“Here?”
“No, to Acapulco.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, sweetheart.”
“My son has just been rescued after more than two months and my pregnant goddaughter has just passed out, and it’s not a good idea that her mother and I come over there? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“As soon as he’s up to it, they’re going to fly him to the States. You’re going to be asked to which hospital he should be sent.”
“How do you know that?”
“Harry Truman told me.”
“Spare me your sarcasm, Flem.”
“Just before he took off from Wake Island, the President told me that he has ordered that Pick be sent to the States as soon as his physical condition permits.”
“ ‘As soon as his physical condition permits’? What do you know that I don’t? When Ernie called, she said he was in great shape.”
“He’s in the sick bay on the Badoeng Strait. Patricia, he spent seventy-seven days running around Korea avoiding capture; they haven’t found anything wrong with him, according to McCoy, but they . . . they want to make sure nothing is wrong with him.”
“So something is wrong with him.”
“I expect a full report on his condition in the morning. As soon as I get it, I’ll call.”
“Elaine and I will be traveling by tomorrow morning,” Patricia declared. “She’s on her way here from New Jersey.”
Elaine Sage was Ernie’s mother.
“Ernie doesn’t want her mother over here, she told me.”
“She’s pregnant—she doesn’t know what she wants.”
“Obviously, I can’t stop either of you, but if you come over here, it will be one goddamned big mistake. What’s probably going to happen is that when you get here, you’ll learn that you passed Pick flying in the other direction in the middle of the Pacific,” Pickering said.
There was a long pause.
“So what are you telling me you think we should do, Flem?” she asked finally.
“Go to San Francisco. To the apartment. By the time you get there, I’ll have more information. I’ll call and give it to you.”
“Elaine’s determined to go over there.”
“Talk her out of it, sweetheart.”
“You’ll call me at the apartment the minute you hear anything?”
“Of course I will.”
“You sound tired, Flem.”
“I am tired.”
“Get some rest.”
“I will,” he said, then added: “Patricia, would you please call George Hart’s wife in Saint Louis and tell her.”
“I will, but—”
“George said she’s been praying for him. Call her, please, Pat.”
“I said I would.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re mad at me for.”
“I’m not mad at you, Flem.”
“That’s not what it sounds like.”
“I love you, Flem. I often wonder why.”
“I love you, too, and I know why.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Patricia said, and hung up.
[FIVE]
THE DAI ICHI BUILDING TOKYO, JAPAN 0805 16 OCTOBER 1950
A chrome-helmeted MP stepped into the street and held up his hand somewhat imperiously to stop Pickering’s Buick.
“El Supremo’s coming,” Master Sergeant Paul Keller, who was in the front seat beside the driver, said. “Everybody look busy.”
Pickering and Hart, in the backseat, laughed. The sergeant driver—no one knew his name; they changed frequently, and were, not in their hearing, universally referred to as “the CIC guy”—looked at Hart, visibly surprised that a sergeant would dare mock the Supreme Commander, and even more so that a brigadier general and his aide-de-camp would laugh with him.
And it was indeed the Supreme Commander, United Nations Command & U.S. Forces, Far East, arriving at his headquarters.
Preceded by a jeep loaded with chrome-helmeted MPs, his black Cadillac limousine rolled regally past Pickering’s Buick, and other cars behind it, and up before the steps leading to the door of the Dai Ichi Building.
A crowd of people, mostly Japanese but including some Americans and others in uniform, waited on the sidewalk behind a line of MPs.
Two more chrome-helmeted MPs stood on the sidewalk at the spot where the rear door of the limousine would open. As it approached them, they raised their hands in salute and held it. The instant the Cadillac stopped, one of them opened the door while the other held his salute.
MacArthur came out of the limousine and, looking straight ahead, walked quickly up the stairs to the building. He acknowledged the salutes given him three times.
Colonel Sidney Huff, MacArthur’s senior aide-de-camp, got out of the limousine and followed MacArthur into the building.
The limousine drove off. The crowd—the show over— began to disperse. The MP who had stopped them now motioned just as regally for them to start moving.
When the car stopped before the building, Pickering was out of the backseat before either the CIC guy or Keller could get out of his seat to open it for him.
Trailed by Hart and Keller, Pickering walked across the lobby to the bank of elevators.
“If there’s anything of interest, bring it upstairs,” Pickering said to Keller.
