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

«Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting anything!» she said. «I just took the chance…«

«Fortunately, you are,» Ernie said, and walked quickly to the door. «Hi, I'm Ernie Sage. You got here just in time to help me drink some champagne. These two are on the hard stuff.»

«Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude!»

«Not at all,» Ernie said, as she grabbed her arm and dragged her into the room. «I'm really glad to see you.» She propelled her to the bar and poured a glass of champagne for her. «I'm the closest thing Pick has to a sister,» Ernie went on. «A

big

sister. And Captain McCoy is Pick's best friend, although Pick sometimes forgets that.»

«How do you do?» Elizabeth-Sue said, directing the greeting mostly to McCoy. McCoy inclined his head and said, «Ma'am.»

«You're stationed at the air station, Captain McCoy?»

«You can call him 'Killer,' « Ernie said. «

All

of his friends do.»

«Oh, Christ!» Pick said, and laughed.

McCoy shook his head in disbelief, but he seemed more amused than angry.

» '

Killer'

?» Elizabeth-Sue asked incredulously.

«As in 'Lady-killer,' « Ernie explained.

«Oh, really?» Elizabeth-Sue asked.

Pick started to giggle. It had a contagious reaction on McCoy. «He really is,» Pick said. «They both are. My best friends in all the world.»

«Then you're not out at the air station, Captain McCoy?» Elizabeth-Sue asked.

«No, ma'am. We're just passing through.»

Elizabeth-Sue's relief at hearing that was evident on her face.

«Lieutenant Pickering—Pick—and I are involved in the Friday dance program for the enlisted people at the air station,» Elizabeth-Sue said.

«Oh, come on, Elizabeth-Sue,» Ernie said. «I told you we're best friends.»

«I don't know what you mean,» Elizabeth-Sue said.

«I mean I'll give you five-to-one odds that I'm not the only female in this room sleeping with a Marine she's not married to,» Ernie said.

Elizabeth-Sue's mouth dropped open and she looked at Ernie in utter disbelief.

«Jesus H. Christ!» Pick said.

«So why don't we stop pretending,» Ernie went on, «and, for example, decide where we can all have a nice dinner where no one who knows you or Pick will see you? After you and I finish the champagne, I mean.»

«I just can't believe I'm hearing this!» Elizabeth-Sue said.

«As a general rule of thumb, Elizabeth-Sue,» Pick said, «you can believe anything Ernie says.»

«You can believe this, Elizabeth-Sue,» Ernie said. «Captain McCoy and I are just as concerned as you are about you and Pick not getting caught. Maybe more than you are.»

«I never, in my entire life—«

«Yes, or no, Elizabeth-Sue?» Pick interrupted her.

Elizabeth-Sue looked at him for a long moment before replying, «Honey, I just can't think of any place, except one across the river.»

«We could eat here,» Ernie said. «It would be safer, and I really don't feel like going out anywhere.»

«Maybe that would be better,» Elizabeth-Sue said.

She drained her glass and extended it to Ernie for a refill. «May I ask you a question?» she asked.

«Ask away.»

«What do you do?»

«When I'm not in my camp follower role, you mean?»

Elizabeth-Sue flinched a little at that, but nodded.

«She's the creative director, reporting directly to the account executive for the American Personal Pharmaceuticals account at BBD&O,» Pick announced, sounding very much like a prideful brother.

Elizabeth-Sue confessed she really didn't know what that meant.

«It means she takes home probably twice as much money every month as Lady-killer McCoy and I do together.»

«That's enough about me, thank you very much,» Ernie said. «Get on the phone and order us some hors d'oeuvres.»

«Yes, ma'am,» Pick said, and went to the telephone.

«How long are you going to be in Memphis?» Elizabeth-Sue asked.

«Just as soon as Ken can get us a compartment on a train to Florida—and he's very good at that sort of thing—we're going to Palm Beach for a little sun. With a little bit of luck, maybe tomorrow.»

note 34

Temporary Building T-2032

The Mall

Washington, D.C.

0805 3 March 1943

A painfully sunburned Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, walked down the sidewalk between the rows of temporary buildings until he came to T-2032, then approached the door and rang the bell. A face appeared at a small window in the door, and a moment later there was a buzzing noise as the solenoid-operated lock functioned. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The «temporary» buildings on The Mall, built during World War I, had been designed to last no more than five years. Despite a quarter century's painting and patching to keep them functional, they showed their age. Floors sagged, roofs leaked, and keeping windows and doors operational required a small army of maintenance people.

The sign, painted Marine Corps Green, hung from a small pole on the tiny lawn before Temporary Building T-2032. It read, «USMC Office of Management Analysis.» From the street Temporary Building T-2032, a two-story frame building with a shingle roof, looked no different than Building T-2034, «USMC Office of Dependent Affairs,» to its right, or Building T-2030, «USMC Office of Procurement Contract Management,» to its left.

Inside T-2032, there were considerable differences from the other buildings. Just beyond the ground-floor entrance was a counter behind which sat two Marine noncoms armed with pistols and World War I trench guns—Winchester Model 12 12-gauge pump-action shotguns, with six-round magazines and twenty-inch barrels with bayonet fixtures. They controlled access to the rest of the building. This was through a door covered (as was the wall itself) with pierced steel planking normally used to pave temporary aircraft runways.

«You look like you been out in the sun, Captain McCoy,» Technical Sergeant Harry Rutterman said.

«Oh, you are an observant sonofabitch, aren't you, Harry?» McCoy said, and touched his shoulder in a gesture of affection between old friends.

And then he reached for his ONI credentials. No one was passed through the steel planking until the security provisions had been complied with. There were no special credentials for personnel assigned to the Office of Management Analysis; if there were, McCoy knew, people would wonder exactly what Management Analysis did that required special identification. The less people wondered about Management Analysis, the better. ONI credentials served just fine; everybody knew about ONI; and no one asked questions of people with ONI credentials.

Rutterman checked the credentials and handed them back with a smile.

«And who is being honored with the pleasure of your visit?»

«Got a little last night, Harry, did you? You're in a very good mood.»

Rutterman laughed.

«Major Banning get in yet?» McCoy said.

«He don't work here no more,» Rutterman said. «Captain Sessions is here.»

«Sessions, then,» McCoy said.

Rutterman picked up a telephone and dialed two digits. «Captain McCoy to see you, sir,» he said, listened a moment, and then hung up. «Pass, friend,» he said to McCoy, indicating the door covered with pierced steel planking.

As he reached it and tugged on it, there was another solenoid buzz, and the door opened. McCoy passed through it and then up a narrow flight of stairs. Captain Ed Sessions was waiting for him at the top.

«Don't tell me, let me guess,» he said. «You've been in Florida.»

«It's not funny,» McCoy said.

«Come with me. Captain, the General wishes the pleasure of your company.»

«He's here?» McCoy asked, surprised. General Pickering normally spent very little time in Building T-2032.