Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 08 - In Dangers Path

«I think I'm beginning to get the picture, sir,» Pickering said.

«Go on, Groscher,» Nimitz ordered.

«So General Dempsey hears that he is going to get magic and a magic clearance, which means he is now important. He wants to share this proud accomplishment with somebody. So he shares it with his deputy. Why not? He doesn't know that magic is not just one more military secret. His deputy has a Top Secret clearance. So he tells him. The deputy now feels important. He needs to tell somebody. And since he doesn't know how really important magic is,

he

feels safe in telling a trusted subordinate, one who has a Top Secret clearance. And so on.»

«I'm very afraid Groscher may be right,» Admiral Nimitz said. «And I think that's why General Marshall wants you to be in Chungking as soon as you can get there, Pickering. You will be the OSS delegate from JCS—for that matter, from the President himself—to General Stillwell. I think you are expected to impress on him the importance of keeping magic really secret, and also to let them know in Washington how far down the chain the breaking of the secret has gone.»

«I'm comfortable with the first part, sir,» Pickering said. «But I'm not at all sure I'm competent to judge how far magic has been compromised.»

«Like an ONI or CIC agent would be?» Groscher asked.

«Right.»

«To know what they were looking for, an ONI or CIC agent would have to be told about magic,» Groscher said. «Too many people already know about magic.»

«There is a B-17 laid on for you, Pickering,» Admiral Nimitz said. «Whenever you're ready to go, it will take you to Espiritu Santo, where—courtesy of our friend Douglas MacArthur, who also feels it important that you talk with Stillwell in Chungking as soon as possible—another B-17 will be waiting to take you, via India, to Chungking.»

«Sir, I really would like to see how my people are coming—«

«They have been told to have the aircraft available as of 0700 tomorrow morning,» Nimitz interrupted him. «Will that give you enough time to see what you have to see here?»

«Yes, sir.»

«Admiral Wagam is aware of my interest in the Gobi Desert project, and has been asked to make sure that we're doing whatever we can to get that moving,» Nimitz said.

Admiral Nimitz put out his hand. «I have every confidence, Pickering, that you are the man who will do what has to be done in Chungking,» he said.

«Thank you, sir,» Pickering replied, and realized that he was being dismissed.

note 71

U.S. Highway 98

Near Pensacola, Florida

2130 3 April 1943

A billboard was by the side of the road, getting a little seedy, and no longer illuminated, but Captain James B. Weston, USMC, could easily read it when the headlights of his Buick convertible flashed over it.

The San Carlos Hotel

Pensacol's Best

Air

Conditioned Rooms

and Suites

Swimming Pool

Restaurant-Cocktail Lounge Bar

Free Parking

Downtown Pensacola

The sign triggered a stream of thoughts in Captain Weston's somewhat weary brain:

I

can get a room there, and go out to the base first thing in the morning

.

What I really need right now is a couple of drinks. I can either go to the bar, or have the bellboy bring me a bottle.

And if I get a room there, I can call Martha. She expects me. But God, I don't want to see her. Not tonight. Not until I can figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

That makes sense, get a room, call Martha, and then get a bottle and have a couple of drinks, and get some sleep. If I don't have a couple of drinks, I'll never get to sleep.

So I'll call Martha and tell her I'm in the San Carlos…

Whereupon she will say, «I'll be right there, darling», or words to that effect.

An image of Mrs. Martha Sayre Culhane in her birthday suit jumped into his brain, accompanied by astonishingly clear and sharp memories of how warm, soft, and exciting the various parts of Martha's anatomy were.

And would be if she came to the San Carlos.

You really are a rotten sonofabitch, Weston. Despicable. Beyond contempt.

You really would do that to her. Exactly as you took advantage of Janice's innocence, her inability to suspect what a conscienceless prick you really are.

An image of Lieutenant (j.g.) Janice Hardison, NC, USNR, in her birthday suit jumped into his brain, accompanied by astonishingly clear and sharp memories of how warm, soft, and exciting the various parts of Janice's anatomy had been in the room in the Benjamin Franklin immediately before he departed Philadelphia for Pensacola.

Though he hadn't actually given his own character much serious consideration until very recently—until Janice Hardison had entered his life, and Martha Sayre Culhane had reentered it—Captain Weston had believed that his character was as good as most, and possibly even a little better than some people's. When he spoke, for example, he told the truth. He was, after all, a Marine officer. Marine officers do not lie.

And he had thought of himself as a gentleman, as well. Perhaps not in the same leagues as Sir Galahad or Cary Grant, but a gentleman nonetheless. A gentleman, he had heard somewhere and believed, never intentionally hurts the feelings of others. A gentleman never takes advantage of the weak, male or female, but with obvious emphasis on the gentle sex.

And of course, when a gentleman does something he knows goddamn well is wrong, he quickly confesses the error of his ways to the individual wronged, tries to make amends, and willingly accepts whatever punishment is involved.

He now knew this to be absolutely untrue.

The facts spoke for themselves.

He was a despicable sonofabitch, period.

He had reached this conclusion while driving from Philadelphia to Pensacola. The long drive had given him plenty of time to think, but the thinking had not produced any solution to his problem.

Suicide had even been considered.

But if he did what probably was the gentlemanly thing to do, and put a bullet through his warped and perverse and frankly disgusting brain, both Janice and Martha would show up at his funeral and each would blame themselves for what he had done to himself… He had had a mental image of them, both dressed in black, wearing little hats with black veils, meeting at his casket.

Neither was capable of understanding what a despicable prick had entered their lives.

Despite the fact that he had been wholly uninterested in getting to Pensacola quickly—in fact, at all—Weston had been twice stopped for violating the wartime speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour while traveling from Philadelphia to Pensacola.

Weston knew why he had been speeding when he was in no hurry whatsoever to get to Pensacola. He had not been paying any but the absolute minimum attention to driving. His mind had been occupied with what was going to happen to him once he got to Pensacola.

The truth of the matter was that he had never been much of a success with the opposite gender. In high school and college, and in the Corps, he'd known severalmen who were. and indeed, he had been awed by those lady-killers who seemed to have their choice of desirable females—often two or more of them at the same time. Frankly, that had made him more than a little jealous.

What must it be like to have two beautiful women in love with you at the same time? he had asked himself more than once.

Now he knew.

Before the San Carlos Hotel billboard had appeared in the headlights of the Buick, he had resolved to settle the situation once and for all. It was the decent thing to do, and he would do it, whatever the cost.