around her neck—she finally made it to the deck, she found herself facing Lieutenant David R. Taylor, USNR.
She flashed him a dazzling smile.
“I’m Jeanette Priestly of the Chicago Tribune,” she said.
“Welcome aboard,” he said.
Jeanette smiled and waved at the Marines.
McCoy came over the rail.
“Permission to get under way, sir?” Taylor asked.
“Granted,” McCoy said.
Taylor walked aft and went up the exterior ladder to the junk’s stern. Jeanette followed him. She did not see Zimmerman come aboard carrying the rest of her things.
Taylor began to issue orders in Korean.
McCoy came up the ladder.
“Permission to come on the bridge, sir?” he asked.
“Granted,” Taylor said.
Taylor opened the cover of the control panel and started the engine, which fascinated Miss Priestly.
Korean sailors, assisted by Marines, hauled on ropes, and three sails rose up their masts like so many venetian blinds.
Taylor unlashed the rudder, then engaged the engine. The Wind of Good Fortune moved almost sidewards away from the pier.
“What’s going on?” Jeanette asked, in her most charming voice.
No one replied.
Taylor got the Wind of Good Fortune headed out to deep water, then shut down the engine.
The Wind of Good Fortune’s sails filled with wind, and she began to act like a sailing vessel.
“Ah, come on, McCoy, tell me what’s going on,” Jeanette asked, entreatingly.
“In just a minute,” McCoy said. “I’ve got to have a word with Major Kim first. Enjoy the sights.”
He went down the ladder to the main deck and walked forward to Major Kim, who was standing midway between the stern and the forecastle. McCoy had given a lot of thought about how he was going to deal with Major Kim, and had finally decided that the old saw, “When in doubt, tell the truth,” seemed to be not only the best, but really the only, solution.
When he reached Kim, the Korean national police officer looked at him expectantly.
“Major, we’re headed for Tokchok-kundo,” McCoy said.
Kim nodded, and waited for him to go on.
“There is a strong possibility that General MacArthur will make an amphibious invasion at Inchon,” McCoy said. “There are two islands in the Flying Fish Channel, now occupied by the enemy, from which the ships of the invasion fleet could be brought under artillery fire—”
“Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do,” Kim interrupted, nodding.
McCoy was surprised, even startled, that Kim knew of the islands.
“—and should be taken as quickly and as quietly as possible, ” McCoy went on, hoping that his surprise had not been evident on his face or in his voice.
It apparently had been.
“Major Dunston,” Kim said, sensing an explanation was in order. “When there was talk of Operation Bluehearts—”
McCoy was again surprised. This time he blurted: “You knew about Operation Bluehearts?”
Kim nodded. “When that looked possible—not likely, but possible—Major Dunston had me look into the Flying Fish Channel. We saw the danger Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do posed.”
“How do you mean, ‘saw’?”
“I went there on a fishing boat, Captain McCoy,” Kim said, “to both Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do, and looked around.”
“I didn’t know that,” McCoy said.
What the hell, McCoy, you decided this was “when all else fails, tell the truth” time.
“If Major Dunston filed an intel report . . .”
“He did,” Major Kim said.
“I didn’t see it. I got my—more importantly, my superiors got their—Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do intelligence from Lieutenant Taylor. I’m positive that General Pickering never saw Dunston’s report.”
“That’s curious,” Kim said.
“Dunston’s report was filed before General Pickering took over as CIA Assistant Director for Asia,” McCoy said, thinking aloud.
“Yes,” Kim agreed.
“General Pickering has ordered me to take Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do as quickly and as quietly as possible,” McCoy said.
Kim nodded.
“I decided,” McCoy went on, “that Major Dunston didn’t have the need to know about this operation, and I didn’t tell him about it. And I kept you in the dark, Major Kim, because I knew you worked for Major Dunston, and might feel duty-bound to tell him what we’re up to.”
Kim nodded.
“When he hears that the Wind of Good Fortune has sailed with you and your Marines and me and my men . . .”
“He will probably make a very good guess about what we’re doing,” McCoy said. “I’m sorry about that. But the fewer people who know about this operation, the lesser the chance that the North Koreans will hear about it.”
Kim nodded, but said nothing.
“I had to keep the Marines in the dark, too,” McCoy said.
“Sir?”
“Major, I’m a captain. I don’t think you should call me ‘Sir’—the other way around.”
“You are in command,” Kim argued. “Under that circumstance, I suggest we address one another as ‘Captain’ and ’Major.’ ”