On December 7,1941, wakened by the sound of low-flying aircraft, Fleming Pickering had gotten out of his bed in the penthouse suite of the Foster Waikiki Beach Hotel in Hon-olulu and watched the Japanese attack on the Navy base at Pearl Harbor.
He had been enraged, not only at the Japanese sneak at-tack, but also at what he perceived to be the nearly criminal incompetence of the senior military-especially the senior Naval-officers in Hawaii, who he felt had been derelict in allowing such an attack to happen.
He had sailed that night to Seattle, Washington, aboard the Pacific Princess, the flagship of the Pacific & Far East fleet, which had been commandeered by the U.S. Navy and was to be converted to a troop transport. Its speed, it was theorized-and later proven-would make it immune to Japanese submarine attack.
Once in the United States, Pickering had immediately gone to Washington to volunteer for service as a Marine again. Brigadier General D. G. Mclnerney, USMC, with whom he had served-both of them sergeants-at Belleau Wood in France in the First World War, more or less gently told him there was no place in the Marine Corps for him, and that he could make a greater contribution to the war ef-fort by running Pacific & Far East.
It was the second time he had been, so to speak, rejected for government service.
Before the war had involved the United States-but when he had known that war was inevitable-he had been offered "a suitable position" in the "Office of the Coordina-tor of Information," later renamed the Office of Strategic Services. Swallowing his intense dislike of the Coordinator of Information himself, Colonel William "Wild Bill" Dono-van, he had gone to Washington for an interview and found that what Donovan had in mind was a bureaucratic post un-der a man for whom Pickering had a profound disgust.
Forced to admit that Mac Mclnerney was right-he was not qualified to be a Marine captain, much less a Marine colonel, which is what he had more than a little egotisti-cally had in mind-Pickering had gone from Mclnerney's Eighth and "I" Streets office to the Foster Lafayette Hotel, across from the White House, where he was staying in the apartment of his close friend, Senator Richardson K. Fowler (R., Cal.). Once there, nursing his rejection, he had promptly crawled most of the way into a quart bottle of the senator's Famous Grouse.
When Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox had appeared unannounced in the apartment to see Senator Fowler, Pick-ering had lost little time in sharing with the Secretary his opinion that "the Pearl Harbor admirals" should be court-martialed and that Knox himself should resign. Almost as an afterthought, he told Knox that he would fight the Navy's intention of commandeering the entire Pacific & Far East fleet-they could have the Pacific Princess and the other passenger ships, but that's all-all the way to the Supreme Court.
The next day, nursing a monumental hangover as he flew back to San Francisco, he was convinced that his drunken attack on Knox-for that's unquestionably what it had been-had ended once and for all any chance of his ever again serving in uniform.
He was wrong. A few days later, Helen Florian, his sec-retary, had put her head in his office and announced that Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox was in her office and wanted to see him.
Pickering was convinced that it was payback time for their encounter in Senator Fowler's apartment. Knox was almost certainly going to tell him, with justified relish, that the U.S. Navy was commandeering every vessel in the P&FE fleet and the P&FE building, "for the duration," and that he was to be out of the building by five o'clock.
But that wasn't what Knox had had in mind at all.
Knox said that he suspected-human nature being what it was-that the reports he was getting-and would be get-ting-from the admirals in the Pacific-men with a life-long devotion to the Navy-would understandably paint
the situation to the advantage of the Navy, rather than as what it actually was.
What he had to have, Knox said, was a cold, expert ap-praisal of what was going on out there from someone who knew ships, and shipyards, and the Pacific, and wasn't cowed by thick rows of gold braid on admirals' sleeves.
Someone, for example, who had spent his lifetime in-volved with the Pacific Ocean; someone so unawed by rank and titles that he had told the Secretary of the Navy he should resign.
Within days, a hastily commissioned Captain Fleming S. Pickering, U.S. Navy Reserve, boarded a Navy plane for Hawaii, his orders identifying him as the Personal Repre-sentative of the Secretary of the Navy.
Pleased with the reports Pickering had furnished from Pearl Harbor, Knox ordered him to Australia to evaluate the harbors, shipyards, and other facilities there. He arrived shortly before General Douglas MacArthur did, having es-caped-at President Roosevelt's direct order-from the Philippines to set up his headquarters in Australia.
Pickering became an unofficial member of MacArthur's staff, but by the time of the First Marine Division's inva-sion of Guadalcanal, was convinced that his usefulness was pretty much at an end.
Aware-and not caring-that Knox would certainly be annoyed and probably would be furious, Pickering went ashore on Guadalcanal with the Marines. He offered his serv-ices to the First Marine Division commander, Major General A. A. Vandegrift, in any capacity where Vandegrift thought he might be useful, down to rifleman in a line company.
The First Division's intelligence officer had been killed in the first few hours of the invasion, and Vande-grift-who had come to admire Pickering's brains and savvy while they were planning the logistics of the inva-sion-named Pickering "temporarily, until a qualified re-placement could be flown in from the United States," to replace the fallen incumbent.
