This guy seems like he's pretty competent. Which makes him all the more dangerous. If he puts together what we're really doing here, he'll sure as hell tell the station agent in Tokyo, who'll fall all over himself rushing to let Willoughby know.
`Two other things," McCoy said.
"Name them."
"I'm going to have to find someplace to keep my team. I don't want to operate out of a warehouse on the pier."
"And?"
"I need a senior national police officer, a senior one, ma-jor or lieutenant colonel, one who can be trusted."
"Kim Pak Su," Dunston said, immediately. "Major. Very bright."
"Can he be trusted?"
"He got out of Seoul by the skin of his teeth. His wife and kids didn't. They shot his wife, and he doesn't know what happened to the kids."
"The NKs might have gotten word to him that they have the kids, and will shoot them if he doesn't turn. And by shooting his wife, they've made the point they mean it."
"I considered that," Dunston said. "And fed him some al-most good intel to see if it turned up on the other side. It didn't."
Jesus, he is good!
"When can I see him?"
"Tonight, if you want. Tomorrow would be better."
"I'll also need a dozen national policemen for guards."
"No problem."
"And someplace to set up shop?"
"There's a place in Tongnae you could use," Dunston said.
"Where's Tongnae?"
"About twenty miles out of town," Dunston said. "On the water. It's where the junk is tied up, as a matter of fact."
"What's there?"
"It used to be a Japanese officer's brothel," Dunston said. "When our wives were here, we didn't tell them that. We said it used to be a Japanese officer's leave hotel."
"Are the NKs watching it?"
"I don't think so. If they are, they haven't seen anything. I haven't had a hell of a lot of time free lately. I would guess, if they are watching it, they think we're just sitting on it."
"Sounds good."
"If you use it, and like Major Kim, he could increase the security."
"Who's there now?"
"Kim and maybe three other national police officers."
"I thought you said it would be better to see Kim tomor-row?"
"That was before I thought about turning the place over to you. You want to go out there tonight?"
"Let's see what's going on at the pier," McCoy said.
This guy is good. He knew about the Marines at the pier. So he probably has had this ex-officer's whorehouse in mind all along. And Major Kim is his buddy, who therefore can be counted on to tell him what we're doing.
"Okay," Dunston said. "You married, McCoy?"
"Yeah."
"Your wife know what you do for a living?"
"Yes, she does."
"Don't misunderstand me, I love my wife. But she's a little flighty. Until twenty minutes before I didn't get on the plane with her when they flew the embassy people out of Suwon, she really thought I was a financial analyst in the office of the business attach‚ in the embassy in Seoul."
"Where's she now?"
"In Chevy Chase, Maryland, with her folks."
"Mine is in Tokyo," McCoy said. "Which is what they call a mixed blessing."
Dunston braked the Jeep abruptly, almost losing control, to avoid hitting an elderly white-bearded Korean in a white smocklike garment who came out of nowhere and ran, on stilted shoes, in front of them. Sergeant Jennings, behind them, almost ran into them.
"Goddamned poppa-sans," Dunston said. "They do that-"
"So the evil spirits chasing them," McCoy said, in Ko-rean, "will get run over."
"I heard that, too," Dunston replied, in perfect Korean, "That your Korean is five-five."
"What the hell does five-five mean?" McCoy asked, switching to English.
"If you're a civilian spook, and speak and read and write the indigenous tongue of the country in which you are working five-five-with absolute fluency-you get another hundred a month. When I came here, I was two-one, which means barely qualified, and you don't get no bonus pay."
McCoy chuckled.
"There is no such provision in Marine regulations," he said.
I like this guy. Which makes him twice as dangerous.
[SIX]
McCoy recognized the pier as the one at which the Attack Transports Clymer and Pickaway had been tied up to de-bark the First Marine Brigade (Provisional), but those ves-sels were gone. Three civilian merchantmen-one of them with the insignia of Pacific & Far East shipping on her smokestack-were tied up where transports had been.
Long lines of Korean longshoremen were manhandling cargo from all three.
Dunston drove the Jeep away from the quai side, and down a road before a second row of warehouses. A Marine staff sergeant, armed with a Thompson, was sitting on a stool in front of one of the sliding doors. He got to his feet when he saw the Jeeps stopping, and looked curiously at McCoy and Dunston.
"My name is McCoy, Sergeant," McCoy said.
The sergeant saluted.
"Good evening, sir," he said. "I was told to. expect you. But this other officer? I was told to let only you pass."
"Major Dunston's with me," McCoy said. "He's with the army transportation corps."
That announcement seemed to make the sergeant even more nervous.
"Yes, sir. Would the captain wait a minute, please?" he said.
He went to the sliding door and beat three times on it with his fist.
