1
USS Tennessee

Don Stewart frowned and clamped his eyes tighter shut, his bushy, brown eyebrows seeming to guard his fitful sleep. Doris shook him again, this time with more authority. He awoke with a start and looked over at his wife. He sighed and looked at his watch before he realized how futile it was. Not only did he have the wrong time, he had the wrong day, ever since they had crossed the International Date Line earlier in the flight. It was Monday, October the thirteenth — he had lost an entire day, and it felt like it.

Doris smiled at him. She was an attractive brunette and petite, weighing little more than a hundred pounds, in sharp contrast to her husband’s hulking two hundred plus.

Now fully awake, Don returned the smile. Doris pointed past him out the window. There, partially obscured by the wing of their United Airlines 747, was the ground, a jumbled, dingy brown, relieved here and there by patches of green. The shadows were long and black, and there was an all-pervading, orange-tinted haze. He quickly scanned the sky, a habit second nature to a career air force pilot.

He saw the glint in her eyes as she took inventory. The love he saw echoed his own, and he liked the way she stuck her arm through his and squeezed. His pulse quickened. She had his undivided attention.

“What are you thinking, Grandma?” Don asked in his friendly gruff voice. The reference to Grandma Moses was because of Doris’s interest in painting. She certainly wasn’t the grandmotherly type.

She squeezed his arm again. “That blue uniform doesn’t do you justice.” Her eyes paused at the gold oak leaves that designated him a major. “But I do like those better than the silver bars.”

“Yeah, I was glad to see the railroad tracks go,” he chuckled. “We could be looking at light colonel pretty soon. We’re not brass yet, but we’re gaining on it.” He took her small, soft hand into his large mitt. Soft and small, he thought, like a little bird.

His smile faded as he remembered something.

“What’s the matter?” Doris asked.

“Just thinking about my mother. Saying good-bye was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’ll probably never see her again, at least on this side.”

“I know, dear.” Doris snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his broad chest. “I’ll miss her too.” She reached into her purse for a tissue. “After you and I got married, I was surprised to find out she was about my best friend.”

He looked down at his wife’s tears and didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s all right. It’s part of life.”

“Yeah. I know she misses Dad.” He felt a stinging sensation in his own eyes. “Those two were quite a pair. I really was blessed with my parents.”

“Yes, you were. But it’s in the Lord’s hands now.” She looked up at him, smiling now. “He can handle it.”

Don sighed. “I know. But I hate cancer. It’s such a horrible disease.”

“Yes, dear. But we have to let it go.”

She was right, he knew. “Yes, Grandma.”

She punched him in the ribs.

“Take it easy. I don’t want to end up in the hospital.”

She ceased hostilities.

Don glanced out the window. “What do you think of our new duty station so far?”

“I think it’s a little early to tell.”

“Hmm, I guess so. Well, you let me know if you don’t like it, and I’ll tell the ambassador we can’t stay. Once he finds out how henpecked I am, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, trying to look aggrieved but not succeeding.

The two seats directly in front of them popped upright suddenly. “Look at that!” a boy said, taking absolutely no pains to keep his voice down. “Bet that’s Tokyo.”

There was the sound of jostling. “Hey!” came a girl’s voice, definitely indignant. “Let me see! Quit hoggin’ the window!”

“Bug off! This is my seat!”

Don looked at his wife. She looked back at him with an expression that told him this was a job for father. He sighed and undid his seat belt.

He stood, bumping his head painfully on the overhead luggage compartment. He towered over his son and daughter as they continued their fight. The conflict lasted a few more seconds until twelve-year-old Michael looked up. He was a younger edition of his father, down to his unruly brown hair. Nine-year-old Leah scrunched up her face and punched her older brother. Then she as well noticed that the law had arrived. They both adopted their practiced “What did I do?” expressions.

“All right, you two,” Don said in an attempt to sound stern. “Knock off the horseplay. I want to hear a little quiet up there.”

“Yes, Sir, ” said Michael quietly, as he frowned and cast his eyes downward.

“Yes, Sir,” echoed Leah.

