This was going to be short. It's not. The next two chapters should be read as one unit, but I've had massive problems with uploading, editing, posting, and reviewing. I have lost editorial changes to this chapter about 4 times now. The next part will up as soon as I can upload it! I hope you'll try to review anyway! This site is now randomly inserting the letter "f" into stories. If you find one and are able to PM me, please let me know!

"exitus acta probat" (the outcome justifies the deeds)
Ovid, Heroides ii. 85

"The end may justify the means as long as there is something that justifies the end."
Leon Trotsky

"Colonel Walker-Smythe's office, please hold."

"Colonel Walker-Smythe's office, please hold."

"Colonel Walker-Smythe's office, please hold."

"Colonel Walker-Smythe's office, please hold."

In a break between the incessantly ringing phones, Susan managed to inject, "Gladys, telephones are not the tool of a civil society!"

"Colonel!" Gladys cried from underneath a pile of messages, newspapers, reports, memos, edicts, and a very, very large rosebush, "It's Director Hoover's office on the line!"

"It's about time! Put him through!"

They had been holding all the calls that morning in anticipation of this one.

"Excellent news, Director! Congratulations!" The Colonel's voice boomed. "I shall be right over!"

Guy was already climbing to his feet from his encampment at the coffee table with the LIFE magazines. Susan tossed him the car keys from the tray on her desk.

The wiry Colonel stalked out of his office, grinning around his cigar. Susan thought he moved as a swordsman did – a fencer perhaps – with the same agility and finesse.

"Well, girls," the Colonel said, shrugging into his uniform jacket, "it seems that there were some very hot documents at that safehouse the FBI raided this morning. Our cousins found a map that is causing quite the uproar at the White House."

"Really!" Susan exclaimed. "How extraordinary!"

Gladys managed to maintain the somber face of a professional office girl. She held out a plate and Colonel Walker-Smythe spat his cigar into it and in the exchange took a fistful of the really dire, absolutely-must-read cables and messages.

"What's in here, Gladys?"

"The Eighth Army left a garrison at Tobruk and is retreating toward El Alamein."

"Losses?" he barked.

"Heavy, Sir. I'm trying to keep a tally for you, but if there are fifty tanks left, I would be surprised. They lost the forward airfield as well. Tens of thousands dead or captured, I'm sure."

"Two steps forward, five steps back," he muttered. "Well maybe Churchill will finally replace Ritchie. Lord Halifax's office send over the table assignments for the State Dinner tonight?"

"Not yet, Sir," Susan piped in. She had been badgering Mum about them.

Colonel Walker-Smythe growled alarmingly. "We can't position our people until we know where they are going to seat people and given what we are going to need from the Americans, we cannot leave this to chance."

"I will ask them again, Sir," Susan said.

"I suspect the FBI and Defense will brief Congressional leaders this afternoon on the safehouse raid of this morning," the Colonel said, stuffing the messages into his brief case and stealing a pencil from Gladys' desk. "I want to be well away from there when that happens. Things should be quiet this afternoon until the dinner starts. Get Tebbitt and Lowrey in here by two."

"Oh, and Sir?" Gladys injected, offering a heavy, cream-colored card with gold engraving. "This came from the Congresswoman; another went to the Ambassador's office."

The Colonel grabbed it from Gladys and scanned it, frowning, grinning, and frowning again. He flipped the card back to Gladys. "Mrs. Caspian!"

"Sir?"

"It's your job to see that Tebbitt stays sober. The Congresswoman could make our lives an uglier hell than it already is if this doesn't play right, or worse still, if he offends her again. If Tebbitt is AWOL, he's headed for latrine duty on the Orkneys until the War ends."

"I understand, Sir."

"I know you do," he snarled. "Make sure Tebbitt does! If the Eighth Army can stop Rommel's advance and keep the Nazis from the Suez, they'll have to resupply. Only the Americans could fill an order for 300 Sherman tanks. Between the Congresswoman on the House side and Senator Reynolds, and both of them on Military Affairs Committees, either of those Anglophobes could sink this faster than a U-boat in the Atlantic."

As the Colonel and Guy left, Gladys picked up the ringing phone with a cheery "Thank you and have a nice day!" and hung up. Casually, accidentally, and before it could ring again, she knocked the phone off the hook. The important message had just arrived; the rest could wait. Gladys reasoned that if it was really important, there would be a cable, telegram, or messenger.

