"You're also an actor?" Charity said to Ustinov.

"A lousy one," Niven answered for him, "if you consider how he plays the role of batman."

Ustinov gave him the finger again.

"And I offer that one with quite a bit more malice than the first," Ustinov said.

Niven made a dramatic, wide-eyed face and slapped his chest with an open palm.

"Well, then," Niven said, "that must mean only one thing!"

"Precisely!" Ustinov said.

"Private, hand me the Genever," Niven said formally. "I hereby declare this the commencement of Attitude Adjustment Hour. Make that Hours, Hours, plural!" plural!"

Charity saw that Commander Fleming was shaking his head. But she also saw that he was grinning widely.

Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens was smiling, too.

And Lieutenant Commander Montagu seemed resigned at this point to the course of events becoming out of his control.

Ustinov took the bottle of liquor he had pulled from the bag, placed it in front of Niven, then glanced over his shoulder at the bar.

"Appears to be a bit crowded over there," he said to Niven.

Niven looked to see, then said, "Not a problem."

He stood, walked over to the dashing suit of armor, and pulled the sword from its baldric. He raised the weapon above his head and pointed its tip across the room.

"To the bar!" he cried out.

This, of course, caught the attention of the crowd at the bar, as did the fact that he had started in their direction. They watched in rapt fascination.

But whether from the fog of booze or from the disbelief in what was happening-or, more likely, from the fact that everyone there was either a student or graduate of Dick Canidy's Throat-Cutting and Bomb-Throwing Academy-no one moved from their place.

And this did not go unnoticed by Ustinov. He quickly got up from the table and went after Niven to intervene.

By the time Ustinov reached Niven, the would-be swashbuckler had stopped in his tracks and quickly brought down the sword.

"Damn blade is heavy!" Niven announced. "And Errol Flynn made it look so easy at the beach house. The sorry bastard must've used a prop."

Ustinov grinned. He had heard the legendary stories of the wild parties thrown for the Hollywood crowd at the bachelor pad that Niven had shared with Flynn. Their wry neighbor, one Cary Grant, had dubbed the dwelling "Cirrhosis-by-the-Sea."

"I can handle things at the bar," Ustinov said.

Niven looked at the bar crowd. Most of the men had turned their attention back to their drinks and conversation. Then he looked at Ustinov and said, "Very well, Private."

As Niven marched back and returned the sword to its baldric, Ustinov went to the bar-then behind it. Both returned to the table at the same time. Ustinov carried a tray, on which were a bucket of ice, two tall, heavy glass shakers, a strainer, and six martini glasses. He put the tray on the table.

"Very good, Private," Niven said. "Well done."

He looked at the crowd at the table and intoned formally, "On behalf of the British Empire and Winston Churchill, I bring to you the Prime Minister's personal martini cocktail recipe. Would you allow me the privilege of sharing it?"

Everyone was grinning.

Charity said formally, "As we have been instructed to interact with our British hosts in any and every positive way possible, I do believe it would be an honor."

Niven smiled.

"Delightful," he said. "Then, with the assistance of my batman, off we go."

Niven lined up the six glasses in two rows of three. Ustinov held up the bucket of ice toward him.

"First, as I'm sure you're aware, one must chill the glass," he explained.

Niven then placed ice cubes in the glasses and spun each glass by delicately turning the stem back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.

With Ustinov continuing to hold the ice bucket, Niven then filled one of the tall, heavy glass shakers with ice. He uncorked the bottle of liquor and poured the shaker just shy of full.

"We keep a healthy stock of Genever in the closet of Private Ustinov's room at the Claridge," he said with a conspiratorial wink to Charity.

"Genever?" Charity asked, prepared to learn yet another new foreign item.

"It's along the lines of gin," Niven explained. "Wheat or rye is used as the spirit base of gin. Juniper berries flavor it. Genever Genever is the Dutch word for 'juniper,' and so some overachieving Brit along the way decided to shorten that to is the Dutch word for 'juniper,' and so some overachieving Brit along the way decided to shorten that to gin. gin. Which is not exactly correct, as Genever is actually a mixture of rye, wheat, corn, and barley. Our British gin, however, has accents of citrus-the peels of lemon and orange-its pale color coming from aging three months in charred oak barrels." Which is not exactly correct, as Genever is actually a mixture of rye, wheat, corn, and barley. Our British gin, however, has accents of citrus-the peels of lemon and orange-its pale color coming from aging three months in charred oak barrels."

"Fascinating," Charity said.

"Don't be too impressed. He used to be a booze salesman," Fleming said drily. "In the States, of all places. Ever hear of Jack and Charlie's?"

"In New York? Of course, the '21' Club," Charity said.

"That's the one," Fleming said.

Charity found herself going on: "Jack Kriendler and Charlie Berns are cousins. They opened a speakeasy in Greenwich Village to pay for school. After a few moves, it wound up at 21 West Fifty-second Street."

"Well done," Stevens said.

Charity blushed.