"Mr. Zimmerman!" he called. "Special visitors!"
There had been a crack of light at the side of the sliding door. The light went out, after a minute, and then the door slowly slid open just wide enough for Master Gunner Zim-merman's bulk.
He saluted McCoy.
"Good evening, sir," he said.
"Can we come in, Mr. Zimmerman?" McCoy asked.
"I'm not sure bringing that doggie officer in here is a good idea," Zimmerman said, quickly, softly, and in Ko-rean. Then he raised his voice and switched to English. "May I speak to the captain privately, sir?"
"This doggie officer," Dunston said, in Korean, "not only knows what you're doing in there, Mr. Zimmerman, but hopes that by now he has convinced Captain McCoy that he's one of the good guys."
"He's Okay, Ernie," McCoy said.
"If you say so," Zimmerman said, dubiously. "Open the door."
The sergeant slid the door fully open. It was pitch dark inside the warehouse. McCoy, Dunston, and Sergeant Jen-nings followed Zimmerman inside. Zimmerman then care-fully closed the door.
"Lights!" he ordered.
Ceiling mounted lights came on.
There were a dozen Marines in the room, plus a Dodge three-quarter-ton weapons carrier, two Jeeps, and trailers for all three vehicles. Lieutenant David R. Taylor, USNR, was sitting on a tarpaulin covering a five-foot-high stack of crates.
All three vehicles bore a fresh coat of Marine green paint.
Zimmerman looked at McCoy expectantly. "Major Dunston, may I present Lieutenant Taylor, of the Navy, and Master Gunner Zimmerman?"
Taylor and Zimmerman wordlessly shook Dunston's hand.
"May I suggest, Mr. Zimmerman," McCoy said, for-mally, "that you turn the lights off again, so that Sergeant Jennings can bring his Jeep in here for a little freshening up?"
"Lights!" Zimmerman ordered again. The lights went out, the door was opened, and a moment later, Jennings drove his Jeep into the warehouse. The door was then closed.
"Lights!" Zimmerman ordered. The lights came back on, and then there was the sound of an air-compressor starting. Two Marines went to the Jeep and started remov-ing the top, seats, and spare tire. A third Marine appeared with a paint spray gun in his hand and started to expertly over-paint the hood.
"How soon can we use any of these?" McCoy asked.
"We got the weapons carrier first," Zimmerman said. "It's had a couple of hours to dry. Besides, if it looks a lit-
tle dirty-"
"It would probably look a little less suspicious than a fresh paint job," Dunston said, in Korean. "You seem to be everything I've heard about you, Mr. Zimmerman. That you are very good at what you do."
McCoy chuckled.
Zimmerman looked confused.
"May I see you a moment, gentlemen?" McCoy or-dered, gesturing toward a far corner of the warehouse, as he started walking to it.
Zimmerman and Taylor followed him.
"Who is that guy?" Zimmerman asked.
"The Pusan CIA station chief," McCoy said. "I sort of like him, but I don't want him to know about the Channel Islands. He thinks we're here to see if we can get Pick back."
Zimmerman nodded.
"You went to him?" Taylor asked.
"The general sent him a TWX telling him to give us any-thing we need. He went looking for me."
"How did he find you?" Zimmerman asked.
"He not only found me, he knew where to find you," McCoy said, chuckling. "I guess you could say he's very good at what he does."
"Okay."
"How much did you tell these guys?"
"I was waiting for you to do that."
"What's with Sergeant Jennings? Why did you send him to K-l?"
"I knew him at Parris Island," Zimmerman said. "Good man."
"Can he keep his mouth shut? My brain was out of gear when I landed at K-l and I told him what we're really go-ing to do."
"Yeah," Zimmerman said. "He can. I'll tell him right now."
"Dunston's going to be useful. He's got a place we can use outside of town, and a junk with a two hundred-horsepower Caterpillar, and a national police major he says can be trusted."
"Well, the junk will come in handy," Taylor said.
"Maybe he trusts this Korean to report on everything we do?" Zimmerman asked.
"Probably. So the thing we do is make the we're-going-to-try-to-rescue-Pickering story credible."
Zimmerman nodded.
"So what do we do now?"
McCoy pointed across the room, where a canvas tarpau-lin shrouded a five-foot-high stack of crates.
"What's in those?"
"Rations, some Japanese Arisaka rifles, ammo for them, beer, and a brand-new SCR-300 transceiver."
"Well, start loading that stuff in the weapons carrier and a trailer, and we'll go look at our new home. We can take Jennings with us, so he knows how to find this place. I want to get out of here before we all wind up in an Army stockade."