Don sat back down and massaged the top of his head. Doris smiled at him. It was in his mind to ask why it was the dad’s job to settle these wars, but a strident gong preempted him. The seat belt signs had flashed on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came a weary female voice. “We’re beginning our approach to Narita International Airport. Please bring your seats to a full, upright position and fasten your seat belts. We will be landing in approximately fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

Don had never cared for long flights with his kids, and one lasting nearly a day was almost too much to bear. But it was almost over. Soon they would be on the ground and headed for the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo.

A frazzled-looking flight attendant walked down the narrow aisle. She looked from side to side, making sure all seat belts were fastened.

*      *      *

Don held Doris’s hand as he paused in the arrival lounge and looked around. Michael stood at his side while Leah stuck close to her mother. Don couldn’t say, exactly, what he had expected Japan to be like, but it wasn’t as different from America as he thought it would be, at least so far. Although some signs were in Kanji, most were in Roman lettering as well. The bustling terminal was clean and orderly, although quite crowded.

Don spotted an air force second lieutenant holding a sign with STEWART written in large block letters. Don waved.

The young officer hurried over and saluted. He was quite average, with a medium build and brown hair and eyes. But what made him stand out was his smile.

“Major Stewart,” he said, shaking hands. “I’m Fred Brown, attached to the embassy. I’ve got a van and driver to take you and your family to the Imperial Hotel. You’ll be staying there temporarily until you’re reassigned a private residence. If your baggage made it this far, we can pick it up and be on our way.”

“Sounds good to me. Fred, this is my wife, Doris.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Stewart.”

“Likewise, Fred,” Doris replied.

“I don’t know who these midgets are,” Don continued with a broad grin. “They followed us off the plane.”

“Aw, Dad!” Michael complained.

Leah let her displeasure be known with a hot look.

Don adopted a contrite expression. “Oh, my mistake. Fred, these are our kids, Michael and Leah.”

“Pleased to meet both of you. Welcome to Japan.”

This seemed to mollify them.

“Shall we head for baggage pickup?” Fred asked.

“By all means. I’m looking forward to crashing at the hotel.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ve got one more ordeal before we get there.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s just after five, ah, 1700, and Tokyo rush hour traffic is in full swing. It may take us an hour or so to get there. And believe me, you’ve never seen anything like Tokyo traffic.”

They picked up the luggage, which was only slightly more beat up than when it had been surrendered at Los Angeles International. They walked out of the terminal. A maroon van was parked in a loading zone. The driver, dressed in a black uniform and cap, was polishing the paintwork with a cloth. The vehicle was immaculate, both inside and out, without a dent on it. The driver rushed over and helped load the luggage. He put the last piece in and closed the rear door.

“Major, this is Kinji Gusawa, our best embassy driver. He prefers Gus. Gus, this is Major Don Stewart, his wife Doris, and Michael and Leah. I think I got that right.”

The man gave a quick, shallow bow. “Pleased to meet you, Major Stewart, Mrs. Stewart,” he said in fairly good English. He turned and looked seriously at the children, who were regarding him with awe. “And boy-san and girl-san.” The driver regarded them and seemed to read their minds. “Would you like to ride up front with me?”

They both beamed and looked around at their father, who nodded. They all piled into the van.

Gus was an excellent driver, Don was relieved to find, after hearing stories about the dreaded kamikaze taxi drivers. He drove the van with extreme caution, his eyes never leaving the crowded street. But their progress was slow, since the traffic was creeping. They were surrounded by more vehicles than Don had ever seen in his life, and the variety was amazing. There were small personal cars interspersed with busses, trucks, and construction equipment. Gus took every safe advantage he could, but their pace was snail-like. The small man took it in stride and even seemed relaxed. Motor scooters and small motorcycles darted in and out of the traffic with what appeared to be reckless abandon. Many were ridden by Japanese executives wearing suits, ties, and crash helmets. Some were delivery vehicles with strange, shock-mounted containers in back.

The buildings seemed to increase in height by steps as the travelers ground their way toward central Tokyo. Gus pulled up on a choked freeway. The traffic was moving at ten miles an hour, scarcely faster than the surface road, but it was steady.

Michael and Leah were all tourist as they looked at the strange sights. The Tokyo Tower stood out in the golden, late afternoon sun. A patch of green appeared in the distance and grew larger and more distinct as they approached. It was a huge, parklike area in the heart of the city, exquisite gardens with manicured lawns and painstakingly placed trees and shrubs, with buildings placed where they appeared to belong. Graceful pathways wound through the vast park and over even more graceful bridges. The whole area was double guarded, once by thick, gray stone walls and again by wide moats.

