"I'd have to make three passes, then? One, fly over; two, spot the panel; three, drop your stuff. Won't that attract at-tention to the island?"
"I thought, sir, if you flew out of sight each time, for, say, five minutes..."
"I can do it, sir," Dunn said.
Cushman looked very thoughtful for a long moment.
"It looks to me that what we have here is a presidentially sanctioned covert mission that we are obliged to support," he said, finally. "Wouldn't you agree, Captain?"
It took the captain even longer to consider his reply.
"Yes, sir, I would agree," he said, finally.
"Aye, aye, sir. Thank you, sir," Dunn said.
"One other question, McCoy," Cushman said. "No, two.
Where do you go from here? And what's with the black pajamas? Where's your uniform?"
"The last time I saw it, it was sinking into the Yellow Sea, sir," McCoy said. "It was washed overboard on the way back from Tokchok-kundo."
"I'm sure the captain can find some khakis for you," Cushman said. "And then?"
"Back to Pusan, sir."
"And?"
"Catch a ride to Tokyo. I've got to report to General Pickering."
"I'll take you to Tokyo," Cushman said. "I'd like to see General Pickering myself."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"You can use my cabin to take a shower and shave," Dunn said. "I'll show you the way."
When they reached Lieutenant Colonel Dunn's cabin, Mc-Coy saw that the name of Major Malcolm S. Pickering had been removed from the sign outside.
Dunn went immediately to the cabin safe and took an envelope from it.
"Nobody but the two photo lab guys have seen this," Dunn said. "And they won't say anything to anybody."
McCoy opened the envelope and saw the picture of the muddy rice paddy in which someone had stamped out "PP" and an arrow.
"That was taken the day after Pick went down," he said. "The time and map coordinates are on the back."
McCoy looked at him in genuine surprise.
"You think he's still alive and running around loose up there?"
"You tell me, Killer. You're the expert."
"Jesus Christ!" McCoy said.
"Yeah," Dunn said, then patted McCoy on the arm and left his cabin.
Chapter Seventeen
[ONE]
HANEDA AIRFIELD
TOKYO, JAPAN
0805 10 AUGUST 1950
The Marine liaison officer at Haneda, having been ad-vised by approach control that an Avenger with a Code Seven aboard who did not wish honors but did require ground transportation was fifteen minutes out, had time to procure a staff car with a one-star plate from the Army, and see to it that the Marines who would meet the aircraft were shipshape and were standing at almost parade rest when the Avenger taxied up to the Navy hangar and stopped.
If the Marine liaison officer thought there was some-thing slightly odd about the man in the backseat of the Avenger who climbed down to the ground-that he was carrying an M-l rifle, for instance, and that when he took off his flight suit, he was wearing what looked like Navy khakis fresh from the clothing sales store, with no insignia of any kind-he asked no questions.
The Code Seven was Brigadier General Thomas A. Cushman, assistant commander of First Marine Air Wing. The Marine liaison officer recognized him.
Marine first lieutenants presume that Marine general of-ficers know what they are doing at all times, and that the latter will offer an explanation if they feel an explanation is required.
Cushman said he needed the aircraft topped off, that he would return in an hour or two, and that something would be needed to "cover the Garand." A U.S. Army rubberized raincoat was quickly found, and General Cushman and the man with the Garand got in it and drove off.
[TWO]
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
0905 10 AUGUST 1950
The CIC agent in the corridor of the Imperial Hotel had seen General Cushman in the Dai-Ichi Building and recog-nized him. And he recognized McCoy. He didn't even challenge them as they walked past him and McCoy raised the knocker on the door to the Dewey Suite.
But-he was a very thorough special agent of the Counter Intelligence Corps-he did make note in his re-port that Captain McCoy was wearing an insignia-less uni-form and carrying a rifle, probably an M-l Garand, not very well concealed in a raincoat.
"Jesus Christ!" Captain George Hart exclaimed when he opened the door, and then he saw General Cushman. "Good morning, sir."
McCoy thought: At least he's in a pressed uniform with his tie pulled up.
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, also in a freshly pressed uniform with his tie in place, appeared at Hart's shoulder.
"I didn't expect to see Captain McCoy until much later today," Pickering said. "And I didn't expect to see you at all, General."
"Catch you on the way out, Pickering?"
"Surprising the hell out of me, General MacArthur sent word that he would be pleased if I attended the meeting he's having with General Collins and Admiral Sherman," Pickering said.
"Can I have a few minutes?" Cushman asked, as he and Pickering shook hands. "Maybe ride over to the Dai Ichi Building with you? I have a car."
