not very far to Victor’s right. "But come out and we can talk about this." He said something else in the local dialect. Victor had picked up many of the words in the past couple of years and he figured out Taro was just repeating the same offer. "I can make it worth your while."

«Yeah, you’ll give me a nice burial at sea – or on the rocks.» Victor wondered what AJ would do once Bud reached Selau. He refused to consider Kate’s reaction. He scuttled a little farther into the undergrowth. Keeping his breathing as steady as possible, he watched and waited. The trail they’d followed up into the mountain was nearby. His only hope was down it, but Taro was no fool. Victor knew that he would have at least one of the men guard it somewhere down the line. Overhead, thunder crashed, and it was like God was giving Victor a sign. «Come on. Rain! Hard!»

****

It was long past sunset by the time Bud pointed to the small inlet. AJ sighed and cut the engines. He’d allowed Kate to return topside as soon as they entered the small channel that cut the two islands that made up Bougainville. "We’re going to have to wait until…" a gunshot high overhead cut through the darkness. "Morning," he finished.

"AJ!" She bit her lip but nodded.

"It can’t rain!" Kate cried as the first fat drops struck the water. "How are we going to get to him?"

AJ carefully checked the darkening shoreline. "Bud. Keep an eye out on the sea. I want to know if that submarine is still out there."

"Oh, man. You don’t think that…"

"Just keep watch." AJ moved the boat closer into the inlet. He broke open the footlocker and gave Kate a rifle. "You have any clue on how to use this." She made no comment other than to open the breach and reach down for the box of ammunition. After loading the shells, she smartly rammed the breech closed. AJ nodded and eased into the now choppy water.

"I think he went over there, AJ." Bud pointed to the stretch of beach just around the rocks protecting the small inlet. The clouds completely covered the stars now and AJ could barely see where he was going.

"You want a flashlight?" Kate called. AJ didn’t bother to answer. He made his way to where a small boat was secured just out of sight. Heaving a discontented sigh, he settled down to wait for dawn. He suspected where the men that Bud saw had gone. He’d briefly considered setting up his lookout there. However, he’d opted for a more obscure location. Not as well suited perhaps, but then, the Japanese wouldn’t look for them on Emperors Range – at least not at first. He tried to see into the jungle. He knew there was a path leading into and up towards the highest point on this end of the island. But he knew it would be fatal to try in the dark.

****

Of all the things he’d done in his life, Victor couldn’t think of anything more likely to kill him. However, when the deluge began, he took his chance and made a run for it. Though, perhaps, slide was a more appropriate description. Or, tumble. Hell, call it for what it was: careering down the slippery mountainside, the sea of mud did little to soften the sharp shards of volcanic rock that found his arms, legs and face. He managed to right himself for brief periods. It’d taken most of the morning to reach the top of the mountain; he figured he would be down in less than an hour – if he lived through it.

Thunder cracked overhead and the brief flash of lightning served to show Victor the path down. Unfortunately, it also showed Taro and the others his back. He felt, rather than heard, the explosion of guns behind him. One bullet streaked past his head, and he fell forward, rolling into a ball. The ferns and plants on either side of the meager trail fell victim to his decent and allowed Taro a clear shot. The pain in his arm was sharp, and only the conviction that he could die, never to see Kate again, kept him going.

****

AJ peered up the trail. Water sheeted off his face. The almost continuous lightning strikes lit the jungle before him. He’d just decided to at least attempt a start, when a tumbling mass slammed into him, knocking him back, off his feet, and into the boiling surf.

Both men clamored up out of the water, flailing at their opponent, landing hard, vicious punches. It was AJ who realized that he was fighting the very man he’d come to rescue. He backed off, holding up his hands, signaling a halt. Victor, still suffering from the brutal decent and AJ’s blow to his belly, grabbed his knees and gasped for breath – a hard thing to do in the pouring rain. He shook his head to clear it, but didn’t try to talk.

AJ grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him toward the boat. However, the next strike showed Taro and another man standing just outside the jungle, guns trained, ready to kill. Thunder replaced the maniacal laughter they could see on Taro’s face as he cocked the hammer. Lightning highlighted his almost fanciful flight through the air into his companion. AJ pushed Victor out of the way and lunged at the two, grappling them to the ground. To his left, Victor made out a movement of dark shadow that finally formed into Kate dressed in khaki pants, a man’s blue shirt tied under her breasts, holding a rifle to her shoulder. He was close enough that, this time, he heard the retort. Twisting around, another flash of lightning illuminated a third man as he crumpled to the ground.

Kate lowered the gun, and Victor took a step towards her. However, he remembered that yet another man was still unaccounted for. He turned in time to see AJ snap the neck of Taro’s cohort. "There’s another one!" he yelled.

AJ staggered toward him. Kate kept watch on the opening of the path. "What the hell were you thinking?" AJ demanded once he was sure Victor could hear him.

"I had to see where they were heading! They’ve set up an observation camp on Balhi."

AJ considered this as he swiped water from his face. "Let’s get back to the boat. I just hope that submarine is gone. And, if it’s not, I don’t want to be here when it stops raining."

Victor walked over to the three men and knelt down to make sure they were all dead. They were all Japanese. He peered up the trail. If Falcon had come down with them, he would hide, or take shots at them from a more secure position.

While Victor checked out the corpses, AJ gripped Kate by her arm and dragged her back to the boat. Even though he knew he owed her his life, he was furious that she hadn’t stayed put. What had he done to deserve being surrounded by so many stubborn women? Couldn’t one of them do what he told them to?

Bud was at the helm, trying hard to hold the boat steady but away from the rocks. Gas fumes rose from the water as the engine worked overtime. When he saw AJ pulling Kate along he called out. "I tried to stop her."