The one damn thing I know about in all our conversation, she thought, she thought, and it's the history of a bar my father took me to when he was in the city on business. and it's the history of a bar my father took me to when he was in the city on business.

Charity looked at Niven, who now had covered the tall glass shaker that was full with the other shaker and proceeded to vigorously shake the liquor and ice inside.

"Coincidentally, the key to a perfectly chilled beverage is twenty-one shakes," Niven announced. "Not twenty, not twenty-two. Twenty-one exactly."

"So it is true you were the first bartender at '21'?" Charity said.

Niven shook his head. "Not bartender. I was a twenty-two-year-old chap fresh out of Sandhurst when I went to work as the first salesman for Charlie's booze. He was calling it '21' Brands. It was 1934, the year after the Yanks repealed prohibition. I was an aspiring actor who was exactly that-aspiring-and I desperately needed money. Used to be a photo of me on the wall."

"Still is," Ed Stevens said.

Niven separated the shakers and put the strainer on the mouth of the one with the chilled liquor in it. Ustinov dumped the ice from the martini glasses back into the ice bucket. Then Niven began pouring each glass three-quarters full.

"Glad to hear I'm still famous somewhere," Niven said to Stevens, then looked down at the martini glasses. He turned to Ustinov. "Are we not forgetting something?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then Ustinov said, "Oh, yes."

He produced a half-liter bottle of sweet vermouth from his trouser pocket.

"So sorry," Ustinov said, a grimace on his moon face.

Niven held out his hand, waving his fingers in a mock-impatient I'll take that I'll take that motion. motion.

"Now, this is the very critical part," Niven said. "One Mr. Churchill was very kind as to instruct me."

With great drama, he unwrapped the foil from the top of the bottle of vermouth, then quickly worked the cork free.

"Watch carefully," he said.

He dramatically moved the bottle of vermouth far away from the glasses, then, holding the cork between forefinger and thumb, he swiftly passed the cork over the top of the glasses.

He then quickly returned the cork to the open neck of the bottle and pushed it in noisily with a smack of the palm of his hand.

Charity Hoche let loose a pleasant peal of laughter.

"Very nicely done," she said. "I believe that would be what is called a dry martini."

"Very dry," Niven said, smiling.

"And it should be noted," Fleming added, "shaken, not stirred."

Niven picked up one glass, raised it to his lips, took a sip, then sighed.

"Perfection!" he exclaimed.

He motioned to the other glasses.

"Please, enjoy."

After the first of the martinis disappeared, Major David Niven instructed Private Peter Ustinov to begin preparing a second round using the Prime Minister's personal martini recipe.

Lieutenant Ed Stevens emptied his glass, then got up from his chair. He walked around the table to where First Lieutenant Charity Hoche sat conversing with Commander Ian Fleming.

Stevens touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Excuse me for interrupting," Stevens said. "Charity, before we get too deep into this next round, could I please have a word with you?"

She looked up at him, as if awaiting some explanation.

Stevens added, "Just a bit of housekeeping before the night gets away from us."

He nodded toward the main door.

Charity Hoche stood, and everyone else at the table still seated also stood.

"If you'll please excuse me," she said.

As Stevens and Charity left, everyone but Ustinov, counting aloud as he stood shaking the shaker, returned to their seats.

Stevens and Charity walked to the doorway, then went through it.

Outside the pub, in the main corridor of Whitbey House, the noise level dropped noticeably.

"Good," Stevens said. "Now I can at least hear myself."

"What's this all about?" Charity asked.

"This is not something that David or Ian could not hear," Stevens explained. "I just wanted to make sure that you heard it, that it didn't get lost in the noise in there, and you could have time to think about it."

"Okay."

"This situation with Operation Mincemeat. David Bruce still is smarting about having been left out of the loop for the Manhattan Project. Now that wound has been reopened because he thinks he's also been kept in the dark on Mincemeat. He thought that I knew about the op, and it took some real work from David to convince him otherwise."

Charity nodded.

"I had no idea about it before David and Ian called yesterday after they had run into John Ford."

Ford, at forty-seven, was a real heavy hitter in Hollywood. Now he was using his award-winning filmmaking skills on the front lines-and getting injured in the process. The documentary he'd made in 1942, The Battle of Midway, The Battle of Midway, had won an Academy Award. had won an Academy Award.

Stevens went on: "He's the chief of our Field Photographic Branch. He has been helping set up shop at London Station and getting ready to go back into the field. When Niven found out that he was there, he took the idea of Mincemeat to him. Next thing I know, I'm involved."

"And so you moved the op out here."

"It was the logical thing to do," Stevens said. He paused, then went on. "But there's another pressing problem that brings me out here."

Charity's face was questioning.

Stevens explained: "I need you to find Ann Chambers as soon as possible."

"I have no idea where she is," she said. "I've been thinking about her, wondering, but I don't have a clue."

"No one does. And that's the problem. Her father is demanding to know what we know, to know what Dick Canidy knows."

Charity's eyebrows went up.