He stared at them, watching and waiting for what seemed like half an hour.

Then he said, "Fuck it. Close enough."

And pulled off his hood and mask.

"I don't smell anything," Tubes said, standing on the wet deck.

"You wouldn't," Canidy said. "Tabun is odorless."

"No. I mean corpses. If there were dead bodies, there would be the stench of the dead. It's been-what?-eight, nine days."

"Depends on the wind direction," Canidy said. "But good point."

Two crewmen were pulling the folding kayaks onto the deck. Canidy watched as the wooden-framed, canvas-hulled craft were assembled quickly and put in the water, tethered to the sub by a short line.

Canidy lowered his rubberized black duffel with the Johnson light machine gun, ammo, and other gear in his boat. He put one of the green suitcase radios in beside it. Then, after struggling to crawl in after them, he got to his knees and looked up at the sub.

"So this is your idea of bon voyage, eh?" Canidy said to L'Herminier.

L'Herminier shrugged.

"Jesus!" Canidy exclaimed. "This is akin to a high-wire act! I suddenly long for my little rubber boat...and I use the term boat boat loosely." loosely."

"If it makes you feel any better," L'Herminier said, "I understand that General Clark took a swim from one of these kayaks when the Seraph Seraph snuck him into North Africa before Operation Torch. At least you got aboard." snuck him into North Africa before Operation Torch. At least you got aboard."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Canidy said. "I feel like I'm getting soaked just sitting in this thing."

"He had the same sort of problem, apparently. Story is, he'd taken off his trousers to keep them dry and keep safe the gold coins he carried in the trouser pockets. Or so he thought. The seas were rather rough-nothing like this here-and it all went in the drink. Clark clung to the boat while his trousers and gold found the sea bottom."

"Thanks, Jean. That really gives me a sense of encouragement."

Once Canidy got settled in the kayak, L'Herminier called down, "You forgot something."

Canidy looked up and saw one of the crewmen holding the box of mice, in which Adolf and Eva had rejoined the others.

"Like hell I did," Canidy said. "Give 'em to Tubes. There's room for more than one big rodent on his raft."

"Hey!" Tubes protested.

Canidy looked at Nola and surprised himself by quoting, "'But when it comes to slaughter / You will do your work on water.'"

Nola did not say anything at first, then asked, "What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure," Canidy said. "But in a very warped way, Gunga Din, I think it means we now go ashore."

"That's Kipling!" Tubes said, putting the box of mice in his kayak beside the suitcase radio.

"Yeah, that's Kipling," Canidy said. "Now paddle. And on the QT. We'll be in touch, Jean."

"Go with God," L'Herminier said.

[ONE].

OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 1320 3 April 1943 A large rectangular platter on the side table held the remnants of the luncheon. What had been a small mountain formed from a variety of sandwiches that had been cut into quarters-sliced ham and turkey, chicken and tuna salads-now was almost completely gone. The large glass bowl of mayonnaise potato salad next to it had been practically scraped clean.

The kitchen staff had prepared fresh pots of coffee and hot water for tea and brought in clean cups and silverware. They now efficiently cleared the plates from the table and the large platter and bowl from the side table.

"I do hope you will excuse my ill manners," Commander Ian Fleming said. "I shamelessly helped myself to too much food."

"You should should be ashamed," Major David Niven said to him between sips of tea. "And should you not be, I am prepared to be ashamed for you. Such an example of an officer and a gentleman you are setting for the young Private Ustinov here." be ashamed," Major David Niven said to him between sips of tea. "And should you not be, I am prepared to be ashamed for you. Such an example of an officer and a gentleman you are setting for the young Private Ustinov here."

There were chuckles around the table from First Lieutenant Charity Hoche, Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens, and the Duchess Stanfield.

"I am am quite impressionable," Peter Ustinov said as he stole the last quarter square of tuna salad sandwich from Niven's plate. quite impressionable," Peter Ustinov said as he stole the last quarter square of tuna salad sandwich from Niven's plate.