That earned him a glare. When Victor joined them, AJ yelled, "Get us out of here!" The waves crashed over the boat as Bud moved them out into the open sea. AJ pulled Kate down below, motioning Victor to follow. He pointed to the benches lining the galley. "Stay there. Clean him up." With that, he shut the hatch and left them alone.

The rain and surf had cleaned the mud from him, the slide down the mountain had nearly stripped the shirt from his chest. But she could see the blood staining the once white material. "Take off your shirt." She turned to find a cloth and water. She picked up the white metal box with the red cross on top, and turned around. She nearly dropped it. She’d seen plenty of men on the islands go bare-chested. None of them held a candle to the muscular chest before her. She gulped and forced herself to meet his cool appraisal. He looked pleased by the fact that she found him pleasing. But there was also shyness and embarrassment there. Taking a deep breath, she made her way over to him, though the boat swayed and rocked, and nearly threw her to the deck.

He told himself that he was just steadying her when he placed his hands on her hips. Besides, this allowed her to wash off and bandage his arm. He told himself that it was the boat rocking that caused his face to bury in the smooth skin of her exposed stomach.

She threw back her head and held him there as his arms circled her. He lifted his face to stare into her eyes. Pulling her down and leaning back, he settled her on his lap, her knees braced on the bench on either side of his hips. She took his face between her hands, and, as one tear tracked down her cheek, lowered her lips to his. Even in his pain and exhaustion he felt himself surge as her tongue traced his mouth. "Kate," he breathed her name and then pulled her tighter still.

"Victor, oh God. I thought…"

"Hush, Querida." He bit at her lip, pulling at it, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth.

"Victor!" She was burning up. She’d almost lost him – knew she would lose him as soon as they returned to Roberts’ plane. She’d be denied no longer. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him back and stood before him.

Fury, pain, and longing turned to incredulous joy as he watched her slowly unbutton the shirt. Pulling it from her body, she let it drop to the deck. Reaching behind her, she freed her breasts as her bra joined her shirt. Before she could unhook the pants, he was before her, kneeling in supplication, reaching out to hold her. He watched for a sign of regret, but all he saw was desire. Desire for him. He lowered the zipper, placing kisses along her stomach. The sodden clothes clung to her body, but he pulled them down until she was naked. Now his face was buried in her dark, moist thatch.

"Oh, God! Victor, please! I’ve tried to fight it. How long have I fought this? I need you. Please darling, darling, Victor!" She gasped as his tongue searched for the moisture that had nothing to do with the rain outside. He pushed her back until her ass rested against the galley table. Tin cups and plates scattered to the floor as she braced her hands behind her. She bit her lip trying hard not to cry out as he did things to her that no man had ever done. Things she’d never considered doing. But he was relentless, his tongue parted her folds and delved deep inside her, and she found herself shaking in a shattering orgasm. He stood before her as she fell back, her head just resting on the table.

Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened as he almost languidly removed his pants. She gasped at the size of him, but held out her arms, and spread her legs, begging him to come to her. He entered her, ready to thrust deep and take his due when he stopped and stared at her in wonder as he met her barrier. "Kate?"

"Victor, please."

"Madre del dios," he prayed as he pulled out, then, taking her hands in his, demanded softly, "Are you sure, Katherine?"

"Yes!" She cried out in pain and ecstasy as he took her maidenhead, filling her, stretching her, then stilling so she could catch her breath.

"Katherine, are you okay?"

"Oh, God. So big. I thought it would be awful. So good. Please…" She licked the sweat from her lips, and he lowered his face to kiss her before standing and taking her hips in his hands. He began to rock in her, watching as yet another orgasm flushed her skin. The sight made him lose all control and he came deep inside her.

When he caught his breath, he sadly pulled out of her, bending over again to kiss her belly, then her breasts, and finally her lips. "There will be no other woman for me, Kate. No matter what happens, I will return for you. You will wait for me."

Numbly she nodded. She wanted him. Wanted him again and again. But she allowed him to help her stand. Allowed him to clean the blood from her. He found her clean, dry clothes and pointed to the small bunk. He kissed her softly before turning away to go and make sure the boat survived the storm.

When she woke the following morning, Kate tried hard to dredge up a sense of guilt for finally succumbing to her desires. However, all she could feel was a delicious tenderness, both physical and emotional.

She heard someone puttering in the galley, and, rising up, she saw Bud hunched over the stove. As he moved about the small area, he made an effort to keep his back to her, even reaching around behind him for a towel on the table where they’d made love. Looking down at the rucked up tee-shirt and ragged shorts, she blushed for his embarrassment. "Where are we?" she asked softly.

He stiffened, and she thought he was going to bolt, but he took a deep breath. "In the straits. It’s stopped raining. The sun’s out. I was making coffee. Would you like some?" He was babbling to cover his embarrassment. Finally, he stopped when he reached up into a cupboard and brought down thick ceramic mugs.

She got off the bed, straightening her clothes. The tee-shirt hugged her torso, and she knew she couldn’t go up on deck. When he turned around, she saw a look so sweet and sad that she felt a lump form in her throat. He knew. He knew what they’d done last night, and she should feel shame in his knowing. But she saw no condemnation; only understanding. She looked around and picked up the shirt she’d worn last night. Someone had draped it over a bench. It was still damp, but she pulled it on over the tee-shirt, letting it hang open. She ignored the trousers, but grabbed up a piece of twine to tie her hair back. She was glad there were no mirrors on the boat. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Oh, I’ll be fine."

"I’ll take the coffee up top. Why don’t you lie down? You know you have to get the Goose ready as soon as we get back." He stared at the bed she’d just risen from, and, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the shocked look on his face, she shouldered the hatch opening. Peering up into the bright sunshine, she found herself staring into troubled brown eyes. She handed Victor a mug. "Good morning." She kept her tone light, and trouble-free.

