‘A rather serious incident has occurred in the South Pacific – in Australia of all places – an incident that requires discreet investigation. This investigation must be conducted by a highly trusted political aide, Lyndon, and I intend that political aide to be you.’

The words had been sweet music to young Lyndon Johnson’s ears; he could still hear to this day the president’s every syllable and every nuance. FDR had been his hero, the man he’d hoped and prayed to one day emulate. Which was exactly why he’d decided, should that day come, he too would be known by his initials.

And so I am, he now thought with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. And so I am. Why, my whole god-damned family is LBJ, every darn one of us. His wife’s childhood nickname had always been ‘Lady Bird’ – how fortuitous was that? They’d named their two daughters Lynda Bird and Luci Baines, and they’d even had a dog they’d called Little Beagle Johnson. And the name of his property? Why, the LBJ Ranch, of course. Cufflinks and clothes and household items like ashtrays and mugs all proudly bore his initials. ‘LBJ’ was a loud and clear statement to the world.

‘This incident involves trouble with our black troops in a large, northern Australian port called Townsville,’ FDR had continued, ‘and if it were to become public knowledge the consequences could be disastrous. Despite the fact that as a society we are not yet integrated, our army must be perceived as a united front, black and white soldiers serving our great country side by side. Which is why this most unpleasant incident must be thoroughly investigated. When it has been and the full truth is known, correct action will be taken, of course, but all findings are to be kept strictly confidential. And we need to bear in mind,’ he’d added with a touch of derision, ‘there’s the damned Australian Government we have to contend with. Although given their stance on racial issues, I’m sure they’ll be only too happy to have the whole wretched business swept under the carpet.’

Lyndon had looked a little blank, so Roosevelt had given a nod to Eisenhower for a succinct explanation, which Ike had been happy to deliver in his customary blunt manner.

‘They have down there what they call “the White Australia policy”,’ he said. ‘When we first raised the prospect of sending Negro troops they said they didn’t want them.’

‘Hell,’ this was news to Lyndon, ‘what did we say to that?’

‘We said if no black troops,’ Roosevelt barked, ‘then no US troops! Period!’

‘Needless to say, they changed their tune,’ Ike went on, ‘but the situation remains tense. They need all the help they can get. The bulk of their army is either serving in North Africa or captured by the Japs in Singapore.’

‘I see. How many black troops do we have there?’ Lyndon asked.