Weapons of choice

There was no threat implicit in Brasch's voice. He spoke as if he was delivering the weather forecast on an unremarkable day. The SS brigadier colored vividly at being addressed so dismissively, but the total lack of emotion in Brasch's demeanor gave him pause.

"I shall see he gets it, Herr Major," he hissed. "And if he is not happy with the contents, I shall make certain he knows of your eagerness for him to see it."

Brasch wasn't intimidated by Hoth's poisonous expression. "I doubt he will derive much joy from the material," he said. "But all the same, in the opinion of the Japanese high command, he needs to see it."

Hoth might have exploded at the notion of Adolf Hitler needing anything sent by an Asian race, but with Hidaka and a handful of other Japanese close by, he restrained himself, snatching the slate away.

"That's better. All fighting on the same side again," cheered Skorzeny. "I, for one, cannot wait to see what you can do with this odd little ship, Hidaka."

"I think even you will be surprised," Hidaka said.

"You hear that, Brasch! Even me, the fellow says. I like him already. He knows me well. Come, let's send poor Hoth on his way quickly. He doesn't like messing about in boats. And we shall have some fun while he is gone. You, Hidaka, tell me all about the fun you had at Pearl Harbor. I am looking forward to killing some cowboys before we are done with this war. But for now, I'll have to content myself with stories from our comrades in the East…"

Skorzeny's bearlike voice filled the room so completely there was no escape.

34

ALA MOANA HOTEL, HONOLULU, 0815 HOURS, 10 JUNE 1942

Some habits die hard. Julia's first instinct on waking was to check her flexipad for messages. She had been mildly obsessive about staying in contact back in the twenty-first, and it would take her a while to shake off the pattern of her first few minutes each day.

There was only one message this morning, which was one more than she'd had most mornings since the Transition. Rosanna had beamed her a quick note in the Moana Hotel's cocktail lounge last night. Just text:

I WANT ALL THE DETAILS, YOU SLUT.

That cut through the Mai Tai hangover as the memories came crashing in on her. She spun around in the old feather bed and-yes-there he was. He was lying on his stomach, not snoring, God bless him. Julia's heart gave a small lurch and she slid over to his side of the mattress, slipping one of her legs in between his as she slowly mounted him from behind and began to nip at his ears. Bristles scratched her chin as he shifted beneath her, coming awake.

"What the hell?" he muttered into the pillow.

"Liberated women," she purred into his ear. "I'm afraid you'll find us very demanding."

Two hours later, at a table in the Moana's courtyard under the banyan tree, Rosanna Natoli leaned forward, her eyes twinkling like those of a squirrel with its mouth full of nuts.

"Quickly, while he's inside-tell me tell me tell me."

Julia shot a quick look at the retreating figure of Dan Black, dispatched to the dining room to fetch them some fruit salad.

"Three little words," she said. "Oh. My. God."

Rosanna simply could not contain her squeal. It pealed out over the courtyard, attracting bemused and irritated looks from the other tables.

"I knew it!" she cried. "Didn't I know it? I could tell from the moment that guy laid eyes on you, baby. He was gagging for it! How'd you bag him?"

"I think it was the riot yesterday. That dude I had to fuck up. I think it kind of excited him. Or maybe he was just too scared to say no."

"Was he, you know, equipped for the job?"

Julia blew out her cheeks, as though she'd been stuffed as full as a Christmas goose. Another shriek pealed off into the brilliant blue sky. Rosanna seemed to be enjoying herself almost as much as her friend had.

An elderly couple at the adjoining table allowed their cutlery to clatter noisily to their plates, but if they thought the two women were about to pay them any heed, they were wrong.

"Time check?" giggled Rosanna.

Julia held up one finger, then two, then three, then four, and then all of the fingers on one hand. She paused for dramatic effect, before holding up two more.

Natoli's mouth dropped open as wide as it possibly could. No screams emerged, but a series of short, high-pitched squeaks, before her lips slammed shut again.

"Seven fucking hours. Literally. I think you might be dating Superman," she said.

"No," said Julia, shaking her head. "Superman's a fag compared with this guy."

"Was he, like, old-fashioned."

"For a while." She smirked. "He's over that now."

"Bragworthy?"

"Bragworthy."

"Goddamn," said Rosanna in wonder.

The aged tourists stood up with as much dignity as they could muster and huffily left their table. The woman, whose hair was tinted a confrontational shade of blue, hissed as she passed by the journalists. Julia simply smiled at her.

"Exit's that way, you old crone. And while you're there, why don't you get a fucking life?"