Victor nodded and took the cup she handed him. He was relieved to see no regret in her eyes. He’d no idea last night – it’d never occurred to him – that she might be a virgin. That she’d given him that precious gift was almost more than he could bear. "Did you sleep well?"

She just grinned at him and took a sip from the other cup. A loud harrumph brought them out of their private world. "I guess I better go get my own cup," AJ groused.

Now she did blush. "Oh, gosh! I’m sorry, AJ." However, when she started to turn back down to the galley, he waved Victor to take the wheel.

"I assume you two can get us back without any help from me. I’m going to lie down." His voice was gruff, but Kate saw through him. He didn’t look quite so sappy as Bud had, but she could see the concern in his eyes nonetheless. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before he could slam the hatch.

Victor concentrated on steering around the rocks that jutted up out of the narrow passage between the two islands that made up Bougainville. She watched as he moved with a grace and economy that she’d never allowed herself to notice before. She berated herself for fighting this feeling for so long. Now they would have to part. She wasn’t Bobbi Latham; she knew she wouldn’t be able to live like they were going to have to live, for God knew how long. She knew she couldn’t act as his second mate as he prowled the waters under the guise of his Spanish Nationality, spying on the Japanese. She would do her job as long as she could. She dared not even hope that occasionally she would see Victor.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the rocks.

"Until we get back, and then I’ll probably get all weepy and clingy." At the look of horror on his face she gave him a bright smile. "I’ll be fine. I’m just going to miss you and worry about you… and the others." She put the cup down and stood next to him.

He too put his cup down on the ledge and wrapped his arm around her. "Kate, if I could, I would drop them off and run away with you. I would find us an island somewhere – like AJ did all those years ago. I tried that once. I ran away."

She’d known him for nearly three years now. He’d always affected the rich language of the islands, pulling words from several languages to make his point. But now he was speaking in formal, very educated English, even his accent was softer and more refined. "From where? From whom?" She was suddenly scared that now he would bring up Mrs. Galindez and several little Galindez children.

He took a deep breath. He knew he should let her continue to think of him as a smuggler and cad. Perhaps, in fact, he had truly become that. "Once, I was someone to be proud of, Kate."

She gasped at the well of self-hatred she heard in his voice. But before she could reassure him, he continued.

"I was born in Barcelona. My father was – is – a very wealthy landowner. Our family is very old. He sent me to the University there and in Castile. Then I joined the Army. I was a major when Franco came into power. My own father supported him even though the bastard took everything that we held dear, including our language, proclaiming that Catalan could no longer be taught in schools."

"I never knew that." She knew he was upset, and she longed to comfort him. Leaning in, she bestowed a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. "And here I thought you were just this charming rouge who swept me off my feet."

"So you’re saying I’m not charming?"

"Foolish man. What happened?"

"Franco happened." He spat over the side. "I couldn’t stand by and take part in the atrocities. But I couldn’t disgrace my father by taking the side of the Republicans. So I ran away. I can’t run away again, Kate."

"I know. Just like I can’t run to Sydney. I have to stay in Port Moresby."

"You don’t have to. You could do your…"

She touched her fingers to his lips. "Hush. Let’s not fight, not when we have so little time." She laid her head on his chest and he hugged her closer.

Webb Estate
White Plaines, NY
December 24, 1941
10:30 PM

Porter Webb, dressed in a sleek silk gown, sat ramrod-straight in the deep burgundy wingback chair. Neville Webb stood next to the roaring fire, staring into the flames as if it were the only safe place to look. Clay sat next to Sarah, who kept glancing from Porter to the last occupant of the room.

It’d been a mistake to insist that Meredith come with them. But then, Sarah was truly regretting spending her last few days with Clay here in this cold mansion on the cliffs overlooking the Hudson River. She would be leaving for England the day after Christmas, if the snow ever stopped long enough for Clay to drive her back into the city. Her two weeks of intensive training had nearly drained her though, and she longed to go upstairs and just sleep.

So much had happened in the past two weeks. She’d barely seen Clay, who was deep in the middle of investigating the leads that Clark Palmer continued to feed Donovan and the brass in Washington. Frankly, she wasn’t sure she believed a word of it. Clay was squeezing her hand, almost compulsively. She finally leaned in and whispered, "You know, you never showed me the grounds."

"It’s snowing," he pointed out, even as he stood to pull her up with him. He was furious with his mother. He hadn’t asked much of her, but he had hoped that the two most important women in his life could at least find something to talk about at dinner. Sarah had tried. But Porter had just sat there, giving short, snippy answers, and then proceeded to ignore Sarah in favor of his sister Helen. Such behavior in front of her society friends would’ve invited rebuke. Even his father, who was typically standoffish, had made an effort to welcome his daughter-in-law.

Clay thought Porter was acting more like a jilted girlfriend than a mother, and he’d said so privately, not twenty minutes ago. That, of course, had not set well at all with the matriarch of the Webb family. He didn’t know what she said to Helen, but his sister had left with her family in huff, glaring at Sarah and Meredith. "One last Christmas, Clay. Was that too much to ask? We’ll see you at church, Mother." His father had chided her softly, but Helen had always been her mother’s daughter. His brother-in-law had just silently followed. Not that Clay blamed him. Sarah had surprised him by staying at his side. Meredith had gone to the window, and there she remained.

As much as he wanted to be alone with Sarah, he felt compelled to ask, "How about you, Meredith? You want some fresh air?"

"Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m afraid I’m still a little weak."

