“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Almond said, as if to himself. And then he added, “Your ‘aide.’ Is he still in Korea?”
“No, sir. He came in early this morning.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” Almond said. “Would that be possible?”
“Yes, sir. Of course. You tell me where and when.”
“Would it be an imposition if I came by the Imperial?”
“No, sir. Of course not.”
“I have to see General MacArthur,” Almond said. “He normally sends for me fifteen, twenty minutes after the staff meeting. And there’s no telling how long that will take; he’s doing the preliminary planning for the amphibious operation up the peninsula. But when that’s over, I think I’ll be free. If I’m not, I’ll call. That Okay with you?”
“That’s fine with me, sir. McCoy will be waiting for you.”
“I don’t want to make talking to him official,” Almond said. “You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’ll see you in an hour or two,” Almond said, offered his hand, and left the conference room.
X
[ONE]
THE DEWEY SUITE THE IMPERIAL HOTEL TOKYO, JAPAN 1105 25 JULY 1950
When Captain Malcolm S. Pickering of Trans-Global Airways started to walk down the corridor toward the Dewey Suite, he was mildly curious to see an American in a business suit—a young one, not more than twenty-one, he thought—sitting in an armchair in the corridor reading the Stars & Stripes.
He had apparently been there some time, for on a table beside him was a coffee Thermos and the remains of breakfast pastries.
Pick just had time to guess, some kind of guard, when there was proof. The young man stood up and blocked his way.
“May I help you, sir?” he asked.
“I’m going in there,” Pick said, pointing at the next door down the corridor.
“May I ask why, sir?”
“I’m here to see General Pickering.”
“Are you expected, sir?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. . . .”
“Knock on the door and tell General Pickering that Captain Pickering requests an audience,” Pick ordered, sounding more like a Marine officer than an airline pilot. He heard himself, and added, “I’m his son. It’ll be all right.”
After a moment’s indecision, the young man went to the door to the Dewey Suite and knocked.
Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, in khakis, tieless, opened the door, then made a gesture to the young man to permit Pick to pass.
He entered the room. His father, dressed like McCoy, was looking at a map spread out on a table in the middle of the sitting room. He smiled when he saw his son.
“When did you get in?” he asked.
“A couple of hours ago. I dropped Stu James off at the Hokkaido and then came here. What’s with the guard?”
“That’s General Willoughby’s idea,” Fleming Pickering said.
“Oh?”
“He said it was his responsibility to see that ‘someone like me’ was ’secure.’ ”
“Secure from what?”
“Captain McCoy,” Pickering said wryly, “who some people suspect is a cynic, suggests that General Willoughby wants to keep an eye on me for his security. Anyway, when I declined to move into some officers’ compound where he could keep an eye on me, he sent me a guard here for the same purpose. Guards, plural. There’s some young man sitting out there around the clock.”
“I thought maybe he was there to protect our well-publicized hero—Dead-Eye McCoy—from a horde of adoring fans.”
General Pickering chuckled.
“You saw the story, I gather?”
“The whole world has seen the story,” Pick said. “I understand the recruiters have long lines of eager young men wanting to emulate him.”
“I knew that fucking woman was trouble the first time I saw her,” McCoy said.
“Speaking of women, Dead-Eye,” Pick said, “you better clean up your language and send the native girls back to the village. Your wife’s about to arrive.”
“I hope you’re kidding,” General Pickering said.
“Uh-uh,” Pick said. “Expect her in seventy-two hours, more or less.”
“Jesus, couldn’t you talk her out of it?” McCoy asked.
“Your wife took lessons in determination from his wife,” Pick said, nodding at his father. “I tried, honest to God.”
“I won’t be here,” McCoy said.
“Ken’s been sort of commuting to Korea,” General Pickering said. “It’s the only way I can get accurate information in less than a week.”
“And how are things in the ‘Land of the Morning Calm’?”
“Not good, Pick,” General Pickering said.
“Well, fear not, the Marines are coming,” Pick said. “You know there’s a provisional brigade on the high seas, for Kobe, I suppose?”
“They’re being diverted to Pusan,” General Pickering said. “We found out yesterday.”
“If we still hold Pusan when they get there,” McCoy said.