"So, Susan, what's next for you after keeping Tebbitt sober? Finding Percy Fawcett?"

"Peter? Any questions?"

Edmund had noticed that his brother was sketching on the back of one of the discarded envelopes.

"Just trying to keep it in my head, and truly not liking the direction this is headed," his brother said, sounding both light and grim.

And if he is disturbed now…

Peter interrupted his musings on the paving properties of good intentions. "The Tarkheena Masikah Susan writes of. She is an MP?"

"Yes. I think she is a Congresswoman, in their lower House of Representatives who sits on the Military Affairs Committee. She loathes Roosevelt and her husband owns a string of magazines and newspapers. The Senate is the upper chamber. Susan refers to both as the War Council."

"The anti-British sentiment, it is truly that strong?"

"If anything, Peter, I would say that her letters do not convey the full of it. I don't think it is as bad as it was before Pearl Harbor, though the Chairman of the Senate Military Affairs Committee did allege that the British were behind that attack."

"Before reading this, I would have dismissed that out of hand."

"You don't really mean that, Peter."

"No, not really. Not for something of that magnitude, anyway." Peter scribbled something about the War Council. Edmund thought he would burn the lot of it once Peter had read the full tale.

Wandering over to the desk, Edmund scanned the newspapers and clippings he had organized, ready for when Peter reached those points in the narrative. It would be a relief to share it with him. This summer had taken him places he had never been; the newspapers, with their vitriolic editorializing and biased reporting, were far more troubling that any of the censored and indecent books Edmund had read.

Speaking the thought aloud, Edmund said, "Apart from the general, even paranoid, distrust, England does also take a beating in the American press for her repressive colonial policies – there's a certain morbid delight that the War will finally break the back of the British Empire."

"With the Russells, Asim, and Aunt Polly, my own views on our colonial past and present have certainly changed this summer."

Edmund turned back around from the desk hearing the edge still in his brother's voice with the mention of Asim. It was going to take them a whole other summer to get through everything that had happened this summer.

"Ready to join the Quit India movement?" Edmund quipped, keeping to himself the irony of the High King leaning radically left with the pacifist Mohandas Gandhi.

Peter was scanning the letter again, neatly deflecting any further explanation owed like the swordsman he still was. Holding with the analogy, Edmund should have anticipated Peter's counter-thrust.

"In reading how England's treatment of her colonies has so hurt our cause in America, I cannot help but think how very differently we handled dissent in Narnia's territories."

The burden of the unspoken shifted uncomfortably and Edmund felt the sharp edge of hints and unasked questions. He blew out an aggravated breath. There was a scowl, too. Did Peter really have to so personalize this? Now?

"Just say it, would you Peter?" he said wearily. Edmund had never possessed that singular focus and ability to box it all up and put it on the shelf that Peter did. Too many other things had been reminding him of it all, up to and including the stupid Lady Chatterley's Lover and Eustace's curio cabinet, which really was all just absurd as he had been skimming the book for a week and been in the drawing room all summer without a thought to it. Peter dancing around the subject was not helping him restore much needed objectivity.

He simply had to soldier through this until the voices that he had heard from behind the Wall of Lilies faded from memory … again.

Oh, Aslan, was it only yesterday?

His brother, fortunately, let out a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "I am obviously taking a page out of your book, Ed, if I'm pondering problems that are really not relevant in the slightest."

Edmund let go of his annoyance. Peter did not know where this was going; he did. "Narnia is relevant, Peter. More relevant than we ever possibly could have imagined. I did not understand how relevant until Susan showed me."

Prince Cor and Peridan breezed in after luncheon reeking of wines, spices and Tarkheena perfume.

Fraxi helped Prince Cor freshen up – how exactly, Queen Susan could not say as she politely averted her gaze.

Peridan stalked over to her desk and held out his hands.

"This is your fault."

"Yes?" Queen Susan asked, calmly alphabetizing the seating charts for the Residence dinner in honor of the High King and the Tisroc. The targets identified for the night had been appropriately seated, for the most part. Sir Flobber's office was awaiting their office's modifications.

"Look at this!" the pilot demanded.

"What is that?" Susan asked, raising her eyes.

He thrust his hands under her nose. "Every time I reached for a glass that wasn't tea or juice, a Crow swooped in and pecked me."

"Imagine that!" She owed the Crows a bucket of Shinys from the Bazaar for their doggedness. "You should be sure to wash well. You never know where those beaks might have been."