"Clayton should never have forced you to drive up here," Porter snapped. "I’m sure your mother…"

"He didn’t force me, Mrs. Webb. I’m sorry that I intruded upon your family’s tradition. I’m afraid that tradition will suffer in the coming years. I should’ve let you celebrate it privately. Given you a better chance to welcome Clay’s wife into your circle. She really is a wonderful person – if you take a moment and listen to what she has to say. It’s a shame you didn’t get a chance to do that tonight." Meredith turned away from Porter’s shocked look. "Mr. Webb, thank you. You were a gracious host. It was good seeing you again."

Neville looked at his son, whose arm was wrapped around the beauty he’d brought home to them. Sarah was a feast to the eyes and had a sharp mind, something that Neville prized above beauty. He wasn’t sure what Clayton had said to his mother. However, it’d been a vicious blow, one that Porter would not forgive easily. But then, as much as he loved his wife, he knew that she could be a vindictive woman when she set her mind to it. If he was smart, he’d keep his mouth shut and hope that it would blow over. But Meredith had found the courage to stand up for her friend. Perhaps it was time to show his wife that she didn’t quite control him as completely as she liked to think she did. "You’re very welcome Miss Cavanaugh, though I’m afraid that my wife hasn’t been the best of hostesses. We’ll chalk it up to worry about the war, if you don’t mind."

Porter gasped and paled at her husband’s treachery. She glared at the woman whom she blamed for her misery. Unfortunately, the look was wasted. Sarah MacKenzie (Porter refused to admit her right to use the family name) only had eyes for Clayton, who was staring at his father in abject shock.

Her son led the two women out of the room, leaving her to vent her anger on her husband. But Neville beat her to the punch. "You were wrong, Porter." He said it almost kindly. "There’s no way around it, and if you drive him away, I’ll never let you forget that it was you, and you alone, responsible for it. I’ll not soon forget this."

With that, he too left her alone with her dark thoughts. How dare they!? She’d been shocked and displeased when Clayton informed her – by telegram no less – that he’d married a woman so notorious as to have appeared on the cover of several newspapers, being led away in handcuffs. One had even labeled her a hussy! Porter had immediately found out everything she could about her daughter-in-law (she shuddered at the term). That she was an occasional reporter for Time was the kindest thing one could say about her. Her background was completely indefensible. The only saving grace there was that she didn’t appear to have any living family. What did Clayton expect her to do? Welcome the interloper with a hug and a kiss? Helen hadn’t liked her either, refusing to allow her daughters anywhere near Sarah. But the lowest blow of all was the horrid things Clayton had said to her. Jealous! Of Sarah MacKenzie. Thank God she was leaving to write more sensational news. She would have a long talk with Clayton once she had him alone. Perhaps an annulment was still possible. "Harrison!" At least the butler knew better than to say anything to her. "Bring me a whiskey and soda!"

****

Clay knelt before Sarah, holding open the heavy boot for her to step into. When she lifted the other, he reached out and took it in his hand, raising it to his lips.

"Clay!"

He smiled up at her. "It’s not a glass slipper, but you’re my Cinderella."

She raised an eyebrow. "That would make you my Prince Charming, no doubt."

"Yeah." His grin turned into a scowl. "Only, I’m the one with the wicked…" She stopped him by pulling her foot back and shoving it into the boot.

"Stop it. What did you expect? I’m certainly not what she wanted for a daughter-in-law. I’m no…" Now it was his turn to silence her. He rose up and captured her lips in his, pushing her against the door leading out into the sheltered gardens at the back of the house. Reaching under the fur coat he’d given her for Christmas, he wrapped his arm around her.

When he let her breathe again, he gently admonished her. "She should’ve welcomed the woman I’m in love with. Never compare yourself to anyone. There was never anyone here that came close."

"Well, at least I’m better than a Nazi for a daughter-in-law." He looked at her so seriously that she felt guilty for a moment. But then, the coming months, the months that she would be without him loomed before her. "No ghosts between us, Clay. I love you. I know that sometimes you don’t think I do. But if I can put up with the dragon lady in there, it must mean something."

He sighed and opened the door. He wore a heavy wool coat over his uniform. His mother hadn’t been happy about that either. "Next Christmas, we’ll find us a little cabin somewhere, complete with a Christmas tree, and snuggle in front of our own fire."

It was a nice dream. But they both knew that’s all it probably was. Sarah could see, and appreciate, Porter’s point of view. She was an interloper on Porter’s domain, not that she would’ve spent Christmas without Clay. Not that Porter couldn’t have made at least as much effort as Neville Webb had in welcoming her. But then, Sarah thought there was more to Neville than a simple retired diplomat.

The patio was covered by the second story of the house, and Sarah would’ve been content to just stand out here with Clay’s arms around her. However, he carefully closed the tiny hooks that held the fur together, and then took her hand in his. "Come on, the path is fairly clear between here and the barn. I want to say hello to the horses."

"Oh! As if they’ll know," she teased him. But she let him led her through the cold starlit night. "It’s very beautiful out here, Clay. You have a very nice home."

"Mother did all the work. You should see it during one of her summer parties."

She knew that Clay was hurt by his mother’s treatment of her. She tried hard to come up with a way to make friends with the woman. But they just had nothing in common.

It wasn’t a long walk to the huge horse barn. She was rather surprised to see that someone was on duty. A small skinny black man of indeterminate age greeted them. "Eve’n, Mr. Clay."

"Joshua? Is there a problem?"

"Stormchaser is foaling tonight. Mr. Neville is right worried about that. You know an off-season foal is likely to mean trouble.

"He never told me." Clay led her into the barn. "Is it time?"

"I was jess fixin’ to send Jimmy up to the house to fetch him."

Clay led her through the barn, past stall after stall. Horses whinnied and snorted at their passage. Finally, they came to a stall at the very back of the barn. The smell of disinfectant stung Sarah’s nose. A horse, its eyes wide with what looked to be terror, lay on her side, her belly huge.

