He was talking story in Japanese. She didn’t know near enough Japanese words for that. Then he barked at her in Korean, and then it was broken Chinese. She only offered him coy giggles, all the while thinking of China and what the Japanese Army did to the poor people there, and it gave her shudders like ice sliding down her neck. Miss Mae had told her about the Rape of Nanking, the mass raping, the mass murder. More “comfort women” forced into slavery.

All the more reason to make this goon tell her what he knew. But she had to be careful. It was that Edward Lansdale who sent this important person to her—the man Wendell had told her about, and the man who got into that shiny Packard with Frankie.

That morning, the man called Lansdale had cornered her in camp. He was wearing Army khaki without insignia and sunglasses the whole time. He didn’t introduce himself, but she knew it was Edward Lansdale. He was all thin mustache and long face with a sneer trying hard to be a grin. Lansdale told her that they were having a going-away party this evening at the Main House.

“At some point, likely after, a certain guest of ours will be coming to see you. Aren’t you delighted? He asks for ‘comfort,’ as he puts it. He likes to drink, and drink he does. Give him this serum.” Lansdale held out a fist.

She opened her hand. He set a small vial of brown glass into her palm. No one had asked her to do anything like this. It was just chatting and sweet-talking before. Her pulse raced.

“Relax, honey,” Lansdale said. “It’s only a . . . let’s call it a type of truth serum. It loosens him up. He won’t remember.”

“Oh.” She closed her hand, turned it, slid the vial between two fingers.

“There you go. Beginner’s magic trick. No one’s the wiser. Then? Candy from a baby. He’s our friend now, sure he is, but he’s playing hard to get. Hoping to retain his value. So he just needs a little extra special coaxing.”

Lansdale gave her vague instructions: She was to get him talking about what he called the “location.” They needed the location. She thought of asking Lansdale about Frankie, but the act Lansdale was throwing hinted at some real dark mojo. This was the real reason her pulse was racing. She wondered if Wendell had noticed the depth of the darkness. She certainly wasn’t going to ask this Lansdale about Miss Mae either, in case she showed up.

Never speak till you know the score.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” she had said.

Lansdale was still sneer-grinning, showing her all his teeth. “Simply believe that you can,” he’d chirped, “and you’re halfway there to be sure!”