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everything in there and send it to me, pronto."
    The chief nodded and put the folder on the Wave's desk.
    "No, you do it!" barked Hammond. "It'll save you having to count them again."
     
    Hammond returned to the Pentagon, wondering if he should speak to Fletcher right away and have him take up the matter with the Board of Correction of Naval Records. He decided to find out first which destroyer escorts were stationed at Philadelphia in 1953, get a list, and present it to Fletcher. He might recognize a name or number.
    He called NAVSEACOM, the Naval Sea Assistance Command, and requested fleet disposition on all DEs assigned to Philadelphia between 1953 and 1955.
    "I'll check it for you, sir," said the clerk, "but it may take a few days."
    Hammond didn't want to stall Fletcher that long. He dialed the Watergate. Nobody answered at the apartment. He fished Fletcher's business card out of the envelope and dialed Tri-State.
    A secretary answered. "Mr. Fletcher's office."
    "Commander Nick Hammond. May I speak to Mr. Fletcher?"
    "I'm sorry, Commander. He's left for the day. May I take a message?"
    "Have him call me when he returns." Hammond left his number, then hung up, realizing he was spending too much time on a personal matter. Besides, if it weren't for Jan, he wouldn't give Harold Fletcher the time of day.
     
    The next two days were hectic. The matters Gault had turned over to him had become pressing problems in need of constant monitoring.
    Fortunately, the pilferage at Pearl Harbor had turned out to be a false alarm. The "stolen equipment" had been misrouted to a base in Alaska. NAVINTCOM had assigned Hammond three men to investigate the Yokosuka black-market ring, so Hammond had turned his own efforts toward the missile cruiser sabotage at Okinawa. CINCPAC had stepped in and demanded jurisdiction, but Gault had fixed that: "Piss on them. I'm not going to be told what I can investigate and what I can't," he told Hammond, and proved it by calling the admiral himself.
    CINCPAC agreed. A team would leave for Okinawa within seventy-two hours. And Gault wanted Hammond leading it: "Just to get the ball rolling, Nick. And to make sure we're calling the shots."
    Hammond had given up on hearing from either Fletcher or Jan, so he had no complaints. He was even looking forward to spending some time out of the country.
    The rest of the day he concentrated on the sabotage case. He made notes for the team briefing he was to conduct the following morning, then cleared his desk to go home. He came across Fletcher's envelope and wrote a note for himself to get someone else to follow up on it.
    Just as he was about to leave, the phone rang. It was Harold Fletcher.
    "Uh...Commander Hammond?"  
    "Mr. Fletcher?"
    "Yes...uh, Commander Nicholas Hammond?"
    Fletcher sounded as if he were speaking to someone he had never met. "I'm returning your call, Commander."
    "Well, thank you, sir....I've run the background check you asked for...." He paused, waiting for a question. Instead, there was silence until Fletcher cleared his throat nervously.
    "You have?"
    "Yes, sir. Excuse me, but you do recall our lunch the other day? You and your wife and I?"
    "Lunch...?"
    Hammond was still for a moment. The lights went out in the Pit. It was quitting time. Maybe there was someone in Fletcher's office, someone who shouldn't hear this conversation. That's why he was acting so funny—
    "Look," said Hammond, "I have the information you wanted. Can I give it to you over the phone?"
    There was a hesitant "Please do."
    "Okay...I couldn't find anything to verify your story about being stationed in Philadelphia, or assigned to any DE."
    "Yes?" Fletcher sounded confused.
    Hammond tried a stab in the dark. "Any more problems with those nightmares?"
    There was a sharp intake of breath, then a long pause. Then Fletcher said hoarsely, "What nightmares? Who am I speaking to?"
    "Commander Nick Hammond of NIS, sir. We had lunch the other day. Don't you remember?"
    "No, I