moment she would be the deputy editor of
“So what, with respect, is your point?”
“My point, Major Chadwick, is this: we like her, we like what she does, we like the fact that the two of you work so well together. She’s inclined to sail a little close to the wind at times, but her readers value her forthright opinions, and it’s important that they’re permitted a vent for their frustrations. You seem to temper her more extreme tendencies.” He paused. “So you see, we’re quite content with the way things are, and it would be unfortunate if—how shall I put it?—those of a more prejudiced disposition were allowed to prevail on the question of her current employment.”
Diplomatic doublespeak, but the threat was plain and simple: back off or we pack her off.
Lilian’s job meant everything to her. She had dreamed of it since childhood; she had fought for it against the wishes of her family. It was her life, the one fixed point in her universe.
“I think I get your meaning.”
“Then you may go now.”
Max noted that Colonel Gifford wasn’t aggrieved by this man subverting his authority, as he had been with Elliott. In fact, he seemed almost in awe of him.
“I’ll see Major Chadwick out,” said Elliott, levering himself to his feet.
“There’s no need for that,” said the colonel.
“I’d like to.”
Colonel Gifford was about to object, but something in coppertop’s expression silenced him.
Max made a point of ignoring Hodges on the way out.
“That went well, don’t you think?” Elliott declared chirpily when they were alone in the corridor.
Max wasn’t in the mood for lightheartedness. “For God’s sake, Elliott, what the hell were you doing there?”
“They thought I might be in on it, knowing the two of you as I do. And I’ve got to say, I’m a little insulted I wasn’t in the loop.”
Max ignored the comment.
“They’re not going to do anything, are they?”
“I doubt it. Not with
“And what happens when dead girls start showing up in Alexandria?”
Elliott hesitated. “I see you’ve been doing your research.”
“What happens?”
“Not our jurisdiction, old man.” He stretched out the vowels in a convincing parody of the ginger-haired chap.
“Who is he?”
“You know, under different circumstances I can see the two of you hitting it off.”
“Christ, Elliott, can’t you ever give a straight answer to a question?”
Elliott looked affronted. “It doesn’t matter who he is. What do you want to know? He’s part of the stuff that goes on behind the scenes.”
“Behind the scenes?”
“You think war is all bombs and bullets, aircraft and subs?”
“Yes. I think if you can hurt your enemy more than he hurts you, then you win.”
Elliott weighed his words. “You’re right, of course. But you’re also wrong. An enemy can be persuaded to squander its assets. Take the Battle of Hastings. A lot of crap’s been written about the Battle of Hastings—believe me, I read most of it at West Point. You want to know the long and short of it? Harold holds the high ground; William has to attack uphill. William fakes a retreat. Harold forsakes the high ground. Harold loses. Yes, horses and men and spears and arrows helped determine the outcome, but that’s a battle Harold should have won. He gave up his advantage.”
“Thanks for the history lesson.”
“Simple deception—that’s why he lost it.”
Max stopped at the top of the staircase. “And is that what you do, Elliott?”
“I wouldn’t have the first clue about faking a retreat.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Put it this way: I don’t fly planes and I don’t fire guns.”
“Yet again, I’ve learned nothing new about you whatsoever.”
Descending the staircase in stony silence, they passed the gangling fellow, no longer with files under his arm, coming in the opposite direction. “Your shirt’s hanging out,” he said curtly to Max.
“No it isn’t,” Max fired back.
Elliott cast a puzzled glance behind him as they carried on down the stone steps. “What is that, code or
