it, okay? I want to have dinner with the guy who married my childhood sweetheart.”
He chuckled and hung up.
“Charley Ansley says ‘Hi, Ernie,’ ” he said.
“And?” Ernie said.
“There’s going to be a press conference, and the entire future of Trans-Global Airways depends on my being there.”
“Why don’t you take Ken and Ernie with you,” Fleming Pickering said. “And then out to dinner.”
He could tell from McCoy’s face that he didn’t want to go. And from Ernie’s that she did.
“Honey?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” McCoy said.
[THREE]
THE RESIDENCE OF THE SUPREME COMMANDER, ALLIED POWERS TOKYO, JAPAN 1930 1 JUNE 1950
The two impeccably turned-out Army military policemen at the gate to what had been the U.S. Embassy compound and was now the residence of the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers, who had been at Parade Rest—standing stiffly erect, with the hands folded on the small of the back—came, very precisely and very slowly, to attention and very slowly raised their hands in salute as the 1941 Cadillac limousine approached the gate.
They held the salute until the gate opened and the limousine passed through, before very slowly bringing their rigid hands down from the forward lip of their chromed steel helmets and returning to Parade Rest.
The motions were artificial, more like ballet movements than a military gesture—
Like, the passenger of the limousine thought, somewhat unkindly, like those clowns standing in front of Bucking-ham Palace in those comic opera bearskin hats.
What’s that all about? Does El Supremo think he’s the Mikado? They already have an emperor of Japan, I just drove past his palace.
Yeah, but the truth of the matter is, that ridiculous emperor doesn’t have any power, and this one, El Supremo, does.
He is the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers.
He sends for the Emperor—I saw that in the newspaper—and the Emperor comes. Jesus Christ, Douglas MacArthur is the king of Japan.
Watch your temper, Fleming Pickering!
You’re here to help Killer McCoy, not to tell El Supremo what a pompous ass he is.
There were a second matched set of MPs standing at either side of the door of what had been the U.S. Ambassador’s residence, and they, too, repeated the slow-motion salute as the limousine pulled up before the building and an officer—a major in the regalia of an aide-de-camp—came quickly down the shallow flight of steps.
He pulled the passenger door open and stood at attention.
“Good evening, General Pickering,” he said. “The Supreme Commander expects you, sir. If you’ll be good enough to come with me?”
“Thank you,” Pickering said, got out of the limousine, and walked into the residence ahead of the major.
Colonel Stanley, who had come to the Imperial Hotel, was waiting for Pickering in the main corridor of the building.
“Good evening, General,” he said, offering his hand. “The Supreme Commander and Mrs. MacArthur are in the library.”
“Hello, Colonel,” Pickering said.
Stanley pushed open double doors, stepped into the center of the opening, and announced:
“Brigadier General Pickering, USMC!”
The only thing missing is four clowns in purple tights blowing trumpets with flags on them.
A white-jacketed steward—obviously a Filipino, but not the Philippine Scouts Master Sergeant Pickering remembered as MacArthur’s personal servant—stood almost at attention before a sideboard on which bottles, glasses, and silver bowls of ice, lemons, and maraschino cherries were laid out.
MacArthur stood with his wife and three officers at the far end of a long, rather narrow table on which sat a silver-flowered bowl. Pickering knew two of the three officers, Major General Charles A. Willoughby and Colonel Sidney Huff. The third officer, a stocky, somewhat pale-faced major general, he had never seen before.
He missed and looked for Lieutenant General Richard Sutherland, who had been MacArthur’s chief of staff throughout World War II, until he remembered reading that Sutherland had been returned home for unspecified reasons of health.
Sutherland, Willoughby, and Huff—and their underlings—had been “The Bataan Gang,” MacArthur’s intimate circle.
If that two-star is here, with the Bataan Gang, he must be Sutherland’s replacement.
“Fleming, my friend,” MacArthur called in his sonorous voice. “How wonderful to see you!”
Pickering walked along the table toward him.
“It’s good to see you, General,” he said, offering his hand.
Jean MacArthur stepped close, offering her hand and then her cheek.
“Jean, you look wonderful,” Pickering said, as he kissed her cheek.
“General,” Willoughby said. He was a large, imposing, erect man.
“General” came out “Cheneral.” I wonder if Ol’ Charley knew that, behind his back, he had been known—and probably still is—as “Adolf” and “Der Führer.”
“General,” Pickering replied, then turned to Colonel Huff.