The fleet would steam east.
It was ideal. The Allied Western Atlantic Fleet, based at Norfolk and Bermuda, would never steam east. Its whole raison d'etre was to deter a Yankee thrust south or north. He couldn't use it on Channing, of course; the Navy types would know it for a canard. But he could tell Sawyer — Howson — Mays, too, don't forget the civilians, he thought. Yes. He could start it this very afternoon, and it would look good in the report. Evidence of creative thought, positive action, et cetera. Maybe it would even work. He smiled. But it would take time. He pressed the intercom.
"Yes, sir."
"Jeannie, get me Miss Hunt, at Portsmouth Military Hospital."
Minutes later she called back. "I have her on your line, sir."
"Sharon Sue?"
"Hello? Is this you, Aubrey? Well, hel-lo! I thought you were going to call me yesterday. Are you coming over tonight?"
"That's what I was calling about. I'll probably be busy tonight, Sharon."
"That Shiloh thing? How is that going, darling?"
He winced. "Don't mention that on the phone. I shouldn't even have told you about it."
"Oh, fun. What harm is little old Sharon Sue going to do? But I'm sorry. Why aren't you coming tonight? I was having Ella fix something real special, and then it was so nice last time in the garden, you know, I thought we could—"
He cut into the steady flow of words. "I know. I liked it too. But I can't. Truth is, someone's been leaking information about — that — and I've got to find out who."
"How exciting! Oh, Aubrey, I knew when I met you that you were just the cleverest man. That's why the general depends on you so much. But how are you going to catch them? Have you got a plan?"
"As a matter of fact — " Quidley, glowing a little inside at her praise, glanced at the intercom to be sure Jeannie wasn't listening in — "I do."
"Well, what is it? I'm so excited!"
"I really shouldn't say."
"Oh, go ahead." She giggled. "This is just like a mystery story, it really is, and you're the smart detective."
He opened his mouth to tell her, but just then the intercom broke in. "Major, sorry to interrupt, but the General requests your presence—"
"Be right there."
"What, Aubrey?"
"Got to go. General Norris wants me."
"Aubrey, do try to come by tonight. I really want to see you."
"I'll try, Sharon, but I'll probably be busy. Good-bye."
"Bye, honey."
"Major, the general—"
"I'm coming."
Norris looked nearly dead as he pointed silently to a chair. Quidley noted that the little general's finger trembled, and was conscious of pity. The strain was obviously too much for the old fellow.
"Any progress?"
"I've been busy all day, sir. Interrogated a curfew breaker. Inspected the pickup boat. Caught up on—"
"Damn it, Quidley, answer me! What are you doing about the breach of security on Shiloh!"
"Sir, I've got a plan." He went over the idea quickly. Norris nodded and looked less angry. "I thought we could do it with an 'information-only' message over your signature. Then we could send it only to the addressees we select. If they're the Railroad's source, knowingly or not—"
"How could they not know?"
"Could be a servant, sir. Someone in their family. A friend, a chauffeur, mistress, personal servant — any number of ways. It could be a person they trust so implicitly they'd never suspect them. But this way we can narrow things down fast, and then proceed with conventional interrogation."
"All right, sounds good. Type up the message and I'll route it. What else can we do?"
"Well, sir, since the original plan's been compromised, perhaps we ought to change it."
"Now you're thinking, boy! What would you recommend?"
"Oh… change the attack time. Move it forward. That would put the intercept farther out to sea, but if they were ready for an attack at four-thirty — and remember, sir, the leak was to the Railroad, not to the Yankees, though there might be some exchange of information — then one at midnight might still take them off guard."
"Excellent." Norris looked happier. "I'll call Sawyer and get him started on a change 1 to the op order. What else?"
"That's about all I can come up with for the present, sir, but I'll keep on it."
"Good. We're making progress."
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes — no, wait." Norris smiled. "Wish I were going on this — but I can't leave. We need to brief Sir Leigh on the preparations, on the security developments and our response to them. I'd like you to do so."
"Yes, sir."
"Leave tomorrow at seven, from Davis aerodrome. There's a Navy zep that makes a daily run out to the Fleet. I'll have them drop you on the Redoubtable — that's Vickery's flagship — then pick you up on the afternoon flight back."
"Yes, sir."
"You'll get me that message today, won't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed, then. And, Quidley — good work. For a change."
"Thank you, sir." He left, oddly divided between pride and resentment.
Back in his own office. He rolled one of the triplicate message blanks into his typewriter and tapped out:
//SECRET//
FM: COMDT FT DAVIS CSA
TO: SELECTED ADDRESSEES
SUBJ: FLEET MOVEMENT INFORMATION
1. RE UPCOMING OP SHILOH: COMWESTLANTFLT HAS ANNOUN CED AREA OF OPERATION WILL BE CLEARED BY MEANS OF FULL FLEET REDEPLOYMENT ALONG LINE FIVE HUNDRED (500) MILES EAST OF NORMAL READY STATION. MANEUVER TO BE COMPLETED AT S MINUS 24.
2. NO ACTION REQUIRED/FOR INFO ONLY.
END
That should do it. He tore off the bottom copy for his own files, pulled the original for the general, and put the pink middle copy and the two carbons into his briefcase and locked it. He buzzed Jeannie to take the original over to Norris's office and looked at his watch. Five P.M. exact. A good day's work. The situation was well in hand. He smiled to himself.
And now for the night.
SIX
She lay back in the narrow bed and looked up at the ceiling mirror. Examining her naked body without emotion: the long, tapering legs, the tangled triangle of black damp hair, and her eyes, dark question points that stared steadily back from above her.
At length she yawned, looked at the clock on the dresser, and sat up. The House allowed its girls a fifteen-minute break every other hour to keep them fresh. Now it was nine, time to go back to work.
I wonder if he'll be back tonight, she thought, zipping back into a red satin dress, sliding her feet unto red heels, refreshing her perfume from a bottle on the dresser. The tall major, the one with the stuffy name. Quidley. He was right stuffy, too. She smiled, a lopsided, sarcastic smile. He was a strange one. All prim and proper and stuck up, and making you call him sir. Even in bed, at least that first time. Then as soon as he got that gray uniform off (he folded it so carefully, never just tossed the pants over a chair like most men), he was eager as a teenager.
God, he was queer. She lay back again, fully clothed. Men of his general type were not totally new to her, though in some ways he stood out. A mama's boy. Some old wayback family with swords on the walls and battle flags and an estate out West. Brought up at some military school in the old cavalier tradition of military glory and fancydress balls and pale bloodless wives and fucking the slave women in the cabins out back.