After their conversation in the park, they’d found a pliant justice of the peace who owed FBI Agent Harris a favor for something or other, and then got a county clerk friend of the JP to ram through a marriage license. They had the feeling that such goings-on weren’t all that rare with so many tens of thousands of servicemen and women in the San Diego area, and many in various stages of shipping out, coming back, or just plain wanting to live in the moment. She wondered if the justice thought she was pregnant and decided she didn’t give a damn what the silly little man thought.
The justice had married them the evening before. Maybe some navy regulations had been bent or broken, but Nimitz said he’d take care of them, and that Tim had little more than a day to get the hell back. Grace and Merchant had been maid of honor and best man. It had been pleasant and swift. As a girl growing up, Amanda, like all her friends, had dreamed of a big church wedding with her starring as a beautiful bride wearing a flowing white dress. A dozen bridesmaids in matching dresses would accompany her, and hundreds of her and her parents’ friends and relatives would dine at an elegantly catered reception that most people couldn’t afford while an expensive band played on. She’d even decided that Lester Lanin’s high society band would be just perfect. She would be appropriately thankful that her father was a well-to-do doctor and then go on a honeymoon to Europe with her Prince Charming.
Funny how war changes perspectives and values, she thought. She recalled a sermon in which the minister said something about “when I was a child I thought as a child, but now I am an adult so I think like an adult.” Fairy-tale weddings might have a time and a place, but now the world was at war and fairy-tale weddings were no longer that important. And who wanted to honeymoon in Europe with Hitler in charge?
Instead, it was far more important for both of them to pledge themselves to each other, and who cared whether it was in a small office in California or in a magnificent European cathedral? And who cared whether the honeymoon was on the French Riviera or one night in a small apartment in San Diego? She and Tim were married.
The apartment was Merchant’s. He was roughing it in Tim’s bachelor officer’s quarters for the duration. Amanda was certain that Grace would find some way to provide him with a level of solace, although probably in a parked car.
She giggled softly and Tim stirred. He’d been a very gentle lover. The first time they’d been tentative and a little awkward, but there had been no pain. The second time was much, much better as they learned so much about each other. The third was an explosion of exuberant passion that left them gasping, shocked and delighted. Neither was concerned about the possibility that she might get pregnant. Without quite saying it, both of them hoped it would happen. If something happened to Tim, at least there would be another Great Dane to carry on.
He was staring at her. “You are so beautiful, my dear Amanda.”
“And so are you, my dear Tim.” She followed up the statement by caressing his chest while his hands moved across her breasts and down to her still-moist thighs. She let her own hands travel downward and found that her new best friend was also awakening.
One more time, she thought a few moments later as he entered her. One more time and he’ll have to go back to the damn war. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and drew him deeper, deeper, deeper. Damn, damn, damn, she thought in tandem to his stroking inside her.
Steve Farris and Sandy had their meeting. From the beginning it was awkward. Sandy was pleased that Steve had not been maimed, and he said that she looked great, but it became clear that whatever spark there had been before he had gone to Alaska had been extinguished. There was nothing either one had done or said; rather, they simply realized that they had little in common. After a polite conversation, they parted. Sandy went back to work, while a slightly disconsolate Steve wondered what was going on.
Getting onto the naval base early the next morning was fairly easy. A man in uniform, even an army uniform, using a cane and with a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star on his chest, opened a lot of doors. He was just about to enter Tim’s office building when a woman’s voice hailed him.
“Lieutenant Farris, how are you?”
He turned in surprise. At first he didn’t recognize the slight young woman with the dark-rimmed glasses. Then he noticed the oriental shape of her eyes and smiled.
“Nancy Sullivan,” he said, quickly recalling the daughter of the store owner in Bridger. After Stecher had discovered Nancy and her mother at her father’s store, he had been reluctant to go the store on future occasions, which left Farris with the honors. On several occasions he’d struck up brief conversations with the slight young woman with the glasses. “I am fine, and what are you doing here?”
“Thanks to your uncle, I work here now. Apparently there cannot be enough people fluent in Japanese.”
“Speaking of my uncle, I’d like to see him.”
Her face clouded. “Ah, he’s not here. He and a number of others are, well, away.”
“I’ll bet that’s because there’s a war on, isn’t it?”
Nancy smiled. “Tell you what. Buy me a cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you what’s happened since you went to Alaska. Tim’s very proud of you, by the way.”
They had two cups each. Steve heard that Tim and Amanda were married, which delighted him, while Nancy was saddened by the death of Stecher. “There was so much hate in that man, but it seemed to be coming out.”
“Does it bother you that he died killing Japanese soldiers?”
She looked at him quizzically. “No more than it bothers me that you killed some of the enemy. You keep misunderstanding me and, for that matter, many American people of Japanese descent. I am an American, not Japanese. Japan is a strange and predatory land across a very large ocean, and, like all Americans, I cannot understand this perverse code of behavior called bushido. It is insane. Maybe someday I’ll go visit and look up my ancestors, just like my father would like to see his ancestors in Ireland, but not until my country, the United States, has defeated Japan.”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
“Don’t worry.” She smiled widely, then reached across and patted his arm. He noticed that she had a number of light freckles across her cheeks. Not too many Japanese had freckles, he thought. It made her look very attractive.
Nancy stood. “Even though almost everybody’s gone from the office, I really should get to work.”
“Would you like to go to lunch with me?”
“I’d like that a lot,” she said, and Steve began to think that the day might not be a total loss after all.
At that moment, the sirens began to howl.
Harris yawned. Sitting in a car and looking at an apartment building in Mexico City was worse than dull. He had enough seniority to dump these jobs on more junior FBI agents, but no, his informant in the Mexican Army had been specific. He and he alone should be at the expensive-looking apartment building at eight o’clock in the morning on this date. He was told he might appreciate Mexican justice being served, and the thought indeed intrigued him.
A few minutes after eight, Juan Escobar, colonel in the Mexican Army and informant for the Nazis and Japanese, stepped through the door. He was in casual civilian clothes and seemed well satisfied with himself. Harris recalled that Escobar had a mistress, and it seemed logical that he’d spent the night with her. He clearly looked smug after getting laid and Harris envied him.
So what did that have to do with him and the FBI? Maybe he was going to watch Mexican police arrest Escobar for providing aid to the Germans and the Japanese? That was a pleasant enough thought, but why did they think it was necessary for him to be there to watch?
Escobar stood near the curb and looked around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was obviously waiting to be picked up by some junior officer. Harris stiffened as the colonel was approached by two men in equally casual clothing. His mind registered the sight of the pistols being drawn. They were jammed into Escobar’s gut while he began to protest, a look of terror on his face. The men fired rapidly and Escobar’s eyes widened and then glazed over.
As Escobar toppled to the ground, blood pouring from his chest, the men took his wallet and watch. One more shot to the chest to make certain he was dead, and the men ran down the street and around the corner. A few stunned people came out and slowly began to approach Escobar’s body. Harris quickly shook off the shock of
