The Lieutenant's Nurse

by Sara Ackerman

  She was taken aback. “Why, I was only trying to comfort him.”

  “I’ve had nurses say the damnedest things to patients, so do me a favor and keep your thoughts to yourself, okay?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  They had two more surgeries that afternoon—a badly fractured leg and a tonsillectomy—and Eva was walking on eggshells the whole time. Hand me the scissors. Cut me some gauze. No, not like that! How are his pupils? With the leg fracture, Eva wanted desperately to suggest a different length pin, but held her tongue. Blending into the background was her only shot at keeping her new job, which she was lucky to have in the first place.

  THE VISIT

  December 4

  Clark was poring over a stack of decrypted messages when Ford came over and sat on his desk. Pipe smoke poured from his nostrils. Ford was in his usual orange robe, a strange habit he’d taken up mainly because the room was so dang cold.

  “I just got off the phone with Special Captain Jensen. He said he’d just been informed by the FBI that Consul General Kita was ordered to burn his codes. All telegraph codes and codebooks, all secret records, and not to arouse outside suspicion,” Ford said.

  “Jesus.”

  “He was supposed to wire the word haruna when he finished. What does it mean?”

  “Literally—‘spring,’ or ‘clear weather.’”

  “The buggers are elegant, you have to give them that,” Ford said.

  Clark’s mind was spinning. Should he tell Ford now? Ford was cleared for Ultra, so why had Lieutenant Irving ordered him not to tell? “Did he wire it?”

  “Last night. You ask me, Admiral Hart is going to have his hands full in the Philippines any day now. I sure hope he’s ready.” Ford took another puff from his pipe. “I’m going to take this over to Kimmel. In the meantime, can you go see how the guys at Station H are doing? This ‘east wind, rain’ message is sure elusive. They’ve been there around the clock for the past week with nothing to show, and I want them back.”

  Either Ford knew, and he thought the info was above Clark’s clearance, or he was still in the dark. Everyone knew Ford kept an iron grip on their raw intelligence, but Clark liked to think that Ford trusted him. Looking at his face now, in the dim light and through the smoke, it was hard to get a read.

  Just then, Tex came over. “Boss, Lawson’s on the line.”

  “I need to take this, we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  The thirty-mile drive to Station H, over the Pali, was not for pussy-foots. It took every bit of focus to navigate the rugged and narrow road carved into the side of the Ko’olau mountains. One wrong turn and you were airborne, plunging a thousand feet down a vertical cliff. As Clark bounced down the mountain, he stole glances at the calm waters from Kaneohe clear up the coast. Small islands popped up here and there, making it look very South Pacific.

  Eva would love this. He wished he could have watched her expression change from fright to awe as they came down the Pali. She would have likely been clutching his arm. Or maybe sitting in his lap if he was lucky. Stop wasting your time with dumb thoughts. She belongs to someone else.

  Once he got to the bottom of the cliff, Clark hung a left and followed a muddy and little-used road. It was tricky—slow down and get swarmed by mosquitos, or speed up and knock yourself out on the roof. The road was in danger of being swallowed by banyan trees and a thicket the Hawaiians called hao.

  Being out in the jungle, Station H had a phone, but it was a party line. Of all the dumb things. Ford was infuriated by the useless setup, but his pleas for a fix had gone on deaf ears. Someone had to drive out there or back to Pearl Harbor daily in order to communicate securely, so information was always days late.

  The boys at He’eia were happy to see him. Sitting around in the ramshackle stone building must have grown old pretty darn quick.

  “Count yourself lucky, Spencer. While you were wining and dining on the Lurline, we’ve been holed away here, listening for a pin drop on the other side of the ocean,” Brody said.

  He couldn’t argue there. “Ford wanted me to see what you’ve got and to tell you that the Japanese consulate has been ordered to burn everything.”

  Brody lit up a cigarette. “No shit.”

  “And yesterday, the same in Washington,” Clark said.

  “Which means we already know what we need to know. Once they burn the codes, it’s only a matter of days, right?”

  Cronin, a gangly redneck, chimed in. “I say we head for the hills.”

  “Don’t be stupid, it’s the Philippines they’re gonna hit,” Brody said.

  “I don’t trust Washington. I bet they know something they aren’t telling us,” Cronin said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because did any of us know what a Purple machine was until yesterday? They only tell us what they think we need to know.”

  It was true. None of them had ever heard of Purple, which Ford found out yesterday was what the boys at OP-20-G called a cipher machine that Japan used to swap messages between Tokyo and their foreign diplomats. Here they were working on the Japanese Flag Officers Code, and not even close to solving it, while Station CAST was tasked with decrypting JN-25 Naval codes and Washington had their own project, Magic. It seemed like a bad case of the right arm not knowing what the left was doing.

  “Have you guys picked up anything else of interest? Any odd transmissions on unusual frequencies?” Clark threw out.

  “Nothing that shows they’re heading our way. Why?” Brody said.

  “Just curious.”

  Cronin scratched a festering red bite on his neck. “Something’s fishy. All that lack of traffic can’t be good.”

  Had he and Wilson been wrong about what they had heard? Was there another explanation?

