While it had been some time since Lu played, that didn’t mean she didn’t know how. When she made her first move, he immediately countered. She did the same. They went back and forth a few times. The marble felt cool against her palm. It was nice to play again.

  He looked up. “Don’t tell me you’re some secret chess whiz,” he said, leaning back and cradling his hands in his head. “That might be too much for me to take right now.”

  She laughed. “How long have you been playing?”

  “I learned during the war. Had a friend who used to play. I knew I’d never be able to beat her, but I had to at least try.”

  “Her?” Lu said.

  “Yeah. Her.”

  She sensed a story here. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Beat her.”

  It was his turn. He had his hand on the queen, and was about to make a move that would prove deadly for him. “I only had one chance. And I blew it,” he said, biting his lip.

  It felt to Lu like he was talking about more than just chess. She remained quiet, waiting for him to move so she could finish him off. But he realized his mistake before he made it, and moved the rook instead.

  “Good move,” she said.

  Chess had always come easily to her. The intuitive nature of it, and how it required nothing but time and an open mind. Two commodities that she regarded as essential to everything she did. It was through patience and perseverance that she’d made it this far.

  “You know that neighbor of yours you mentioned before. The shell-shocked one. What happened to him?” Russi asked out of the blue.

  She almost lied, but that wouldn’t be fair. “He hit the bottle pretty hard and eventually his wife had to kick him out. He got ugly a few times and she gave him an ultimatum. Last I heard he was in and out of hospitals on the mainland and had married and divorced again.”

  “Do you know where he served?”

  “Tarawa and later Saipan. I always liked him, but every now and then he got this really heavy vibe. He turned white and quiet and you could tell he was somewhere else. I always left the house when he got like that.”

  Russi nodded. “Tough tours. But no one came out unscathed, I don’t care where they were. Some just deal with it better than others.”

  “You seem to have coped pretty well,” she said, knowing so much of the pain happened behind closed doors.

  “I’ve managed to stay out of the looney bin, if that’s what you mean. I have the work to thank for that—it keeps me on my toes.”

  He turned his attention back to the board and assessed his next move. Lu had predicted he’d do one of two things and she was right. So she was ready. Russi seemed to sense her closing in on him.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  His playfulness was endearing. And though he guarded his king valiantly, in the end, she cornered him. “Checkmate,” she said, unable to hold back a smile.

  Russi smacked himself in the forehead, pretending to make a big fuss, but she could tell he was impressed. “We’re gonna need a rematch.”

  “Anytime.”

  * * *

  After the game, Lu was wide-awake, so she took the path down to the beach. Arcturus shone brightly, high in the summer sky. The sand felt cool on her feet. She walked along the water’s edge, counting stars and feeling lucky. Being home felt even better than she’d imagined. The swell washed higher up the beach and the low rumble of it stirred up the air, filling it with salt. With the moon already set, the night was black as lava rock. Half-tempted to go back and grab a blanket so she could sleep out here, she instead moved up the beach into dry sand and lay down on her back, breathing in the sea.

  Her head swam a little, leftover effects from the boat ride, but soon subsided. She thought about Dylan and how much he would love it here. With the shock of blue and black and green, he would never want to put down his camera. He would be following Russi around like a puppy dog, too. And then she thought of Dylan flying off to Vietnam and what Joni had said. Had they come down the road of friendship too far to make a switch? She’d been wondering that lately. And what if she said something, but he didn’t feel the same way?

  Call him, said a voice inside.

  Sometime later, Lu woke with a start. It took a moment to register that she was lying in the soft sand, hair tangled in a patch of beach morning-glory vines. She opened her eyes and was about to sit up when she heard voices nearby—a man and a woman, speaking just above a whisper. She remained in place, trying to get her bearings.

  The temperature had dropped, cool air from the mountains filling in. The stars were now hidden by clouds, tiki torches blown out. Everything was ink black, but she sensed movement down by the water. Then she heard a splash, and another. She strained to hear their voices, but whoever it was grew quiet. A few moments later, the man groaned.

  Not wanting to hear any more, Lu hopped up, dusted herself off and backed up to the bushes, following their uneven edge back to the hotel. Stealthy as a panther. Along the way, she felt a prick of envy. Deserted beach, balmy ocean, endless sky. Whoever was out there had picked the perfect night for romance.

  19

  THE SCORE

  O‘ahu, 1943

  Other than the success with the Maru code—and even that had been coming to them, anyway—Isabel was growing nervous that she hadn’t produced any significant results. She blamed part of it on being underground and part of it on the complexity of the ever-changing code. Most messages that they successfully translated had been sent in minor codes, interisland codes or diplomatic codes. Denny and the boys were able to piece together some messages using JN-25, but only through sheer doggedness. She was starting to get the feeling that she was excess baggage with a skirt on.

  But on the first day after the trip to Goat Island, a curious thing happened. When Isabel approached the steps into the Dungeon, the usual feeling of dread was absent. Upon entering, the strangling sensation that always wrapped around her chest and snaked up her throat didn’t have the same tight grip. She inhaled deeply as she passed Jones.

