"Subaltern Slaine O'Brien, Lieutenant Boyle. Pleased to meet you." She was a bit on the short side, her eyes angling up to meet mine. They were green, her skin white, and her hair the color of honey, a mass of curls pulled back in a vain attempt to contain them.

"Same here," I said, enjoying the lilt in her voice. She both looked and sounded Irish, so her being with Major Cosgrove, wearing a British uniform, seemed damn odd to me.

"I'll leave you together to talk about this investigation," Uncle Ike said. "William understands the situation and will give you his full cooperation."

"Excellent, General Eisenhower, thank you so much for lending us the lieutenant," Cosgrove said, lifting his mustache in a broad smile.

"It was an honor to meet you, sir," O'Brien said, folding her hands like a schoolgirl as she faced the general.

"How do you spell your first name, Subaltern? I'm afraid that bit of Gaelic confused my midwestern ear," Uncle Ike said, all smiles for her after a sharp glance at Cosgrove, who seemed to be dismissing him.

"Slah-nah," she said slowly, the accent on the first syllable, "is spelled S-l-a-i-n-e."

"Slaine," Uncle Ike repeated, doing his best. He smiled, obviously enjoying her beauty, and then snapped out of it. He slapped me on the shoulder and assured me it wouldn't be long before I was back. I didn't even know where the hell I was going.

The three of us settled down into chairs grouped around a small table, where a carafe of water sweated, surrounded by cut-crystal glasses. I poured and gulped down the cool liquid, watching O'Brien and Cosgrove exchanging glances. I wondered which one was going to break the bad news. I decided to get to know this Irish lass a bit before letting them sentence me to whatever scheme they didn't want to waste an Englishman on.