He slumped at the corner of her desk and laughed. "Cousin, you are deviously clever."

"And you, my Lord Peridan, are a good soldier to tolerate with such humor my management of your person for the greater good."

Peridan started in surprise. "You said something kind! To me! About me!" Leaning in, uncomfortably close, he asked, "Are you well, Queen Susan? Not feverish are we?"

Susan pushed him firmly away and rescued her seating chart before it slid off the desk as he crowded in. "More than kind, I said something that is true, Cousin."

She was also softening him up for the order she suspected was coming from Sallowpad.

"I would add also that you are clever, but that would only inflate your sense of worth greater than it already is."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that," he replied with a mocking salute.

Susan rose, bundling the charts up under her arm. "I am going to put these out for the Chief. If you disturb anything on my space, I shall know of it, and next time, the Crows shall not peck merely your hands."

"If you say something else complimentary, I shall restrain myself."

He really was playing into the tasks to come beautifully.

"The Tarkheenas find you very attractive, my Cousin."

"Attractive, clever, and the loyal soldier!" he crowed, stepping to the side so she could get to Sallowpad's office. "You forgot humble!"

Susan set the charts out for Sallowpad's inspection and returned swiftly. Peridan had, to all appearances managed to restrain himself, with a single exception.

"Out of my chair, Peridan!"

Grumbling, he slouched away, snatching her morning edition of The Trumpeter crier sheet as he did so.

"This is already old," he said, skimming it then flipping it to the side.

"What was the news this morning and at table?"

Pouring himself some of the cooling tea, the pilot said, "That the Ettin King will soon arrive in the Lone Islands for a triumphant march through Narrowhaven when it and the Just King fall; that the High King will be asking the Tisroc for aid; and of great interest to us, who on the War Council is likely to oppose that aid."

"They do not wish to support Narnia in the north, when that same support might be needed in the Calormen campaign against Telmar?"

"Some very vocal and powerful members certainly say so. I had my ear bent on the subject both at the Club luncheon today and at the gaming table last night." He brushed a finger along his nose. "There was also word today of a well-timed raid upon a secret Ettin location in the heart of Calormen and some very disturbing finds that reveal the Giant King's sinister designs for the Calormenes."

It was an effort to remain bland, as opposed to cackling with glee "How disturbing that must be for Calormenes who wish to remain aloof of the Ettin war!"

"Very!"

Caws in the hallway and something about "bloody Penguins and Moles" announced Sallowpad's return.

The Raven flew into the office and landed on the coat tree that never held coats, but was excellent for him. "Are you sober?" the Raven snapped. "Because if you are not, I shall blame Queen Susan!"

"That's hardly fair blaming Queen Susan for my drunkenness," Peridan cried.

Not fair, but certainly another potentially effective component in Peridan management. Susan had not considered trying guilt before.

Bardon followed behind, a long suffering expression on his ravaged face.

"Seating here yet?" Sallowpad squawked.

"Yes, Chief," Susan said, catching Bardon's eye over Sallowpad's head. The Raven was in quite the wound up state by her judge. "It is all set up in your office."

"Find Prince Cor and Fraxi!"

Susan returned Bardon's nod and the Gryphon turned back around to seek out the Ash Dryad and the Archenland Prince.

"Everyone in my office after that."

"Why is it that you are not angry at them?" Peridan whined. "I'm here!"

Chief did not deign to answer and hopped into his office in a flurry of feathers.

Prince Cor and Fraxi returned with Bardon a short while later – Fraxi was still blushing a bit green and the Prince was shaking Ash leaves out of his hair.

"In my office! Now!"

"For a Bird, he sounds like a Hound the way he barks," Peridan muttered.

They filed in; not all the "seating" in Sallowpad's office was intended for Birds. Bardon lounged in the doorway, filling up the space.

"First off, the Tisroc's security forces undertook a raid in Zalindreh of a hideaway for Ettin spies. They discovered an Ettin Cookbook that is causing a great deal of concern at the Palace and making some reassess their reluctant and token commitments to Narnia."

The Raven paused dramatically.

"I was told to personally convey the thanks of the High King himself and that of the Tisroc for our role in this assistance to our ally, Calormen."

Prince Cor clapped Peridan on the shoulder; Queen Susan in turn, accepted cordial handshakes from Fraxi and Cor; Peridan kissed her on the cheek with a "Well done, Cuz." Bardon did not shake forelimbs as his talons were very sharp and likely to cause bleeding.