The day after his qualified replacement arrived, so did the U.S. Navy destroyer Gregory, under dual orders from the Navy Department: Deliver urgently needed aviation fuel to the island, and do not leave Guadalcanal until Cap-tain Fleming Pickering, USNR, is aboard.
En route to Pearl Harbor, the Gregory was attacked by Japanese bombers. Pickering was on her bridge with her captain when her captain was killed. Pickering, as senior officer of the line aboard-and an any ocean, any tonnage master mariner-assumed command of the destroyer, skill-fully maneuvering her until the attack was over, whereupon he passed out from loss of blood from the wounds he had suffered when the first bomb struck.
He was flown to the Navy Hospital in San Diego, where, as he recuperated, he decided that his wound would proba-bly spare him from a court-martial, and that he would qui-etly be released from the Navy.
He was, instead, summoned to Washington, where, on the Presidential yacht, Sequoia, President Roosevelt not only gave him-at the recommendation of the Navy's Commander-in-Chief, Pacific-the Silver Star for his valor in "assuming, despite his grievous wounds" command of the Gregory, but informed him that he had that day sent his name-at the request of Secretary Knox-to the Senate for their advice and consent to his appointment as Brigadier General, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve. He would serve, the President told him, on Knox's personal staff.
He soon found out what Knox had in mind for him to do.
Literally hidden in one of the "temporary" wooden buildings erected during World War I on the Washington Mall was the USMC Office of Management Analysis, even its name intended to conceal its role as the personal covert intelligence operation of Secretary Knox.
Pickering, in addition to his other duties, was named its commander, and in effect became director of covert intelli-gence operations for the Navy.
In February 1943, after General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander, Southwest Pacific Ocean Area, and Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, U.S. Navy Commander-in-Chief, Pacific, had made it abundantly clear that neither would have anything to do with Colonel "Wild Bill" Donovan's Office of Strategic.Services in their theaters of opera-tion, President Roosevelt had solved that problem by issuing an executive order naming Brigadier General Fleming Pick-ering, USMCR, as OSS Deputy Director for the Pacific.
Although Pickering hated the appointment-before the war, he and Donovan had once almost come to blows in the lobby of New York City's Century Club, and he was sti
ll smarting over the insultingly low-level job Donovan had offered him before the war-Pickering had to admit it was Roosevelt at his Machiavellian best.
Neither MacArthur nor Nimitz would-or could- protest the appointment. MacArthur had written glowingly to Roosevelt about Pickering's service in Australia, and Nimitz had personally ordered Pickering decorated with the Silver Star for his valor on board the destroyer sent to bring him off Guadalcanal.
Pickering had served as the OSS's Deputy Director for the Pacific-which included, so far as the OSS was concerned, both China and India-for the rest of the war. The last time he had been in Tokyo had been as a member-arguably the second senior member-of the team flown into Japan to arrange the details of the surrender. He had left Japan two weeks later, and taken off his uniform a week after that.
[THREE]
THE DEWEY SUITE
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
1430 1 JUNE 1950
"I think we did it," Malcolm S. "Pick" Pickering said to his father as he came through the door. "Made our time offi-cial, set another record, I mean."
"Who did this?" Pickering asked, gesturing around the huge, elegantly furnished suite.
"I hope so," Pick said, ignoring the question. "Ford is here. It would really piss him off."
"Who did this?" his father repeated. "Isn't this a bit much for one man?"
"Mom did it," Pick said, just a little sheepishly. "She knows the guy who owns it-or maybe the general man-ager, somebody at the top-and set it up. I think he owed her a favor, or something."
And what that does is get her off the guilt hook: If Flem is with Pick, and in the best suite in the best hotel in Tokyo, then there's no reason for me to feel guilty about leaving 0l' Flem alone.
"And what time do the geisha girls arrive?"
There was the sound of a gentle chime.
"That must be them," Pick said, smiling.
It was instead a full colonel of the United States Army, in a tropical worsted uniform, from the epaulets of which hung the aiguillette of an aide-de-camp, and on the lapels of which was a shield, in the center of which were five stars in a circle, which was the lapel insignia of an aide-de-camp to a general of the Army.
There aren't that many five-stars around anywhere, and only one in Japan. This guy is El Supremo's aide.
How the hell did he know I was here ?
"May I help you, Colonel?" Pickering asked.
"Sir, you're General Pickering?"
"That was a long time ago, Colonel."
"Sir, I'm Colonel Stanley. I'm an aide-de-camp to Gen-eral MacArthur...."
"I sort of guessed you were," Pickering said, chuckling, waving his hand at the colonel's uniform. He turned and motioned for the colonel to follow him into the suite.
