He rarely wore all this, and he wasn’t sure why he was doing so now. Certainly his visit to General MacArthur required it (he’d correctly suspected that El Supremo would not only have a photographer present for the pinning-on-of-the-insignia, but that he would insist that Pickering get in the picture). But then there was Ellen Feller, who was just now approaching (like a pirate ship on the horizon; up goes the Jolly Roger). Mrs. Feller was impressed with brass. And he was aware that he made a visually impressive brass hat in his general’s uniform, with stars on collar points and epaulets, and all his ribbons.
“On deck, George,” Pickering said softly. “Here she comes.”
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then on the porch, and then the old-fashioned, manual, twist-it-with-your-fingers doorbell rang.
Wearing not only his hours-old lieutenant’s uniform, but a silver cord identifying him as an aide-de-camp to a general officer, George Hart went to the door and opened it.
“May I help you?” George asked.
Pickering looked up and let his gaze rest casually on Ellen. She was a tall woman in her middle thirties, dark haired and smooth skinned; and she was wearing little makeup. She seemed surprised to see Hart. At the same time, Pickering was surprised to see how she was dressed. She was in uniform. An Army officer’s uniform, complete to cap with officer’s insignia. But on the lapels, where an officer would have the U.S. insignia above the branch of service, there were small blue triangles. The uniform was authorized for wear by civilians attached to the Army.
Now that he thought about it, Pickering was not surprised that Ellen had decided to put herself in uniform. He noticed, too, that the uniform did not conceal her long, shapely calves or the contours of her bosom.
He had a quick mental image of her naked, and as quickly forced it from his mind…consciously replacing it with an image of Johnny Moore wincing with pain as he pulled his torn-up leg from the Studebaker.
What happened to Johnny is as much Ellen’s fault as it was the fault of the Japanese. This is a world-class bitch.
“Mrs. Feller to see General Pickering,” Ellen said.
“Just a moment, please,” George said, “I’ll see if the General is free.”
“He expects me, Lieutenant,” Ellen said, not at all pleasantly.
“One moment, please,” Hart said, and closed the door in her face.
He turned to look at Pickering, smiling. Pickering nodded, held up his hand for ten seconds or so, and then dropped it. Hart turned back to the door and opened it again.
“Would you come in, please?” Hart said, and turned to Pickering. “General, Mrs. Feller.”
“Hello, Ellen, how are you?” Pickering said, and added, “That will be all, Hart, thank you.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Hart said, and marched across the living room to the kitchen, closing the door after him.
“He’s new,” Ellen said. She crossed the room to him and shook his hand.
That was better than being kissed.
“Yes. Moore has been promoted, and Hart is my new aide.”
“I heard only yesterday that you had come back,” Ellen said. “I was in Melbourne.”
“Yes, I know,” Pickering said. “With Colonel Jasper, of Willoughby’s staff.”
“Oh, you’ve spoken to him?”
“Not yet,” Pickering said.
I’ll be damned if there isn’t something really erotic about her in the uniform.
“Well, I’m sure you know that the OSS is setting up here. Jasper met with them in Melbourne. I thought I should know what’s going on.”
“If you’re fond of Colonel Jasper, Ellen, you might tell him that General MacArthur is opposed to the OSS setting up here.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Fleming?” Ellen asked. “If I’m fond of him?”
“Well, you’ve been sleeping with him. That generally presumes a certain fondness.”
Ellen could not quite conceal her surprise at that.
“Fleming, you weren’t here,” she said after a moment. “So far as I knew, you were never coming back. Charley Jasper doesn’t mean anything to me.”
She didn’t deny it; I rather thought she would. I wish she had. And she assumes I’m jealous. I suppose maybe I am. That’s a perfectly natural male reaction.
“Ellen, your sleeping around is posing problems we have to deal with.”
“I’m not going to beg for your forgiveness, Fleming, if that’s what you’re talking about. If you were here, what happened with Jasper never would have happened.”
I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Guadalcanal? You know damned well what would have happened. The only reason it only happened once was that I did go to Guadalcanal.
