“It’s like a diary. But look, it’s all typed,” she said to nobody in particular.
    Talia had opened a binder with “Fort Richardson” written in faded ink on the spine and scanned the first few pages. This was one of the few that had not suffered water damage. The cover was original, the pages yellowed, faded, but otherwise intact.
    She looked up, a curious look on her face.
    “Who types a diary?”
    ”Stop talking to yourself!” came her sister’s voice from upstairs. “You’re freaking me out!”
    Talia smiled, and carefully turned to the first page. She began to read … ,

        2 December 1941
        Dear Diary,
        I started working today … ,


        … The pay is not very good here at the fort, but I can eat lunch at the commissary and ride the #12 bus to and from the base. That helps.
        I am working for a colonel named Armstrong. He yells a lot.
       I typed letters all afternoon. But I have to be careful - I cannot tell anyone about what I type here. Hush hush and all that.

    Imara’s roomie Brenda came through the dorm room door and tossed her books on the bed.
    “First day! Woo hoo! How’d it go?”
    “OK. I got past this captain who looked like he had a burr up his ass and got to see the colonel. He hired me on the spot.”
    “See, I told you. You’re walking gold, girl. Take advantage of it.”
    “I just hope I can keep up my studies.”
    “Ah, don’t sweat it. How much work can there be? Nothing ever happens in Alaska.”

Present Day
Talia took a sip of her beer and settled back.

        3 December 1941
        Dear Diary,
        My typewriter must have come over on the Mayflower it is so old. I do not have a filing cabinet. The colonel says the budget is an impossible mess, and tighter than … well, I can’t repeat that part. So I make do with what I can.
        I put the day’s work in a file case. I am supposed take the “dailies” as they are called - file copies and carbons - across the compound to the main building and hand the case to a file clerk. I need to initial a form before I can leave - every day.
        Welcome to the U.S. Army.

    “Carbons?”
    Talia just shook her head. “Backup files,” she answered. She turned the page.

        5 December 1941
        Dear Diary,
        Much of what I do is to handle purchase orders for two airfields the army is building - one at Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians and the other on Annette Island. If a purchase request is for anything else, forget it.

She turned the page again when her cell phone rang.
    “Talia … another late shift? Ah, come on … OK. I can be there in 10 minutes.” She ended the call and sighed.
    “They want me to work again tonight. And it’s not even Friday yet.”
    Victoria just shook her head. “Waiting tables. You can find something better than that.”
    Talia shrugged.
    “It’s not so bad. The Eurodam is due in tonight and the boss is expecting to be extra busy. I can use the money.”
    There was an advantage to being close to the Ketchikan cruise terminal … and a cost. Pretty easy to call Talia Vaughn for an extra shift at the New York Café.
    “This stuff will have to wait,” but she could not resist the temptation to read just one more.

        5 December 1941
        Dear Diary,
        The colonel warned us hostilities could be expected any moment. He would not … or could not … say why he thinks this. Possible targets include the Hawaiian islands, Midway, and the Aleutians.
        It’s Friday. I should have had the weekend off but the colonel said we had to prepare for arrests with all haste.

    “Arrests? Of who?”

Juneau, Alaska; Federal Building
“Good morning, Agent Edwards.”
    The building receptionist stood guard over the front door at 709 West 9th Street at this time of the morning. Her shift began at 0700 hours. Most of the FBI agents who reported to the Juneau Federal Building did not arrive until 7:30 unless they were on assignment.
    Agent Milton Edwards always arrived early, assignment or not. He wore the same dull gray business suit, a dark gray overcoat, and an ill-fitting fedora that covered a slight balding spot on the back of his head.
    And he always greeted Millie Sampson with the same ebullient greeting.
    “Yeah, yeah,” and he removed his fedora and shook off the rain drops that collected on his walk from the bus stop.
    Millie went back to sorting the outgoing mail.
    It had been 3 years since Agent Edwards transferred - not by choice - from San Francisco to Juneau. He had requested Miami when several positions opened. But a detective agent in his position - single, no dependents, no college degree, a stalled advancement … and he didn’t drive. He was lucky to get this post.
    “The elevator is not working today. Repair will be here after noon.”
    Millie smiled as she imagined the grumblings of Agent Edwards as he took the stairs to the FBI offices … on the 9th floor.
    “He needs a new hat.”
    As the wet, drizzly winter droned on, snow threatened every few days. But even when flakes fell they were consumed by rain drops soon enough. This was Alaska, the land of snow and ice. But at sea level in Southeast in the dead of winter it was mostly the land of slush and puddles.
    Juneau was just cold, and wet.

