THE SCORE
Other than the success with the Maru code—and even that had been coming to them, anyway—Isabel was growing nervous that she hadn’t produced any significant results. She blamed part of it on being underground and part of it on the complexity of the ever-changing code. Most messages that they successfully translated had been sent in minor codes, interisland codes or diplomatic codes. Denny and the boys were able to piece together some messages using JN-25, but only through sheer doggedness. She was starting to get the feeling that she was excess baggage with a skirt on.
But on the first day after the trip to Goat Island, a curious thing happened. When Isabel approached the steps into the Dungeon, the usual feeling of dread was absent. Upon entering, the strangling sensation that always wrapped around her chest and snaked up her throat didn’t have the same tight grip. She inhaled deeply as she passed Jones.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully.
Jones gave her a questioning glance. “Had a good weekend, did you, Miss Cooper?”
Was it that obvious?
“It was lovely—if you don’t count the near drowning and the third-degree sunburn,” she said. Every square mile of her body was a bright tomato red, especially the backs of her thighs, which hurt to sit on. Gloria had suggested she bring a pillow, which had been a brilliant idea.
“Sounds like my first time in the ocean, minus the sunburn. Turns out my arms and legs are made of lead,” he said.
Inside, the Dungeon itself looked different. Lighter, more spacious, less ominous. The scent of coffee and the hum of the IBM machines were almost like old friends, and instead of putting her head down and making a beeline for her desk, Isabel said a hello to the traffic analysts and waved to the linguists. Hudson was on a call, so she didn’t bother him. Something about the underwater experience had slung her fear out of orbit. She felt positively giddy, as though she could conquer the world. Or at least the Japanese naval codes.
Bring them on!
Five minutes after she had sat down, Hudson called her to his desk. He motioned for her to sit without even glancing up from his paper.
She eyed the chair. “Mind if I get my pillow? I have a terrible sunburn.”
He set down his pencil slowly and looked up at her. “This should be quick.”
Isabel’s cheery mood drained away in an instant. She sat, gingerly. Leaning his tall frame in and speaking low, he said, “I’m going to get right to the point, Miss Cooper. A few of the boys have commented that you aren’t pulling your weight around here. I was willing to take a woman on because Admiral Sutton pulled some strings, but I’m running a tight operation. If you can’t hack it, I’m going to be forced to send you back to DC.”
Isabel was gobsmacked. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t expect you to say anything, just do your job. And knock off that humming if you can help it. It’s driving everyone nuts,” he said, opening his notebook as though the conversation was finished.
She sat there in shock, swallowing tears and finding it difficult to breathe. “For the record, I did determine that the I1 had been hit. I haven’t been a complete dud,” she said, feeling compelled to defend herself.
“That was Denny, from what I understand.”
What?
She lowered her voice. “No offense to Denny, sir, but I was working on that message. I recognized a few of the words and brought it to him for advice.”
“One of the reasons we work so well here is that no one cares who gets credit. It’s us against the enemy, not us against each other,” he said.
“I know—”
He cut her off. “Look. I know you’re a smart girl, but CIU may not be the best fit for you. Prove I’m wrong and I’m happy to keep you,” he said.
“I’ll do that, sir,” she said, tapping her temple in a salute.
Being sent back to Washington was an impossibility. She had work to do here, and still so many places to see with Matteo Russi.
Isabel did not eat lunch; she ignored the fact that the back of her crisp thighs were sticking to her dress, and for the first time, she was actually able to focus on the messages coming across her desk. Little did Hudson know that threats against her intellect were her secret weapon. Challenge accepted.
The latest message was a short one but labeled Ultra. Denny had handed it off to her while he rushed off to consult with the linguists on another apparently more important message. As usual, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and Isabel felt guilty. While she’d been off frolicking with Matteo, Denny had probably slept here. She decided then and there that she needed to put in more time. Take a step back from Matteo, who had lately become an affliction. More and more on her mind. This was not like her.