“The Imperial Palace. Something, isn’t it?” Fred asked.

“I’ll say,” Don agreed, Doris nodding also. The kids were lost in their own world.

Two bellhops in bright uniforms rushed out to the van as Gus drove up in front of the Imperial Hotel. The driver parked and walked around to the passenger doors, holding them open. He spoke rapidly to the bellhops, instructing them concerning the baggage. Don got out and stretched his legs.

“Guess I better go check in,” he said.

“Already done,” Fred replied. “I’ve checked you in — rooms 2404 and 2406. Here are your cards. The attaché staff will take care of anything relating to the hotel. You’ll be assigned a private residence before too long.”

Don took the cards and smiled at the lieutenant. “Thanks, Fred. Seems you’ve thought of everything. We’re kinda bushed, so I appreciate it. Looking forward to doing something about this jet lag.”

The young officer hesitated. “Uh, there is one more thing I have to tell you. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Colonel Dill asked me to tell you that the ambassador is giving a cocktail party tonight at 8:30. The colonel said ‘if you weren’t too tired from your trip.’”

“Command performance,” Don translated.

Fred shrugged in sympathy. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

Don smiled at him in spite of the situation. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there. Might have to enlist your aid in keeping both of us awake. Should we get a taxi?”

“No, sir. I’ll send a car for you around 8:15, if that’s OK. The driver will phone your room when he arrives.”

“That’s fine. And thanks.” Don stopped as Doris tugged at his sleeve.

“Honey? What about Michael and Leah?”

“Oh, sorry,” Fred interjected, “I forgot that detail. The embassy has child care. They’ll have plenty to do, constant supervision, and they’ll be close to you.”

“You said the magic word as far as Doris is concerned,” Don said. “She’s a full-time mom. Again, we appreciate your assistance.”

“Just doing my job. Oh, one other thing and then I’m gone. It’s not customary to tip the hotel personnel. They’ll add the gratuity to your bill. Well, guess I’ll see you at the party.” He turned to Doris and the children. “Mrs. Stewart, pleasure meeting you. Michael and Leah.” He turned and hopped into the van, and Gus drove off into the gathering dusk.

“Well, Mrs. Stewart. Shall we see our temporary quarters?”

The bellhops gathered up the luggage and led their guests inside. The Stewarts paused, gawking at the spacious lobby. Very nice, Don thought. He knew some of the history. The original Imperial Hotel had been built in 1922 from a Frank Lloyd Wright design. It had stood on pine pilings over a sea of mud and had survived the devastating earthquake of 1923 as well as World War II. But the old hotel was gone now, replaced in the 1970s and 1980s by two medium-rise towers. It was still a favorite of visitors to Tokyo.

“Wow, Dad,” Michael yelled, “Look at that!”

He ran through the guests in the lobby and up to a roped-off display, his sister not far behind. Their parents followed more sedately, their eyes drifting upward in awe. It was a pagoda model nearly reaching the lobby’s lofty ceiling. Its exquisitely carved white walls stood out against the more subdued backdrop.

“That really is something,” Don agreed. “But, come on. We have to get ready to go to the embassy.”

Michael looked as if he wanted to discuss the matter further, but one look from his father convinced him otherwise.

The bellhops saw them to their rooms on the twenty-fourth floor, bowed, and let themselves out. Don looked through the connecting door, watching as Michael and Leah started exploring their room. Deciding the hotel was not in imminent danger from their mischief, he closed the door and walked to the window where Doris waited. He put his arms around her slim waist. The Imperial Palace grounds, just to the east of the hotel, were a rich, verdant green in the sunset.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Hmm,” she agreed.

A suspicious creaking noise sounded from the adjoining room, only partially muffled by the closed connecting door. Doris looked at her husband with silent communication. He sighed, dropped his arms and walked to the door. He opened it and worked up a stern expression.

“If I have to come in there I know two brats who’re going to be awfully sorry!”

The sounds from the sturdy beds ceased immediately.

“You two get cleaned up. We’re going down to dinner in a few minutes.”

“’K, Dad,” Michael said.

Don closed the door and returned to his wife, rolling his eyes as he did so. She laughed. “Our little angels,” she said.

“Your idea of divinity’s different from mine,” he said with feeling.

