was let down by incompetent junior intelligence officers.”
“But your evaluation . . .”
“Doesn’t exist,” McCoy said.
Pickering looked at his watch.
“Pick’s liable to walk in any minute,” he said. “We can’t let him know about this.”
“Why not?” McCoy asked.
“You’ll show it to Pick and not to Ernie?” Pickering challenged.
McCoy went to Pickering, took the report, and handed it to his wife.
She had just begun to read it when the bells tinkled.
“You go,” Ernie ordered. “I’m reading this.”
Pick Pickering came into the room a moment later.
He and McCoy embraced.
“You may now call me ‘Speedy’ Pickering,” Pick said. “It’s official.”
Pickering handed him the sheet of notebook paper on which Colonel Stanley had written Colonel Huff’s private telephone number.
“Call Colonel Huff, identify yourself as Captain Pickering, calling for me—for General Pickering—and say that I would be honored if General and Mrs. MacArthur would join me for cocktails and dinner at the Imperial—”
“Boss, El Supremo never goes to the Imperial,” McCoy interrupted. “Or anywhere else, either, really.”
“So I read in Time,” Pickering said. “Make the call, Pick.”
“What the hell is going on?” Pick asked.
“Make the call, and then we’ll bring you up to speed,” Pickering said. “But for a quick answer, it seems like old times.”
[TWO]
NO. 7 SAKU-TUN DENENCHOFU, TOKYO, JAPAN 1805 1 JUNE 1950
The Japanese housekeeper came into the room and said something in Japanese to Ernie Sage McCoy.
“Colonel Huff for you, Captain Pickering,” Ernie translated. “There’s an extension by Ken’s chair.”
“Huff is calling to say that Supreme Commander and Mrs. MacArthur would much prefer that you come to the Embassy,” Ken McCoy said.
“Probably,” Fleming Pickering said, with a smile. He followed Pick to the telephone on the table beside Ken Mc-Coy’s armchair.
Pick picked up the telephone.
“Captain Pickering,” he said.
He held the phone away from his ear so that his father could overhear the conversation.
“This is Colonel Huff, Captain.”
“How are you, Colonel?”
“Captain, I relayed General Pickering’s invitation to the Supreme Commander. He asked me to get word to General Pickering that he and Mrs. MacArthur would much prefer that the general come to the Supreme Commander’s quarters for cocktails and dinner. Is that going to pose a problem for the General?”
“I’ll have to ask him, Colonel. Would you please hold?”
It was not the reply Colonel Huff had expected. This was clear in his voice as he said, “Of course.”
Pick covered the microphone with his hand, then whispered, “How long are we going to make him wait?”
“Sixty seconds,” Fleming Pickering said, with a smile. “Sixty seconds is a very long time when you’re hanging on a phone.”
Pick put the telephone on his shoulder, holding it in place with his chin, and then pushed the button on his aviator’s chronometer that caused the sweep second hand to start moving.
Sixty seconds seemed like a long time. Ernie Sage McCoy shook her head and smiled at her husband.
Finally Pick took the telephone from his shoulder.
“That will be fine, Colonel. What time would General MacArthur like my father to be there?”
“The Supreme Commander’s limousine will be at the Hotel Imperial at 1900. Would that be convenient?”
Fleming Pickering touched Pick’s arm and shook his head, “no.”
“Dad’s not at the Imperial, Colonel.”
“Oh?”
It was obviously a request for information. Pickering shook his head “no” again.
“And he has a car,” Pick said. “I’m sure he would prefer to have it with him. I don’t know what his schedule is after dinner, but I’m sure there will be something.”
“The Embassy at 1930, then,” Huff said. There was a tone of annoyance, slight but unmistakable, in his voice. “Would that be convenient?”
“If something comes up, Colonel, I’ll call. But I feel sure Dad can meet that schedule.”
“Thank you very much, Captain.”
“Not at all, Colonel.”
Pick hung the phone up.
“How’d I do?”
“You annoyed Huff. There will be a reward in heaven,” Pickering said.
Ernie Sage McCoy, smiling, shook her head again.
The maid reappeared almost immediately, and delivered another message in Japanese.
“Another call for Captain Pickering,” Ernie translated.
“I’ll bet I know who that is, Ken,” Fleming Pickering said, and when he had McCoy’s attention, went on in a credible mockery of General Charles Willoughby’s pronounced German accent: “ ‘Ven der Supreme Commander says he vill send hiss limousine, Cheneral Pickering vill ride in der limousine, or I vill haf him shot!’ ”