"So Dick told me. There's one other thing, Fleming. I meant it when I said that my door will always be open to you, if you have something you wish to share with me."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. President."
"Bill and I have been friends for years," President Roosevelt said. "And I therefore know better than most people how obdurate he can be."
"I defer, of course, to your greater knowledge, Mr. President."
Roosevelt laughed. "As soon as it can be arranged, you'll have to come for dinner."
"I know how you busy you are, Mr. President."
"Never too busy for you, Fleming," Roosevelt said, and the line went dead.
Pickering put the handset back in its cradle.
What the hell was that all about?
You know what the hell that was all about.
Roosevelt being Machiavellian again.
During dinner the night before, Donovan had spoken, with barely concealed anger, of his relationship with FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. It wasn't that he disliked Hoover-he had been instrumental in having Hoover named head of the FBI-but that Roosevelt refused to clear up a jurisdictional dispute between the FBI and the OSS.
The FBI was charged with intelligence and counterespionage in the Western Hemisphere. The OSS was charged with the same thing worldwide, with the exception of the United States. So far as Donovan was concerned, that meant exactly what it said. So far as Hoover was concerned, the FBI was in charge of espionage and counterespionage everywhere in the Western Hemisphere, which meant that the OSS was marching on the FBI's turf when it operated anywhere in Canada, Central America, or South America.
"Franklin just wants you and Edgar to compete, Bill." Senator Fowler had said, "to see who gets the gold star to take home for Mommy."
"It's not funny, Dick," Donovan had said.
"I know. What it is, is Franklin Rooseveltian," Fowler had said. "And only God can change that."
And now Roosevelt's consciously setting up the same kind of competition between Donovan and me.
Pickering looked at his watch, then at the telephone again.
What I am about to do is absolutely childish.
But on the other hand, one does not have this sort of splendid opportunity every day.
He picked up the telephone, dialed O for operator, asked for long distance, and when the long-distance operator came on the line, gave her a number in San Francisco.
"Is this call essential, sir?" the operator asked.
"Operator, the entire outcome of the war depends on this call getting through."
"You don't have to be sarcastic, sir."
The number in San Francisco rang four times before an operator came on. She sounded as if she might have been asleep at her post.
"Pacific and Far East Shipping."
"This is Fleming Pickering," he announced.
"Good morning, Commodore," the operator said, now fully awake.
"I'd like to leave a message for my wife when she comes to work this morning," he said.
"Of course, Commodore."
"You have a pencil?"
"Yes, sir."
"The message is, 'Guess where I was at eight oh five this morning when the President of the United States called. Love, Flem.' Got that?"
"Yes, sir. Commodore, you don't want to tell her where?"
"She'll know, thank you just the same," Pickering said, and hung up.
As he did that, he noticed, a little surprised and confused, that the green light was illuminated, indicating an incoming call from the hotel switchboard. He shrugged, flipped the switch, and said, "Hello?"
"I hope I didn't wake you," Senator Richardson K. Fowler said, his tone suggesting he didn't mean that at all.
"You mean you've been waiting for me to answer?"
"Only for the last twenty or thirty minutes," Fowler said.
"Actually I was on the phone, having a little chat with the President," Pickering said.
Fowler groaned.
"And how may I help you, Senator?"
"No good deed goes unpunished," Fowler said. "I was about to ask you to breakfast."
"Give me five minutes, Dick," Pickering said.
"Anything special?"
"Something simple. How about a breakfast steak, and a couple of eggs, sunny-side up?"
"Five minutes, Flem," Fowler said, and hung up.
Pickering, tieless and in his shirtsleeves, arrived at Fowler's down-the-corridor door just as the floor waiter was rolling in a food cart.
"That wasn't five minutes, Flem," Fowler greeted him. "I have a full day ahead of me."
"More than you know," Pickering said, as he followed Fowler into his dining room. The table was set for three.
"Good morning, Commodore," Fred said.
"Call me General today, Fred," Pickering said, touching his shoulder. "I have been up most of the night thinking General-type thoughts."
"I need some of that coffee," Fowler said, snatching a silver coffeepot from the floor waiter's cart. He sat down at the table and poured himself a cup. Then he remembered Pickering's recent words.
" 'More than I know'? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Put a little something in your stomach," Pickering said. "It'll put you in a better mood."
"Just put the plates on the table please," Fowler said to the floor waiter, "and then, thank you, that'll be all. I have a terrible suspicion that the breakfast-table conversation will concern topics that nice people shouldn't have to hear."
Pickering waited until the waiter transferred the plates, uncovered them, and left. Fred saw him through the door, locked it, and then sat down at the table with Pickering and Fowler.