The unimportant, petty details of human existence suddenly fell away as he saw her standing there before the window. This was the person he had been one with for over fifteen years, the one who truly loved him. And he loved her, and they both knew it. He held his arms apart, and she came to him. Their lips met as he gently pulled her soft body against his. The kiss quickly turned hot and the embrace powerful. He felt her response, and there was no question about his.

“Oh,” she gasped, pushing away, catching her breath. “Give a girl a minute, will you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his eyes appreciating her. “C’mere, woman!”

She glanced quickly at her watch, doing a quick calculation. She smiled up at him and walked to the connecting door. She opened it and poked her head through.

“Michael — Leah. I want you ready to go in about a half hour. Be sure to wash up. Now!”

“Yes, Mom,” came two voices.

Don felt his pulse quicken as she closed the door and locked it. He watched her lithe movements as she returned to the bed and started pulling the spread down. He came up behind her and encircled her waist.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“Tend to your business,” she told him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And he did.

*      *      *

The ride in the embassy van was calm and relaxing compared to the earlier trip to the hotel. Michael and Leah, their restless energy undiminished, were in the front seat thoroughly enjoying the brilliant kaleidoscope of neon lights that was nighttime Tokyo’s trademark. The parents watched from the backseat. Don, as a rule, cared little for command performances, where the officer was expected to fill out the guest list of his superior. But this was somehow different. Perhaps it was the newness of the assignment or being in a foreign country. He squeezed Doris’s hand, and she returned the pressure.

The van pulled up in front of the embassy and stopped. The driver got out and opened the doors. The Stewarts entered the large, modern building. An employee took the children by their hands and ushered them away to the child-care center.

“Hello, Major Stewart — Mrs. Stewart,” said a voice behind them. Don turned and saw Lieutenant Brown approaching, martini glass in hand, a broad smile on his face. This was an aspect of military social life that Don found difficult — how to be in the world but not of it.

Don smiled at the young officer. “Getting started early, I see. Has the parade cranked up yet?”

“No, sir,” Fred laughed. “But it’s gonna any second now. I could say that we were waiting for you, but that wouldn’t be true. However, Colonel Dill is quite anxious to meet you. Actually we’re waiting for the navy. They and some Japanese dignitaries are the guests of honor. The captain of the USS Tennessee and a few of his senior officers are coming. You may have read about it in the papers. A ballistic missile sub tied up at a Tokyo wharf is a big thing. Supposed to be a goodwill, show-the-flag visit, but certain Japanese groups have been quite vocal in their opposition. The ambassador’s anxious that the visit goes well. I believe he would prefer to avoid any nasty incidents.”

“Fred, you are a facile young gentleman, and I appreciate the briefing.”

“Just doing my job. Can I get you and your wife a drink?”

Don smiled as he took a breath. “Suppose you could fetch us some 7UP?”

The young man blinked. “On the rocks?”

“Yes, please.”

He turned and made his way across the crowded floor.

Don looked about the large ballroom, which was all aglitter under enormous crystal chandeliers. Nearly a hundred people were present, gathered into numerous small self-important groups. Each colony tended to be of the same type: four or five air force uniforms here, a group of navy blue coats there, others in ambassadorial cutaways.

A few minutes later Fred returned with three clear tumblers arranged in a precarious triangle.

Don cocked an eyebrow at him as he took two of the glasses, giving one to Doris. “You get a 7UP too?” Then he noticed there weren’t any bubbles in Fred’s glass.

“No, sir. Couldn’t balance a martini glass with the tumblers so I got my refill this way.”

As a rule, Don made it his practice to mind his own business. “I see. Well, take it easy there.”

“Oh, I always do.”

Doris took a prim sip and immediately seemed to forget the glass was there. Don tried his 7UP, resisting the urge to drink all of it. A wry grin came to his face as he remembered an embarrassing incident at a former duty station. It had been another command performance, and he had been very thirsty. He had gotten a tumbler of his usual 7UP with ice and promptly drained it. Two more glasses quickly followed, all under the watchful eye of his then commanding officer — no teetotaler but no friend of lushes either. The following day Don had found himself on the colonel’s carpet facing a considerable head wind until he had finally convinced his boss that it had been only soft drinks.