“Yes, sir.”
Keller got on one elevator, which would carry him to the Communications/Cryptographic Center in the basement, and Pickering and Hart got on another, which carried them to the lobby outside the door of the Office of the Supreme Commander.
Hart walked quickly to the door, pushed it inward, and held it open for Pickering.
There were two outer offices, one manned by one of MacArthur’s junior aides, a receptionist, and other clerical types. Pickering strode purposefully through the first outer office into the second, which was occupied by Colonel Sidney Huff and some clerical types.
Shortly after arriving in Tokyo, he had decided that stopping in the outer office and asking to see Colonel Huff was not the thing to do. It gave him a place in the pecking order. He was not only a brigadier general but the Deputy Director of the CIA. He did not need to ask a major if he could see a colonel on MacArthur’s staff, even if that colonel was MacArthur’s aide-de-camp and a founding member of the Bataan Gang.
“Good morning, Sid,” Pickering said. “General MacArthur expects me. Would you tell him I’m here?”
“Good morning, sir,” Huff said. “Before you see the Supreme Commander, may I have a minute of your time?”
“Sure, Sid. What can I do for you?”
“I thought you would be interested in this, General,” Huff said. “And I don’t think I have to tell you we were all delighted to hear that Major Pickering came through his ordeal.”
“Thank you, Sid,” Pickering said, and reached out for the first of several documents Huff was obviously prepared to hand him.
SECRET
URGENT
FROM BADOENG STRAIT
0300 16 OCTOBER 1950
TO CHAIRMAN JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF ATTN MAJGEN MASON
INFO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS
SUPREME COMMANDER UNC
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF PACIFIC
COMMANDANT USMC
1. REFERENCE YOUR URGENT DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT SUBJ: PICKERING, MAJ MALCOLM USMCR 15OCT50
2. SUBJECT OFFICER SUFFERED NO WOUNDS OR INJURIES DURING THE CRASH LANDING OF HIS AIRCRAFT OR IN THE PERIOD FOLLOWING UNTIL HIS RESCUE.
3. ON ARRIVAL BADOENG STRAIT SUBJECT OFFICER SUFFERED FROM EFFECTS OF MALNUTRITION AND DYSENTERY AND WAS INFESTED WITH INTESTINAL PARASITES. AS A RESULT OF THE FOREGOING, HE HAS LOST BOTH FAT AND MUSCLE TISSUE AND WEIGHS 58 (FIFTY-EIGHT) POUNDS LESS THAN HE DID AT THE TIME OF HIS LAST FLIGHT PHYSICAL EXAMINATION. IT IS NOT BELIEVED THAT HE WILL LOSE ANY TEETH, ALTHOUGH THE CONDITION OF HIS GUMS REFLECTS THE AFOREMENTIONED MALNUTRITION AND DYSENTERY.
4. SUBJECT OFFICER’S DYSENTERY HAS REACTED TO AN
TIBIOTIC TREATMENT, AND THE INTERNAL PARASITES HAVE REACTED TO ATABRINE AND OTHER TREATMENT. HE HAS BEEN PLACED ON A HIGH PROTEIN DIET.
5. THERE IS NO REASON SUBJECT OFFICER CANNOT BE AIR-LIFTED TO THE ZONE OF THE INTERIOR AT ANY TIME. HE CAN BE TRANSPORTED FROM BADOENG STRAIT EITHER BY TBM-3G AVENGER AIRCRAFT OR BY UNDER-WAY TRANSFER TO A DESTROYER OR DESTROYER ESCORT.
6. IN THE OPINION OF THE UNDERSIGNED, PRESENT AND PROJECTED WEATHER CONDITIONS MAKE AT-SEA TRANSFER THE LESS HAZARDOUS MEANS OF TRANSPORT. REQUEST DIRECTION.
7. BADOENG STRAIT PROCEEDING.
NORTON, CAPT USN
COMMANDING
Pickering read the message and handed it back to Huff.
“Fifty-eight pounds,” he said. “Jesus, he must look like a skeleton.”
Huff handed him another message.