"Poor thing." Her new coat swirling around her, Sarah sank to her knees. "There, there." She gently patted the horse’s head.

"Sarah. Be careful. Stormchaser is nervous at the best of times. She might bite."

Sarah took a deep breath, but continued to soothe the horse. Clay stripped off his coat and uniform jacket, and crouched behind the mare to consider the situation. "I see a hoof."

Sarah was a city girl, pure and simple. She’d seen babies born, even helped deliver one once, a long time ago. But this was completely alien to her. She watched as Clay rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Tell me what to do."

"You’re doing fine. Come on, girl. Easy now." The horse kicked out feebly. "Joshua! Call Doc Barton!"

"Already done, son." Neville Webb, already ripping the bow tie from his neck stepped into the stall. Sarah started to get up, but he waved her back. "Stormchaser wants you there, Sarah. Keep her calm." He flung his tux jacket over the stall wall and crouched down next to his son. "Not good, son."

Clay bit his lip and Sarah could see how serious it was.

Sarah tried hard not to watch as the Webb men, soon joined by another man, this one also dressed in a tux, worked on the mare. She cooed and soothed, and she swore the mare was watching her intently.

"We’re going to need a rope," the vet heaved a sigh. "These off-season births are always a bitch. Sorry, ma’am."

"It’s okay. Just don’t let her die," Sarah whispered. She didn’t even realize what that the horse was doing to her new coat until she felt saliva on her knee, soaking through the material of her evening dress. She wondered if a cleaner could save either the dress or the coat. But then things got really frantic, and she found herself holding on to Stormchaser for dear life. "Stay still, darn it."

"Easy, girl." Porter Webb’s voice joined in the soothing chorus as she joined Sarah at the horse’s head. Together, the two women so inappropriately dressed, held the horse while the men tugged the foal from her body. "It’s a breach birth. They both might die. I hope not. Stormchaser is Clayton’s favorite horse – or was when he still had time to ride."

"You do this every Christmas Eve?" Sarah asked before she could stop the words.

Instead of making another snide comment, Porter explained. "No. Most foals are born in the spring. Occasionally, we have one in the fall. It has to do with the estrous cycle. This happened last February. A very unusual time for a mare to allow mating."

The horse struggled, but finally, the foal fell free. Sarah wanted to be sick. But she would be damned if she’d let Porter see her sweat. The men were almost as messy. The poor vet would need a new tuxedo. She didn’t know if Clay’s uniform would ever be clean again.

"Joshua. Get over here and milk Stormchaser. We need to feed the foal. We need to give it an enema, too."

"Come along, Sarah. We don’t need to stay for this part."

"It’s all part of the process, Mrs. Webb. I’ll stay." And Sarah swore that for the first time since meeting her, Porter Webb looked at her with something that might almost be considered respect.

Two hours later, Clay, his wool coat covering the worst of the mess on his uniform, pulled her up out of the hay. He pointed down at the fur plastered with sweat and saliva. "We’ll send that to the cleaners when we get back to New York. I’ll figure out a way to get it to you in London."

"Somehow, I don’t think it will go with my WAC uniform, Clay."

He took a deep sigh. "I still wish you hadn’t done that."

"Oh, really? Why?"

He grinned tiredly. "Because I don’t know where I’ll be the first time you slug a general for not allowing you to do what you need to do."

She sniffed. "We’ll see which one of us ends up in the clink for insubordination, Mr. Webb."

"That’s brig, Mrs. Webb."

"Actually, you’re both wrong." Neville Webb’s tired, but amused voice came from behind them. "In the Army, it’s the stockade."

"Clayton." Sarah swore that Porter’s voice actually quavered. "Will you… and Sarah, be joining us for church?"

Clay looked into Sarah’s eyes and she knew this could be an important decision on her part. She seldom went to church. Her father insisted that she go as a child, but mainly to get her out of the apartment so he could sleep off his Saturday night hangover. She stopped going as soon as she figured out he just wanted her out of the house. She glanced at Clay, but he indicated it was her choice. They were both exhausted from the tension of the day and the ordeal in the barn. It would be nice to hide in his room while everyone else was at church. She met Porter’s gaze. "We’d be honored. What time?"

"Well, we’re not like the Catholics. Church is at a reasonable hour. Ten o’clock."

Sarah glanced at her watch. "Well that gives us six whole hours."

"Good night, mother, father." Clay led her from the barn, his arm draped across her shoulder. "You were a real trouper in there," he whispered as they stepped outside.

Sarah looked up into his eyes and gave him a winning smile. He lowered his lips to hers. Later, he released her and took her hand. "Come along, my dear. We both need to shower."

"Together?" she teased.

She saw the blush on his face. They were just down the hall from his parents’ room, and last night, they’d slept chastely, doing little more than holding each other. She was shocked when the blush faded as he smiled wickedly. "Oh, I think that’s an excellent idea. We’ll save on the hot water."

"Clay!" she laughed as he pulled off her boots. Grabbing her high heels and his dress shoes, he pointed to the back stairs. She found his room with its double bed, the pennants emblazoned with Pawling and Harvard hanging on the walls. On shelves were trophies from various sports. But she had little time to dwell on the differences in their lives as his lips found hers. He tugged the fur from her shoulders, never breaking contact with her. She heard it fall against what she hoped was the chair. «I should pick it up.» But that thought fled even as she reciprocated. Even when his lips left hers, his eyes locked on hers. Together they undressed each other until their clothes were scattered around them. "You’re cold," he said as he pulled her into a warming embrace, trailing kisses over her neck and shoulder. "Let me make love to you."

Embarrassment at making love in his childhood bed, so close to his parents, warred with a need to feel him inside her. "Oh, Clay."