  “Morning,” she said cheerfully.

  Jones gave her a questioning glance. “Had a good weekend, did you, Miss Cooper?”

  Was it that obvious?

  “It was lovely—if you don’t count the near drowning and the third-degree sunburn,” she said. Every square mile of her body was a bright tomato red, especially the backs of her thighs, which hurt to sit on. Gloria had suggested she bring a pillow, which had been a brilliant idea.

  “Sounds like my first time in the ocean, minus the sunburn. Turns out my arms and legs are made of lead,” he said.

  Inside, the Dungeon itself looked different. Lighter, more spacious, less ominous. The scent of coffee and the hum of the IBM machines were almost like old friends, and instead of putting her head down and making a beeline for her desk, Isabel said a hello to the traffic analysts and waved to the linguists. Hudson was on a call, so she didn’t bother him. Something about the underwater experience had slung her fear out of orbit. She felt positively giddy, as though she could conquer the world. Or at least the Japanese naval codes.

  Bring them on!

  Five minutes after she had sat down, Hudson called her to his desk. He motioned for her to sit without even glancing up from his paper.

  She eyed the chair. “Mind if I get my pillow? I have a terrible sunburn.”

  He set down his pencil slowly and looked up at her. “This should be quick.”

  Isabel’s cheery mood drained away in an instant. She sat, gingerly. Leaning his tall frame in and speaking low, he said, “I’m going to get right to the point, Miss Cooper. A few of the boys have commented that you aren’t pulling your weight around here. I was willing to take a woman on because Admiral Sutton pulled some strings, but I’m running a tight operation. If you can’t hack it, I’m going to be forced to send you back to DC.”

  Isabel was gobsmacked. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t expect you to say anything, just do your job. And knock off that humming if you can help it. It’s driving everyone nuts,” he said, opening his notebook as though the conversation was finished.

  She sat there in shock, swallowing tears and finding it difficult to breathe. “For the record, I did determine that the I1 had been hit. I haven’t been a complete dud,” she said, feeling compelled to defend herself.

  “That was Denny, from what I understand.”

  What?

  She lowered her voice. “No offense to Denny, sir, but I was working on that message. I recognized a few of the words and brought it to him for advice.”

  “One of the reasons we work so well here is that no one cares who gets credit. It’s us against the enemy, not us against each other,” he said.

  “I know—”

  He cut her off. “Look. I know you’re a smart girl, but CIU may not be the best fit for you. Prove I’m wrong and I’m happy to keep you,” he said.

  “I’ll do that, sir,” she said, tapping her temple in a salute.

  Being sent back to Washington was an impossibility. She had work to do here, and still so many places to see with Matteo Russi.

  Isabel did not eat lunch; she ignored the fact that the back of her crisp thighs were sticking to her dress, and for the first time, she was actually able to focus on the messages coming across her desk. Little did Hudson know that threats against her intellect were her secret weapon. Challenge accepted.

  The latest message was a short one but labeled Ultra. Denny had handed it off to her while he rushed off to consult with the linguists on another apparently more important message. As usual, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and Isabel felt guilty. While she’d been off frolicking with Matteo, Denny had probably slept here. She decided then and there that she needed to put in more time. Take a step back from Matteo, who had lately become an affliction. More and more on her mind. This was not like her.

  Recent intelligence had come in that a Japanese floatplane had been spotted near Rabaul in Papua New Guinea. Floatplanes often patrolled ahead of IJN convoys to spot enemy submarines. Then aerial photographs from a US reconnaissance plane showed a stocking-up of ships in port at Rabaul. Something big was in the works. But no one could say what it was.

  With this particular message, the TA guys had determined it was from the 11th Air Fleet to headquarters in Rabaul. The paper itself contained a certain static electricity, which often happened when she’d encountered an important message. One of those feelings that came when you held enough encrypted messages in your hand. A crackle that hopped from paper to hand.

  Isabel took her time in going through the code groups. One stood out to her as familiar, and she checked the book. Convoy. She sat up straighter, tapped her pencil on the desk. Anything to avoid humming. Another of the five-letter groups looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it, so she got up and walked over to Ziegler.

  “This one is eluding me, though it looks familiar. Do you recognize it?” she asked him.

  Ziegler was hunched over a half-decrypted message and eating sunflower seeds, but he quickly shoved his work aside to help her. “Hmm,” he said, staring at it for a few moments. “I believe it’s destroyer. Hang on, lemme check.”

  He leafed through a notebook filled with illegible writing. Isabel held her breath.

  “Yep. Destroyer, it is,” he said looking up at her as the implication dawned on them both. “As Denny would say, fucking A!”

  A destroyer would bolster the convoy theory.

  Isabel’s pulse sped up. “Do you want to decrypt this one together? I could use the help.”

  “Hell, yes, pull up your chair,” he said, swiping notebooks, papers and debris from the desk.