"I thought you would be beside yourself with curiosity about my conversation," he began.
"Your conversation with who?"
"Take a wild guess. He smiles a lot-lots of teeth-and smokes his cigarettes in a long ivory holder."
Fowler shook his head.
"And what did our beloved leader have to say?" Fowler asked, and then, before Pickering could begin to answer, added: "Flem, who called who?"
"'He called me," Pickering said. "On my unlisted line."
"He is the President. What did he have to say?"
"Because he and Colonel Donovan are old friends, he told me, he knows better than most people how obdurate. I love that word; I thought I knew what it meant, but when we hung up, to be sure, I looked it up in the dictionary-"
"Hardened in wrongdoing," Fowler said.
"Or wickedness," Pickering said. "According to Mr. Webster, 'wrongdoing or wickedness.' 1 told you I looked it up."
"And, Flem?" Fowler said, smiling.
"And because he knows how obdurate the good Colonel can be, his door is always open to me."
"That's nice," Fowler said. "You remember our conversation last night about J. Edgar Hoover?"
"How could I forget?" Pickering said.
"Interesting," Fowler said, and stared at his breakfast steak with disdain. "I don't know why I ordered this. If I eat this, I'll fall asleep before lunch."
"I will, of course, take the President at his word, and go knocking at his door. Today, if I have to. Unless you can fix it so that I won't have to."
"What are you talking about?"
"You remember what Donovan said last night? 'I'd like to have the Office of Management Analysis. Lock, stock, and barrel'?
"And I remember that you told him no."
"And I remember he took my 'no' too easily, as if he expected that reaction and was going to ignore it."
"Yeah," Fowler said, remembering. "Frank Knox wouldn't at all like losing Management Analysis," he added. "He is very fond of his private, personal OSS."
"Which performs a number of valuable functions, and which should not be swallowed up by the OSS."
"1 agree," Fowler said.
"I suspect that Donovan has tried to get it before, failed, and sees a new opportunity. He can tell the President I want it. Or, more likely, t
hat he naturally presumed I would want to bring it into the OSS with me. Since the President has told me I can have anybody I want, he will see nothing wrong with this, and will tell Admiral Leahy to take care of it. Once it's in the OSS, he takes it away from me."
"You don't trust Donovan, do you?"
"He's a lawyer, Dick, of course I don't trust him."
"So am I a lawyer," Fowler said, not amused.
"Yeah, but Donovan is a Democratic lawyer."
"That's a little better," Fowler said.
Fred chuckled.
"So what do you propose to do? Or propose that I do for you?" Fowler asked.
"Get to Frank Knox, immediately, this morning, and tell him I'll make a deal with him. If he's willing to go along, I'll go to the President with him and tell him I think Management Analysis should remain under Knox. If we both go to the President and tell him no, I think we can prevail over Bill Donovan, done deal or not."
"You understand how quickly Roosevelt's open door is going to slam in your face if you go over Donovan's head your first day on the job?"
"I couldn't do it alone, and I don't think Frank Knox could," Pickering said. "We'll have to do it together. I'll worry about the door slamming in my face later."
"You said 'deal,' " Fowler said. "What kind of a deal? Frank Knox is not well-known for making deals. What do you want from Knox?"
"I want Fritz Rickabee promoted to brigadier general," Pickering said. "And Ed Banning promoted to lieutenant colonel. Incidentally, I've decided I need Banning more than Rickabee does."
"Why is this important to you?" Fowler asked.
"Fritz needs a star to run Management Analysis. If I have to point this out, he is far more entitled to a star than I am. And when I have to ask him for help, I would like him, frankly, to remember where his star came from."
Fowler grunted.
"And Banning?"
"Several reasons. Some practical, some political. Banning knows China. He was an intelligence officer there for years. God, he had to leave his wife behind him in Shanghai-"
"I didn't know that," Fowler interrupted. "She's a prisoner?"
"Nobody knows."
Fowler shook his head.
"Anyway, I need Banning's brains and expertise. He has a magic clearance, which will be useful."
"Why should he be promoted? That might be difficult. The Marine Corps likes to decide who gets promoted, and when."
"First of all, he's deserving of promotion," Pickering said. "Secondly, I suspect there are a lot of majors in the OSS-the guy Donovan sent to replace Killer McCoy in the Philippines was a major-and I want my deputy to outrank them. As far as that goes, I'm bringing Jake Dillon into the OSS, and I think it's a good idea for him to be calling Ed Banning 'sir' and 'Colonel' "
"Dillon?" Fowler asked doubtfully. "Your movie press agent friend?"
