Meanwhile, back in New York City, an endless string of yellow taxis honked at each other in a bizarre cabdriver’s Morse code. Old Admiral Turner sat at his desk, writing out a check. He scratched his bristly gray hair as he tried to add numbers in his head.
As a full admiral and director of the New York Office of Naval Intelligence, he could have commanded any underling do the work for him. In matters of his own heart, though, his brash daughter, Joan, outranked him, and the admiral had no choice but to follow her orders.
Joan sat across from her father, wearing an unbuttoned street coat and a stylish hat into which she had neatly tucked her strawberry-blond hair. Her loveliness was like a statue’s, serene and stony. She crossed her legs in her tight lavender wool skirt, showing off plen