He lowered her to the bed, trailing kisses over her body. They’d explored so much together. When they had the time, they delighted in finding new ways to pleasure the other. Sometimes she took control, but most times Clay insisted upon bringing her to the brink of orgasm, determined to make her come several times before he took his pleasure. Now, he just wanted to revel in the feel of her, memorize her smell. He was terrified of the coming months. If he lost her, he didn’t know what he would do.

She felt the difference tonight. Felt the slow delicious way he was moving farther down her body. But she also felt the tension as she caressed his shoulders. As much as she loved the way he tasted her, she needed to hold him tonight. "Clay. Come here."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes again. "In a minute." He tried for a cocky grin, but knew he failed miserably. She sat up, forcing him to kneel before her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, they just looked at each other for a long time.

"I love you." She lay back, pulling him with her, until he covered her body with his. Embracing her, holding her off the mattress, he kissed her again, hard, almost frantically. His cock, nestled in the moist heat of her sex, slipped inside her when she tilted her hips just a bit. "Perfect," she sighed before reclaiming his lips.

It was, perhaps, the gentlest lovemaking they’d ever engaged in. He moved in her slowly at first, savoring each thrust, memorizing the way her muscles flexed around him. Her breathy coos of pleasure, her hands on his back; her nails scraping with greater and greater intensity, until she gripped him tight, shuddering her release. "Sarah," he gasped as he came deep inside her. He tried to roll over her, but she clutched him to her. "Too heavy," he said.

"Perfect," she insisted.

They fell asleep, holding each other.

****

Meredith wasn’t sure how long she stood at the window that overlooked the back of the house. The grounds were beautiful in the starlight; the entire scene reminded her of the poem Neville had read to his granddaughters. The activity in the barn held little interest for her.

Her heart ached when she saw Clay kiss Sarah. Neville had firmly led Porter back to the house, and from this distance, Meredith couldn’t make out the look on Porter’s face. However, she doubted that it boded well for Sarah. But Meredith knew that if Porter pushed it, Clay would choose his wife over his mother.

She should’ve stayed in New York. Edward Sheffield had invited her to share his family’s meal. But when Sarah approached her two days ago, begging her to come with them when she met Clay’s parent’s, Meredith couldn’t refuse. She owed Sarah and Clay both so much. She’d met the Webbs before, and the sad fact was, from what Meredith could tell, Porter wasn’t a horrible woman, no matter how nasty she’d been today. She was very active in the community, chairing several important charities. However, Clay should’ve known how Porter would react. Of course, even if he had, what could he have done? Sarah was going to have to meet his parents sometime – better with Clay by her side than at his memorial service or funeral.

Meredith sighed and sank to the comfortable bed and buried her head in her hands. She was full of dark thoughts. There was little to be light and happy about. Even her freedom seemed tainted.

After the police had reluctantly released her for ‘lack of evidence,’ Meredith’s reputation was firmly sullied. She couldn’t believe how guilty Sarah had looked when Clay told her that while they’d proven that Meredith couldn’t have killed Kramer herself, they couldn’t take the time to find the real murderer. "I’m tied down here, and Sarah has to get back to London." In a month of turbulent shocks, Kramer’s murder now seemed to be an almost minor squall; one with long lasting consequences for her and the paper.

She supposed she could continue to look for Kramer’s murderer on her own. But she just didn’t care, and she had enough trouble without that added burden. She was still weak from her bout with pneumonia. She was worried sick about AJ. She’d not heard from him or Kate since the attack.

On top of everything else, her mother, perhaps egged on by the district attorney, seemed convinced that Meredith was somehow involved with her lover’s murder. Unwilling to listen to reason, Louise was starting an all out battle for control of the paper. It was petty and would be disastrous. Even without the war pulling several of her younger reporters into uniform, others were leaving because they were afraid the paper would crumble anyway.

Rabb’s defection really hurt, though she understood the young man’s insistence in flying for his country. He’d sent word of Catherine along with his resignation from the paper. He asked her to forward messages for him, alluding to Charles Gale’s virtual kidnapping of his daughter and the reason why he couldn’t return home. She’d gone to see the young woman in the hospital as soon as she was able. Sarah went even sooner. Gale had tried to keep all of Harm’s friends away from his daughter, but even paralyzed from the waist down, Catherine Rabb showed strength very reminiscent of her father. She’d gravely assured them all that the doctors were wrong, and that she would walk into her husband’s arms when he returned from the war.

She was feeling completely useless. If her mother won, the paper was doomed. If she won, she wasn’t sure that she could salvage enough to continue. «Maybe it’s me. Maybe with another owner it could flourish. I’ve tried my best but no one seems to care.» But if she left, what could she do? If she couldn’t be with AJ, she needed to do something for the war effort. But what? She couldn’t see herself working in the USO canteen, though several of the young women, including her secretary, Shirley, did so a couple of nights a week. She certainly wasn’t cut out to do what she suspected Sarah was really doing. There was really only one thing she was good at.

The idea wasn’t new to her. She’d thought about it while lying in the hospital. She needed to get her strength back, but she couldn’t see why she couldn’t be a war photographer. She had friends throughout the industry. National Geographic had paid her handsomely for her last spread on Fiji. She knew she couldn’t report for The Sun. More than anything, she wished she could talk it over with AJ. But he was definitely out of the picture. She knew what she needed to do. She had to talk to Clay and Sarah. And she knew she didn’t have a lot of time.

She finally shed her robe and climbed into bed. Laying her head on the pillow, she began a ritual that she’d begun nearly a year ago. She prayed; prayed that he would be safe and someday come back to her.

Webb Estate
White Plaines, NY
December 25, 1941
Sunset

"Oh, Clay!" Sarah stood right at the edge of the drop-off overlooking the Hudson River Valley below. Clay’s arms were wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck. "The sunset is just incredible. You don’t get to see that in the city."

