ashore okay. . . . Should we be talking about this in here?”
“Good point. Let’s go outside,” Pickering said.
Dunston led them to the end of a line of parked vehicles.
“What the hell is this thing?” Pickering asked.
“This is the Killer’s Russian jeep,” Dunston said. “He took it away from an NK colonel. He had it over in Socho-Ri, but when he sent Jennings here, he sent the Russian Rolls with him and said to keep it here.”
“Is that what you call it, the Russian Rolls?” Pickering asked, chuckling.
“Who’s Jennings?” Banning asked. It was almost an interruption.
“Tech Sergeant,” Dunston said. “He and Zimmerman and the Killer were in the Marine Raiders. Good man. He’s been with us since Pusan.”
“You know McCoy hates to be called Killer, don’t you, Major?” Banning asked.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m one of the privileged few who can,” Dunston said. “We’re pretty close, Colonel.”
Pickering saw that Banning found that hard to accept.
Dunston got behind the wheel, and Pickering got in beside him.
“Nobody can hear us here,” Pickering said when Banning and Hart had climbed over the back into the rear seat. “What about McCoy? Where is he?”
“Well, they—the Killer and two of my Koreans—went ashore a few miles north of Chongjin,” Dunston said. “The Wind of Good Fortune got the three clicks a little after three this morning.”
“Your Koreans?” Banning asked.
“The Wind of Good Fortune is the flagship of our fleet, Colonel,” George Hart offered quickly. “It’s a diesel-powered junk.”
He did that, Pickering thought, because he sensed that Dunston has had enough of Banning’s attitude and was about to snap back at Banning. What the hell is wrong with Ed Banning?
Banning’s glance at Hart did not suggest anything close to gratitude.
“My Koreans, Colonel,” Dunston said coldly, “are what few agents I have left of the agents I had before the war. McCoy’s Koreans are the ones he’s borrowed from Colonel Pak at I ROK Corps. We tell them apart that way.”
“Three clicks?” Pickering asked, more to forestall another question from Banning than for information. He had made a guess—as it turned out, the right one—about what three clicks meant.
“You push the mike button three times, General, but don’t say anything,” Dunston said. “It means you’re safely ashore.”
“Ashore a few miles north of where?” Banning asked.
“Chongjin,” Dunston said. “It’s a town—”
“On the Sea of Japan, about sixty miles from the Chinese and Russian borders,” Banning said impatiently. “I know where it is. What’s he doing there?”
“Vandenburg got him some radios from the Army Security Agency,” Dunston said. “He’s going to listen to what he calls low-level Russian radio traffic.”
“I was under the impression the ASA was responsible for intercepting enemy communications,” Banning said.
“That’s their job,” Dunston agreed a little sarcastically.
“Then what—”
Pickering, who was sitting sidewards on the front seat of the vehicle, dropped his hand to Banning’s knee and silenced him.
Pickering thought: I don’t know what’s wrong with Banning—maybe fatigue from the long flight; or maybe he doesn’t think Dunston is showing him the proper respect— but he’s acting like an inspector general, and Dunston doesn’t like it. I don’t want—can’t have—the two of them scrapping.
Dunston started the engine and backed out of the parking slot.
[FIVE]
THE HOUSE SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA 1910 16 OCTOBER 1950
Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, Master Sergeant Charley Rogers, NGUS, Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, and an Army captain wearing a fur-collared aviator’s jacket were sitting at the dining room table when Pickering, Banning, Hart, and Dunston walked in.
Everyone but Howe made some movement to stand. Pickering signaled for them to stay where they were.
“I will claim the privilege of rank, Flem,” Howe said, “and be the first to tell you how delighted I am your son’s safe.”
“Thank you,” Pickering said.
“I suppose I’d better do the introductions,” Howe said. “General, this is Colonel D. J. Vandenburg . . .”
Pickering offered him his hand.
“How are you, Colonel?”
“Sir, we’re all happy Major Pickering is back with us.”
“Thank you,” Pickering said.
“. . . and this is Captain Lew Miller,” Howe went on, “who flies the Beaver.”
“I’ve heard about the Beaver,” Pickering said, smiling at Vandenburg. “How are you, Captain?”
“How do you do, sir?” Miller said.
“And J. M. Jennings,” Howe said, “who has the dubious distinction of having been a Marine Raider with McCoy and Zimmerman.”
“ ‘Dubious distinction’?” Jennings said, and then: “How do you do, sir?”
“The phrase, General Howe,” Pickering said, “is great distinction.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jennings said.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Pickering said, “that you’ve had to be alone with all these