The codebreakers secret, p.23
The Codebreaker's Secret, page 23
“What kind of bones?” he asked.
“Human, possibly,” she said, moving carefully backward to avoid stepping on anything.
His voice grew louder. “Are we talking new bones or old bones?”
“Old. But how old it’s hard to tell.”
The next thing she knew, Russi was beside her. “You weren’t kidding, were you? Jesus. Is this one of those Hawaiian burial caves?”
“I doubt it. There would be other things in here with the bones. Like lauhala mats or wooden bowls or even canoes. And probably more skeletons.”
Russi shivered. “I got a bad case of the heebie-jeebies, like we don’t belong here. We oughta split. Now we have two mysteries on our hands.”
Lu walked over to the skylight and checked for a way beyond. But the rockfall blocked any chance of seeing what else might be there. “If there are more, Mother Nature has closed their tomb permanently. But this one doesn’t seem that old, does it?” she said.
“I’m no expert, but no, it doesn’t.”
There was something unnerving about standing in a dark cave with an unknown dead person. Lu looked around for signs of clothes or jewelry or other human artifacts, and then realized that under the pile of ribs there was a reddish piece of material. She stepped away.
“This is creepy—let’s go back,” she said.
“What about Joni?”
“You were right, I don’t think Joni would have made it ten steps off the golf course.”
* * *
They somehow managed to find their way out of the thicket, and Lu tied her bandanna on a kiawe tree. Every tree and rock on this stretch of coast looked the same, and she wanted to be sure they could find the cave again. They were quiet as they stayed close to the water’s edge on the way back to the hotel, Lu lost in thought about who the bones might have once been. What kind of person would be so far off the beaten path? Lost sailor? Fisherman?
When they passed the orange trees, near the Buddha statue, Russi picked one and peeled it in ten seconds flat, handing her a juicy piece of flesh. They found Mr. Rockefeller outside the Dining Pavilion talking to Mr. Buttonwood.
Russi leaned into Lu and spoke quietly. “Don’t mention anything about the skeleton until we have Rockefeller alone. We don’t want to get people worked up for no reason, and skeletons have that tendency.”
They approached the men. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Russi said. “I’m sorry to report that there was no sign of Miss Diaz up north. Any luck on this end?”
“One of our guys found a pair of women’s shoes on the rocks out toward the point. Stanley wasn’t sure but thinks they may belong to Joni. I’ve called in the police.”
Up until this moment, she’d been holding out hope that this was all just a big mistake. That surely Joni had taken off on a whim and would come strolling back from wherever she’d gone in time for a sunset cocktail and the green flash.
“Until we know for sure, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Rockefeller said.
Mr. Buttonwood excused himself, and when they told Mr. Rockefeller of their find, his face pinched up in concern. “We surveyed every square inch of this place before breaking ground. My team would have found a skeleton,” he said.
She doubted it was that new.
“It’s possible we were beyond the resort boundaries. We passed over an old rock wall, and got ourselves lost, which is the only reason we stumbled upon it,” Lu told him.
Rockefeller shook his head, looking out on the water. “One lost, another found. Not exactly what I had planned for the weekend.”
“We plan, God laughs,” Russi said.
27
THE DANCE
O‘ahu, 1943
Something about the interaction with Dickie dislodged something in Isabel. All that pain now reared up and leveled her. She was sick for days, feverish and nauseated, and for the first time since arriving, she told Hudson she couldn’t come into work. He sounded understanding, concerned even. She had made herself more than useful, and had helped decipher one of the biggest messages of the war. But the victory felt hollow in the shadow of losing Gloria in such an unfair manner. Helplessness swarmed all around her. Death, it seemed, had been following her. Creeping in and plucking loved ones from her life at the very moment she started feeling comfortable again. Mom, Walt, Glory.
What was the point of everything, anyway? Living and loving meant dying and losing. The two went hand in hand. And the pain from the losing rattled your bones, squeezed the blood from your heart and turned your world dark. Matteo might be onto something—avoid love at all costs. She was done with it, quite frankly.
In desperation to block all thoughts and feelings, she read. The Hobbit was an unusual book about a little hairy man who unexpectedly embarks on big adventures. The book belonged to Gloria, but Isabel had picked it up after running out of her own. As she turned the pages, fresh and magical words began to seep from the paper, wrapping her in their wisdom. Urging her on. There was only one thing to do: go forward and honor those who no longer could.
* * *
When she returned to work, Isabel asked the guys to ask around and see if anyone knew the name of the pilot lost in the Yamamoto mission, which they’d learned had been called Operation Vengeance. No one knew a thing. At lunchtime, she risked a visit to the mess hall to chat with the girls upstairs, and see if any of them had news. But none did.
