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don’t like attention if there’s even a whiff of impropriety. It was easier to move on and leave Dad alone to do his job. There’s an invisible world out there, run by money and power. The rules are unwritten, even unspoken, but anyone who comes into contact with it comes to understand them damn quick. Secrecy and order are what it’s about. Everything needs to run as normal to complete the illusion that all is right and proper with the world. Dad threatened all that when he drew attention to a possible link between Kennedy and the smugglers. He got away easy with a slap on the wrist.”
    â€œAttention,” Kaz said. “That is why we have this assignment, is it not? To make sure the younger son does not receive unwarranted attention.”
    Kaz was a quick study. I nodded, turning away in hopes the conversation was over.
    â€œThat tells me why the Boyles would not think much of Joseph Kennedy Senior,” Kaz said. “But it does not explain your antipathy towards Joe Junior and Jack.”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and gazing out over the blue rippling ocean.

Chapter Six
    The big Sunderland took us to Australia in style. First a stop at Darwin, then on to Port Moresby in New Guinea. The flying boat landed on calm waters and motored up to a dock where we got off and stretched our legs. The sun was bright, the water blue, and Kaz wasn’t the least bit seasick. A good day so far.
    We walked along the dock as men secured the Sunderland and a fuel barge motored alongside. A flurry of activity surrounded the small boats tied up along the waterfront, sailors and GIs hauling supplies and rolling drums of fuel over the splintered, sun-bleached wood. Farther out in the bay, a couple of destroyers stood at anchor.
    â€œLieutenant Boyle?” A figure emerged from the crowd, a lanky guy with naval aviator’s wings on his rumpled khaki shirt and a crush cap pushed back on his head. “Lieutenant White. I’ll be flying you to Guadalcanal.” Freckles dotted the skin beneath his teardrop sunglasses, and I resisted the urge to ask if his daddy had given him the keys to the plane. Instead I introduced Kaz as White led us to a jeep waiting on a hardpack road that fronted the harbor.
    â€œWe’re fueled and ready to go,” White said as he gunned the jeep up a winding hill, passing an array of European-style buildings with broad verandahs next to native thatched-roof houses and army pyramidal tents. The ascent became steeper as the road curved around an antiaircraft emplacement.
    â€œWe are not going by flying boat?” Kaz asked.
    â€œYeah, but we’re a PBY unit. We have retractable landing gear and can land on water or dry land. Not as comfortable as that flying hotel you came in on, but we’ll get you there. The airbase is just over this next hill.” He took another switchback and had to use first gear to inch up the steep incline. We had a clear view of the town and harbor, the rich greens and vivid shades of blue strange after the North African climate we’d grown used to. White braked and I thought he was about to play tour guide for us tourists from the European Theater of Operations.
    â€œThere,” White said. He grabbed a pair of binoculars and scanned the western sky. First I heard it, that familiar insect-like distant drone. Then I saw the spots in the distance coalesce into a formation.
    â€œOurs?” Kaz asked.
    â€œJaps,” White said, “headed our way. Betties.” He floored the jeep and we held on as he sped along the hill. We saw antiaircraft crew swiveling their gun in the direction of the incoming aircraft.
    â€œAre they going for the airfield?” I asked, holding onto my hat as White shifted into high gear.
    â€œNo,” he said. “They’re coming in over the water, so they’re after the ships and docks. But if they have fighter escorts, the Zeroes