152 | John W. Warner IV backside singing La-la-la Marseillaise. He doubled over. Goddammit, I love it when you two make me laugh, especially when theres little else to laugh about. Tomorrow I meet with our boss man once again. Big things are afoot, but Im for quitting this theater of war for Miami via Bimini, its swordfish and rum cocktail season with Hemingway and the gang, then its on down to Antigua for the Mill Reef Club tennis match and some U-Boat watching. Hemm thinks he can find Atlantis nuns near Cuba, wants to write a new book. What have you two been up to lately? Alice said: Two weeksleave from my RN desk job in Alex. Now Im regretting it. Been learning the wireless, radar, and photography some. You know Hemingway? Met him in New York at the 21 Club. Went fishing south of Nantucket. Tuna. What about you, kid? Bea leaned her head to the soft silk, eyes closed. Me? Nothing much. Been vacationing at Siwa Oasis via aeroplane, petty frissons abounded. Lily ponds, Lotus blossoms, date palms, ancient ruins, artisanal spring swimming holes, all courtesy of the Afrika Korps tourist board in Rome. Had a lovely hire car with a flak gun and French chauffeur, a big Porsche, the VolksPanzer. Shitty petrol mileage but decent legroom for five. Bernie looked to Alice. She…? Thats her story. Might be happy reading in the Times someday. The champagne arrived with the fish. The waiter poured, then hid the bottle behind a plant in an ice bucket as was the custom for western guests in certain luxury hotels. Bernie dug in. I see. Well, lets eat and be merry while we can, ladies. Lemons? Bea took one, sniffed it, and asked: Speaking of travel, havent seen you in nine months. Whereve you been if I may pry? Oh, Morocco thereabouts, somewhere in Spain and Portugal, then I was in England and London to visit and old friend. Flew back here with McMaster via Gibraltar a week ago. Been hiding from you both. Spain? That sounds like fun, Barcelona I hope, said Alice dryly. Wars hell n all. Bea said: Dont be fooled, hes been making the rounds at Londons bugger clubs, shooting grouse and feasting at banquets with his foul Illuminati chums, and visiting his sick aunt. Which one was it this time, Mr. Chase? Aunt Agnes Overholt?