"Possible," Jed had admitted. Practically, though, he felt, the whole thing was a perplexity. They knew for certain, in their own minds, that the stage for the Pacific War had been set by dictators masquerading as directors of the public confidence. The result had been a theater of the absurd. Japan had justified the war because of a lack of natural resources needed for growth, and yet the reprise had been a success story of unlimited expansion through peace. America had cried out for truth, justice, equality, and then, backstage, had rewritten the script.

Since the encoder had been destroyed, Jed and Jenny's dilemma was that they had no proof of the crime and cover-up. Without proof, who would believe their story? Indeed, who would even be interested?

The Pacific Campaign had only cost 200,000 U.S. soldiers, sailors, Marines. The dollars spent had helped pull the country out of a depression. Part of the cost to taxpayers had even been returned from taxed profits in providing Hollywood something to show on film. It had been a "Holy War," that gave both peaceniks, and John Birchers alike an argument that went either, "Of course I would have died for my country fighting Japan," or, "Look at what you owe all those who laid down their lives on some Pacific island just so you could grow up free."

The truth was that 200,000 American casualties weren't that many when compared to the total cost of three and a half million deaths. Jed and Jenny could contact the international press, but this idea was distasteful. Japanese newspaper accounts proclaiming innocence would not be accepted. The Chinese —who had suffered the most— would turn the story into anticapitalist propaganda.

Thinking this way, it almost seemed best to give it all up and go home. Their personal danger of becoming the war's final statistic seemed to fade upon Kearns' death. Artillio had led them off the mountain to the simple home of a friend who had arranged for Jed and Jenny to ride in the back of a pick-up truck to Costa Rica. They had flown out of San Jose to Los Angeles, en route to McGrath via Anchorage. From recently acquired habit they did keep an eye out for curious onlookers, but all seemed normal.

They passed through U.S. Customs, and a bored agent wistfully commented on their nice suntans, while perfunctorily stamping their documents. Then transferring terminals at LAX, they concluded that nobody was interested it what they did or didn't do. It seemed safe enough to place a call to Uncle Only.

This, too, was almost anticlimactic in that Junior answered. He told them Anthoney was still looking -at double the standard rate- and had accepted that Jenny quit because she was in mourning for Jed. He had picked up a fat and sassy Big Enough from the vets. And, "Oh, there was a relayed message from Hap that he would meet them at The Organ Grinder -whatever that meant."