Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 09 - Under Fire

"Those are the islands in the Flying Fish Channel," Jeanette asked.

McCoy nodded.

"You know how to spell them?" she asked, taking out her notebook again.

"The more information you have, the more I'm tempted to leave you on Tokchok-kundo until this operation is over."

She met his eyes.

"And you'd do just that, wouldn't you?" she asked. "How did a nice girl like Ernestine Sage get involved with a ruthless bastard like you?"

"She was lucky, I guess," McCoy said.

"I thought I had made it plain that I now have a personal interest in this war," Jeanette said.

"I don't know how far I can trust you," McCoy said. "If at all."

"Okay. Leave me on the fucking island if you think you have to. But spell the fucking islands for me now."

"When it gets light, Taylor has charts with the islands identified. I'm not sure of the spelling."

"You're going to invade islands you can't even spell?" she asked.

"We're Marines-we can do anything," McCoy said.

"The sad thing is you really believe that," she said. "And after you get the Queen Mary unloaded, and make your plans to invade the unspellable islands, then what?"

`Taylor and I go back to Pusan with a couple of Koreans for crew. Everybody else-probably including you-stays on the island, and starts training the Koreans for the opera-tion. Taylor and I've got a lot to do in Pusan, and maybe in Tokyo, too."

"For instance?"

"Well... Jeanette, you understand I'm serious about leav-ing you on Tokchok-kundo? And the more you know...."

"I'd stay on that fucking island forever if I thought it would help Pick," she said. "Okay?"

"Okay. That's settled. We're going to need boats to make the assault," McCoy said, "which means (a) we have to find boats, and (b) find some way to get them to Tokchok-kundo."

"What kind of boats? How many?" she asked.

What the hell, as long as I'm physically sitting on her, and she has no access to communications, it doesn't mat-ter how much she knows. And talking an operation like this through is always a good idea. You almost always come up with something you didn't think of.

So he told her what kind of boats, and how many of them, they were going to need. And everything else she asked him.

[TWO]

THE DEWEY SUITE

THE IMPERIAL HOTEL

TOKYO, JAPAN

1730 6 AUGUST 1950

When the knock at the door came, Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, was sprawled on a couch in the sitting room, reading a paperback copy of Mickey Spillane's My Gun Is Quick.

He went quickly to the door and pulled it open.

Major General Ralph Howe was in the corridor, dressed as Hart was, in a tieless uniform shirt and trousers.

"Professional reading, George?" Howe asked.

"I can't believe this thing," Hart said.

"Maybe that's why they call it fiction," Howe said. "Where's your boss?"

Hart pointed to the bedroom.

"I hope he's asleep," Hart said, and added: "The drinks I fed him at the cocktail hour were stiff ones."

Howe's eyebrows rose.

"Not drunk," Hart said. "I've never seen him drunk."

"I have to talk to him, George," Howe said.

"Yes, sir," Hart said, tossed My Gun Is Quick onto the couch, and went to Pickering's door. He knocked twice and then went in without waiting.

Pickering-also dressed in only a uniform shirt and trousers-was lying on his bed.

"Sorry to disturb you, boss," Hart said.

"No problem," Pickering said. "I've already counted the kimonoed ladies on the wallpaper twice. What's up?"

"General Howe, sir."

Pickering swung his feet out of bed and walked into the sitting room in his stocking feet.

"Sorry to wake you, Flem," Howe said.

"I was awake," Pickering said. "Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love one, but this may not be the time," Howe said.

"I had a telephone call from Harriman. They just landed at Haneda, and they're coming here to see us. They want to see us both, and separately."

"They meaning Harriman and Ridgway?" Pickering asked.

Howe nodded.

"Get us some coffee, George, while I put my shoes on," Pickering ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"You all right, Flem?" Howe asked.

"Meaning am I plastered? No. I gave getting plastered some serious thought and decided it wasn't the smart thing to do."

Howe followed Pickering and leaned on the bedroom door as Pickering put his shoes on.

"The other day, McCoy's wife said she knew Harriman. Do you?"

Pickering nodded.

"That's probably why he said he wants to see you, first," Howe said.

"We're not pals," Pickering said. "I've met him, oh, a bunch of times over the years. My wife knows him better than I do. And can't stand him."

"What's he like?"

"You never met him?"

"Only briefly. Truman is impressed with him."

"Interesting man. His father died when he was eighteen, leaving him the Union Pacific Railroad. And the Southern Pacific. He was our ambassador to Russia during the Sec-ond War. I always thought that was Roosevelt playing Machiavelli again, sending one of the richest men in Amer-ica to be ambassador to the Communists."

"I got the feeling that he was one of the first-and very few-of that bunch around Roosevelt to warn Truman that Uncle Joe "The Friendly Bear' Stalin was a real sonofabitch," Howe said.

"Could be," Pickering said, grunting as he tied his shoelaces. "He's working for Truman. Most of the rest of that bunch, thank God, is gone."

He stood up and walked into the bathroom.

"Five o'clock shadow," he said. "I don't know if Ernie Sage thought that line up, but it's made him a hell of a lot of money."

"Ernie Sage?" Howe asked, walking across the bedroom to stand in the bathroom door.

"McCoy's father-in-law," Pickering said. "First, Ameri-can Personal Pharmaceuticals-that was actually Ernie's father-made men ashamed of having beards, and then started selling them safety razors and shaving cream. You ever think about how stupid shaving is?"

Howe chuckled.

"You ever have a beard?" he asked.

"I had a beard from the time I got out of the Corps after the First War until the day I got married. Literally, the day I got married. Patricia said she wouldn't marry me with `that fur on your face,' and I believed her. I should have held my ground."

"From what I've seen of her, she's a formidable lady," Howe said. "You said before she doesn't like Harriman?"

"Can't stand him."

"Why?"

"Patricia has always had the odd notion that men should not have carnal knowledge of ladies to whom they are not joined in holy matrimony," Pickering said, as he lathered his face.

"I wonder where they get that silly idea," Howe said.

"And the sin is compounded when the chap boffing the lady to whom he is not married is himself married."

"Of course," Howe said. "You're talking around Harri-man? He looks-and acts-like the Chairman of the Vestry."

"And he probably is," Pickering said.

"But?"

"During the war, Patricia was in London a good deal- she was on the War Snipping Board. She kept an apartment in Claridge's Hotel. Claridge's was where Ambassador Har-riman stayed when he flew in from Moscow to confer with Eisenhower and, incidentally, to boff Pamela Churchill."

"Pamela Churchill?"

"Winston's daughter-in-law," Pickering said. "His son Randolph's wife."

"I never heard this before," Howe said.

"Well, it was hardly a secret," Pickering said. "I heard about it over here, in one of Wild Bill Donovan's Top Se-cret monthly reports on Important World Events, before Patricia told me. And if Wild Bill knew about Harriman and his girlfriend, then Roosevelt did. You were in Europe during the war, Ralph. You ever hear about Eisenhower's `driver,' the English girl he had commissioned into the U.S. Army as a captain?"

Howe nodded.