Sallowpad permitted this brief celebration before rushing on, sharp and anxious, lecturing from his perch. "The timing is, unfortunately, excellent. The High King has learned that the Just King will retreat, nearly to Narrowhaven, and hopes to hold the line, pending arrival of reinforcements. As we fortunately have anticipated, the High King will formally ask the Tisroc for those reinforcements. The Tisroc is committed to resupplying Narnia."

"But, the War Council is not," Peridan injected. Susan nudged him with an elbow. Sallowpad did not like Peridan's interruptions.

"Which brings us to tonight's Residence dinner in honor of the High King and the Tisroc and what we still may do to sway the Calormenes and ease the rearming of the Just King. Peridan!" the Raven squawked.

Susan pulled in an anxious breath.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Tonight, you are being paired with Tarkheena Masikah…"

"Absolutely not!" Peridan exploded, leaping from his seat. "I've told you…"

"Shut it," the Raven barked back. "We need her in our nest, we are fortunate she has singled you out, especially now, and that's the end of it. Sit back down!"

The pilot glared furiously at the Raven and looked to stalk out of the room. Susan wondered if Bardon had anticipated this. For Peridan to leave, he would have to jump over the very large Gryphon or ask Bardon to move, rather cramping the drama of a sudden and exciting storming out of the office.

It was Prince Cor, putting a firm hand on his shoulder, who brought the defiant Peridan back to his chair.

The Raven continued, "The High King will be asking the Tisroc for hundreds of Gryphons and War Horses to resupply the Lone Islands campaign. Do any of us think that the Tarkheena will let this go unchallenged when she is one of the leaders for the isolationist cause in the War Council, in all of Calormen?

No one said anything. The news criers called out her Calormen First rhetoric every day.

"Do I need to explain what could happen if the Tarkheena makes any fuss, or even delays the vote with needless debate in the War Council?"

Chief let the threat hang in ominous silence. It was Bardon who said the unthinkable, in his bland, understated way. "Any delay in rearming the Just King means the Lone Islands fall to the Ettins."

Sheep to feed their army. A port to ship the sheep from. Easy access to supplying the Ettin campaign in the East against Galma, and likely a final victory there. They could finally cross the River Shribble and overrun Narnia and Archenland. The whole of the North would fall under the dark Ettin shadow.

Galma? That was new. Reading along, Peter had been switching out North Africa for Lone Islands, Japan for Telmar, the Suez for Narrowhaven, and tanks and planes for War Horses and Gryphons. A Nazi campaign in the East?

Stalin and the Soviet Union. Galma was the Soviet Union.

"It's the Soviet Union!" Edmund yelled from downstairs

"I know!" Peter hollered back. He glanced further down the page, and seeing Terebinthia, called back, "What about Terebin…"

"India! Kenya Colony! Malaya! British West Indies!"

Susan had obviously run out of geography in the Known Lands surrounding Narnia in trying to collectively designate the many colonies of the British Empire.

So savoring the enormity and complexity of Susan's creation, it took a few moments before Peter was able to push on. Mum and Father had said that Susan should accompany them to America because she was the pretty one who was rubbish at books. She was not at Oxford studying with the Professor for exams; he was. Peter had often thought, as he struggled blindly through the Latin and Logic, that it was Edmund who should have been there, rather than he. Yet, the sophistication of what Susan was describing belied the very superficial assessments others made of her. Peter found his hackles rising at this chronic undervaluing of his sister. It was an error he had been guilty of himself, occasionally, and one that his brother, to his credit, had never made. Of course, both Edmund and Susan had always had a keen eye for talent.

A woman could be lovely, gentle, and compassionate, and not be weak; a person could be wise, subtle, and clever and yet not pull good marks in Algebra or Latin. He did not necessarily like where he thought this tale was going; still, he was perversely and profoundly proud of his sister for managing it as she was.

The tense silence stretched out until Peridan slumped, reluctant and angry, but ceding to the grim reality of their situation. "I understand, Chief," he said wearily. "Aslan knows I should not complain given what our people are enduring in the Lone Islands."

That was the rub of it and Susan was grateful that he saw it. They did not, could not, know how this might unfold. To the extent every contingency could be addressed, it had to be addressed. It was their duty, to their subjects, to Narnia, to their Kings, to all the Known Lands, really, if the Ettin hate spread unchecked.