  They split up the message. Something about Ziegler put her at ease. Whip smart and the fastest crippie of the bunch, he nonetheless reminded her of a clumsy puppy. Within minutes of starting, he had his pencil between his teeth and was gnawing on it like a bone.

  Ten minutes later, Ziegler pounded a fist on the desk. “This one is March and that is five. Something’s going down on March 5. You got anything?”

  “Not yet,” she said self-consciously.

  “My gut tells me this is big. Keep at it, you’re doing great,” he said, then spoke under his breath. “Don’t worry about Hudson. Sometimes he gets a hair up his ass. He’s under so much pressure right now. We all are. Just do the best you can.”

  His encouragement was just what she needed. They plugged away for a while longer when Isabel got a hunch. Messages often followed a similar format, and the way this one was organized, she hypothesized that the last code groups were locations. She pulled up the book with place names and began scanning through it for a match. Now that the Japanese were out of Guadalcanal, they had to be mobilizing to go somewhere. Activity had been bumping up in the Southwest Pacific, so she searched there first. A few minutes later, bingo. One name lined, up, then another.

  “I’ve got it!” she said, a little louder than she meant.

  Hudson raised his head and glanced over.

  “Wewak, Madang and Lae. The convoy is headed for Papua New Guinea. Have a look,” she said to Ziegler.

  Ziegler checked the codebook, but she knew she was right. That was the beauty of numbers. They never lied.

  He jumped up, limbs flailing around. “Oh, boy. Hudson needs to see this!”

  She remained in her seat. He motioned for her to come along. Reluctantly, she did.

  “Sir, Miss Cooper and I might have just discovered where all those ships in Rabaul intend to go,” he said, shoving the paper under Hudson’s nose.

  Isabel stood quietly with her hands behind her back.

  “You sure about this? What did the linguists say?” Hudson asked, taking a puff on his pipe and blowing it off to the side.

  “I’m on my way there now. But we have Rabaul, convoy, destroyer, March 5 and the three islands. I think it’s safe to say that’s what’s cooking,” Ziegler said.

  Just then, Denny returned. “What’s up?”

  Ziegler told him.

  Denny looked at Isabel. “Not bad, Cooper,” he said.

  Her cheeks burned.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  For the rest of the week, she worked longer hours in the Dungeon, and at night spent time beating Gloria at chess and studying Japanese language and characters. Gloria was a good sport at losing.

  “You sure this ring isn’t a consolation prize rather than a friendship ring?” she said.

  Isabel laughed. “I got the ring before I beat you, so that doesn’t hold up.”

  “I never stood a chance, and you know that. But the funny thing is, I don’t mind losing to you. After all these years being the only girl in my family, it feels like I finally have a sister.”

  Isabel had always thought it would be neat to have a sister. Another girl in the house, especially after her mom died. But having Walt for a brother made up for it and then some. Now with Walt gone, it was nice to have someone who was beginning to feel like family.

  When Gloria tired of losing, Isabel turned to the Japanese language books. Sure, the kana was easier, because it was romanized and they needed that in order to transmit via Morse code, but the calligraphy was far more interesting to Isabel—each one a tiny work of art. It didn’t take long for her to memorize many of the characters. They stuck in her mind like stamps. In her dictionary, rather than alphabetically, they were arranged by meaning. It made perfect sense.

  But there was a problem. Namely, Matteo Russi. While at work she’d been able to concentrate better, at home her mind continuously wandered to the past Saturday at Goat Island. The way his eyes traveled up and down her body. The feel of the coral heart on her skin. Hot breath against her neck. Friendship was fine, but the realization came that friendship might not be enough.

  Not with him.

  She was off in a daydream trying to convince herself that she had not in fact fallen for him when Gloria came out to fetch a glass of tonic. “Looks like someone is distracted.”

  “Just giving my eyes a break.”

  “You aren’t fooling me. I know that look. Ever since this weekend, you’ve had your head in the clouds. You have a thing for Matteo Russi. Why not admit it?” Gloria said, with her hands on her hips.

  “Because there are so many reasons not to.”

  “The heart doesn’t care about reasons.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Tell me the main one.”

  Isabel thought for a moment. “Matteo himself has said many times that he is not looking for anything serious. He has this belief that he’s not coming out of this war alive. And I can’t lose anyone else. It would do me in.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s much too late for that. What else?”

  Cracking JN-25 was a big reason, but she couldn’t mention that to Gloria.

  “I refuse to date a known womanizer.”

  Gloria nodded. “Okay, that’s fair. But even known womanizers can change their stripes with the right person. I say you see what happens. There’s no need to make any big decisions at this point in the game, but don’t rule Matteo out. You obviously have feelings for the man.”

  She could at least admit that. “A little.”

  “Lord, you’re insufferable! For the past few weeks, it’s been Russi this, Matteo that. I wasn’t born yesterday, I know love when I see it.”

  “Love?”

  “You heard me,” Gloria said, marching off to bed.

  Was that what this was?

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32