There was no receptionist on the 9th floor. Budgets were tight, and the regional comptroller was even tighter. Agent Edwards had kept his overcoat on for the long march up the stairs, a blessing against the chill of the office in the morning. The 9th floor did not warm until around noon, but at least he would stay dry.
    “Did you get the phone call this morning?”
    One agent had made the long trek up the stairs this morning earlier than Agent Edwards. Albert Walker. A full 11 years older than Edwards, he came from Chicago. Already a veteran agent when the FBI declared war on the Chicago mob, Walker was the prototype FBI agent - cold, merciless. He wore a small lapel pin - awarded to him by Director Hoover himself after the notorious shootout with the infamous “Pretty Boy” Floyd.
    The FBI was accused of firing a submachine gun into a wounded and helpless Floyd as he lay on the ground, a charge the FBI denied. Oddly, Agent Albert Walker disappeared from active duty assignments until he arrived in Alaska the previous June.
    He never talked about his past.
    “Phone call?” and Edwards hung his overcoat on a rack and placed his fedora on top of that. “No. No phone call.”
    “Well, it’s a good thing you got here early. Senior Inspector Harroway has flown in from Seattle. Something is going down, and we were all told to be here early. You lucked out.”
    Two more agents filtered in and took their seats. All had received the phone call. Anticipation was high.
    The coffee was bitter.

Tension had been building in the office for months. Despite the official pronouncements that Alaska was key to defending the North Pacific from Japanese incursion, little had actually been accomplished. The first P-36s finally reached Elmendorf Field at Fort Richardson the previous February, followed by B-18s in May. However, this was a token force; its 38 planes obsolete, totally inadequate for protecting the Alaskan military zone.
    In December 1941 only 6 of the aircraft were combat-ready.
    Airfields at Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians and Annette Island in Southeast were still under construction. Regular army units were limited in Alaska by agreements with our allies about troop deployments worldwide so the Canadians planned to use the airfields.
    Alaska was “all hat and no cattle” when it came to military priority, if you asked the locals. And that made the Juneau FBI nervous.
    “Conference room. First floor,” came the call over the intercom system.
    Agent Edwards looked and shook his head.
    “I just made it up those damn stairs.”

“What’s with the goon at the door?” asked Agent Edwards.
    The director of the regional center had borrowed the conference room from the Post Office on the first floor. An armed guard stood at attention at the door as the agents from the 9th floor finally made it back downstairs.
    “Gentlemen, take your seats.” A legal pad and pen had been placed in front of each seat around the conference table. There were 8 already in the room; 4 in military uniform. The military was never at an FBI agent meeting.
    “All right, let’s begin. Let me introduce Senior Inspector Harroway from the Seattle regional office. It is imperative that what is discussed here today remains in this room. Inspector Harroway … ,”

The mood was somber as the meeting broke up. Small groups of men gathered together in the corners and talked in suppressed tones. Senior Inspector Harroway left promptly with the local director for a private conversation.
    Agent Edwards sat looking at the notes he had made.
    “You coming, Edwards?”
    Agent Walker had followed a couple of the Anchorage section operatives out into the foyer but came back looking for his office mate.
    Edwards pushed his chair back and stood.
    “We need a plan.”
    Agent Edwards always needed a plan.
    “He can’t take a crap without one,” a fellow agent had laughed over coffee at the Juneau Hotel coffee shop.
    But today was different. He had prepared for this. Dreamed of this. Prayed for this.
    And in Walker he had the perfect partner.
    “You look like the cat that just swallowed the canary, Edwards.”
    Agent Edwards finally smiled.
    “I have the list.”

Ketchikan, Alaska
7 Dec 1941; 1130 Hours

"Hello, NBC. Hello, NBC. This is KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and in the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be . . . "