Sallowpad stared at Peridan a moment longer, as if expecting the argument to be longer and more heated. With no other outburst coming, the Raven pressed on, as they all had to do.

"Cor, I'm seating you with Tarkheena Lasaraleen. We can't expect her crier sheet, The Daily, to suddenly turn pro-Narnia, but continue to work her and maybe they won't be so bitter about Calormen arming Narnia to save a rabble of savage beasts."

The Prince nodded. "With the rumor already circulating that the Tisroc's security team found the Ettin Cookbook, she is going to be digging for information."

"Everyone will be talking of it, which is all to the good. I have briefed Flobber on it and he may be issuing a statement with the High King later if they can agree on the wording. Our official position is, 'we did warn you.'"

"Do we know if Lasaraleen's husband will be there?" Prince Cor asked.

"It won't matter," Fraxi said briskly. "Just seat Tarkaan Ahoshta at a different table with a pretty Dryad."

Sallowpad consulted the seating chart. Susan was able to add, "Tarkheena Lasaraleen and Tarkaan Ahoshta are already seated separately, Chief. The Ambassador's office put two of the Holly Dryads from Personnel at the table with Tarkaan Ahoshta."

There was a shared round of snickers and guffaws.

"I will make sure the serving staff keep the wine glasses filled at that table," Fraxi said, shedding a few leaves as she quivered with laughter. "Where do you want me, Chief?"

"You will be with the Grand Vizier and Tarkaan Kidrash. It should be a jolly table, they are good friends, and make sure the drinks flow. Look pretty, keep the conversation up, and note everything the Grand Vizier says and who he talks to."

"Something up there, Chief?" Peridan asked, rousing from his sulk and interested in spite of himself.

"The Tisroc won't live forever. The Grand Vizier is next in line and that concerns me, Archenland, and the High King. I'd like to see the Grand Vizier and Tarkaan Kidrash drunk together and learn what we might. This is a longer range strategy we will discuss after we deal with rearming the Lone Islands campaign."

And the crisis after that, and the one after that, never ending.

The Raven turned to her. "Queen Susan, you and I shall be seated together, with Tarkaan Anradin."

She nodded, secretly pleased, as Sallowpad explained, "The Tisroc's security team is not going to permit release of the Ettin Cookbook for fear that it will cause a panic. As inducing panic about the Ettins is the point of this exercise, we will approach Anradin about selling our copy to him."

"And Anradin will publish the Cookbook in The Tattler," Peridan said, interrupting, again.

"And for me, Chief?" Bardon asked, injecting quickly and before Sallowpad could snap at Peridan. "The same as usual?"

"Yes. Monitor the door and the drive. Note who leaves, with whom, in what state, and what they say. Chat up the other livery, litter bearers, and drivers."

The Raven snapped his beak, the signal the meeting was over. "Get to work everyone. It will be a busy day and a longer night. Fraxi, take the seating charts, make the changes, and get it back over to Flobber's office."

Cor and Peridan filed out, the Prince muttering something consoling to the pilot. Fraxi gathered up the chart and Bardon followed her out the door.

"Mrs. Caspian, stay a moment if you will. Mr. Hill, shut the door please, tell Gladys to hold my calls."

Susan turned back around. "Yes, Colonel?"

"Take your seat."

Colonel Walker-Smythe eased back into his own chair, toying contemplatively with the ever present cigar.

"Tell me, Mrs. Caspian, even at your tender age, do you understand what we are asking of Tebbitt, Captain Lowrey, even Gladys?"

Susan straightened in her seat. "Of course, Sir. I am young, but not naïve."

He whipped his cigar about, brandishing it angrily. "Wrong answer, Mrs. Caspian. I ask you again, do you understand what we are asking of our staff, even at your tender and innocent age?"

Susan took a deep breath, annoyed with herself for failing this simple test. "Colonel, really." She put mild irritation and condescension into her voice. "Of course I understand. I am a married woman, so please spare me your paternalism."

He arched an eyebrow and awarded her an approving nod. "Much better. Always live your cover, Mrs. Caspian."

His fingers tapped a sharp, restless staccato on the desk. "What do you make of Tebbitt's aversion to the Congresswoman?"

She had been thinking on this herself. "He does not like her, to be sure. He is also protesting over much in my opinion. He is flattered by the attention and he very much enjoys the company of glamorous, rich women. I think the resistance is part of his role as the amiable War Hero and drunken town clown."