SECRET
URGENT
FROM COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF PACIFIC
0405 16 OCTOBER 1950
TO BADOENG STRAIT
INFO SUPREME COMMANDER UNC TOKYO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASHINGTON COMMANDANT USMC WASHINGTON COMMANDER USNAVY BASE SASEBO JAPAN
1. REFERENCE IS MADE TOa. MESSAGE DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT SUBJ: PICKERING, MAJ MALCOLM USMCR 15OCT50
b. YOUR SECRET URGENT SUBJECT AS ABOVE 0300 16 OCTOBER 1950
2. CINCPAC DIRECTSa. DETACHMENT OF DESTROYER OR DESTROYER ESCORT FROM COVERING FORCE FOR PURPOSE OF TRANSPORTING SUBJECT OFFICER TO NEAREST PORT OFFERING SUITABLE AIR TRANSPORT OF SUBJECT OFFICER TO USNAVY HOSPITAL USNAVY BASE SASEBO JAPAN.
b. SUBJECT OFFICER BE ACCOMPANIED BY NAVY PHYSICIAN DURING MOVEMENT FROM BADOENG STRAIT TO SASEBO. TRANSFER TO TRANSPORTING VESSEL TO TAKE PLACE WHENEVER AND WHEREVER BADOENG STRAIT DEEMS ADVISABLE.
c. BADOENG STRAIT WILL ADVISE CINCPAC AND ADDRESSEES HEREON BY URGENT MESSAGE OF SUCCESSFUL TRANSFER OF SUBJECT OFFICER TO TRANSPORTING VESSEL, PORT OF DESTINATION, AND ETA THEREAT.
3. BADOENG STRAIT WILL PASS FOLLOWING PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM CINCPAC TO SUBJECT OFFICER AT EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY. QUOTE WELL DONE. YOUR RECENT ACTIONS IN HIGHEST TRADITIONS OF USMC AND NAVAL SERVICE. WELCOME BACK. END QUOTE
FOR THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, PACIFIC
STEVENS, VICE ADMIRAL, CHIEF OF STAFF
Pickering read the message and handed it back to Huff. Huff held the other messages up.
“You can read these, of course, if you like,” he said. “But they are simply administrative messages to implement what’s going to happen. The thumbnail of the situation is that a Navy R4-D hospital plane will be waiting at Pusan—that’s the nearest port—to fly your son to Sasebo. The Supreme Commander has arranged for you to be flown to either Pusan or Sasebo, whichever you prefer—”
“Sasebo,” Pickering interrupted. “I don’t see much point in going to Korea just to come back. And I would just be in the way.”
And it smacks of special treatment—not for Pick, for me.
“Yes, sir. There are two remaining problems.”
“Which are?”
“The President has directed that Major Pickering be flown to the naval hospital in the United States most convenient for Mrs. Pickering. They have apparently been unable to contact her.”
“San Diego,” Pickering said. “Send him to the Navy Hospital in San Diego.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the second problem?”
“Miss Priestly. We haven’t been able to locate her. We know she’s in Korea, and probably in Pusan, but we haven’t been able to find her so far.”
“I understand she was headed for Wonsan.”
“We’ve checked Wonsan. They don’t know where she is, and her name does not appear on any flight manifest of flights from Pusan to Wonsan.” He paused, then added: “We’ll find her, General.”
“I’m sure you will,” Pickering said. “Thank you, Sid.”
“I know the Supreme Commander is expecting you, sir,” Huff said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
[SIX]
When Colonel Huff opened the door to MacArthur’s office and announced, “General Pickering, sir,” MacArthur and Major General Charles Willoughby, his intelligence officer, were standing at a table to one side of the room, looking down at a map.
“Ah, come on in, Fleming!” MacArthur called heartily. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Good morning, sir,” Pickering said, and saluted.
Marines and sailors do not salute indoors—unless under arms or “covered” (wearing a hat or cap)—soldiers do. Pickering had decided nine years before, in Australia, that it was wiser to follow the Army custom. His relationships with the officers around MacArthur were bad enough as it was without adding “the arrogant SOB doesn’t even salute” to the listings of what was wrong with him.
“The Supreme Commander has just told me about your son, Pickering,” General Willoughby said. “What good news!”
“Thank you, General,” Pickering said.
“And Huff has you up to speed, right, on what’s happened about that this morning?” MacArthur asked.
“Yes, sir, he has.”
“Are you going out to the carrier, or to Korea?”
“No, sir. I think I’d just be in the way. I’ll go to Sasebo and wait there.”
“Probably the wisest thing to do. Huff will arrange whatever is necessary.”
“Thank you.”