Niven looked at him in mock disgust.

"Well," Commander Ewen Montagu said, motioning toward the typewriters at the table, "shall we get on with it?"

"So we shall," Niven said and sat down in front of one of the Oliver typewriters, the Special Model 15.

"You're going to do this?" Fleming said.

"And why would I not?" Niven said. "We could have Ustinov here do it, but, then, it would take forever with the way he hunt-and-pecks out the characters with his index fingers."

"This first one is to be from the father to the son," Montagu said, reaching into the box and producing a small stack of letterhead from a hotel in Wales. "He's of course aware of the pending marriage, and, as a father would, is getting papers in order."

Niven looked at the Oliver, then at the Hermes Model 5 beside it.

"Then I'd better use that one," he said, getting up and sitting in front of the Hermes. "The Olivers should be used only for government correspondence."

"Right," Montagu said. He pulled out a second sheet of letterhead, then put it beside the Hermes. "Now, before you begin, you should know that the name of the solicitor firm is McKenna and Company." He pointed that out on the new letterhead. "My wife's brother F.A.S Gwatkin works there and agreed to provide this."

"I think I can make that work, with some minor changes," Niven said smugly.

"David," Montagu said, "we really should be rather faithful to-"

Niven held up his hand and said lightly, "Trust me."

"Last time I heard him say that," Fleming said, standing up and stepping behind Niven to read over his shoulder, "I was a wealthier man."

Niven turned to the Hermes. He picked up a sheet of hotel letterhead and fed it into the typewriter platen, rotating the sheet by expertly working the long, chromed carriage-return arm.

He placed his fingers on the keys of the typewriter in the practiced manner of a skilled typist. After again looking at the McKenna letterhead beside the typewriter, he stared at the ceiling in thought, then turned his attention to the blank sheet in the typewriter.

And began typing.

But, to everyone's astonishment, not just typing-his fingers flew in a frenzy, the machine noisily making a rapid series of clack-clack-clack clack-clack-clacks . . As he went, this was then punctuated by the As he went, this was then punctuated by the ding! ding! of the bell at the end of each line and then the of the bell at the end of each line and then the rip-whir rip-whir as Niven worked the carriage return that advanced the sheet one line and reset the platen for the typing to begin again at the left margin. And then came another chorus of as Niven worked the carriage return that advanced the sheet one line and reset the platen for the typing to begin again at the left margin. And then came another chorus of clack-clack-clack clack-clack-clacks....

Black Lion Hotel Mold, North Wales Tele. No. 98 13th April, 1943 My Dear William I cannot say that this Hotel is any longer as comfortable as I remember it to have been in pre-war days. I am, however, staying here as the only alternative to imposing my self once more upon your aunt whose depleted staff & strict regard for fuel economy (which I agree to be necessary in wartime) has made the house almost uninhabitable to a guest, at least one my age. I propose to be in Town for the nights of the 20th & 21st of April, when no doubt we shall have an opportunity to meet. I enclose the copy of a letter which I have written to Gwatkin of McKenna's about your affairs. You will see that I have asked him to lunch with me at the Carlton Grill (which I understand still to be open) at a quarter to one on Wednesday the 21st.

I should be glad if you would make it possible to join us. We shall not however wait luncheon for you, so I trust that, if you are able to come, you will make a point of being punctual.

Your cousin Elizabeth Charity

"Elizabeth Charity?" Fleming said, reading over Niven's shoulder. "Who's that?"

Niven nodded at the Duchess and Charity, who clearly also were wondering about the mysterious but familiar-sounding relative.

"May I finish without having my every period and comma called into question?"

They all suddenly looked like schoolchildren reprimanded by the headmaster.