"He is much smarter than he acts."

"I have noticed that," Susan agreed. "To his credit as well, he dislikes her because of her anti-English views. He knows we need her in our nest and that complaining so smacks of ingratitude given what his own squadron is suffering in North Africa. I will keep an eye on him this evening, but someone as forceful as the Congresswoman is not going to take no for an answer. And if I may be blunt, Sir..."

The Colonel gestured expansively, "Please, Mrs. Caspian."

"Whatever token resistance he puts forth now, a man such as Tebbitt will respond to a beautiful woman who desires him."

He nodded, looking pleased at her analysis. "Well put, Mrs. Caspian. That is the principle of the honey trap – a discussion, by the way, we must leave for another day when we have more time, but which I do want you to understand the principles behind before you leave my instruction. This brings me to my next point."

"Sir?"

"I expect you to dress in a manner that is decorous and respectful of your husband's ill health."

Susan quelled the momentary disappointment of the direct order. She had known she should not march out in an attention-getting posh frock, and had not really intended to do so. Still, she felt a bit regretful.

"Knobby tweeds, Sir? Should I leave the wellies at the flat?"

"Use your judgment. I think you understand what I am looking for."

"I do, Sir." She was his assistant for the evening and should not detract from Gladys or the American socialites courting the British men.

An unpleasant thought struck her. "My mother is also attending. She might wonder about this."

"If you cannot deal with your mother, Mrs. Caspian, you are not the woman I think you are. Blame me, if you must."

She outwardly bristled at the criticism and he frowned, expecting better emotional control from her. Susan let out breath and let go of her pique. She was calling again upon the impassive poise she had worked so hard to perfect in Narnia. "Anything else, Sir?"

"I suppose I should ask if you are morally comfortable with us running rough shod over sacred marital vows made before God and your husband, Seventh Commandment, and all that."

The Colonel spoke so dryly, Susan could not tell if he intended to be mocking. Regardless, it did not matter. "Paternalism aside, Sir, I suggest you and I discuss this again after the Allies win the War and we have the luxury of asking such questions."

"Fair enough." Again his long and restless fingers tapped his desk with his fingers. Yet, he did not yet dismiss her either. Susan waited.

"I have not mentioned, Mrs. Caspian, but I have a daughter back in England."

"Sir?" Susan was not sure what the Colonel was about here, and so would follow his lead. He always spoke to a purpose.

"She is but fifteen, a sweet young girl."

Ah. Susan wondered if he really did have a fifteen-year-old daughter or if this was merely his oblique way of reminding her that living the cover aside, he was cognizant of her age.

She nodded. "I understand, Sir."

"I would have misgivings about seeing her at an event such as this one tonight, given what must be done. Young, pretty girls are tokens and pawns to the powerful men of this city. Were she to attend, I would want her accompanied by someone whom I trusted to protect her."

While she was warmed by his concern, it was annoying as well. Live the cover. "My husband and I do not yet have children, Sir, so it is difficult for me to, as one would say, walk in your shoes. I suspect, though, that you do not give your daughter enough due. She would likely surprise you given the opportunity."

"Thank you for that good advice, Queen Susan," croaked the Raven. "Get out of my office now."

To Follow, Still More Means, Part 2 (coming very soon!)

A/N (why can't I be brief?)

Historical notes (what I tinkered with)
Tobruk fell on June 21, 1942 while Churchill visited with Roosevelt in Washington, D.C. The British Eighth Army had perhaps 75 armored vehicles left. Mussolini arrived in Libya for a planned victory march into Cairo; the British were burning the documents at their Cairo headquarters and if the Nazis took the Suez, they would control the Mediterranean, access to oil and have the ability to supply the Eastern front of the War in the Soviet Union.

The BSC planted a fake map (not a Cookbook) detailing Nazi designs on the Americas in a Nazi safehouse in Cuba and President Roosevelt used the document in a speech – however, this event and the speech were in fact in 1941, not 1942.

The Chapter That Wasn't
Thank you for your kind reception. Doewe pointed out in a review that Tebbitt's math is faulty. This should not surprise you as he read English 19th Century Literature at University, with an emphasis upon poetry. I am pretty poor at math myself and moreover, skittish and embarrass easily. (see below)

There are pictures on my LJ (link in profile) to Susan's fashion choices for the State Dinner in Chapter 10.

Thanks to Metonomia for the editorial assistance and handholding!