There was little sign of life in the village of Tongnae ex-cept for a Korean national policeman standing in the center of the major intersection. He had a Japanese Arisaka rifle hanging from his shoulder, and was wearing what McCoy recognized as a Japanese army cartridge belt. He was wearing rubber sandals, and he didn't move as Dunston's Jeep and then the weapons carrier drove past him.
"What's that awful stink?" Jennings asked from the backseat, where he was sitting with Taylor.
"Korea, the land of the morning calm and many awful stinks," Taylor said. "What we're smelling now is drying fish. They put their catches on racks on roofs and dry them. They don't rot, for some reason. I've wondered how they do that."
Dunston drove down deserted streets and finally stopped before a double door in a stone wall. He blew the horn, and after a moment the doors were opened by a national police sergeant who didn't look old enough to be wearing a uni-form, or large enough to be able to fire the Garand he held in his hands.
He took his right hand from the Garand and saluted awkwardly as Dunston drove the Jeep past him.
Inside the wall was a rambling one-story wooden build-ing with a wide verandah. As McCoy looked at it, a door slid open and a Korean appeared. He was slight, bare-chested, wearing only U.S. Army fatigue trousers and rub-ber sandals. He held a Thompson submachine gun in his hand. He saluted.
There was something about him that told McCoy he was looking at Major Kim Pak Su.
Dunston got out of the Jeep and walked to Major Kim.
"Who's here tonight besides you?" he asked, in Korean.
"No one's here but me," Kim said. "Who are these peo-ple?"
"They're working with me, or more accurately, I'm working with them," Dunston said, and switched to En-glish. "Captain McCoy, this is Major Kim."
"How do you do?" Kim said, in British-accented English.
"Very well, thank you," McCoy said, in Korean. "This is my deputy, Master Gunner Zimmerman, and Lieutenant Taylor, of the Navy."
Major Kim was visibly surprised that Taylor and Zim-merman also said the equivalent of "How do you do?" in Korean.
"Have you got somebody to help unload our gear?" Zimmerman asked, indicating the weapons carrier and its trailer.
"More important, someone reliable to guard it?"
"I have national policemen over there," Kim said, point-ing to an outbuilding. Then, surprising everybody, he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.
A moment later, a young Korean wearing only his un-derwear and sandals, and carrying a Garand, came trotting up to them.
"Unload the truck and trailer, put it in the garage, and put a guard on it," Major Kim said.
"Yes, sir," the Korean said.
"Why don't we go inside?" Major Kim asked. "I'm afraid there's not much I can offer you in the way of food or drink...."
Zimmerman put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.
The Korean in his underwear returned.
"There are six cases of beer in the truck," Zimmerman announced. "Bring five in the hotel. The other is for you and your men. There are ten cases of rations. Take two for you and your men."
The Korean looked to Major Kim for guidance.
"You heard the officer," Kim said.
The Korean scurried off.
"Major, is there someone here who can cook?" Zimmer-man asked.
"Yes, there is."
"Wash clothes?"
"Yes."
"And is there a bath, with showers?"
"Yes. This was a Japanese officer's rest hotel...."
"You mean whorehouse?" Zimmerman asked.
"Yes."
"Then what I suggest we do, Captain McCoy, sir," Zimmerman said, "is go inside, have a shower, a couple of beers, something to eat, and call it a day. This has been a long day."
"Make it so, Mr. Zimmerman," Captain McCoy ordered.
Chapter Fourteen
[ONE]
THE DEWEY SUITE
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
2200 4 AUGUST 1950
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering fully understood that drinking alone was not wise, but that's what he was do-ing-but slowly, he hoped-when the door chime to the Dewey Suite sounded.
Pickering was alone because General Howe had sensed he wanted to be alone, and had taken Master Sergeant Rogers out for dinner. Then, after Howe and Rogers had left, Hart had hung around, looking both morose and sym-pathetic, which Pickering had decided was the last thing he needed, so he had sent Hart to the movies.
He smiled at that memory as he walked to the door to answer it. It had been the only cause to smile all day.
He thought he had found a tactful way to get rid of George when he read in Stars & Stripes that a John Huston film, The Asphalt Jungle, starring Sterling Hayden and Louis Calhern, was playing at the Ernie Pyle Theater.
"George, why don't you go? Get out of here for a couple of hours?"
"Sir, I think I'll pass," George said. "The Asphalt Jungle sounds like a stupid movie."
"Captain Hart, when one of our own makes a movie, stupid or not, it behooves us to go see it, and whistle, cheer, and applaud loudly whenever he has a line."
"One of our own?" George had asked, baffled.
"Sterling Hayden is not only a Marine, but like yourself, a former agent of the Office of Strategic Services," Picker-ing had said.
"No shit?" Hart had asked, genuinely surprised.
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 49