Don turned as the din of surrounding conversations lulled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flurry of navy blue and gold. A navy captain entered the ballroom trailed by two commanders. As if on cue, another door opened, and a distinguished-looking gentleman in an evening cutaway walked slowly through the guests, talking earnestly to a Japanese official at his side. The navy types, the civilians, and an anxious-looking air force colonel converged. The other guests broke up their cliques, preparing for the amenities.

“Here we go,” Fred whispered in Don’s ear. “The uncomfortable looking officer is Colonel Dill, your new boss. He’s doing about mach 1.5, aimed right at Ambassador Dewey. The gentleman next to the ambassador is Mr. Fujii, a member of the Diet and responsible for persuading the Japanese government to allow the Tennessee’s port call. The new arrivals are Captain Allender, the sub’s CO and two senior officers. I forget their names. One’s the XO. Perhaps we should get in line. I’ll introduce you to Colonel Dill and the ambassador.”

Fred led the Stewarts to their proper position in the long line and talked with them as the queue snaked its leisurely way past the distinguished guests.

At last they were before the ambassador. Don’s first impression was favorable, he was surprised to find, since his mental image had been more pessimistic. The man appeared pleasant and genuinely interested in his guests. He was beginning to gray at the temples, but he showed no signs of middle-age spread. He obviously takes physical fitness seriously, Don thought. The gray eyes were sharp and clear. He was almost as tall as Don but had a lighter build.

“Mr. Ambassador, may I present your newest air attaché, Major Don Stewart, and his wife Doris,” Fred began. “Major and Mrs. Stewart, this is Ambassador Victor Dewey.”

Don noted that the ambassador’s handshake was firm and sincere. “Mr. Ambassador, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And I’m pleased to meet you, Major Stewart — Mrs. Stewart. May I present my wife, Ann.” Mrs. Dewey turned. She was a large blond and obviously accustomed to her position, but in a way that spoke of duty rather than pride. The two couples said the necessary pleasantries. Then the women entered into earnest conversation while the men felt each other out in the brief moments allowed.

Finally Victor said, “It was so nice of you to come this evening. I regret the inconvenience since you just got here, but I felt it important that you meet these people. The Tennessee’s visit is high profile, to say the least. I’ll be meeting with you and Colonel Dill later on this week. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

Don mumbled the appropriate words, and collected Doris’s arm.

“Hon,” she said with a pout, “what’s the hurry? We were talking about Ann’s shopping trip to Hong Kong. She’s going Wednesday. Do you think I could go soon? There’s so much we could get.”

Don had to laugh. “The hurry is that we were holding up the line, dear. As to the other, there’ll be plenty of time for you to go to Hong Kong. I don’t think they’ll sell out.”

Further down the line Fred introduced them to Colonel Allen Dill, who appeared to have the weight of the embassy squarely on his shoulders. He was turned partly away from the line talking to a navy lieutenant. Allen looked at the other man, his full lips pursed in agitation. His brown eyes peered out from behind massive, horn-rimmed glasses. He had a respectable assortment of medals on his uniform coat. His wife, Helen, seemed a little uncomfortable, but she greeted the newcomers warmly as her husband finished his talk. The lieutenant finally hurried off as if grateful to escape. Allen smiled as he turned and greeted Don and Doris, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.

Fred led them away with an attention to duty that was beginning to wear on Don, even though he liked the young officer. The Stewarts met Mr. Fujii and the navy officers from the sub. Finally they were done.

“I know this has been torture for you two,” Fred said as they cleared the reception line. “I tried to make it as painless as I could. That’s it for the official requirements.” His infectious grin returned. “I’m sure no one’ll notice if you slip out, as long as you don’t trip over something.”

Don had to laugh. “Thanks, Fred. You did a great job, and we appreciate it. And you’re right — we’re pooped. Think we’ll head back to the hotel. What time should I make my appearance tomorrow?”

“I’d recommend around 0830, sir.” Fred hesitated a moment. “I think you’ll find Colonel Dill a fine officer when you get to know him. He was kind of pressed when I introduced you this evening. Pressure gets to him. But he’s one of the most considerate bosses I’ve worked for. For what it’s worth.”

Don smiled as he remembered the rather brusque introduction. “I think I catch your drift. Thanks for filling me in. See you in the morning.”