  Out at sea, a mountain of dark clouds boiled up. Rain blew in quickly here, and Clark gathered the latest recordings and aimed to cross the Pali before the road turned into a waterfall. Ten minutes into the drive he spotted a car in the road up ahead, hood up. It looked civilian.

  When he got closer he leaned out and called, “Everything okay?”

  Two men were leaning on the fender, standing in a cloud of smoke and mosquitos. “Mind giving us a hand? We’re stuck.”

  The shiny black Ford seemed out of place, as did the men in their button-up shirts and fedoras. His gut told him something was off, but he couldn’t just drive on by without helping.

  He pulled to the side of the road and got out. “Where are you fellas headed?”

  One of the men looked vaguely familiar. He was thick enough to be a linebacker, but too short. The other was Hawaiian with a shiny and pocked face.

  “Lieutenant Clark Spencer.”

  It wasn’t a question. His skin tingled. He glanced around for a way to hightail it out of there if need be, but the forest was dense and the trees woven together with a web of ropy vines.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  Linebacker said, “A bird told us you turned in a report yesterday from the Lurline.”

  “What if I did?”

  “Who else knows about this besides you and Wilson?”

  He stepped back. “I don’t even know who you are, and you want me to answer sensitive questions?”

  “All you need to know is that we work for someone above you. Way above you. We know about the report and we know that you were friendly with an Eva Cassidy on the boat coming over. Did you tell her anything?”

  A fierce protectiveness filled him. “Hell no. Leave her out of this.”

  “We don’t take orders from lieutenants in the navy, but, anyway, you sure you didn’t tell anyone else? Ford? Brody? Any of your Dungeon buddies?”

  “I gave the report to Irving and that’s it.”

  Maybe he should have told Ford, or somebody.

  “Is it true that you
lived in Japan for several years?” Linebacker asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you are fluent?”

  He didn’t like where this was headed. “I was sent by the navy to learn the language.”

  “But you made a lot of friends.”

  “What are you implying?”

  Linebacker pulled his jacket aside, revealing a gun. Clark had a sudden thought that these two guys could easily stuff him in the back of the truck and dump him in the ocean with a brick tied to his leg, and no one would be the wiser. He might be able to take on one, but not both.

  “We have a message for you. Keep the information to yourself or evidence may arise linking you to the Japanese. The United States doesn’t tolerate spies.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he tried to say coolly, all the while panting like a tired dog.

  How did they know about Eva?

  “I am. Either that or you and Miss Cassidy might end up as sugarcane fertilizer.”

  “This is outrageous.”

  “Would you rather we just take you out now?”

  Beads of sweat collected on his neck. A fly circled his face. Who were these thugs? “I don’t understand. The information in the report is critical. And classified.”

  “All you need to understand is that you don’t breathe a word of this,” Pock Face growled.

  Clark tried to make sense of it all. He and Wilson must have been correct in their assessment. But who wanted it kept hidden? And had anyone else seen the report besides Irving?

  He was backing toward his jeep. “So you want us to get caught with our pants down? Is that it?”

  Linebacker followed his move and came six inches away, blowing tobacco smoke and spit in his face. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get back in your car, forget about the report, forget about this meeting and go on translating the Jap talk. Your country needs you.”

  He almost laughed. “What my country needs is to know about that fleet.”

  “The problem with guys like you is you’re small-minded. You can’t see the big picture.”

  “Oh, I can see it damn clear, and it’s not pretty,” Clark said, picturing the island in flames.

  The man put his hand on the gun. “Get out of here, Spencer, before you make me shoot you.”

  SUNKEN WORDS

  December 6

  Pardon your neglectful son for the lack of letters these long months. Now that fall has turned to winter, I imagine you are setting aside your nets to mend and readying for the snowfall. I only wish I could be there to help, but we are departing soon for an unknown destination. If I fail to write, do not fear, for it means I am performing my duties sensibly. Should anything happen to me, and I do not return, rest in the knowledge that your son died serving Japan in the most honorable way. Goodbye.

  —Letters like this were sent home from Japanese submarine pilots to their parents before they climbed into their subs with a bottle of sake and boxed lunch, locking the hatches and sailing off into Hawaiian waters.

  FINAL SONGS

  Battle of the Bands is held at the shiny new Bloch Rec Center at Pearl Harbor. The crowd dances to ballad, swing, jitterbug and all the latest tunes, showing off their new moves. Favorites like “The Jumpin’ Jive” and “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” have the joint hopping. Tonight is an elimination round, and troupes from battleships Tennessee and Pennsylvania, and transport Argonne compete, each trying to outdo the next. Meanwhile, the audience loves every minute of it, cooling off in the pool hall with 3.2 percent beer. When Pennsylvania is finally declared the winner, the whole place breaks into Kate Smith’s version of “God Bless America.”

  The band from Pennsylvania wins the honor of going up against the other finalist, Arizona, on December 20.

  THE RUN-IN

  Billy picked Eva up bright and early Saturday and drove her toward the east end of the island. He pointed out sights—Mount Tantalus, Koko Head, and then a ten-mile stretch of coast with nothing but coconut trees and tidal pools that he said were used as fishponds by the Hawaiians. They stopped and got out along the way, collecting shells called cowries and spotted cones.