“Problems with MAGIC,” Pickering said. “As of this moment, the only MAGIC material to which you will have access will be that provided to you by Pluto or Moore for the purpose of briefing General MacArthur.”
“You didn’t give me my MAGIC clearance, Fleming, and I don’t think you have the authority to take it away. I can’t believe you’re letting your personal feelings cloud your professional judgment.”
“I have the authority, Ellen.”
“Well,” she said, for the first time losing control, “we’ll see what General Willoughby has to say about that.”
And then control came back. She smiled at him and wet her lips with her tongue.
“Fleming, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go back outside. While I’m gone, you will send your aide someplace; and when I come back, we’ll start this all over again. We both have said things we really don’t mean.”
“Ellen…”
“I wept when you left for Guadalcanal,” she said. “I had finally found a man I really admired, and we…we had only that one time together.”
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said.
“It did. Fleming, are you afraid I want more from you than you’re in a position to give? I’m satisfied with the crumbs…. I know you would never leave your wife…. She would never find out about us, I swear on my life.”
Was there an implied threat in there?
“That’s enough, Ellen. Now shut up and listen to me.”
She found his eyes. With an effort, he forced himself to meet hers.
“You have two options, Ellen. You will become the briefer for MacArthur and Willoughby. You will not have access to any MAGIC material except that which Pluto gives you; you are no longer authorized access to the dungeon in any way.”
“Or?”
“You will be on the next plane to the States, under sedation. On your arrival in the United States, you will be taken to a federal mental hospital, and you will spend the war there.”
“You have to be kidding!”
“General Willoughby will be made privy to the rather extensive report the Army’s Counterintelligence Corps has compiled on you. He will understand why this was necessary.”
“What CIC report?” she snapped.
Pickering went to his briefcase, unlocked it, and took from it a thick stack of paper. This was held together with metal clips and covered by a sheet of folder paper imprinted with diagonal stripes and the words TOP SECRET, top and bottom.
“This one,” he said, handing it to her. “They are remarkably thorough, you’ll see.”
She snatched the report from his hand and glanced through it…but long enough to take in what it contained.
“You’d let this garbage out? After what we’ve meant to each other?”
“The only reason I’m not doing it is that it would ruin the careers of Colonel Jasper and the others. They don’t deserve that.”
“Your name is in this filthy file! Have you considered that?”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Pickering said. “We’re not talking about you, or me, we’re talking about the security of MAGIC. You have proved that you can’t be trusted with that….”
“Don’t be absurd. That’s absolutely untru
e.”
“Oh? By a conscious act, you did nothing when they were going to send Moore to Guadalcanal. You knew he wasn’t supposed to go. No one with access to MAGIC is supposed to be placed in any threat of capture by the enemy.”
“You went to Guadalcanal,” she said.
Yeah, I did. And I was wrong.
“You allowed Moore to be sent to Guadalcanal because he posed a potential threat to your reputation, and MAGIC be damned.”
“Flem, you were gone. I was lonely. He was persistent. It happened. I was trying to stop it. I knew it was wrong. All I was trying to do—”
“Was save your skin. And MAGIC be damned,” Pickering interrupted her.
“Why don’t you just have me shot, then?”
“I considered it. Banning would almost certainly see that as the best solution. It is still an option.”
She looked at him, and he met her eyes. And after a moment he saw in them that she believed him. But he saw too, in her eyes, that she wasn’t going to grant the point.
“We’re both saying things we don’t mean again, aren’t we?”
“I have said nothing I don’t mean. I’m getting tired of this, Ellen. You either accept the option of becoming our briefer, and thus saving Pluto’s and Moore’s time, as well as the careers of the people you’ve been sleeping with…”
“Including yours?”
“…or you don’t.”
“This conversation is unbelievable,” Ellen said. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Fleming. I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to walk out of here and forget we ever had it.”
She glared at him defiantly for a moment, as if waiting for his response. Then she turned and walked to the door.
Just as she reached it, it opened inward and three men in civilian clothing moved inside. One of them spun her around and twisted her arm behind her back. Ellen screamed. The man put his hand over her mouth. The second man pulled her uniform skirt up, high enough to clear her stocking. Then he jabbed a hypodermic needle like a dart into the skin of her upper thigh and carefully depressed the plunger.
