One of the officers from inside ran up crouching and set down a little stepstool before the helicopter’s side door. The door slid open. The officer gestured to help a man out but was dismissed as the man shook him off and bounded down the craft’s built-in stair, skipping over the stepstool and hitting the earth in stride. He was a tall man in all khaki: his loose wrinkled trousers pulled up high, open collar shirt, his ornately embroidered officer’s cap cocked a little, but his aviator sunglasses set straight ahead.

General Douglas MacArthur? It had to be. The officer jogged alongside him, shaking his hand without breaking stride, and the two bounded up the stairs into the main building.

***

Once the general made his entrance, Lett and half his team were assigned to watch over the building while the others got a rest. Lett patrolled closer to the building over the next couple hours. He constantly passed the half-open windows. He could see the main room. It had sofas, and all who’d arrived were gathered there, the staffers speaking to the Japanese, the Japanese speaking to MacArthur, MacArthur speaking to all.

The next time Lett passed, he had to halt a step. He saw that the important Japanese visitor who’d disembarked in Hilo was there—he had a scar and a block of a head with dents like in an old helmet—but he also saw a man he knew. The man now wore the blue uniform of the newly independent United States Air Force and the gold oak leaf of a major.

Lansdale. It was Edward Lansdale. It had to be him. There was that long, squared-off face and that thin mustache. Something made Lett wince, and it took him a moment to realize it. Lansdale’s smile looked more like a grimace to him now, and each time Lett passed the window it started to look more creepy-crawly in that newly created uniform. Yet it seemed to work for the men in the room, whom Lett could hear laughing at Lansdale’s every word, even the Japanese and once or twice MacArthur.

Lett was seeing Lansdale in a new light. But it had been slowly dawning on him, he now understood, like the sun not yet up over the horizon. Now it was out in the open, casting its harsh rays. Lett’s wince became a shiver. Ever since Hilo, he had started to mistrust Lansdale.

While Lett couldn’t make out exact conversations, he could tell the talk was turning serious and focused. This wasn’t a negotiation, but rather a hammering-out. Maps lay on a coffee table at one point. It reminded Lett of one of his many prepatrol meetings up on the line: these men had done this before and knew what did and did not work. At one point they ate, and the aromas of grilled meats and fresh fruit drilled a hole in Lett’s gut.