  As of yet, there was no discussion of his proposal. He had taken the hint well, and she was grateful. Billy had what her father called “people smarts.” He was good at reading those around him and always knew the right thing to do or say. When she had first told him about Ruby, he had told her that if and when the time came, he would come get her himself and bring her to Hawaii. For Eva, that had meant everything.

  Once they rounded the eastern portion of Oahu, the scenery changed dramatically. Tall cliffs and rough seas. No beaches there, only rugged windswept rocks. Beyond the corner, a verdant wall of mountain rose straight up, at least several thousand feet, disappearing into the clouds.

  Eva craned her neck. “It reminds me of King Kong.”

  “Only, there are no gorillas here. Or any kind of wildlife for that matter. No bears or cougars or crocs or wolves. The only creatures you need to worry about are sharks.” He paused for a moment. “Or the two-legged kind. A lot of those on the loose here.”

  He was wearing a mischievous grin, though Eva detected an undertone of seriousness.

  “Good thing I have you to look after me, then,” she said.

  He reached over and grabbed her hand as they bounced down a rutted, sandy road toward the shore. Eva closed her eyes and willed herself to feel something, anything. He squeezed, and she squeezed back. But she might as well have been holding Grace’s hand, for all the electricity she felt.

  Give it time.

  They pulled up at a white sand beach that went on for miles, and Billy produced a picnic basket from the backseat. He kicked off his shoes and she did the same. They were the only two in sight. Eva could not believe that a place this postcard perfect existed. The sand was sugary white and hot to the touch, the water a turquoise blue that looked almost drinkable, and the air felt just right on the skin of her bare arms.

  Eva forgot about everything for a moment and ran toward the water. Once she hit the wet sand she slowed and turned to see Billy running after her. She wanted to plunge in headfirst, but he stopped her, pointing at blue bubbles with thready tentacles littering the sand.

  “Portuguese man-o-war. They have a nasty sting. We can dip in Waikiki on the way home if you want.”

  It was her first proper day at the beach. “Can’t I just dunk?”

  “Not unless you want to end up with burning welts wrapped around your whole body. Trust me,” he said.

  That was the end of that. They sat on a beach sheet and munched on sardines and Saloon Pilot crackers and something called poi: a gray paste made from the taro root. Billy said he’d brought it just because she ought to have a taste. The Hawaiians loved poi with everything they ate. After the first mouthful, she wasn’t sure she could tolerate another bite. Sour, mushy and thick tasting, like a cross between porridge and clay.

  “It’s a nice sentiment, but save it for those who can appreciate it,” she said, handing the spoon back with half a bite still on it.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s an acquired taste.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I do. Say, remember that time that Ruby was so proud of her first mincemeat pie, but she’d forgotten the sugar?” Billy said.

  Being with someone who knew Ruby made her feel right at home. “She was beside herself, and when she saw my father’s face...”

  “He tried to keep it straight, but God, that pie was bad.”

  They laughed. As smart and talented as Ruby was, her big failing was in the kitchen. Her mind was usually thinking about ten things at once, and ingredients often got left out. Eva hated to imagine what Ruby’s future husband would have to endure, but she made up for it in a hundred other ways.

  They sat and listened to the shore b
reak. Sun melted onto her shoulders. Within ten minutes, a fine layer of sand coated every surface of her body, including her scalp, though she wasn’t complaining. Being with Billy was like being with an old friend, and for the moment, it was enough.

  In his letters, he’d rarely talked about work. She knew he was in Intelligence, but not much else. There was only so much he could say. Today, she pressed him.

  “We make sense of information gathered through clandestine sources, I’ll leave it at that,” he said, as tight-lipped as ever.

  Surprising he didn’t know Clark. And if this was his area of expertise, maybe she should ask him about the Japanese ship signals. The information was gnawing away at her.

  She summoned courage and spoke. “What if I told you I overheard something on the Lurline while coming over?”

  “I’d say ‘What did you hear?’”

  “Two men were talking about a fleet of Japanese ships approaching Honolulu. They seemed to think these were warships and were planning an attack any day now.”

  A look of surprise flashed over his face before he chuckled. “Good one. The guys were probably just speculating like everyone does. You’ll notice the rumor mill is highly active here, since people have a lot of spare time on their hands.”

  She stood her ground. “These guys weren’t speculating. They talked about Japanese radio signals and discussed technical details and both seemed certain.”

  “Where exactly did you hear this?” he asked.

  “Two men were out on the back deck late on the last night. They didn’t realize I was there since it was dark. Nor did I get a good look at them, but I was interested, so I didn’t walk away.”

  “They may have sounded certain, but I’m sure they were wrong. In the meantime, this is the kind of thing you keep to yourself, Eva. Okay? Promise me? You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.” He had a point. And maybe he was right about the signals, too. Who knew how experienced this radio operator was.

  She picked up a stick and began breaking off pieces and tossing them toward the water. “Fine. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. If it’s true, I mean, and they attack us and we aren’t prepared. Can you at least ask around? Have a plane sent out or something?”