in khaki uniforms, came down the ladder from the C-54, saw the two Marine officers in sweat- and dirt-stained utilities waiting at the foot of the ladder, returned the Marines’ salutes, and walked toward the passenger terminal.
Colonel Minor looked over his shoulder as he entered the building and saw McCoy and Zimmerman climbing the stairs. Then he hurried into the building.
[FIVE]
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, JAPAN 1305 2 AUGUST 1950
As the MATS C-54 taxied toward the terminal, McCoy and Zimmerman saw a long line of staff cars and several small buses obviously waiting to transport the passengers from the airfield into Tokyo.
“The question now is how we get into Tokyo,” McCoy said.
“My question is what the hell is going on?” Zimmerman said. “ ‘Immediately. Repeat immediately.’ What the hell is that all about?”
McCoy shrugged.
“I have no idea,” he confessed.
When they finally reached the door of the aircraft and stepped out onto the platform at the head of the stairway, Zimmerman said, “Hey, there’s a Marine officer.”
McCoy looked where Zimmerman was pointing, and saw the Marine officer just as Zimmerman added, “Jesus, that’s George Hart, or his twin goddamn brother!”
“I’ll be damned,” McCoy said, and waited impatiently for the SCAP brass to get off the stairway.
Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, or his doppelgänger, in a crisp uniform, pushed himself off the front fender of a 1950 Chevrolet U.S. Army staff car and walked to the stairway.
He saluted.
“Hello, Ken,” he said. “Ernie.”
“Jesus, George, I thought you’d be running around the hills of Pendleton,” McCoy said, reaching for Hart’s hand.
“So did I,” Hart said. “Delicate subject. I’ll tell you later.”
“You’re here to meet us?” McCoy asked.
Hart nodded. “Old times, huh?” he said. He gestured toward the staff car, and they started walking to it.
“What’s going on, George?” Zimmerman asked. “What’s this ‘return immediately, repeat immediately’ all about?”
“I don’t know much,” Hart said, interrupting himself to ask, “You have luggage, gear?”
McCoy and Zimmerman shook their heads, “no.”
“I don’t know much about what’s going on,” Hart repeated. “It’s got something to do with an Army two-star, a guy named Howe.”
“General Howe is here?” McCoy asked.
Hart nodded. “We got in yesterday afternoon—”
“ ‘We’?” McCoy interrupted.
“Same plane,” Hart said. “I think it was a coincidence, but with Colonel Banning involved, you’re never sure.”
They reached the car. The driver, an Army sergeant, got from behind the wheel and opened the rear door on the driver’s side.
“I’ll get in front,” Hart said, and got in beside the driver. McCoy and Zimmerman got in the back.
The driver got behind the wheel.
"Take us to Captain McCoy’s quarters, please,” Hart said.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said.
“My quarters?” McCoy asked, confused.
Hart turned on the seat, held his right hand in front of his face, nodded toward the driver, and put his left index finger on his lips.
“Your orders, gentlemen,” Hart said, “are to shower, shave, put on uniforms, and join General Pickering as soon as possible. You, Captain, under the circumstances, may have thirty minutes of personal time—no more; the general was quite specific about that—with Mrs. McCoy.”
McCoy didn’t speak, but asked with his eyes and eyebrows if he had heard correctly. Hart nodded.
“My uniforms are in the Imperial Hotel,” Zimmerman said.
“Not any longer, Mr. Zimmerman,” Hart said.
Zimmerman opened his mouth to speak, and McCoy laid a hand on his leg to silence him.
They rode the rest of the way to Denenchofu in silence.
[SIX]
NO. 7 SAKU-TUN DENENCHOFU, TOKYO, JAPAN 1420 2 AUGUST 1950
The wooden sign reading “Capt. K. R. McCoy, USMCR” that had hung on the stone wall was gone, but what he could see of the house through the gate—Why is the gate open?—looked very much the same as it had when it had been home to Ken and Ernie. That surprised McCoy, until he realized that it had been only two months—exactly two months—since he had left here more or less in disgrace, about to be booted out of the Marine Corps.
It seems like a hell of a lot longer.
“Wait for us,” Hart ordered the driver. “We won’t be very long.”
McCoy had a lot of questions to ask, but Hart had made it clear that they shouldn’t be asked in the hearing of the CIC agent/staff car driver Willoughby had assigned to “ensure General Pickering’s security.”
He got out of the car and walked through the gate toward the house.
The door to the house slid open. A female that Captain Kenneth R. McCoy sincerely believed was the most beautiful woman in the world came out.
Maybe you can’t gild a lily, but Jesus, Ernie never looked