Free Patricia Potter by Island of Dreams Page A

had only recently been plunged into the thick of things. Patriotism was running strong in the country.
    Canaris, Michael admitted grudgingly, had been right in all his suppositions, but the realization did not improve his dark mood or the foreboding of disaster that permeated the air around him.
    Reluctantly, he dressed for the Connors’ party, choosing a pair of blue trousers, white shirt, and tie. He joined a stream of others who looked at him curiously as they walked to the DuBignon Cottage.
    The grounds of the cottage were full of people and wonderful smells. Against the background of polite voices, a small orchestra played a combination of light classics and popular songs.
    Cal Connor greeted him with an enthusiasm that surprised Michael, and he was quickly introduced to members as a wounded ally. He was readily accepted and peppered with questions about the war in Africa, and British losses to German U-boats.
    Most of those present, Michael suspected, probably knew more about U-boat victories than he did. The U-boats were Germany’s one great weapon at the moment now that Goering’s air force had been decimated in the Battle of Britain. The toll on Allied shipping had been incalculable, although the total losses were kept from the American public. The subs were able to go anywhere with impunity, a fact which made possible Canaris’s plan for Jekyll Island.
    “And the Pacific?” Michael asked in return. “Is there any more news in the Pacific?”
    One man shook his head regretfully. American and Filipino troops were currently stranded on the Bataan Peninsula, and the United States, along with Britain, Holland, and Australia, had just recently lost fourteen ships in the disastrous Battle of the Java Sea. Nothing had improved since then.
    “MacArthur will get them out of Bataan, though,” one man commented. “The Japanese will pay for Pearl Harbor, and soon.”
    The talk turned to Africa and the seesawing battle between Rommel and British troops. “When will the Americans send troops?” asked Michael.
    Cal, who had joined them, shrugged. “The Pacific is the greatest concern now, that and getting ships through to England.”
    As if to remind them of the U-boat menace, a woman standing across the lawn with several other women, spoke loud enough for everyone to hear as she pointed upward. A blimp was laboriously plowing through the clear azure sky.
    At Michael’s inquisitive expression, Cal grinned. “Looking for subs,” he explained.
    “Are those things really useful?”
    Cal’s grin faded. “I don’t know,” and Michael knew it must be classified information. He watched as the blimp moved easterly, like a fat sea cow lazily sunning itself. The theory, he knew, was that the slowness and height of the blimp allowed searchers to see shadows lurking beneath the ocean surface. He wondered how far offshore was the German sub he was to contact tonight.
    He was still distracted when Peter approached, a wide, happy grin on his face. Michael couldn’t help but respond in kind.
    Michael looked around for Meara and saw her in the swing where she’d been waiting for him last night, her gaze on Tara who was playing with several other children. As he looked, her face turned toward his, and he saw the vivid green that seemed to sparkle out to him with an impish, challenging invitation.
    “The commander,” Peter confided proudly to the men standing around, “helped us make the best sand castle ever.
    One of the men, a stockbroker from New York who was not on Michael’s list, chuckled. “A man of many talents, Commander?”
    Michael smiled back. “And, as they say, master of none. Sand castles are a nice change from war.”
    “I don’t doubt that,” the man replied as a shrewd gaze raked Michael’s lean body and easy confidence but hesitated slightly on the cane. “I imagine you’re tired of war talk, especially from men who have never seen action.”
    Michael was not. He was picking up more information