“So there really are changes being made around here. I’ve noticed it.”

Again Selfer didn’t answer. His eyes kept searching the paper diagram. As soon as he opened his mouth again, Lett interrupted him.

“Where are they sending me?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Selfer said to the paper.

“Why not?”

Selfer banged on the table. He shoved the paper off the table. He stepped over it and stomped around the room. “Because it’s not for you to know,” he barked.

“Says you.”

“Don’t get smart.”

“Then, show me on a map.”

Selfer glared at him. “Whatever you’re doing? You do not want to do it, believe me.”

“Don’t just dump me on a seaplane again without a clue. Please. I might as well have blindfolds on. I’m not a prisoner.”

“Does this look like a prison? Maybe you should be in a stockade, like you should’ve been in the first place.”

Lett let the comment ride. Selfer sighed at his own words. He turned away a moment, deep in thought. He bounded over to the chalkboard. It slid on a track. He pushed it aside to reveal a map of the Pacific Theater on another track. He pointed at spots in the Pacific Ocean.

“Territory of Hawaii,” Selfer said.

“That’s us, yes,” Lett said. “What is this, a guessing game?”

Selfer glared again.

“Okay, okay.” It was a guessing game.

Lett expected Selfer’s finger to move to Oahu again, or across the ocean to Wake Island or Guam or even the Philippines or, conceivably, Japan. Australia maybe. But Selfer’s finger moved rightward, to the eastern edge of the map, where the coastline of the western United States would have begun if the map didn’t end there. His finger stopped just off the map, pressing into the plywood, and he gazed over his shoulder at Lett with wide eyes as if to say, If it’s not on the map, I’m not actually showing you.

The mainland?

“Los Angeles,” Lett said.

Selfer shook his head.

“San Francisco.”

Selfer yanked his finger away as if he’d burned it, still glaring at Lett.

There it was. San Francisco.

Lett felt the same burn in the tips of all his fingers, then it was shooting through him as a shudder. If Selfer was confiding in him like this, Selfer must truly be worried.

“Now, the why?” Lett added.

“Why?” Selfer rushed over to Lett. “All right, fine. It’s an important meeting,” he hissed. “A secret meeting.”

“So. A mission to the mainland, to San Francisco. An important meeting. Security and surveillance. All right. Now, who?”

At first, Selfer didn’t answer. He stared into Lett. He stared back at the map. Eventually he spoke, slowly, deliberately. “Listen. If I could call Lansdale back in here to answer your questions, I would—or to address my questions, for that matter . . .”