“Willoughby has been bringing me up to speed on what’s happening. Would you like to listen, or are you anxious to leave for Sasebo?”
“I’d prefer to hear General Willoughby’s briefing, sir, if I may.”
“Start from the beginning, Willoughby,” MacArthur ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Willoughby said. “On the west coast,” he began, using his swagger stick as a pointer, “I Corps is poised to take Pyongyang. . . .”
The briefing took only ten minutes. It was upbeat and confident. The implication was that the Korea Peace Action was just about over.
MacArthur had asked only two questions of Willoughby.
“And the Wonsan mines, Willoughby?”
“Admiral Struble’s Joint Task Force Seven, as of this morning, sir, has nineteen minesweeping vessels working on the problem.”
“And?”
"X Corps will sail today from Inchon, General,” Willoughby said. “I have every confidence that by the time the invasion fleet arrives off Wonsan, the mines will no longer pose any problem at all.”
“And the Chinese?”
“There has been no reliable intelligence of any movement of Chinese troops toward the border, sir,” Willoughby said. “I’ve personally taken a look at a good deal of the Air Force photography. There’s simply nothing there.”
Pickering had another unkind thought about Major General Charles Willoughby:
He obviously believes what he’s saying, but that is not the same thing as saying that what he believes is true.
What I should do, I suppose, is stand up and say, “General, please remember that Willoughby is the guy who told you guerrilla operations in the Philippines were absolutely impossible, and that there was no indication of hostile intentions on the part of North Korea, and his confident statements about no mines and no Chinese should be judged accordingly.”
Why don’t I? Because I don’t know if the mines are gone from the approaches to Wonsan or not, and I don’t know if the Chinese are going to come in the war, and absent proof of either, MacArthur’s going to go with Willoughby.
And, furthermore, Bedell Smith made the point that the intelligence-gathering function of the CIA ends with passing it on to those charged with making decisions. Making decisions is not our responsibility.
MacArthur interrupted his thoughts. “Have you any questions for Willoughby, Fleming?”
“No, sir.”
“In that case, Willoughby, would you give General Pickering and me a moment?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Willoughby went through the door into Huff’s office.
“Willoughby tells me that you have sent the CIA Tokyo s
tation chief home,” MacArthur said, making it a question.
I can answer that tactfully, which means lie, and say Bedell Smith ordered it.
Or I can tell the blunt truth, and probably antagonize him.
It’s probably time for the blunt truth.
“In my judgment, General, he needed to be replaced. For one thing, he failed to gain intelligence of North Korea’s intentions when this war started, and for another—and no disrespect is intended—he was entirely too close to members of your staff, especially General Willoughby.”
MacArthur considered that a full fifteen seconds.
“Have you decided on a replacement?”
“Colonel Ed Banning, sir. Do you remember him?”
“Of course. He was your deputy in the Second War.”
“Yes, sir, he was.”
“It’s always nice, Fleming, to have old comrades-in-arms in one’s inner command circle. You know they can be trusted,” MacArthur said, then smiled. “Well, I suppose you’re anxious to head for Sasebo, aren’t you?”
He meant Willoughby in that philosophical observation, not Ed Banning.
Is he asking me to understand his relationship with Willoughby?
“Yes, sir, I am.”
Pickering saluted again, then walked out of MacArthur’s office into Huff’s office, where Captain Hart and Master Sergeant Keller were waiting for him. Willoughby nodded at Pickering, then went back into MacArthur’s office.
“This is the most interesting one, General,” Keller said, handing him a sheet of paper. “And it was delivered by a Jap on a bicycle.”
FROM TRANSGLOBAL HONOLULU
TO TRANSGLOBAL TOKYO
PLEASE PASS TO GENERAL PICKERING THAT COLONEL EDWARD BANNING, USMC, IS ABOARD TGF 1022 DUE TO ARRIVE IN TOKYO 1230 TOKYO TIME OCTOBER 16.
WILLIAMSON TG HONOLULU
“Well, I guess we’d better be at Haneda to meet him, hadn’t we, Paul?” Pickering said.
XII
[ONE]
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL TOKYO, JAPAN 1115 16 OCTOBER 1950
Captain George Hart knocked lightly on the door to Brigadier General Pickering’s bedroom, and then, as was his custom, without waiting for a reply, opened the door wide enough to look inside.
Retreat, Hell! Page 36