"Come on in," Pickering said. `Truth to tell, when the chime went off, I was thinking it might be a good idea if I was a little late for the meeting."
"Excuse me?"
"Something I learned from General Howe when Averell Harriman and General Ridgway were here," Pickering said. "If I'm on hand, all shined up like some corporal waiting for the first sergeant's morning inspection, when the distinguished visiting officers show up, they're going to take a quick look at my shined shoes-and my one lonely star-and logically conclude that I'm a minor glow in the galaxy surrounding the Supreme Commander, and there-fore to be ignored."
Cushman, warmly shaking Pickering's hand, chuckled.
"You like the prestige that goes with being the CIA's man for Asia? That's a little out of character for a spymaster, isn't it?"
"That's not all I'm doing over here, Tom," Pickering said, then turned to Hart. "Get us some coffee, George, please."
"McCoy mentioned something about that," Cushman said.
"Well, if he did, that's really out of character for him."
"He didn't want to, Fleming. The circumstances de-manded it."
"Did he also tell you what he was up to in Korea?"
Cushman nodded. "And that the operation is classified as Top Secret/White House."
"Okay," Pickering said. "Since the cow is out of the barn: Ken, an hour ago, we heard from Zimmerman."
"I guess those transformers got there, McCoy," Cush-man said.
Pickering looked at him, but didn't say anything.
"What did he say, sir?" McCoy asked.
"The entire message was `standing by,'" Pickering said. "How did he get his radio fixed so quickly? When I talked to you last night, you said you were going to have to figure out some way to get the parts to him."
"Sir, Colonel Dunn dropped the replacement transform-ers to them first thing this morning."
"How did Billy Dunn get involved?"
Cushman chuckled.
"At 0400, as Badoeng Strait was getting ready to launch aircraft for the first sorties of the day," he said, smiling, "an Avenger declared an emergency. All emergency proce-dures were put into operation. The Avenger came in, made a perfect landing, and McCoy, wearing black pajamas, and needing a bath and a shave, got out, carrying what looked like a half-dozen square tin cans."
"I thought you said the Avenger had declared an emer-gency," Pickering said.
"McCoy had commandeered the Avenger in Pusan. It belongs to the Sicily," Cushman said, "and to avoid the possibility that Badoeng Strait would refuse permission for it to land, had the pilot declare an emergency. Badoeng Strait's captain, as you can probably understand, was apoplectic."
"That was necessary, Ken?" Pickering asked, shaking his hea
d.
"I wanted to get the transformers to Colonel Dunn be-fore he took off for the first sorties."
"And those were the circumstances under which Captain McCoy felt obliged to let me know what he was up to," Cushman said.
"What is it the Jesuits say? "The end justifies the means'?" Pickering asked.
"I hope this end does," Cushman said.
"In this case, I believe it does," Pickering said.
"McCoy said General MacArthur is not privy to his-I suppose your-clandestine operation, but he believes the President is?"
"He is. General Howe told him."
"That was the first I'd heard of General Howe," Cush-man said.
"A very good officer," Pickering said.
"Do I get to meet him?"
Hart handed Pickering and Cushman cups of coffee, then handed one to McCoy and took one himself.
"Certainly. When he comes back from Korea," Pickering said.
"General Howe is in Korea?" McCoy asked, surprised.
"He'll be back, he said, either tonight or tomorrow," Pickering said. He turned to Cushman and went on. "He went there to see General Walker. General Collins, and some others, think Walker should be removed. The Presi-dent wants Howe's opinion."
"Not yours?"
"I'm not qualified-or about-to voice an opinion of an Army commander's performance."
"And this General Howe is?"
"He commanded a division in Europe. He's far better qualified than I am, but he's damned uncomfortable with Truman's order. And since one of us had to stay here in Tokyo to keep an eye on Sherman and Collins, here I am."
"You think the Inchon invasion is a sure thing?"
"That's why I ordered this operation," Pickering said.
"And MacArthur doesn't know you're doing this?"
"As the Deputy Director of the CIA for Asia, I don't have to tell MacArthur of every small clandestine opera-tion I'm running."
"And what's going to happen when he finds out?"
"That's one of those bridges somewhere down the road," Pickering said.
"You're walking pretty close to the edge of a cliff, I guess you know."
"If I told him I thought these islands should be in our hands as soon as possible, I would be challenging the col-lective wisdom of his staff. Most of them were with him in the Philippines."
"And he would back them, of course."
Pickering nodded.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Cushman asked.
"You already have. And since you are now in on this, I won't be reluctant now to ask for any help I think we need."
Pickering looked at his watch.
