“Oh my God, Julia,” Rosanna squealed happily. “You’re killing this poor guy. Just put him out of his fucking misery, would you. Listen, Daniel, my friend here—she’s toying with you like a cat plays with a mouse. My advice is, if you want her, don’t let her get away with it. Hit her with a club and drag her back to your cave. She’ll chain herself to your kitchen stove and start popping out bambinos before you know what’s happened.”

Black gave the impression he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse or tuck his tail between his legs and run like a dog. The three women were obviously enjoying themselves enormously at his expense.

“Maybe we should just parachute-drop you witches straight into Tokyo,” he said in the end. “A few days of your company, and the Japs would be begging us for mercy.”

“Not if they know how to treat a girl,” said Julia.

“Perhaps they could give me a few tips,” Black muttered, before addressing Rosanna. “Miss Natoli,” he said, “you were always invited, by the way. Admiral Spruance wants to talk to you both. It’s nothing heavy, a dinner and a talk. He’s just curious about the future, I guess.”

Chapter 25

25

HICKAM FIELD, HAWAII, 0610 HOURS, 8 JUNE 1942

Slim Jim Davidson couldn’t believe how his luck had run hot and cold since the future had turned up to wreck the Astoria. First and most importantly, there was a chance he might live now. He’d been stunned to discover that he was supposed to die in a few weeks at the Battle of Savo Island. One of the crew on the Leyte Gulf had searched Fleetnet for him—Slim Jim was assiduous about learning the lingo—and had pulled his name out of a database of American war dead.

That was some powerfully spooky shit there.

“Guess you should be glad we turned up to kick your ass instead,” the guy had joked.

But Slim Jim hadn’t thought it was funny at all. It had landed him in a blue funk for two days. He’d only surfaced when Mohr had told him everyone off the Astoria would be moving ashore as soon as they hit Pearl. There was nowhere to berth them on the surviving ships. That got him to thinking on how he might fence the stuff he’d lifted from the Leyte Gulf, which got him to thinking about how much money he stood to make. Which, in turn, led him to the conclusion that if he made enough of the folding stuff he might be able to grease the right wheels and roll right on out of the firing line. Then he could land himself a position more befitting a man of his talents.