Recent intelligence had come in that a Japanese floatplane had been spotted near Rabaul in Papua New Guinea. Floatplanes often patrolled ahead of IJN convoys to spot enemy submarines. Then aerial photographs from a US reconnaissance plane showed a stocking-up of ships in port at Rabaul. Something big was in the works. But no one could say what it was.
With this particular message, the TA guys had determined it was from the 11th Air Fleet to headquarters in Rabaul. The paper itself contained a certain static electricity, which often happened when she’d encountered an important message. One of those feelings that came when you held enough encrypted messages in your hand. A crackle that hopped from paper to hand.
Isabel took her time in going through the code groups. One stood out to her as familiar, and she checked the book. Convoy. She sat up straighter, tapped her pencil on the desk. Anything to avoid humming. Another of the five-letter groups looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it, so she got up and walked over to Ziegler.
“This one is eluding me, though it looks familiar. Do you recognize it?” she asked him.
Ziegler was hunched over a half-decrypted message and eating sunflower seeds, but he quickly shoved his work aside to help her. “Hmm,” he said, staring at it for a few moments. “I believe it’s destroyer. Hang on, lemme check.”
He leafed through a notebook filled with illegible writing. Isabel held her breath.
“Yep. Destroyer, it is,” he said looking up at her as the implication dawned on them both. “As Denny would say, fucking A!”
A destroyer would bolster the convoy theory.
Isabel’s pulse sped up. “Do you want to decrypt this one together? I could use the help.”
“Hell, yes, pull up your chair,” he said, swiping notebooks, papers and debris from the desk.
They split up the message. Something about Ziegler put her at ease. Whip smart and the fastest crippie of the bunch, he nonetheless reminded her of a clumsy puppy. Within minutes of starting, he had his pencil between his teeth and was gnawing on it like a bone.
Ten minutes later, Ziegler pounded a fist on the desk. “This one is March and that is five. Something’s going down on March 5. You got anything?”
“Not yet,” she said self-consciously.
“My gut tells me this is big. Keep at it, you’re doing great,” he said, then spoke under his breath. “Don’t worry about Hudson. Sometimes he gets a hair up his ass. He’s under so much pressure right now. We all are. Just do the best you can.”
His encouragement was just what she needed. They plugged away for a while longer when Isabel got a hunch. Messages often followed a similar format, and the way this one was organized, she hypothesized that the last code groups were locations. She pulled up the book with place names and began scanning through it for a match. Now that the Japanese were out of Guadalcanal, they had to be mobilizing to go somewhere. Activity had been bumping up in the Southwest Pacific, so she searched there first. A few minutes later, bingo. One name lined, up, then another.
“I’ve got it!” she said, a little louder than she meant.
Hudson raised his head and glanced over.
“Wewak, Madang and Lae. The convoy is headed for Papua New Guinea. Have a look,” she said to Ziegler.
Ziegler checked the codebook, but she knew she was right. That was the beauty of numbers. They never lied.
He jumped up, limbs flailing around. “Oh, boy. Hudson needs to see this!”
She remained in her seat. He motioned for her to come along. Reluctantly, she did.
“Sir, Miss Cooper and I might have just discovered where all those ships in Rabaul intend to go,” he said, shoving the paper under Hudson’s nose.
Isabel stood quietly with her hands behind her back.
“You sure about this? What did the linguists say?” Hudson asked, taking a puff on his pipe and blowing it off to the side.
“I’m on my way there now. But we have Rabaul, convoy, destroyer, March 5 and the three islands. I think it’s safe to say that’s what’s cooking,” Ziegler said.
Just then, Denny returned. “What’s up?”
Ziegler told him.
Denny looked at Isabel. “Not bad, Cooper,” he said.
Her cheeks burned.
“Thank you.”
For the rest of the week, she worked longer hours in the Dungeon, and at night spent time beating Gloria at chess and studying Japanese language and characters. Gloria was a good sport at losing.
“You sure this ring isn’t a consolation prize rather than a friendship ring?” she said.