"Not only is Jake an old China Marine, but he did a hell of a job for me on several occasions," Pickering said, "and he's loyal to me."
Fowler shrugged.
"Don't tell me it can't be done, Dick," Pickering said.
"It can be done. I think Frank Knox will go along with you. And the price will be antagonizing both Donovan and the entire OSS-and the Marine Corps."
"I would worry a hell of a lot more about that if Archer Vandegrift wasn't going to become Commandant of the Marine Corps."
Fowler grunted again.
"But speaking of the Marine Corps: do you still have 'U.S. Senator' license plates on your car?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I want to borrow your car this morning. I'm going to Eighth and I to see Jack Stecker, and-"
"You would like the word to rapidly spread that Jack Stecker has a friend who is a friend of a senator."
"I'm just trying to save cab fare," Pickering said.
"Why do you want to see Jack?"
"As soon as Vandegrift becomes Commandant, he's going to hear a litany of complaints about the OSS, and probably me, personally, especially about the promotions. So when he asks Jack, "Just what the hell is your friend Pickering up to?' I want Jack to be in a position to tell him."
"You're going to tell him everything?"
"Everything I decide he has a need to know; as a practical matter, that means just about everything. Why Rickabee and Banning got promoted; all about this Gobi Desert business; everything."
Fowler grunted.
"I strongly suspect," Pickering went on, "that Vandegrift will make his manners to Admiral Nimitz in Pearl Harbor on his way home. And that Nimitz will explain to him the significance of the Gobi operation-and, more important, that he wanted me to run it. If I'm right, Vandegrift's blessing on the operation will grease a lot of skids. What I'm really trying to do is eliminate friction between the Corps and the OSS."
Fowler met Pickering's eyes for a long moment.
"Maybe you're learning how the game is played, Flem," he said, and turned to Fred: "See if you can get Secretary Knox on the phone, please, Fred. I'll speak with Captain Haughton if I have to, but tell him it's important that I speak to Knox personally."
"Thank you, Dick," Pickering said.
Senator Fowler shrugged. "The reason I keep getting reelected is that I have become known for my service to my constituents," he said, straight-faced.
When he heard the door to his apartment open. General Pickering was examining the insignia and decorations on his tunic. He was doing that with great care; this morning he really wanted to look like a Marine general about to go on parade.
"In here, Fred," he called out. "I'll be with you in a minute."
"It's me. General," Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, replied.
What the hell is he doing here? He's supposed to be visiting his family in St. Louis.
Pickering turned to his bedroom door and waited for Hart to appear.
"Good morning, sir."
"Where the hell were you when I needed you, George?" Pickering asked, gesturing toward the tunic laid out on his bed.
Hart walked to the bed and carefully examined the placement of the insignia and decorations.
"Shipshape, sir," he said, picked up the tunic, and held it out for Pickering.
"I didn't expect you so soon. You understand that?" Pickering asked as he slipped his arms into the sleeves.
"Well, I could say duty called, but the truth is my girl is in New York, and Washington is closer to New York than St. Louis."
"Well, then why aren't you in New York?"
"1 thought maybe you might need me," Hart said.
"This morning, I do," Pickering said. "And then you can go to New York."
"What's happening this morning?"
"We're going to see Colonel Stecker at Eighth and I," Pickering said, "and I really want to look like a general. And you can't look like a general, can you, without an aide-de-camp hovering around you?"
"Who are we trying to impress?" Hart asked, smiling.
"Every feather merchant at Eighth and I," Pickering said. At that moment a thought occurred to him. He went to his briefcase and removed a legal pad. He handed it to Hart. "That's a list of the people we're taking into the OSS. I made it up last night. Have I left anybody off?"
Hart studied the list. "Two questions," he said.
"Shoot."
"The sergeant-maybe I should say the lieutenant-who was with Weston in the Philippines. Everly. Percy L. Everly?"
"Why him?"
"Killer McCoy told me he told him he was going to try to get him out of the Philippines."
"He should be brought out," Pickering thought out loud. "Weston told me about him."
"The Killer must think he's okay. They were in the Fourth Marines in Shanghai. Anyway, just a question."
"McCoy didn't say anything to me about getting him out."
"Once you told him he was going to have to brief the President, the Killer wasn't really himself."
Pickering chuckled.
"He did that very well, by the way," Pickering said. "The President
told Admiral Leahy to radio both MacArthur and Nimitz that support of U.S. forces in the Philippines is to be considered essential. Okay. Add his name to the list. If we get him out-when we get him out-he finds out he's in the OSS."
W E B Griffin - Corp 08 - In Dangers Path Page 19