THE DEPARTURE
In the Dungeon, they waited. The recovered codebooks were to be brought in that afternoon, and for once, Isabel was not the only one having a hard time focusing. The bad news was, the Japanese had changed the codes. They weren’t stupid.
But they hadn’t changed the additives.
By midafternoon, Denny had finished his third sandwich and Ziegler was pacing every five minutes instead of ten. Hudson had been making the rounds from station to station, checking in for any signs that the Japanese were onto them. Isabel stared at the same message she’d been working on all day with no success whatsoever. There were more pencil marks than code.
And then the door opened. Jones stood up and greeted Admiral Lawton himself. Though not a Dungeon inhabitant, Lawton had been a key player in the Battle of Midway, and he had a direct line to Hudson. It was no secret that everyone down here worshipped him. Trim and dapper, he carried a large briefcase in each hand, and set them on Hudson’s desk. The entire room went silent and only the deep thrum of the machines could be heard in the background.
“Gentlemen, what we have here are codebooks, maps, charts, diaries and the ship’s log. As you know, the IJN tried their damnedest to destroy that sub over the last few days, everything from strapping depth charges to shooting torpedoes to dive-bombing with Vals. But we stopped them. I know you were hoping for a cipher machine, but these will have to do,” he said with a sly smile.
Hudson called out to everyone in the room, “Get your butts over here, stat.”
Lawton snapped open the first case with a loud click. Isabel stood on the outskirts and watched with the kind of anticipation you’d have waiting for a baby to be delivered. Not that she’d ever seen one, but still.
“Some of this stuff is for the crippies, and some for the linguists. The diaries could be gold and need to be translated yesterday. I’m told some of the codebooks are for future versions so those are priority, too. Hell, all of it is priority. They had to dry them out on the radio receiver on the island, so they’re brittle. I don’t need to tell you to treat them as if your life depends on it. Because it could,” he said.
He carefully set each piece on a folding table Jones had set up. Isabel could scarcely believe what lay in front of them. A large red hardbound book with not only the current Japanese naval codes but also reserve editions slated to go into effect in the near future. A slew of thinner folders and pamphlets full of additives tables and call signs. Grid charts, area designators. Even diaries of several of the sailors aboard. She felt her heartbeat in her ears. No one spoke a word as they stared at the goods. A fatal error on the part of Japanese submariners. She wondered if she would have had the wherewithal to save the codebooks—or save herself.
“Chance of a lifetime, right here,” Hudson said, rolling up his sleeves.
Ziegler looked to be drooling. “God bless those Kiwis.”
Lawton slowly swung his head around the room, making eye contact with everyone in the group. “Get to it.”
When he reached Isabel, his green eyes leveled her. “Miss Cooper, here’s your opportunity to shine.”
He knew her name?
“Absolutely, sir,” was what came out.
Lawton then said, “Oh, and, Bird, we captured one of their men on the sub. Be ready to help with the interrogation.”
Once Lawton left, Hudson and Denny sorted through the material, handling it like fine china. Hudson gave the diaries to Bird for translating, the charts to the TA guys. Much like Christmas morning, there was something for everyone.
Bird leafed through one of the diaries. “Fuck, this whole thing is in sosho.” He picked up another. “Same with this.”
“There a problem with that?” Hudson asked.
“No one here reads sosho.”
Isabel perked up. Sosho was what she had been studying all these months. The cursive writing.
She held up a hand. “I do. Some, at least.”
“How in hell do you know sosho?” Bird asked.
“I’ve been learning it, along with kana,” she said. “For fun.”
He laughed. “No one I know has ever said learning Japanese characters is fun. But okay, I’ll take it. How about you work your way through this and see what we get.”
Denny cut in. “Hang on, we need all hands on deck with the codebooks. Even though they’ve changed it, we can still cross-reference all our old messages. Those are number one.”
Isabel felt more in demand than she had since arriving. “I can look at the diaries at night.”
Hudson spoke in that calm voice he was known for. “It’s all number one. Right now, we all just work until we’re done. You know the drill.”
And so they did. For the next few days, Isabel lived in the Dungeon, coming up only to sleep for a few hours at night. By day, there were many ooh and aah moments, where they were able to look back and see where they’d been right with past messages, and where they’d gone wrong.
Thoughts of Matteo temporarily faded into the background, but did not disappear. She kept telling herself maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. She was also happy she didn’t have to explain her long hours to Gloria, because Gloria was hardly home. Thanks to Dickie.
On a particularly balmy evening, Isabel decided to take an actual break for a few hours, and she had the radio on loud, playing Hawaiian music. She was lying on the couch, half in a dream about thick vines and sunken submarines, when a knock came at the door. She bolted upright. It was almost nine, the witching hour when everyone had to be in their homes.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s me, Matteo,” he said, sounding impatient.
Her heart dropped to her knees. “What are you doing here?” she said.
“If you let me in, I’ll tell you.”
Wearing only underwear and bra, she slipped on a robe and went to the door, smoothing out her smooshed hair. Matteo was on the step, outlined in moonlight.