"No. There’s no place like this. Someday…" his voice ended in a sigh.

She turned and lifted her mink-clad arms to warp them around his neck. "I can’t believe that butler of yours managed to salvage my coat."

"Harrison’s a wonder." He kissed her firmly, letting her know he didn’t want to talk about Harrison or his family.

But she persisted. "Today was much nicer."

"Father must’ve talked to Mother." He pulled back to study her gravely. "Father really likes you – he’s always had excellent taste."

"I really like him, too. And your nieces are adorable."

"Enough about my family!" He captured her lips for a long passionate kiss. However, when he pulled back this time, she could see the worry in his eyes.

He started to say something else, but she suspected he was going to ask her something she couldn’t agree to. She held him tight. "I know," she whispered. "We’ve been through so much together. You’ve trained me well, Clay."

"Just promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances."

"Hey! You promised me a cabin and fire next Christmas. I’m holding you to it." He nodded silently. She had to get his mind off of tomorrow. They had one last night together, and she was going to make the most of it. "What would you think about driving back tonight? If we leave within the hour, we can maybe see who’s at the Met. I bet you’re an opera lover." Sarah knew Porter would be angry, but she was tired of tiptoeing around the woman.

There was so much they didn’t know about each other. "Can’t stand it. Besides, it’s Christmas. What say we grab Meredith, head back and spend the night in bed?"

"Weeelllllllll." She gave him a huge grin. "Let’s go find Meredith!"

He pulled her down the path. "Hey! There she is." He pointed to the figure slowly making her way from the house. "She’s really recovering faster than anyone thought she would. Particularly after almost dying out there on New Guinea."

"I’m still worried about her, Clay."

"Hi!" Meredith called, only slightly out of breath. "This is a lot steeper than the paths in Central Park. You know, I’ve been walking a little farther everyday. I think I’m doing really well."

Clay eyed her. He sensed there was a purpose in her manner. "Is something the matter?"

She shook her head. "No. But I need to speak to you. It’s important." Clay’s anxiety grew.

Sarah, taken aback by Meredith’s intensity, looked at Clay, trying to judge the undercurrents. "I’ll meet you back at the house?"

"No." Meredith vigorously shook her head. "I didn’t mean to say it was private. I’d like you to hear this, too."

«Oh dear. I know that look. This can’t be good.» "Okay, Mer." Sarah gripped Clay’s hand.

Clay offered Meredith his free arm, and he led them to a stone bench next to the pool house. "What’s the matter?"

She looked up and met his gaze firmly. "I know I have no right to ask you for any more favors."

"Nonsense." He was really worried now. He was still guilty for not handing Palmer over to Lowne, thus assuring her reputation. But he was afraid she was going to ask for something he couldn’t deliver. "What can I do for you?"

"You know T. K. Edwards at the War Department don’t you?"

"We’ve spoken at a few parties. Why? What are thinking about?"

"I want to be accredited before I talk to Marty Cohen at Reuters."

Sarah gasped. "Meredith? Why? What are you planning on doing?"

"You think you’re going to go look for AJ?" Webb snapped angrily.

"No! Damn it!" Meredith knew she had to present her case succinctly and with little emotion. "I’m finished in New York. I refuse to sit out the war, getting drunk at the Algonquin; though, I guess I could afford to live off my grandmother’s inheritance. I’ve decided to sign over my shares of stock to Ed. Perhaps mother will leave him alone and he can salvage the paper."

"That’s kind of a rotten thing to do to Sheffield, isn’t it?" Clay said desperately trying to find a way to tell her no.

"Not really. He’s a tough old news hound. But I don’t want to ask him for the job, because Mother would see right through that. It has to be a clean break. I can have a lawyer work out the terms. I’ll keep Stan out of it. Frankly, I think he’s rather sweet on Mother. Perhaps, if she’s ever happy, she might be able to face the truth – whatever that is – about Bruce Kramer."

And they were back to that. Clay and Sarah shared a guilty glance.

"But, Meredith," Sarah tried. "Are you sure that you’re well enough?"

"I’m getting there. I walk a little farther each morning. Even in the cold. Doctor Barnes says I’m making a remarkable recovery. I think I even tire out the detective they have following me."

"What!?" Clay shouted, scaring several of the remaining birds that wintered in the tall grasses along the Webb property. "They’re still following you?"

"Of course. It makes me feel quite safe, particularly now that Mickey has gone and joined up. I rather miss the man."

"Don’t try to change the subject!" Clay ran his hand through his hair, pulling one lock out of place. Sarah almost reached out to return it, but decided she rather liked it.

Clay knew in his heart that, somehow, AJ Chegwidden would blame him if Meredith succeeded with her plans. He also saw Sarah coming around to Meredith’s way of thinking. "Do you have any idea how strenuous it is? How dangerous?"

"Oh, I don’t know. I figure I’ve only used three of my nine lives."

Clay sank to the bench next to her. "You’re going to sell yourself as a photographer whose expertise is the South Pacific, aren’t you?"

"Well? Aren’t I?"

"You know, you won’t get near to where AJ is at. You can’t."

She lifted her head and glared at him. "I know that. I just want a chance to do something in this war. Just like you. Just like Sarah."

Clay took a deep breath. "We’ll leave tonight. Sarah and I want one last night together before I drop her off at the plane tomorrow. Can you wait that long?"

Meredith hugged him tight. "Thank you, Clay."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes at Sarah who smiled gently at him. She did understand Meredith’s desires. She shared those desires to do more than just stay home. Someday, she’d try it – but not yet.

"Mr. Clayton?" Harrison called from the back of the house.

"Yes?"

"You have an important phone call from Washington, sir. The man sounds quite insistent that I find you."

