"Do you play bridge, by chance, Bailey?"
"Yes, Sir. I do."
"Well, Mrs. MacArthur and I like to think we play well. We'll have to try that some evening."
"I would be honored, Sir."
"Make a note, Sid, to ask Colonel Bailey, when he's had time to settle in, for bridge."
"Yes, Sir."
A minute later, there was a knock at the door. A very large Asiatic of some sort wearing the insignia of an Army Signal Corps First Lieutenant walked in the room. He held two TOP SECRET cover sheets in his hand.
"Nothing startling, I hope, Pluto?" General MacArthur said.
"I would say 'interesting' rather than 'startling,' Sir."
"Well, let's see them," MacArthur said. "Sid, you make sure Bailey here gets a car."
"Yes, Sir."
"Glad to have you here, Bailey," MacArthur said.
"Thank you, Sir," Dailey said. Huff ushered him out of the room.
(Four)
Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, noticed Lieutenant Colonel George F. Dailey outside the building and wondered idly who he was. But then he put him out of his mind. The only thing really unusual about him was that he had aviator's wings on his blouse. There were Marine officers commonly in and out of SWPA, for one reason or another, but this was the first aviator that Moore could remember seeing.
He got into the elevator and rode it down to the basement. He showed his identity badge to the MP buck sergeant on guard in the passageway outside the elevator. Although they knew each other, he examined it carefully. And then Moore signed himself into the commo center.
"They were looking all over for you last night and this morning," the MP sergeant said. "You were supposed to be charge-of-quarters."
"I was moved out of the barracks," Moore said.
"I guess nobody told them. They were pissed."
"Fuck 'em," Moore said.
"They were pissed, you better watch out," the MP sergeant said. "The whole fucking war will be lost because you weren't there to answer their fucking phone."
Moore chuckled, nodded at him, and went down the corridor. There was a steel door at the entrance to the cryptographic section. It was guarded by another MP, this one a corporal. He had another IN/OUT log.
Moore went through that security check, and then unlocked the steel door where he, Pluto Hon, and, at least in theory, Mrs. Ellen Feller plied their trade.
When he turned and locked himself inside, Pluto said, "I gather the Deaconess didn't come with you? Prayer meeting, no doubt?"
"She's playing tennis," Moore said. "She said that if it was anything interesting, I should bring it out to the house."
For what Moore thought were obvious reasons, Mrs. Feller did not like to spend any more time than she had to in their cubicle.
"Tennis? That's new."
"There's half a dozen courts at the racetrack. She asked around, and they let her join."
"War is hell, isn't it, Moore?"
"She has nice legs," Moore said, and immediately wondered why he had volunteered that. It was sure to result in a crack from Pluto. It came immediately.
"It's not nice to notice married women's legs, Moore," Pluto said, mockingly stern. "And how did you get to see them? Is something that I don't know about going on at Water Lily Cottage between you and the Deaconess?"
"She bought tennis clothes. You know. And she asked me if I thought they were too daring."
"And were they?"
"Come on. No, of course not. They were hardly shorter than a regular dress."
"But short enough for you to notice her legs, right?"
"I knew I made a mistake the minute I said that," Moore said. "What came in?"
I hope that gets him off the subject.
Hon pushed a TOP SECRET cover sheet off a thin sheaf of papers fresh from the crypto machine. He handed these to Moore.
"The Nips may finally be getting off the dime," he said.
Moore read the intercepts.
The most significant one was on top. It was from the Imperial General Staff in Tokyo, addressed to Vice Admiral Nishizo Tsukahara, commander of the 11th Air Fleet; and to Lieutenant General Harukichi Hyakutake, who commanded the 17th Army, whose headquarters were in Rabaul.
It relieved the Navy of responsibility for dealing with the Americans on Guadalcanal, Tulagi, and Gavutu, and gave it to the 17th Army.
"What does Pearl Harbor make of this? I mean, wasn't it expected?" Moore asked. "The Navy doesn't have any troops they could use on Guadalcanal. If anyone is going to be able to throw us off, it will have to be the Jap Army."
"Pearl Harbor expected it," Hon said. "Read the other ones."
The next intercepted message, also from the Imperial General Staff, was to a convoy of ships at sea. It directed the convoy commander to divert to Truk and off-load the Ichiki Butai.
"That's the 28th Infantry, 7th Division, right?" Moore asked. "The ones that were on Guam?"
"Right. First class troops. Colonel Kiyano Ichiki: Two thousand of them."
The Japanese Army, Moore had learned, had the interesting habit of officially referring to outstanding units by the name of the commanding officer.
The next intercepts, two of them, were an offer from the Japanese Navy to General Hyakutake of a battalion of Rikusentai "for use in connection with your new responsibility"; and his acceptance.