The following day, Isabel was sitting at her desk at half past three when Jones brought her a handwritten note, folded in quarters. Her name was scrawled across the front. Miss Cooper. She recognized the writing right away.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Some guy delivered it.”
“Why didn’t you come get me?”
“He said not to bother you.”
“Did he say his name?”
“Negative.”
“Tell me what he looked like,” she demanded.
“Olive skin, about this tall,” he said, holding his hand up.
“Was he in uniform?”
Jones nodded. “Army whites.”
Isabel felt light-headed, breathless. She waited for Jones to go back to his desk, but now Ziegler and Denny were watching her as though she had a bird nesting on her head.
“Carry on. This is none of your business,” she said.
“Everything okay?” Ziegler asked.
No one here knew a thing about her private life. It wasn’t like DC, with the girls, where even in the thickest of circumstances they talked about men and intimate things.
“Fine. It’s just a note from a friend.”
Unable to wait another second, she opened the note.
Do you feel like dancing tonight?
If so, be ready at 1800 hours on the nose.
MR
She stared at the words. But it wasn’t the words so much as the writing itself and the calloused hand that had held the pen. That hand was back on Hawaiian soil, alive and in one piece. Her whole body went slack, casting off layers of worry—and longing.
“Must be some friend,” Denny said.
Her eyes filled with tears. “It is.”
* * *
Isabel wore the new dress that Gloria had picked out for her on the one occasion they’d made it to the department store. Orange with pink flowers, it was the polar opposite from anything she would have chosen for herself. And that was precisely why she loved it. The dress would always make her think of Gloria, and she’d wear it until she was an old lady, if she should be so lucky.
Matteo drove up at two minutes past six, in a cloud of sandy dust. The second he turned off the motor, Isabel had no idea how to proceed. She wavered between standing in the kitchen pretending to casually notice his knock at the door, or sprinting outside and throwing her arms around him the minute he set foot on the pavement. Yes, something was definitely wrong with her.
Matteo climbed out. “Hooey!” he called, doing double time toward the house.
At the sound of his voice, all questions disappeared and she rushed to the door and tore down the steps toward him. He opened his arms and she fell into them. A strong force held them together and little by little the fear and hurt siphoned away.
“You made it,” she said, speaking into his neck.
“By the skin of my teeth, but yeah, here I am.”
She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Your letter—”
He cut her off. “Turns out I had some kind of premonition, because wouldn’t you know it, something big did go down.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“I’m not sure you have clearance,” he said, breaking into a sly grin.
She could guarantee her clearance was higher than his, but said nothing. There would be time for more talk later.
Rays of afternoon sunlight slanted around them. Trees turned golden and doves cooed softly to their mates. For now, she was content to have him here by her side.
* * *
The officers’ club on the beach in Waikiki was known as Halekai: sea house. A grand white mansion with pillars and columns, decks and fancy railings and lime-green manicured lawns. Like so many other places, the military had taken it over. As soon as they parked, Matteo pulled her by the hand and did not let go. They made it onto the beach just in time to catch the sunset. A few other couples and groups had the same thing in mind.
“I swear the beach and the water and even the sunset have never been so sweet,” he said, looking out at the blue glass ocean.
A coconut tree rustled behind them.
He went on. “Guadalcanal was some mad version of a dream. On one hand, the place beautiful as they come—lush jungle, fruit everywhere, blue lagoons—but on the flip side you had a well-trained enemy messing with your head, mozzies just as dangerous and, in the water, crocs longer than the boat and man-eating sharks just waiting for someone to fall in. Seemed like the whole island was designed to kill you.”
“I had a feeling you were on Guadalcanal,” she said.
It was his first mention of where he’d been. On the drive over, they’d spent the whole time talking about Gloria.
“Did some island hopping, but yeah, mostly. Do you know what the marines call it down there?”
“What?”
“The Green Hell.”
He seemed subdued, altered in some undefinable way. The things those men saw were not something anyone should ever have to witness. They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the sun lay down a yellow path on the water. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. Whatever was going to happen would happen.
“Come on, let’s go get a cocktail,” he said.
On the patio, uniformed men and decked-out women sipped drinks, talking and laughing. It was not Isabel’s scene and she didn’t recognize a soul. They moved past a trio of musicians playing Hawaiian music, and up to a long wooden bar. A few couples slow danced and you could feel the love drifting through the balmy air.
“What are you having?” Matteo asked.
“Surprise me?”
“Two Honolulu Number Ones,” he said to the bartender.
Isabel watched the man pour copious amounts of gin, with a splash of orange and a dash of pineapple juice, into a shaker with ice, and then martini glasses. One would be plenty.
Matteo turned to her and held up his glass. “To ending this damn war.”
She clinked. “I’ll drink to that.”
His eyes shimmered. “And to Walt. Best man I ever knew,” he said.