The three exchanged glances before the two women locked arms to follow him back into the warmth of the house. "It’ll be okay, Meredith," Sarah said. "Just promise me that you won’t do anything before you’re really well."

"I promise."

They walked into the hall and waited while Clay picked up the phone in the small alcove just off the living room. "Webb!"

Sarah knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. As he listened intently, his face grew very grave, the tiny lines around his eyes became pronounced, and he paled to the point that she released Meredith to walk up to him. Touching his shoulder, she let him know she was there.

"Thank you, sir. No. If you believe it, then there’s no point in me trailing after the FBI. They’ll be all over this. Of course, they’ll keep it quiet. Yes, I’ll return to London with Sarah tomorrow. I’ll make sure the British are aware of what he looks like."

Sarah brought her free hand to her mouth. She knew instantly what had happened. Clay shook his head at her and his eyes drifted to where Meredith stood. "General, I need a personal favor if you’d be so kind." He took a deep breath. "Meredith Cavanaugh will be taking the train down in the next day or so. I’d appreciate it if you would make sure that Edwards in the Public Relations department gives her a fair hearing. No, sir, I’m sure she can handle herself. Yes, General. Yes, I’ll tell Sarah."

He hung up the phone and closed his eyes for a long time. Turning, he gave Sarah a look that said he would explain later. Now, he turned his full attention to Meredith. "General Donovan will be at the War Department Saturday morning. He’ll personally walk you over to Edwards in Public Relations. It’s the best I can do, Meredith."

Sensing something very serious had just occurred, Meredith just nodded. "You’ll want a minute alone with Sarah."

"Actually, we’re packing now. I’ll fly out to London with her tomorrow."

"Very well."

Sarah hurried up the stairs to allow Clay a moment to say goodbye to his parents. By the time he entered the bedroom she had their suitcases packed. She just looked at him and waited.

Closing the door he stepped up to her and dropped his voice to a murmur. "Palmer’s escaped. He killed three Marine guards and seriously wounded two FBI agents. They’re not expected to live. He left Donovan a note."

"What did it say," she asked softly, already suspecting the answer.

"It said, ‘Tell Webb, I’ll see him in Germany.’"

Off the coast of Sorong
January 21, 1941
Dusk

"What do you think?" Victor whispered as if the Japanese could hear him even this far out.

"I think you know what we have to do. If Mike Roberts was correct, we’ve only got one shot at getting them off. If they aren’t at the rendezvous, we can’t risk the boat. It’s too important."

"It’s not as important as Tom and Mike’s lives."

AJ sighed and turned away to look at the beach in the setting sunlight. Japan was overrunning the South Pacific like a tribe of ants at a Fourth of July picnic. The Philippines had fallen before year’s end. Wake Island surrendered two days before Christmas. They’d landed on the north end of New Guinea ten days ago. The Australians and British were throwing everything they had into saving the south end of the island.

Victor, of course, was worried sick about Kate, who’d returned to Port Moresby as soon as Bud fixed the Goose. Unfortunately, once in Port Moresby, the Australian Navy had commandeered his plane to fly refuges from all over the islands. AJ couldn’t complain, but this rescue would’ve been easier had they used the Goose.

A week ago, Tom Boone had radioed his last report, as well as his final sign-off. "We’re being overrun. We’ll wait at Point Alpha on the designated day." Point Alpha had little to do with place of pickup, and more with the time and number of days from the message. It was risky, and Port Moresby had sent word that they were to sacrifice the two. AJ had signed off without reply. Now they waited for the only signal they would get. If it came, they were committed. If it didn’t, they would turn around. Regardless, they’d already seen three Japanese ships today. Fortunately, the Japanese hadn’t seen them. Or, if they had, they’d been ignored.

They’d blackened their faces and lowered the small skiff AJ would use to paddle to the island. Victor had tried to insist that he go, but AJ just shook his head. "My operation, I’ll take he risks. Besides, I don’t want to explain to Kate what happened to you."

Victor had grabbed his arm. "But I can explain it to Meredith?"

AJ shook free and the two didn’t speak again until Victor pointed to the east. "There." They waited, not breathing, silently counting off the dots and dashes. "That’s it." He looked through the binoculars and scanned the surrounding jungle and beach. "I see Tom and Mike. No one else."

AJ lowered himself over the side. He glanced up and saw the concern in Victor’s eyes, but gave him a brief nod. He’d kept himself in shape and was glad of it now. The boat wasn’t that far off shore and he pulled with easy strokes, pacing his breathing, concentrating on the shrinking boat, looking for the signal Victor would flash if he spotted something through the binoculars.

Tom and Mike swam out to meet him, Mike pushing, while AJ pulled Tom on board. "Bout time you got here, you old bastard," Tom gasped out.

"You okay? You weren’t spotted?"

"No." Mike motioned for AJ to sit next to his friend. "I’ll row; you tell him, Tom."

"Tell me what?" AJ demanded as he studied his shivering friend. The air was warm and the water warmer. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You know how I get." Tom shuddered and tried to keep his hand from shaking. "We set a diversion on the other side of Sorong. Found us a Jap munitions depot…" Just then, the entire sky seemed to explode. AJ ducked, but Tom roared with laughter. "Just like one of my plans. Damn thing was late. It was supposed to explode an hour ago, pull everyone to that side of the island."

AJ just shook his head. With Mike pulling on the oars, they were soon back in the boat. "Get us the hell out of here," he yelled as he and Mike pulled Tom on board. "How long has he been this bad?" he demanded.

"It’s been getting worse for about a month now. The episodes are lasting longer," Mike said as they lowered Tom to a bench.

AJ started to kneel down next to his friend when Galindez swore, "Maldito sea!" AJ turned just in time to see the submarine with the Rising Sun painted on its conning tower rise from the sea, directly in front of them.

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