"Uh," Hart grunted.

"That, what you just heard, George, was analysis," Pickering offered. "Pluto and Moore are more than cryptographers. They-plus the people in Hawaii, of course-read the MAGIC intercepts and try to understand their meaning. Their analyses are made available to three people, three people only, in SWPOA. General MacArthur, his G-2 General Willoughby, and me."

"That's all?" Hart asked, surprised.

"They're the only people authorized access to MAGIC," Pickering explained. "In addition, of course, to Pluto and Moore, and now you."

"And Mrs. Feller, Sir," Moore said.

"I haven't forgotten her, Moore," Pickering said. "Is she back yet?"

"Yes, Sir. She came back from Melbourne on the evening train."

"OK. Then I'll deal with her today. That will leave it the way I said it, Hart. The three of you have access. And MacArthur, Willoughby, and me. If anyone else ever mentions MAGIC to you, in any connection whatever, you will instantly report that to either Pluto or Moore or me. You understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Let's get back to what's going on at Guadalcanal. I don't think it will be long before there's a call from El Supremo."

"I checked with Hawaii last night before I closed down," Pluto said. "We have all their MAGICs. None were to Generals Hyakutake, Sumiyoshi, or Maruyama. Or from them. We have to presume, therefore, that the original orders-"

"Which called for the attack on 18 October," Pickering interrupted.

"-which called for the attack to be launched 18 October," Pluto affirmed. "We have to presume that they remain in force. And that there has been no request by Hyakutake to IJGS for a delay in execution. I think we can further infer that IJGS, having had no word from Hyakutake to the contrary, believes the attack is underway."

"Moore?" Pickering asked.

Moore shrugged, looked thoughtful for a moment, then made a gesture with his fist balled, thumb up.

"Absolute agreement?" Pickering challenged.

"We talked about it last night," Moore said. "It fits in with the most logical scenario on Guadalcanal."

"Which is?" Pickering asked.

Hart noticed that the relationship between the three of them had subtly changed, as if they had changed from uniforms into casual clothes. It was not a couple of junior officers talking to a general-they had even stopped using the terms "Sir" and "General"-but rather three equals dealing with a subject as dispassionately as biologists discussing mysterious lesions on a frog.

"They're obviously having more trouble moving through the mountains than they thought they would," Moore went on, "especially their artillery. If they had moved it as easily as they thought they could-were ordered to-the attack would have started. But to make it official that they hadn't would mean a loss of face all around-for Maruyama for having failed, for Hyakutake for having issued an order that has not been obeyed. Et cetera."

"You're saying there won't be an attack?"

"No. They'll attack," Pluto said. "If it's a six-man squad with one mortar. But the attack is not on schedule. And from that I think we can safely infer that when launched it will not be in the strength they anticipated. And I think it will be very uncoordinated...."

"When?"

"Today," Moore said firmly.

"Tomorrow," Pluto said, equally firmly.

"And that's what I tell El Supremo?" Pickering asked.

"It's our best shot," Pluto said.

"OK," Pickering said. "Now, how long will it take you to get Hart up to speed on the machine?"

"Not long. He can already type. Not as long as it will take to get him into an officer's uniform, and through the paper shuffling at SWPOA."

"Can I help with that?" Pickering asked.

"Yes, Sir. A word in General Sutherland's ear..."

"No," Pickering said, and smiled at him. "You're a major now, Major. You see what you can do. If you have trouble, then I'll go to Sutherland."

"I'm not a major yet," Pluto said. "It'll take days for the paperwork to get here from Washington."

It took a long time for Pickering to reply.

"How long will it take to get an officer's uniform for Hart?" he asked finally.

"There's an officer's sales store," Moore replied. "No time at all."

"Come with me, please, Major," Pickering said, and motioned the others to come along.

He went to a telephone and dialed a number.

"Colonel Huff, this is General Pickering," he said when there was an answer. "Would you put me through to the Supreme Commander, please?"

There was a slight pause.

"Good morning, General," Pickering said. "Sir, I would like to ask a personal favor."

There was another slight pause.

"Sir, I have just received word that Pluto Hon's long-overdue promotion has come through. I know he would be honored, and I would regard it as a personal favor, if you would pin his new insignia on."

Another pause, slightly longer.

"Thank you very much, Sir. I very much appreciate your kindness."

He hung up. He turned to Pluto Hon.

"Do you think anyone would dare ask you for the paperwork after El Supremo has pinned the brass on you himself?"

"No, Sir."

"Get the right insignia for you and Moore, get a uniform for George. And when you have all that, come back here and get me."

"We're all going to El Supremo's office?" Moore asked. "But you only asked about Pluto."

"It is an old military tactic, Lieutenant, known as Getting the Camel's Nose Under the Tent," General Pickering said. "General MacArthur knows all about it. He'll understand."

[TWO]

USMC Public Relations Office

U.S. Post Office Building

Los Angeles, California

0845 Hours 24 October 1942

When he saw Major Homer C. Dillon, USMCR, walk into the outer office and speak to one of the sergeants, the mind of First Lieutenant Richard B. Macklin, USMC, took something like an abrupt lurch. Dillon was almost certainly asking for him. And the Major inspired decidedly mixed emotions in him.