He removed the needle, then looked at Ellen Feller’s eyes.
The third man moved to Fleming Pickering.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Pickering glared at him.
“What was that he injected?”
“Not what it should have been,” the man said. “It won’t kill her.”
“Goddamn it!”
The man walked past him and picked up the CIC report.
“What happens to that, now?” Pickering asked.
“I don’t think we’ll have to use it,” the man said.
Pickering looked on while Ellen Feller, as if she were drunk, was half carried, half walked out of the house between the first two men. The man with the report walked after them. He stopped at the door and turned to face Pickering.
“General, for what it’s worth, I’ve been thinking that this is the difference between us and the Japs. If I was in the Kempe Tai, she would be long dead. What we do with people like this is lock them up somewhere until the war is over, and then turn them loose.”
Then he was gone.
Pickering moved to the bar and took a bottle of scotch and poured three inches in a water glass. Then he picked up the glass and very carefully poured the whiskey back into the bottle. He felt eyes on him, and looked over his shoulder.
George Hart had come into the room.
“They know what they’re doing, don’t they?” Hart said. “That was pretty impressive, the way they handled her.”
Don’t open your mouth, Fleming Pickering. No matter what comes out, it will be the wrong thing to say.
He turned back to the bottle and put his hand on it.
“I was talking with the Colonel before you came back,” Hart said. “He used to be a homicide captain in Chicago.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, cops can spot each other. He was surprised that I hadn’t gone in the Army, and the MPs.”
“Well, now that you have learned what a sterling fellow and four-star hypocrite I am, Hart, would you like me to see if I can use my influence and have you transferred to the CIC?”
Hart didn’t reply. He walked up to the bar, freed the bottle from Pickering’s grip, and poured an inch in the glass.
“No, Sir,” he said. “I’d like to stick around, if that’s all right with you.”
He put the glass in Pickering’s hand.
“You know what my father told me when I joined the force?” he asked. “He said that I should never forget that women are twice as dangerous as men.”
Pickering drained the glass.
“I’ll try to remember that, George,” Pickering said. “Thank you very much.”
“What you should remember, General, is that she was really dangerous. I was hoping that the Colonel could talk you out of sending her home. She didn’t give a good goddamn how many people she got killed.”
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, looked at Second Lieutenant George Hart, USMCR, for a moment.
I’ll be a sonofabitch, he means it! He thinks I should have gone along with that bastard’s recommendation that I let them “remove” her.
At least I didn’t do that.
So what does that make me, the Good Samaritan?
“Would you like a drink, George? And can we please change the subject?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hart said, and reached for the bottle. “Except for one thing.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t think Lieut—Major Pluto or Moore could handle knowing about this. I don’t think we should tell them. Let them think she got sick and they flew her home.”
“Whatever you think, George. You’re probably right.”
“Can I ask, Sir, for a favor?”
“What?”
“I’d really like to have a couple copies of those pictures of me with General MacArthur to send to my folks. And my girl. Could I get some, do you think?”
“I’m sure we can,” Pickering said. “The next time you’re in the Palace, go to the Signal Section and tell them I sent you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I wonder what El Supremo would think if he knew what just happened. Will he find out? Or is that something else not worthy of the Supreme Commander’s attention, and from which he will be spared by his loyal staff?
If the decision was MacArthur’s, would he have done what I did? Or would he have gone along with the Colonel and George and “removed” her?
The telephone rang. Hart picked it up and answered it.
“General Pickering’s quarters, Lieutenant Hart speaking.”
Pickering looked at him.
“General,” Hart reported, covering the microphone with his hand, “this is Colonel Huff. General MacArthur’s compliments, and are you and Major Hon free for supper and bridge?”
“Tell Colonel Huff,” Pickering said, “that Major Hon and I will be delighted.”
Maybe if I let him win, I could bring up the subject of Donovan’s people again.
Pickering had a flash in his mind of Ellen Feller with her skirt hiked high, a needle in her thigh. And then he replaced it with an image of Jack Stecker’s boy, wrapped up like a mummy in the hospital at Pearl Harbor.