After collecting their children, the Stewarts made a quick trip to the Imperial Hotel in an embassy van. Finally in their room and under the covers, the last thing Don remembered was leaving a wake-up call with the hotel switchboard.

*      *      *

The man cursed as the dew-laden bush loomed out of the darkness. The branches scratched his face while the leaves showered him with water droplets. He touched his cheek and felt blood oozing from the cuts. He continued forward again, straining to see the dial on the metal detector he was carrying. The saucerlike coil scraped the ground, making a slithering noise as it bumped along the wet grass. The earphones were completely silent.

He continued on through the park, trying to watch for the half-seen obstructions. He moved the detector in wide sweeping arcs, growing dizzy as he concentrated on the silent earphones. He willed them to make a noise, but they would not. He stopped and poked a test button on the handle. A loud buzzing noise told him the instrument was working.

Another man caught up with the detector operator and gestured impatiently for him to continue. They started forward again and had not gone five feet when the earphones emitted a shrill electronic scream. The operator shouted in pain before he could catch himself. He fumbled with one hand to turn the volume down, almost dropping the detector in the process. Finally he got the level adjusted and started moving the coil from side to side, forward and back, getting an idea of the buried object’s size and depth. He made his inspection swiftly but with the care of a professional who knew exactly what he was doing.

Finally he took off the earphones and laid the detector on the ground. He spoke rapidly to his companion. The other raced away over the dew-covered grass.

For nearly five minutes the detector operator waited. The only sounds were from the late-night traffic on the nearby streets, but not a sound came from the park itself. Not a bush stirred in the dead calm. He shivered in the chill night air. The humidity was palpable.

The man turned and looked through the gloom. He heard muffled footsteps approaching, punctuated by an occasional sharp crunch of a dead branch being stepped on. Many were coming. He was almost sure who they were, but fear of the unknown still gripped him. He longed to click on his light but knew what would happen if he did. He waited. Then he saw dim amorphous shapes materializing out of the murk like ghosts. These ill-defined blobs resolved themselves into black silhouettes. The leader walked over to the detector operator. Another man joined them. He had a thin shadow, and he was not very tall. His nervousness was obvious even in the darkness. The thin man listened as the operator and leader discussed the finding.

Finally the leader ordered the workers to begin digging. They worked frantically, tearing brutally into the earth. Picks made short work of the first few feet, then they switched to shovels. They toiled without break as the mound of dirt grew. Finally the depth of the hole forced all the diggers out but one.

A sharp metallic “clang” sounded. The thin man uttered an anguished shout. He shook visibly as he clambered down into the hole. He clicked on a hooded flashlight and began scraping dirt away from the exposed metal with a spade, treating the object as if it would shatter if he touched it the wrong way. It was a large cylinder, rust encrusted and pitted with age. He scraped some more until he could get an idea of the circumference.

He uttered a single curse, all the more striking because of the quietness of the night.

The light clicked off, and it and the spade came hurtling out of the pit. One of the workers cursed as the shovel struck him. The leader silenced him with a slap across the face.

A light from outside the group snapped on, bathing the scene with a blinding glare. Police whistles shrieked, and for a moment the tableau remained static. Then the men ran pell-mell across the park away from the light.

The thin man scrambled out of the hole and shielded his eyes, trying to see. He ran a few steps but stopped as the whistles sounded again. An order rang out in Japanese. Again he turned and faced the light. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. He fired three wild shots. The thin man fell backward to the ground as a single shot was returned.

*      *      *

A very annoying sound managed to push through into Don Stewart’s dreamland. Then something poked him in the back. He pried his eyes open and heard a sleepy voice in his ear.

“Phone’s ringing, dear,” Doris said.

Don reached for it and somehow fumbled it into his hand without dropping it.

“Good morning, Sir,” said a cheerful voice with a slight Japanese accent. “It’s seven o’clock.”

“Oh. Thank you,” he said.

“You are most welcome, Sir,” she replied.

He replaced the receiver, smiling at the operator’s polite efficiency.

“Mm, time to get up already?” said a voice on the other side of the bed.

Don groaned as he sat upright on the huge king-size bed. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and frowned. No doubt about it. Jet lag was still with him.

“Have to. But no need for you to get up. I’ll call from the embassy when I know how my day’s going.”

“’K.”

She rolled over and pulled the covers up.

Don got up and stumbled toward the bathroom.

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