“Hi,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
“No, it’s fine. I was just unwinding.”
Matteo made no move to enter. “I came by yesterday—no one was around.”
“Work has been busy.”
“Emptying all those ashtrays, huh?”
“You’d be surprised.”
He chuckled. “I bet I would. So, you gonna invite me in? I wanted to give you this before we leave,” he said, holding something up.
Leave?
Still dazed from her dream, Isabel stepped aside. “Come in, sorry. Let me put the drapes down so I can switch on the light.”
He brushed past her, smelling of his own particular brand of man—salty, with notes of airplane and sky. He remained by the door until the light was on, and only then did she see he was in uniform. Normally, uniforms didn’t do much for her, but he looked so sharp and dignified. More handsome than he had a right to.
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“We ship out tomorrow. Wish I could say where we’re going, but I don’t even know.”
She felt it between her shoulder blades. A Hawai‘i without Matteo would not be the same. “Nor would you tell me if you did,” she said.
“True. But I’d want to tell you. Just like I know you want to tell me what you do,” he said, fixing her in place with his gaze.
“Please. You know I can’t,” she whispered.
That same strange electricity buzzed about the room, hovering between them like radio static. She rubbed her arms to diffuse it but nothing happened.
He held out an album. “Here. I assembled this for you,” he said, voice strangely shy.
Isabel took it and sat on the couch. He joined her, keeping a safe distance, an arm’s length away. On the cover, he’d written in neat block print, Walt & Izzy. And below that, From Hawai‘i, With Love. She had no words, and her throat tightened as she opened the book.
The light was dim, but there would be plenty of time to view it more closely in the daylight. On the first page was a large photo of Walt at the Pali lookout, standing with his arms up as though holding up the sky, his whole life ahead. Or so he thought. On the other side, a photo of Isabel clamping down her dress and looking horrified, but also laughing.
“The look on your face is priceless,” he said.
“Wait a sec. I can’t believe you got a picture of that.”
A wicked grin crossed his face. “You oughta see the other one.”
“Please don’t tell me—”
He squeezed above her knee. “Just kidding, just kidding. We’d just met and I knew you’d be mighty embarrassed if you saw my camera out. I was pointing to shoot before the gust came. Scout’s honor,” he said, staring down at the shot.
His palm print left a warm patch on her leg. She flipped the pages. Photos of her and Walt on the beach before their surfing escapades. There was something surreal about seeing the two of them in the same place, but not in the same time. As though she might walk out of one picture frame and into another with her brother. Matteo had added in some keepsakes, too. A napkin from the Peacock Tavern. A Primo beer label.
When she reached the Goat Island page, she slowed. There she was, smiling into the camera, sand on her cheeks, hair this way and that. The ocean spanned out behind her. This was not one of the candid shots. Matteo had moved in close and said something to make her laugh, she couldn’t remember. Isabel examined her expression. Pure joy, contentment and something far bigger.
Matteo cleared his throat. “That’s my favorite.”
She was afraid to look at him. “None of Walt on the island?”
“I didn’t bring my camera. Thought it might be too risky. But with you, I had no choice.”
She squirmed. Outside, a cane toad croaked.
“Here you are leaving and there’s not even one picture of you in here. How is that fair?” she said, trying to lighten the moment.
“You know that saying, all is fair in love and war? It’s horseshit. There’s nothing fair about war—or love.” He looked at his watch. “I should get going. I still have to pack.”
Stay, she wanted to say, but what good would that do? Isabel turned off the light. And in the time it took for them to get to the door, she already missed him. Matteo had told her he was terrible at goodbyes. Well, so was she. Especially when there was so obviously something powerful hanging between them on a ledge. In fact, goodbye was her least favorite word in the English language.
“Will you write?” she asked.
He stopped abruptly and she bumped into his back, steadying herself on his arm. His hand reached out and felt for her, pulling her in for a hug. Isabel rested her chin on his shoulder, looking out at a deep yellow moon, low in the sky. It dawned on her then that no matter what happened, the moon would still rise and set. The world would go on spinning its ethereal beauty, flowers would still open and close and birds would sing.
Matteo rubbed her back and spoke quietly into her hair. “You bet I will.”
“Just promise me one thing,” she said.
“You know I’m not good with promises.”
“This one’s easy. When you come back, you’ll let me take a picture of you.”
He pulled her in tighter, if that were possible. “We’ll take it as it comes.”
They stood there for what felt like hours. Isabel did her best to memorize the feeling of his strong arms and his heartbeat. The sound of his breath. Then he tilted up her chin and dusted her lips with a kiss, his breath hot. She froze in place, ready for another. But Matteo was already down the steps. Isabel ran her tongue over the spot he’d touched, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Halfway to the car, he slowed and then stopped in his tracks. Come back, she willed.
Matteo turned, saw her watching and called out, “You’ll be on my mind.”
Isabel was on the verge of breaking down, but wanted to be strong for him. “Same.”
He waved and then was gone.