an airline captain—especially of one making across-the-ocean flights like this one—is, oh, forty-ish, fifty-ish, gray temples, a look of experience.
A. I must be the exception to that rule.
Q. (Nice boobs, plus nice teeth in a very nice mouth, follow-up) How did you get to be a captain? Did you fly transports or bombers when you were in the service?
A. No, ma’am, I did not fly multiengined aircraft, bombers or transports, in the service.
Q. (Nice boobs, face, teeth, nice everything, follow-up) Then how did you get to be a captain so young?
A. My daddy loaned me the money to start Trans-Global.
Q. (Nice, better than nice, everything, follow-up) I don’t think you’re kidding.
A. Boy Scout’s honor, ma’am.
Q. (Nice everything follow-up) Who’s your daddy?
A. His name is Fleming Pickering.
Q. There’s a rumor floating that he’s in Tokyo. True?
A. (Man in gray suit) We’re going to have to cut this off, ladies and gentlemen, we’re running out of time. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The cars are waiting in front of the hotel, and will wait at the Imperial to bring you back here.
“Except for that crack about your daddy loaning you the money to start the airline, you did very well, Pick. I’m proud of you,” Ernie said, as they walked along the street to where Pick had parked the Ford.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Is that crap really important?” McCoy asked.
“According to Charley it is. It sells seats, and that’s the name of the game.”
“Hey, Captain Pickering, hold up a minute!”
Pick looked over his shoulder to find the source of the female voice. Nice Everything was coming down the sidewalk toward them.
Nice legs, too. Damn nice legs.
“Believe it or not, that was a legitimate question,” Nice Everything said.
“What was a legitimate question?”
“You are—at least you look—too young to be an airline captain.”
“I don’t think I caught the name,” Pick said.
“Jeanette Priestly, Chicago Tribune,” she said, giving him her hand.
Nice, soft, warm hand.
“My friends call me ’Pick,’ ” he said. “These are my friends, Captain and Mrs. McCoy. Ken and Ernie.”
“Which one’s Ernie?”
“I am.”
Nice Everything turned to McCoy.
“You’re also a pilot?”
“I’m a Marine, not a pilot.”
Jeanette turned to Pick.
“The public relations guy told me why you didn’t fly ‘multiengine’ planes when you were a Marine,” Jeanette said. “You should have told me. It would have made a great lead: ‘Marine Fighter Ace Sets Trans-Pacific Airliner Speed Record.’ ”
“You have to understand,” Ernie said, straight-faced, “that when you look in the dictionary under ‘modest,’ you see our hero’s picture.”
The two women smiled at each other.
“And so was the question about your father being here legitimate,” Jeanette said. “I’d really like to interview him.”
“I don’t know about an interview,” Pick said. “But if you want to come with us to the Imperial—presuming the old man is back from dinner—I’ll introduce you.”
“Dinner with MacArthur, right?” she asked.
Pick didn’t reply.
“Hey, I’m good at what I do, too,” Jeanette said. “Yes, thank you ever so much, Captain Pickering, I would love to go to the Imperial with you.”
“And afterward, how about dinner?”
“If I’m in a good mood—and getting to talk to your daddy would put me in a very good mood—I would be delighted. ”
[FIVE]
THE DEWEY SUITE THE IMPERIAL HOTEL TOKYO, JAPAN 2245 1 JUNE 1950
In the limousine on the way to the Hotel Imperial, Fleming Pickering had consoled himself with the thought that while he had absolutely no idea what to do about McCoy’s predicament, he didn’t have to face him right now with that announcement. What he was going to do now was have a drink—maybe two, but certainly one really stiff one—and fall into bed.
Sometimes, perhaps even often, he went to bed facing a problem that seemed to have no solution and when he woke in the morning—for that matter, sometimes at three A.M.—he had found one. He couldn’t explain it, except perhaps to wonder if the brain continued to work while one was asleep, but it happened, and with a little bit of luck it would happen tonight.
He heard the sound of a party as he walked down the corridor toward the Dewey Suite, and as he felt for his key, was surprised to realize that it was coming from his suite.
What the hell?
He had just put the key in the lock when it was opened for him by a white-jacketed Japanese barman.
Pickering looked quickly around the room and saw there were two dozen or more people in the living room, including Charley Ansley and the station manager who had met them at the airport, and whose