He reached for the scotch bottle and then stopped himself. He would have to be absolutely sober if he expected to find the tiny chink in El Supremo’s armor he would need to bring up the subject of Donovan yet again.
X
[ONE]
* * *
SECRET
FROM: COM GEN 1ST MAR DIV 2355 23OCT42
SUBJECT: AFTER-ACTION REPORT
TO: COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, PACIFIC, PEARL HARBOR
INFO: SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA, BRISBANE
COMMANDANT, USMC, WASH, DC
1. AT APPROXIMATELY 1800 23OCT42 HEAVY JAPANESE ARTILLERY BARRAGE WITH PRIMARY IMPACT IN VICINITY US LINES ON MATANIKAU RIVER, SECONDARY IMPACT HENDERSON FIELD, AND H
ARASSING AND INTERMITTENT FIRE STRIKING OTHER US EMPLACEMENTS. IT IS BELIEVED THAT WEAPONRY INVOLVED WAS 150-MM REPEAT 150-MM AND SMALLER, AUGMENTED BY MORTAR FIRE.
2. AT APPROXIMATELY 1900 23OCT42, JAPANESE FORCES IN ESTIMATED REINFORCED REGIMENTAL STRENGTH ACCOMPANIED BY SEVEN (7) TYPE 97 LIGHT TANKS ATTACKED ACROSS SANDBAR (PRIMARILY) 3RD BN, 7TH MARINES 500 YARDS FROM MOUTH OF MATANIKAU RIVER AND (SECONDARILY) 3RD BN, 5TH MARINES 1000 YARDS FROM MOUTH OF RIVER.
3. FORTY (40) 105-MM HOWITZERS OF 2ND, 3RD AND 5TH BATTALIONS 11TH MARINES PLUS ATTACHED I BATTERY 10TH MARINES (COL. DELVALLE) WHICH HAD PREVIOUSLY BEEN REGISTERED ON ATTACK AREA IMMEDIATELY OPENED FIRE. APPROXIMATELY 6,000 ROUNDS 105-MM AND HEAVY MORTAR EXPENDED DURING PERIOD 1900-2200.
4. WEATHER AND MOONLIGHT CONDITIONS PERMITTED SUPPORT BY NAVY, MARINE AND USAAC AIRCRAFT FROM HENDERSON FIELD. NUMBER OF SORTIES NOT YET AVAILABLE, BUT EFFECT OF WELL AIMED BOMBARDMENT AND STRAFING WAS APPARENT TO ALL HANDS.
5. AT APPROXIMATELY 2100 23OCT42 ATTACK HAD BEEN TURNED. INITIAL MARINE PATROL ACTIVITY INDICATES JAPANESE LOSS OF AT LEAST THREE (3) TYPE 97 LIGHT TANKS, AND IT IS RELIABLY ESTIMATED THAT JAPANESE INFANTRY LOSSES WILL EXCEED SIX HUNDRED (600) KIA.
6. US LOSSES:
A. FIELD GRADE OFFICER KIA ZERO (0)
B. FIELD GRADE OFFICER WIA ZERO (0)
C. COMPANY GRADE OFFICER KIA ZERO (0)
D. COMPANY GRADE OFFICER WIA ONE (1)
E. ENLISTED KIA TWO (2)
F. ENLISTED WIA ELEVEN (11)
G. MISSING IN ACTION: ZERO (0)
H. MINIMAL DAMAGE TO HENDERSON FIELD AND AIRCRAFT. HENDERSON FIELD IS OPERABLE.
VANDEGRIFT MAJ GEN USMC COMMANDING
SECRET
* * *
[TWO]
Radio City Music Hall
New York City, New York
1825 Hours 24 October 1942
“Did you like the show?” Mrs. Carolyn Spencer Howell asked Major Edward F. Banning, USMC, as they left the world’s largest theater. Mrs. Howell was tall, willowy, chic, black haired, and exquisitely dressed. Her clothes were seriously expensive, but tastefully understated. “When my husband turned me in for a new model,” as she liked to put it, “his new tail cost him his ears and his nose.”
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