Free The White Ghost by James R. Benn Page A

back as we left.
    â€œThat was interesting,” Kaz said as we stood on the verandah, surveying the bustle of soldiers, sailors, and natives around the headquarters area. “When were you sure about Ritchie and ONI?”
    â€œWhen he didn’t throw me in the brig for sitting in his damn chair,” I said, watching a crew of natives loading a truck from a supply tent. “And the few words I caught in that report didn’t sound like a military memo. It was the lowdown on us. On me, probably direct from old Joe himself.”
    â€œDo you think Ritchie is really being paid off?” Kaz asked.
    â€œNot with money or anything that can be traced,” I said. “But I bet he’ll get a promotion and a plum assignment next.”
    â€œUnless we do not proceed in a manner that reflects well on the United States Navy,” Kaz said, in a rough attempt at imitating Ritchie’s growl.
    â€œI’m tempted to disgrace the navy just to see him transferred to Greenland,” I said. “Come on, let’s find Jack and see what the hell he has to say about all this.”
    We maneuvered the jeep through the heavy traffic around headquarters and the nearby docks. Seaplanes floated near their moorings offshore and a steady stream of small craft motored men and materials back and forth. Tulagi had become a backwater island when the fighting moved on up the Slot, but it was still a busy backwater.
    The hospital was a long whitewashed cement block building with a red cross against a white background prominently painted on the roof. It sat high on a slope facing the sound, with breezes off the water drifting through the wide-open windows. I asked a clerk at a desk in the main corridor which room Jack Kennedy was in.
    â€œHe’s up the hill, Lieutenant,” the clerk said. “Go out the back door, third hut on the right.”
    â€œIn a hut?” I asked, expecting to find Jack bandaged and bruised, stretched out on white sheets.
    â€œYeah, the VIP lounge we call it,” he said. “It’s for officers with minor wounds. Not much different from in here except we don’t have to check on them that often.”
    â€œNo nurses here?” I asked, noticing the all-male character of the staff walking the hallways.
    â€œNot of the female persuasion, not yet anyway,” he said. “Captain Ritchie says it ain’t good for morale to have a few women around with so many guys who ain’t seen a dame in months.”
    â€œThe captain must not be the most popular officer around,” I said.
    â€œLet’s say if he were laid up here, he wouldn’t have many visitors,” the clerk said. “Not like Lieutenant Kennedy. He’s got people coming to see him around the clock. Nice guy.”
    â€œYeah, he’s swell.” We stepped out the back, taking a well-trodden path to a shaded palm grove with island huts arranged on either side. They were built up on stilts, the walls made of woven palm fronds. The roofs were thatched and makeshift windows were propped up to let the air circulate. We went into the third hut, where four hospital beds were arranged around a central table. A card game was in progress. Bridge, by the look of things. No one was in bed nursing their wounds. VIP lounge, indeed.
    â€œHey guys,” I said, waving my hand in greeting. By the bottles on the table and the wrinkled clothing, it didn’t seem any of them were sticklers for rank. “I’m looking for Jack Kennedy. Is he around here somewhere?”
    â€œCrash? He’s on a date,” one of the players said as he tossed back a shot of bourbon.
    â€œA date?” I said. “The kind with a woman?”
    â€œI guess you don’t know our Jack,” another guy said.
    â€œOh, I know him all right,” I said. Then I began to laugh. The table joined in, probably to be polite, because I couldn’t stop. I come halfway around the world to save