Niven's fingers flew on, the clack-clack-clack clack-clack-clacks filling the air:

Your cousin Elizabeth Charity has asked to be remembered to you. She has grown into a sensible girl, though I cannot say that her work for the Land Army has done much to improve her looks. In that respect, I am afraid that she will take after her father's side of the family.

He pulled the sheet from the typewriter, picked up an ink pen, then handwrote the closing: Your affectionate Father. Your affectionate Father.

The page was passed around the table for review. When Charity and the Duchess read the final paragraph, they both inhaled dramatically.

Niven stood his ground.

"If there can be a shiny balding David with a perky Adam's apple," he said, dramatically, "then, by God, there can be a homely Elizabeth Charity!"

Montagu didn't know what to say.

Fleming shook his head, smiling, but said, "Well, mentioning the cousin-injecting a family oddity in an otherwise-businesslike message-does add an element of authenticity."

"Very well," Montagu said. "Next, we need a letter from the father to the solicitor-"

"A copy copy of the letter that went to the solicitor," Ed Stevens put in. of the letter that went to the solicitor," Ed Stevens put in.

"Right," Montagu said. "Good touch, Colonel."

Stevens shrugged. "I've been absolutely useless sitting here."

"Nonsense," Fleming replied. "Having a monitor is quite helpful. As you just proved."

"So, a copy of a letter that the father sent to his counsel," Niven said.

He looked at Montagu.

"I'll of course require a sheet of copying paper," Niven said.

Montagu produced a box of the papers and handed a single sheet to Niven.

Niven took it, put it between two fresh sheets of hotel letterhead, then, with some difficulty, fed all that into the Hermes. They went in slightly off center, and he pulled on the lever that allowed him to square the sheet to the platen. Then he made sure he had the McKenna letterhead handy in order to copy the address.

"Gwatkin?" Niven said to Montagu.

"F.A.S. Gwatkin," Montagu confirmed, then spelled the last name for him.

Niven nodded and began typing:

Black Lion Hotel Mold, North Wales Tele. No. 98 10th April, 1943 Dear Mr. Gwatkin,I have considered your recent letter concerning the Settlement which I intend to make on the occasion of William's marriage. The provisions which you outline appear to me reasonable except in one particular. Since in this case the wife's family will not be contributing to the settlement, I do not think it proper that they should necessarily preserve, after William's death, a life interest in the funds which I am approving. I should agree to this course only were there children in the marriage. Will you therefore so re-draft the Settlement as to provide that if there are children the income is paid to the wife only until such time as she remarries or the children come of age. After that date the children alone should benefit.I intend to be in London for the two nights of the 20th & 21st of April. I should be glad if you could make it convenient to take luncheon with me at the Carlton Grill at a quarter to one on Wednesday 21st. If you will bring the new draft with you, we shall have leisure to examine it afterwards. I have written to William & hope that he will be able to join us.

Yrs. Sincerely, F.A.S. Gwatkin, Esq.

McKenna & Co.

14 Waterloo Place, London, S.W.1.

He pulled the sheets from the typewriter, put them flat on the table, then handed Fleming a new pen from the box.

"Sign the top copy 'J.G. Martin,' so that it copies to the other page," Niven said.

When he had done that, Niven peeled off the top sheet from the copy sheet.

"Now write 'copy,' all caps, at the top of this one."

"Very well done," Fleming said after he had added the word. "That bit about the kids. Where did you get that?"

"From my uncle," Niven said, looking at Fleming as he handed the letter to Montagu. "He used very much the same language in his papers when my cousin-his son-prepared for marriage. Uncle Alex was frightfully worried that the woman was-as that delightful American phrase puts it-a gold digger. There was quite a large sum of money at risk, and his legal paper was far more complicated than this bit I just used."

"Interesting that you mention money," Montagu said. "We will need to address the personal spending habits of Major Martin. First, however, let's get finished with the legal part."

Montagu had folded in thirds the copy of the letter Niven had just given him and now was repeatedly unfolding and refolding it.