"Now we have to leave, George," he said. He turned to McCoy. "Go home, Ken. Get a little rest. Whatever you think you have to do will wait until I get back from the Dai-Ichi Building. Come back about 1300. Bring Ernie, if you like. We can have a room-service lunch and talk here."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"What's Taylor up to?" Pickering asked.
"He's sitting on Jeanette Priestly for me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Until I talked to her, she was going to write a story about Pick getting shot down," McCoy said.
"And you were able to talk her out of it?" Pickering asked, surprised.
"I took her with us to Tokchok-kundo," McCoy said. "It was the only thing I could think of to do with her."
"So now she's in on everything?" Pickering said coldly.
McCoy met Pickering's eyes.
"I don't think we have to worry about her. I put her on the junk before I knew that she thinks she's in love with Pick," he said. And then he blurted, "Fuck it."
"Excuse me?" Pickering said, partly a question, mostly a reprove.
McCoy took a manila envelope from inside his shirt and handed it to Pickering.
"Billy gave me these just before he took off from the Ba-doeng Strait," McCoy said. "Nobody knows about these pictures but two guys in the photo lab on the Badoeng Strait, Dunn, me, and now you."
"What am I looking at?"
"These pictures were taken the day after Pick went down, near the spot. Somebody stamped `PP' and an arrow in a ruptured rice paddy."
"My God," Pickering said. "He's alive."
He handed the photographs to Cushman.
"Why weren't these photographs...," Cushman began. "Pickering, you have my word that every effort will be made-"
"Sir, with respect," McCoy said. "Colonel Dunn knew that if these pictures got out, a lot of people and, as impor-tant, the helicopters would be put at risk to try to get him."
"You're a Marine, Captain. You know our tradition...."
"Colonel Dunn knows the only way to look for Major Pickering, to get him out, would be with helicopters, and the only helicopters we have are carrying the wounded. Colonel Dunn knows, and I know, that Major Pickering wouldn't want that."
"And neither do I," General Pickering said. "I don't want helicopters put at risk looking for my son, General Cush-man. We'll think of something else."
"That's really not your decision to make, is it, Flem-ing?" Cushman argued.
"I think it is," Pickering said. "I would deeply appreciate your respecting my wishes in this matter."
Cushman met Pickering's eyes.
After a long moment, he said, "Of course."
"I've got a couple of ideas," McCoy said.
"And so far as you're concerned, Ken, the priority is the taking of Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do," Pickering said.
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.
[THREE]
THE DEWEY SUITE
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
1425 10 AUGUST 1950
Mrs. Ernestine McCoy was helping herself to another piece of pastry when the door chime went off, so she an-swered it.
It was Brigadier General Pickering, trailed by Captain Hart. Pickering kissed her on the cheek, looked around the room, and said, "You've eaten, good. The Grand Encounter lasted longer than it was supposed to."
"Ken wanted to wait," Ernie said.
"And you didn't," Pickering said. "Proving what I've suspected all along, that you're the smarter of the two."
He went to the room-service cart, opened silver covers until he found a bowl of salad, and popped a radish into his mouth. Then he turned to Hart.
"In this order, George, order us some lunch. A small steak, a tomato, more salad for me, hold the dressing. And coffee, of course. Then show McCoy where we've moved the typewriter. And then run down Sergeant Keller, and have him standing by here, and have a car standing by downstairs to carry him to the Dai-Ichi Building."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Ken, you feel up to a little fast typing?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, let's get started. I want what happened at that meeting to be in the President's hands as soon as possible."
General Pickering had just finished his small steak when McCoy came back in the room with several sheets of type-writer paper in his hands. Pickering took them and read them.
"You're a great typist, McCoy," Pickering said, cheer-fully. "If you ever need work, we can always use a good typist at P&FE."
"I think I'd rather sell deodorant for American Personal Pharmaceuticals, but thanks just the same," McCoy replied.
"Uncle Flem," Ernie McCoy flared. "My God!"
"Sometimes my mouth runs away with itself," Pickering said. "Ken, I'm sorry. You know that was a bad shot at try-ing to be funny."
"It's Okay?" McCoy asked, indicating the material he'd typed.
"It's perfect," Pickering said, handing it back. "If you'd have made a couple of typos, I wouldn't have..."
McCoy took the sheets of paper from Pickering and handed them to Master Sergeant Keller.
"Take a look, Keller," McCoy ordered, "then stick them in an envelope and get them going."
Keller read them.
TOP SECRET/WHITE HOUSE
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN ONE (1) COPY ONLY
DESTROY AFTER
TRANSMISSION
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 61