more information you have, the more I’m tempted to leave you on Tokchok-kundo until this operation is over.”
She met his eyes.
“And you’d do just that, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “How did a nice girl like Ernestine Sage get involved with a ruthless bastard like you?”
“She was lucky, I guess,” McCoy said.
“I thought I had made it plain that I now have a personal interest in this war,” Jeanette said.
“I don’t know how far I can trust you,” McCoy said. “If at all.”
“Okay. Leave me on the fucking island if you think you have to. But spell the fucking islands for me now.”
“When it gets light, Taylor has charts with the islands identified. I’m not sure of the spelling.”
“You’re going to invade islands you can’t even spell?” she asked.
“We’re Marines—we can do anything,” McCoy said.
“The sad thing is you really believe that,” she said. “And after you get the Queen Mary unloaded, and make your plans to invade the unspellable islands, then what?”
“Taylor and I go back to Pusan with a couple of Koreans for crew. Everybody else—probably including you—stays on the island, and starts training the Koreans for the operation. Taylor and I’ve got a lot to do in Pusan, and maybe in Tokyo, too.”
“For instance?”
“Well . . . Jeanette, you understand I’m serious about leaving you on Tokchok-kundo? And the more you know. . . .”
“I’d stay on that fucking island forever if I thought it would help Pick,” she said. “Okay?”
“Okay. That’s settled. We’re going to need boats to make the assault,” McCoy said, “which means (a) we have to find boats, and (b) find some way to get them to Tokchok-kundo. ”
“What kind of boats? How many?” she asked.
What the hell, as long as I’m physically sitting on her, and she has no access to communications, it doesn’t matter how much she knows. And talking an operation like this through is always a good idea. You almost always come up with something you didn’t think of.
So he told her what kind of boats, and how many of them, they were going to need. And everything else she asked him.
[TWO]
THE DEWEY SUITE THE IMPERIAL HOTEL TOKYO, JAPAN 1730 6 AUGUST 1950
When the knock at the door came, Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, was sprawled on a couch in the sitting room, reading a paperback copy of Mickey Spillane’s My Gun Is Quick.
He went quickly to the door and pulled it open.
Major General Ralph Howe was in the corridor, dressed as Hart was, in a tieless uniform shirt and trousers.
“Professional reading, George?” Howe asked.
“I can’t believe this thing,” Hart said.
“Maybe that’s why they call it fiction,” Howe said. “Where’s your boss?”
Hart pointed to the bedroom.
“I hope he’s asleep,” Hart said, and added: “The drinks I fed him at the cocktail hour were stiff ones.”
Howe’s eyebrows rose.
“Not drunk,” Hart said. “I’ve never seen him drunk.”
“I have to talk to him, George,” Howe said.
“Yes, sir,” Hart said, tossed My Gun Is Quick onto the couch, and went to Pickering’s door. He knocked twice and then went in without waiting.
Pickering—also dressed in only a uniform shirt and trousers—was lying on his bed.
“Sorry to disturb you, boss,” Hart said.
“No problem,” Pickering said. “I’ve already counted the kimono-ed ladies on the wallpaper twice. What’s up?”
“General Howe, sir.”
Pickering swung his feet out of bed and walked into the sitting room in his stocking feet.
“Sorry to wake you, Flem,” Howe said.
“I was awake,” Pickering said. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’d love one, but this may not be the time,” Howe said. “I had a telephone call from Harriman. They just landed at Haneda, and they’re coming here to see us. They want to see us both, and separately.”
“They meaning Harriman and Ridgway?” Pickering asked.
Howe nodded.
“Get us some coffee, George, while I put my shoes on,” Pickering ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“You all right, Flem?” Howe asked.
“Meaning am I plastered? No. I gave getting plastered some serious thought and decided it wasn’t the smart thing to do.”
Howe followed Pickering and leaned on the bedroom door as Pickering put his shoes on.
“The other day, McCoy’s wife said she knew Harriman. Do you?”
Pickering nodded.
“That’s probably why he said he wants to see you, first,” Howe said.
“We’re not pals,” Pickering said. “I’ve met him, oh, a bunch of times over the years. My wife knows him better than I do. And can’t stand him.”
“What’s he like?”
“You never met him?”
“Only briefly. Truman is impressed with him.”
“Interesting man. His father died when he was eighteen, leaving him the Union Pacific Railroad. And the Southern