“To Walt. Lord how I miss him. And to you coming home, Matteo. We can’t forget that.”
He nodded. “And to those who didn’t.”
It felt like they were just getting started.
“To Gloria.”
There were so many people and reasons to toast, she could have kept going until her arm gave in. Or until Matteo kissed her. That was coming, she felt it in the marrow of her bones.
“To you,” he said, finally taking a drink.
Isabel did the same.
Lounge chairs and coffee tables were scattered around the patio. Most of them were taken, and clusters of men played gin rummy and backgammon and chess. Women sat aside them, smoking cigarettes and talking. Their glamorous dresses and feathered hats made Isabel feel underdressed.
“You wanna play? I know you already have it in the bag, but I learned a thing or two while I was away,” Matteo said.
He set up the board, and she let him go first. White. He was going to need all the help he could get, but of course she didn’t tell him that. There was only one way to get better, and that was by playing people better than you. People often got a false sense of confidence with chess and stuck to playing their own level or below. Matteo would never be that kind of player. He’d lose until his hands bled if it meant winning down the road.
“Don’t go easy on me, either. Swear?” he said after opening with the bishop’s pawn moving two spaces.
Isabel glanced up, surprised. It wasn’t a usual opening for beginners. “Swear,” she said.
In defense, she played the symmetrical pawn. Matteo’s eyes flickered and he made his next move swiftly. But as they went back and forth, he began to take longer pauses. He absentmindedly chewed on his pineapple as he frowned in concentration. Isabel already knew exactly where the game was headed, but kept a poker face to spare him. His tenacity was admirable. And adorable.
When she captured his queen, he shook his head slowly and shot her that killer smile. “I’m toast, aren’t I?”
“You might be.”
On the next move, she called checkmate.
“You ruined me. I knew you would,” Matteo said.
Isabel got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the chess game.
* * *
When darkness fell, everyone made their way upstairs to a blacked-out ballroom where the music was blaring. The dance floor was already full of bodies. Matteo set their glasses on a table and pulled her onto the black-and-white tile. The song was slow, and he held her close. Isabel was acutely aware of his hip against hers and the heat of his hand on her back. The liquor had gone to her head, making her woozy and a little clumsy.
Matteo danced with confidence and a bit of swagger, and when the music picked up pace, he spun her and dipped her back. The man knew how to move. But even through the dancing, he never loosened up to his predeparture self. He seemed restless and agitated, and on more than one occasion Isabel caught him watching her. She’d thought he was going to say something, but each time he turned away.
The room was stuffy, and they danced until dripping. When Isabel asked to take a break, Matteo led her down to the bar again.
“None for me, thanks,” she said.
But he ordered her one, anyway, and gulped his down as though it were lemonade on a hot summer day. They went onto the lānai and leaned on the railing overlooking the beach. Matteo plucked a flower from the tree and slipped it behind her ear. His hand traced a line of heat down her cheek.
“I’m beat. You ready to call it a night?” he said.
“Sure,” she said, swallowing disappointment.
Isabel had gone through a hundred scenarios of how things would turn out tonight, but this was not one of them. In one imagining, he’d kiss her on the dance floor; another, on the beach under starlight, and yet another on the hood of the car. But maybe she’d been sorely mistaken and reading into things. Lord knew she wouldn’t be the first girl to fall for his charms.
Driving with headlight covers was not much different than driving in the dark, and Matteo had to focus on the road. Still, he seemed unnaturally quiet.
“Can I ask you a question?” she finally said.
“Shoot.”
“What if I told you that I know about what happened on Bougainville.”
She thought she heard him swallow.
“That’s not a question,” he said.
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
“For a secretary, you must have some pretty high clearance.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What if I told you I did?”
They were treading on treasonous ground, and yet she knew that he already knew and now he knew that she knew. No one would be any the wiser.
“Was it you?” she asked.
“I don’t think we’ll ever really know. There were clouds and chaos and one guy says this and another says that. I shot up both of the Bettys, at least I thought I did. Even saw a line of smoke coming up from the jungle after it went down. But our lead guy says he made the kill, so I’m scratching my head. But I’m just thankful we completed the mission.”
“Did they tell you beforehand who it was?”
“Not at first. We knew it was something big, and all Mitchell told us was to have our planes ready at 0500 and it was gonna be a long day. They’d outfitted them with extra fuel tanks and the birds were loaded with as much ammo as they could carry. He told us who we were going after that morning, and that four of us would be the attack team. He said this would be the most important mission of our lives.”
He paused, and Isabel let his story sink in.
“He also gave us an out. Said none of us had to go, it was pure volunteer. We knew what we were getting into. But wouldn’t you know it, every pilot on that island was gunning for the chance, and none of us was willing to give up our seat.”
“Were you afraid?” she asked.