Isabel laughed. “I got the ring before I beat you, so that doesn’t hold up.”
“I never stood a chance, and you know that. But the funny thing is, I don’t mind losing to you. After all these years being the only girl in my family, it feels like I finally have a sister.”
Isabel had always thought it would be neat to have a sister. Another girl in the house, especially after her mom died. But having Walt for a brother made up for it and then some. Now with Walt gone, it was nice to have someone who was beginning to feel like family.
When Gloria tired of losing, Isabel turned to the Japanese language books. Sure, the kana was easier, because it was romanized and they needed that in order to transmit via Morse code, but the calligraphy was far more interesting to Isabel—each one a tiny work of art. It didn’t take long for her to memorize many of the characters. They stuck in her mind like stamps. In her dictionary, rather than alphabetically, they were arranged by meaning. It made perfect sense.
But there was a problem. Namely, Matteo Russi. While at work she’d been able to concentrate better, at home her mind continuously wandered to the past Saturday at Goat Island. The way his eyes traveled up and down her body. The feel of the coral heart on her skin. Hot breath against her neck. Friendship was fine, but the realization came that friendship might not be enough.
Not with him.
She was off in a daydream trying to convince herself that she had not in fact fallen for him when Gloria came out to fetch a glass of tonic. “Looks like someone is distracted.”
“Just giving my eyes a break.”
“You aren’t fooling me. I know that look. Ever since this weekend, you’ve had your head in the clouds. You have a thing for Matteo Russi. Why not admit it?” Gloria said, with her hands on her hips.
“Because there are so many reasons not to.”
“The heart doesn’t care about reasons.”
“Well, I do.”
“Tell me the main one.”
Isabel thought for a moment. “Matteo himself has said many times that he is not looking for anything serious. He has this belief that he’s not coming out of this war alive. And I can’t lose anyone else. It would do me in.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s much too late for that. What else?”
Cracking JN-25 was a big reason, but she couldn’t mention that to Gloria.
“I refuse to date a known womanizer.”
Gloria nodded. “Okay, that’s fair. But even known womanizers can change their stripes with the right person. I say you see what happens. There’s no need to make any big decisions at this point in the game, but don’t rule Matteo out. You obviously have feelings for the man.”
She could at least admit that. “A little.”
“Lord, you’re insufferable! For the past few weeks, it’s been Russi this, Matteo that. I wasn’t born yesterday, I know love when I see it.”
“Love?”
“You heard me,” Gloria said, marching off to bed.
Was that what this was?
Lord help her.
Good fortune came on a Friday morning. Isabel was working on decrypting a message when Hudson strode in from his morning meeting at fleet headquarters. He was moving at a faster pace than usual, dropped a thick manila folder on his desk, then came straight to their area. A few heads across the room turned, but then went back to their own business.
“We got the books,” he said in his typical understated fashion.
Denny set down his pencil and looked up. “What books?”
“Divers at Guadalcanal recovered five books from the sub that went aground. The boys there claim one is a superceded JN-25 codebook,” he said.
Denny sat for a moment with his mouth open, then said, “Fucking A.”
Isabel felt as though she were in a movie theater, watching a major drama unfold. Every cryptanalyst dreamed of recovering enemy codebooks.
“This calls for a drink,” Ziegler said, pulling out a flask and taking a swig.
Hudson didn’t bat an eye.
“We have a courier bringing them in next week, flying in on a transport. Say your prayers, fellas,” he said.
No one corrected him and Isabel wasn’t about to. Being lumped in with the fellas was standard procedure around here. You just swallowed it.
“I guess this means we’ll be sleeping here for a while,” Denny said.
Ziegler pulled out four shot glasses from a messy drawer, even though it was still early. “This could be the best thing that’s ever happened to us. Other than the invention of Spam,” he said with a chuckle.
He poured everyone a glass, then held his up. “To taking these bastards down.”
“To the bottom of the fucking ocean,” Denny added with a clink of his glass.
Isabel could certainly drink to that.