Instead, he opened one cabinet after another until he found the liquor supply, found a bottle of Famous Grouse—
“You drink scotch, Taylor? There’s everything.”
“Scotch is fine,” Taylor said.
—set it on the butcher’s block, and then went back to cabinets to find glasses. He put the glasses on the butcher’s block, poured Famous Grouse an inch deep in each, and wordlessly passed them out.
“To Pick, wherever he is,” he said.
The others raised their glasses. Zimmerman and Hart said, “Pick.”
“The general said he’s probably a prisoner,” Zimmerman said.
“That’s good news?”
“Considering the alternatives,” Zimmerman said, “yeah.”
“So what’s so important?” McCoy said.
“If you want to be pissed at somebody, be pissed at me,” Hart said. “This was my idea.”
“What was your idea, goddamn it, George?”
“I asked Taylor what sort of a plan he had, and he said it was sort of like a Marine Raider operation in War Two,” Hart said. “So I told him he ought to talk to Zimmerman and you; you were in the Raiders.”
“For a cop, George, you have a big mouth,” McCoy said.
“So I got Zimmerman in the room, and Taylor told him what he was thinking, and Zimmerman said, ‘We got to show this to Kil—McCoy.’ ”
“Why?” McCoy asked.
“Because Taylor has to show it to the boss and that Army general, and probably by seventeen hundred,” Zimmerman said. “And the first thing the boss is going to do— and you know it, Killer—is ask you what you think.”
“I think the idea will work,” Taylor said.
“So do I,” Zimmerman interjected.
“You do, huh?” McCoy said.
“. . . and I don’t want the idea shot down just because some Army colonel or Annapolis captain didn’t think of it first, or it’s not according to the book,” Taylor finished.
Mrs. Ernestine McCoy came into the kitchen. There was no sign of the tears that had run down her cheeks, but her mascara and eye shadow were mussed, and her eyes were red.
“Hey, Ernie,” Zimmerman said. “Sorry about Pick.”
He went to her and with surprising delicacy, put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“I heard someone come in,” she said. “I didn’t know who it was.” She put her hand out to Lieutenant Taylor. “I’m Ernie McCoy.”
“Sorry to barge in like this, Mrs. McCoy. I’m David Taylor. ”
“Hello, George,” Ernie said. “Rotten news, huh?”
“What am I, the only one in the room who hasn’t given up on him? Christ, he walks through raindrops. He always has. You know that.”
“I haven’t given up on him, goddamn it,” McCoy said.
“None of us have, George,” Ernie McCoy said. “I just talked to his mother. She wanted to come over here.”
“Did you manage to talk her out of it?” McCoy asked.
“Yes, I did. I told her she’d only be in the way; that you and Uncle Flem . . . General Pickering . . . were already working on the problem. Is that—I hope—what this is?”
“Not exactly,” McCoy said. “Taylor has an idea about a major problem with the Inchon landing, and these two think I should have a look at it.” He saw the look of surprise on Taylor’s face, and added: “General Howe has granted my wife a Top Secret/White House, Mr. Taylor.”
“Probably because he knows you can’t keep a secret from a woman,” Zimmerman said.
“Screw you, Zimmerman,” Ernie McCoy said, conversationally. “I think I’ll have one of those,” she added, and reached for the bottle of Famous Grouse. “And then, if you don’t think I should know about this, I’ll fold my tent and silently steal away.”
Fuck it, why not? If she walks out of here, she’ll go to the bedroom and start crying again. I can’t stand to hear her cry.
“OK, Taylor, let’s hear the idea,” McCoy said. “Honey, will you take notes?”
“You want to do it in here, or in the dining room?” Ernie asked.
“The dining room,” McCoy said.
“I’ll send Kon San and the others shopping,” Ernie said. “And get a pad and pencil. If you’re going to drink in there, you bring the bottle and glasses.”
[THREE]
“Let’s start from scratch,” Taylor said, pointing with a pencil at a map laid out on the dining room table. “Here’s Taemuui-do Island and here’s Yonghung-do Island, both of which have to be taken before the invasion fleet can make it into Inchon.
“If they’re taken on D Minus One, as the brass wants to do, that means the North Koreans will know about the invasion twenty-four hours before it happens, and damned sure will be waiting for the invasion. So the thing to