“Come in, Admiral,” he said. “I hope you’ve brought glad tidings for a change.”

Pound clutched his briefcase tightly and followed the prime minister through the door. The sound of rapid-fire typing ceased as the secretary jumped up to follow them. “Would you like your breakfast now, sir?” she asked Churchill.

“Kippers and toast,” he barked back.

“And would you like some tea, Sir Dudley?”

Pound said he would, and they seated themselves as she hurried off.

“So, Admiral, what’s this business in the Pacific? I’ve heard some wild rumors so far. I hope you’re not here to add to them.”

Pound took a breath and jumped in at the deep end.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to believe me, Prime Minister, but I have to do this anyway.”

He pulled out the dispatch from Rear Admiral Murray, and a copy of Ambassador Kennedy’s report, which the American had helpfully given him, along with Roosevelt’s handwritten cover note.

As quickly and with as little drama as possible, he informed Churchill of the events at Midway, as he had been told of them. The prime minister’s expression grew more thunderous with each fantastic revelation. Finally, he exploded.

“Enough! Is this your idea of a joke, Admiral?”

Pound’s voice showed not the slightest hint of amusement. “No, Prime Minister, it is my idea of a bad dream.”

Churchill’s head seemed to wobble on his bulbous, unshaven neck as though he were seeing the room in front of him for the first time. He pushed a piece of paper to one side, dragged it back, opened a drawer, presumably to put the paper away, and then simply crumpled it up and dropped it into a wastebasket. Pound half expected him to haul it out and start over again.

“Well, how on earth did this happen? If it did happen.”

The first sea lord was at a loss. Neither Murray’s report nor Ambassador Kennedy could provide him any information that made sense of the situation.

“It appears that even these chap’s who’ve turned up don’t know how it happened,” said Pound.

“And they have Japanese ships and German soldiers sailing with them?” Churchill mused.

“And Russians and Italians and a couple of chaps from places I’ve never even heard of,” Pound added.

“I see. And they’ve got them under guard?”

“Apparently not.” Sir Dudley was just as perplexed by that as the PM.

Churchill sighed deeply. He rubbed his eyes and then his entire face. The rasping sound of his hand on unshaven bristles was the only noise in the room.

“I’m supposed to meet Roosevelt in Washington in a few weeks,” he said. “I suppose we’d better bring forward the schedule.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”

Chapter 30

30

USS HILLARY CLINTON, 1939 HOURS, 9 JUNE 1942

It was quiet as Lieutenant Nguyen sat outside the Clinton’s conference room, nervously holding the plastic folder that contained her briefing notes.