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“Good morning, Lieutenant,” the gray-haired woman said with a smile. “The captain expects you.”

There were two inner doors, one labeled DIRECTOR and one DEPUTY DIRECTOR.

The cop started to lead Fulmar to the latter, but the gray-haired woman said, “They’re in the boss’s office.”

The cop looked at her and nodded. He walked to the door with DIRECTOR on it, knocked on the doorframe, and when he heard a man’s voice from behind the door call out, “Come!” he opened it and announced, “Good morning, sir. Lieutenant Fulmar is here.”

Fulmar heard the voice say, “Send him in, please.”

The cop stepped back from the door, gestured with his hand for Fulmar to enter the office, then went out the main door and down the corridor toward the elevator.

Fulmar stepped through the doorway and saw two officers in uniform, one a silver-haired Army colonel and one a sandy-haired Navy captain, sitting in opposing red leather chairs that were separated by a glass-top table and a red leather couch.

Fulmar came to attention and saluted stiffly.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

The officers stood and returned the salute.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” the Navy captain said, offering

his hand. “I’m Captain Douglass. I think you may know my son.”

Fulmar shook his hand. “An honor, sir. To meet you, and to be acquainted with Doug—with Colonel Douglass.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Douglass replied, then took a step back and motioned to the Army colonel. “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to Colonel Donovan.” He looked at Donovan. “Colonel, may I present Lieutenant Fulmar?”

Fulmar already had his hand out, and when the Irishman took it in his mitt of a hand, Fulmar could not help but notice the very firm squeeze as they shook.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Lieutenant,” Donovan said.

“Yes, sir?”

Donovan grinned. “Relax. It’s very good. Otherwise we would not have asked you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get on with it,” Donovan said, his face somber. “It’s a matter that seems to be getting more urgent by the hour.”

He motioned toward the couch and chairs.

“Have a seat, please.”

“Thank you,” Fulmar said and moved toward the red couch.

As Donovan went to his red armchair near the fat manila folder on the glass-top table, he said, “I don’t know about the lieutenant, Captain Douglass, but I would be eternally grateful for a cup of coffee.”

Douglass looked at Fulmar. “How about it?”

“Please.”

Douglass went to the door and opened it just enough to call out. The sound of typewriters filtered in.

“Mrs. Fishburne,” he said, “coffee for three, please, and anything else you can scrounge up that we might find of interest. Thank you.”

Douglass closed the door, shutting off the clacking, and returned to the red chair opposite Donovan and sat down.

Donovan, seated toward the front edge of the chair cushion, leaned forward. Elbows on his knees, he held his hands together—almost in a manner of praying—and tapped his fingertips together twice, then touched index fingers to his nose and thumbs to his chin as he considered his thoughts.