"Colonel Stanley," Pickering went on, "this is my son, Captain Pickering, of Trans-Global Airways, who tells me he has reason to believe that he set a speed record today, bringing us here. We were about to have a drink to cele-brate that, and I hope you'll join us."
The colonel shook Pick's hand and said it was a pleasure and offered his congratulations, "but with your permission, General, I'll pass on the drink. It's a little early."
"Relax, Colonel," Pickering said. "I won't tell El Supremo. Scotch all right?"
"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "Scotch would be fine."
Pick went behind the bar.
"Dad," he said, amused, "there's a note here. It says, `When the services of a bartender are required, please press the button.' Do I press the button?"
"No," Pickering said, flatly. "Is there any Famous Grouse?"
"Your reputation and tastes precede you, General, sir," Pick said, and held up a bottle of Famous Grouse Scots whiskey.
"That all right with you, Colonel?"
"That would be fine, sir. Thank you," the colonel said, and then remembered his mission. He took a squarish en-velope from his pocket and handed it to Pickering. "The compliments of the Supreme Commander, General."
Pickering took the envelope and opened it.
The Supreme Commander and Mrs. Douglas MacArthur
request the honor of the presence of
Brig. Gen. Fleming Pickering, USMCR
At
Lunch/Cocktails/Dinner
Whatever is my old Comrade-in-Arms' pleasure
At the Supreme Commander's Residence
At
Whenever you can find the time.
Jean and I welcome you to Japan, my dear Fleming!!!!!
Just tell the colonel what is your pleasure.
Douglas
Dress
Pickering handed the invitation to his son, who took it, shrugged, and pursed his lips in amusement.
"Like I said, your reputation precedes you, General, sir."
"Colonel," Pickering said. "Would you be good enough to present my compliments to General MacArthur, and tell him that as soon as I know my schedule, I'll be in touch?"
"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "General, I think that the Supreme Commander had cocktails and dinner tonight in mind, sir."
"How do you know that?" Pickering asked, as if the question amused him.
"Colonel Huff mentioned it, sir."
"Good ol' Sid," Pickering replied, his tone suggesting that he didn't think of Huff that way at all. There was im-mediate confirmation of this: "He's still El Supremo's head dog robber, I gather?"
Colonel Stanley's face-just for a moment-showed that the question both surprised him and was one he would rather not answer directly. He took a notebook from his tu-nic pocket, wrote a number on it, and handed it to Picker-ing.
"That's Colonel Huff's private number, sir. Perhaps you could call him?"
"I didn't mean to put you on a spot, Colonel," Pickering said. "I go a long way back with Colonel Huff."
"I understand, sir," Stanley said.
He took a token sip from his drink and set it down.
"With your permission, General?" he asked.
"You don't need my permission to do anything, Colonel. It's been a long time since I was a general. And I under-stand you must have a busy schedule."
Stanley offered his hand to Pick.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir," he said. "And congratula-tions on the speed record."
"The thing to keep in mind, Colonel," Pick said, smiling, "is that my dad's bite is worse than his bark."
Stanley smiled, offered Pickering his hand, and left the suite.
Father and son exchanged glances. "Something amuses you, Captain?" Pickering asked. "Something awes me," Pick said. "I just realized I'm in the presence of the only man in Japan who would dare to tell Douglas MacArthur's aide that he'll see if he can fit the general into his schedule."
"I like Douglas MacArthur," Pickering said. "And Jean. And I'll see them while I'm here, but I came here to see Ernie and Ken. Now, how do we do that?"
"Something wrong with the limo? Mom set that up, too. I'm reliably informed it's one of the two 1941 Cadillac limousines in Japan. And at this moment it's parked out-side waiting to take you to Ken's house." "You're not going with me?"
"Charley Ansley wants me to come to the Hotel Hokkaido-that's where the conference is-to make sure all the Ts are crossed and the Is dotted on the certification. Be-fore we rub our new speed record in Trans-Pacific's face. He said something about a press conference. I'll come out to Ken's place as soon as that's over." He paused. "Unless you want to go to the Hokkaido with me?"
Pickering considered that a moment. "I'm not going to show up at the Killer's door in a chauffeur-driven limousine. If you've got his address, I'll take a cab."
"Great. I'll take the limo to the Hokkaido. I laid on a Ford sedan for me. You can use that."
Pickering considered that a moment, then nodded. He had a fresh thought.
"I didn't think about bringing anything for them."
"There's a case of Famous Grouse in the trunk of the limo. You want me to have it moved to the Ford, or should I bring it when I come?"
"Put it in the Ford."
"You're going out there right now?"
"Just as soon as I shower and change my clothes."
"Pop, remember not to call him `Killer.'"
"He doesn't mind. I'm one of the privileged few."
"Ernie minds."
"I stand corrected. And you remember to try to look humble at the press conference."
"You know what Frank Lloyd Wright said about that: `It's hard to be humble when you're great.'"
"He is great. What you are is an aerial bus driver who caught a tailwind."
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 3