"What are you doing, heading out there, Colonel?" Hully asked. "If you can say …"

"Same thing I was supposed to be doing hoe-install radar installations, and run simulated attacks by carrier-based planes."

"Now that makes sense," Burroughs said. "The San Francisco Navy Yard, there's a target"

Teske shrugged. "Anyway, I'm glad to get out of this madhouse…. Ed, thanks for the send-off. I'll see you in the States."

"One of these days," Burroughs said.

Father and son did not wait around for the Lurline's actual departure, avoiding the hoopla of whistle blasts and a brassy "Aloha Oe," hoping to beat the crowd. They had parked three blocks away, noting more police in evidence than usual-further sabotage fear? — and Fort and Bishop streets were jammed with traffic; it was getting as bad as back home in California, Hully thought.

Pop drove, as usual-he loved to drive-and they both tossed their Panamas on the floor in the backseat, as otherwise the wind would have whisked the hats away; the top was down on the sporty white '37 Pierce Arrow, a twelve-cylinder with chrome wheel covers. They were heading Waikiki way along the Ala Moana (Sea Road), and traffic had let up some.

As they glided by the United States Army Transport docks, across from which was the Hawaiian General Depot and the Air Depot, Hully asked, "What exactly does Colonel Teske do?"

His blacksmith's hands gripping the steering wheel, O. B. glanced over at his son, blue eyes hard. "Besides talk a lot of pessimistic baloney? He's with the Army Signal Corps. Commander of the Army's aircraft warning system in Hawaii."

Hully had not been privy to the conversations between Teske and his father, but he knew the colonel had arrived only about a month ago, and was a recent addition to the roster of his pop's military pals.