am about to tell you is classified Top Secret/White House and cannot be divulged to anyone else without General Pickering’s specific permission.”
“Not even to General Craig?” Cushman asked.
“General Craig is in on this, sir,” McCoy said. “But he’s one of the very few.”
“But the very few include Colonel Dunn?”
“The colonel knows some of this, sir.”
“But not, presumably, General of the Army Douglas MacArthur?” the captain asked, coldly sarcastic. “The Supreme Commander?”
“As far as I know, no, sir,” McCoy said.
The captain opened his mouth, but Cushman spoke before he could.
“I acknowledge the classification,” Cushman said. “Go on.”
“Sir, there are islands in the Flying Fish Channel leading to Inchon . . . ,” McCoy began.
“Let me get this straight,” Cushman said. “You have installed a handful of Marines on this island— What’s the name?”
“Tokchok-kundo, sir.”
“And from which you intend to launch an operation to take . . .”
“Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do, sir.”
“And General MacArthur is unaware of this operation?” the captain asked, incredulously.
“I don’t believe he is aware, sir.”
“Who besides the people you’ve mentioned knows about this?” Cushman said.
“Just General Howe, sir.”
“Who is he?” the captain demanded.
“An Army two-star, sir. He’s on the same sort of mission for the President as General Pickering.”
“To your knowledge, is the President aware of this operation? ” Cushman asked.
“To my knowledge, no, sir. But I’d bet he is.”
“Why do you say that?” Cushman asked.
“Because both General Pickering and General Howe are on orders to tell the President anything they think he might like to know, sir.”
“We’ve gone off at a tangent,” Cushman said. “Picking up my original question where I think I left it: You have installed your Marines on Tokchok-kundo—”
“And the South Korean national policemen, sir.”
“And the South Korean national policemen, and after you got there, your radio was inoperable?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you want Colonel Dunn to airdrop whatever those things are in the cartons to your people?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you do it, Billy?” Cushman asked.
“If I can find the island, yes, sir.”
“I can show you the island on the aerials, Colonel,” McCoy said. “The word I left for Zimmerman is that when a Corsair flies over, he will spread a yellow panel between two houses on a hillside.”
“I’d have to make three passes, then? One, fly over; two, spot the panel; three, drop your stuff. Won’t that attract attention to the island?”
“I thought, sir, if you flew out of sight each time, for, say, five minutes . . .”
“I can do it, sir,” Dunn said.
Cushman looked very thoughtful for a long moment.
“It looks to me that what we have here is a presidentially sanctioned covert mission that we are obliged to support,” he said, finally. “Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”
It took the captain even longer to consider his reply.
“Yes, sir, I would agree,” he said, finally.
“Okay, Billy, that’s it. Good luck,” Cushman said.
“Aye, aye, sir. Thank you, sir,” Dunn said.
“One other question, McCoy,” Cushman said. “No, two. Where do you go from here? And what’s with the black pajamas? Where’s your uniform?”
“The last time I saw it, it was sinking into the Yellow Sea, sir,” McCoy said. “It was washed overboard on the way back from Tokchok-kundo.”
“I’m sure the captain can find some khakis for you,” Cushman said. “And then?”
“Back to Pusan, sir.”
“And?”
“Catch a ride to Tokyo. I’ve got to report to General Pickering.”
“I’ll take you to Tokyo,” Cushman said. “I’d like to see General Pickering myself.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“You can use my cabin to take a shower and shave,” Dunn said. “I’ll show you the way.”
When they reached Lieutenant Colonel Dunn’s cabin, McCoy saw that the name of Major Malcolm S. Pickering had been removed from the sign outside.
Dunn went immediately to the cabin safe and took an envelope from it.
“Nobody but the two photo lab guys have seen this,” Dunn said. “And they won’t say anything to anybody.”
McCoy opened the envelope and saw the picture of the muddy rice paddy in which someone had stamped out “PP” and an arrow.
“That was taken the day after Pick went down,” he said. “The time and map coordinates are on the back.”
McCoy looked at him in genuine surprise.
“You think he’s still alive and running around loose up there?”
“You tell me, Killer. You’re the expert.”
“Jesus Christ!” McCoy said.
"Yeah,” Dunn said, then patted McCoy on the arm and left his cabin.
XVII
[ONE]
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, JAPAN 0805 10 AUGUST 1950
The Marine liaison officer at Haneda, having been advised by approach control that an Avenger with a Code Seven aboard who did not wish honors but did require ground transportation was fifteen minutes