That, too, rings a bell, but no prize. There’s something else. What?
“First, let me offer coffee,” Hillenkoetter said, “and then you can tell me how I can be of service.”
A younger woman than the admiral’s executive assistant appeared with a silver coffee service.
There was silence as she served coffee.
Pickering, Pickering, where have I heard that name before?
Oh, yeah!
Pearl Harbor. Right after the attack. He was a reserve four-striper; Navy Secretary Knox’s personal representative. Abrasive bastard. Thought he knew everything, and didn’t like anything the Navy was doing. Or had done.
And after that, what?
He was in the OSS. He was the deputy director of the OSS for the Pacific. Or was he? The OSS guy was a Marine brigadier, not a Navy captain.
Admiral Nimitz liked the OSS guy. Maybe there’s two Pickerings—brothers, maybe.
What is he after, a job?
The young woman left the office.
“You were the assistant director of the OSS in the Pacific, ” Hillenkoetter said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Pickering?”
“General Pickering was the assistant director for the Pacific, ” Fowler corrected him.
“Excuse me,” Hillenkoetter said. “For the Pacific.”
“Yes, I was,” Pickering said.
“General Pickering has just come from Tokyo,” Fowler said.
“Is that so?”
“Admiral, before we go any further,” Fowler said. “If you have a recorder operating, please turn it off.”
“I beg your pardon?” Hillenkoetter asked, surprised and indignant.
“If you have a recorder operating,” Fowler repeated, “please turn it off.”
Hillenkoetter didn’t reply; he didn’t trust himself to speak.
Who does this arrogant sonofabitch think he is, coming into my office and telling me to turn off my recorder?
“Franklin Roosevelt had the Oval Office wired to record interesting conversations,” Fowler went on, amiably, reasonably. “I have no reason to believe Harry Truman had it removed. If I were in your shoes, I’d have such a device. I suspect you do, and I’m asking you to turn it off. There are some things that should not be recorded for posterity.”
Hillenkoetter felt his temper rise.
Like a senator pressuring me to give his buddy a job, for example?
Who does he think he is?
He thinks he’s a power in the Senate. He knows he’s a power in the Senate. Ergo sum, one of the most powerful men in the country.
Hillenkoetter pressed a lever on his intercom box.
“Mrs. Warburg, would you please turn off the recording device?”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Warburg replied.
Her surprise was evident in her voice. One of the reasons the admiral had kept Senator Fowler waiting was to make sure the recorder was working.
One did not let one’s guard down when a senator—any senator, much less Richardson K. Fowler (R., Cal.)—called one at one’s home and asked for a meeting at your earliest convenience, say, nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
“Thank you,” Fowler said.
Hillenkoetter didn’t reply.
Fowler looked at Pickering and made a give it to me motion with his index finger.
Pickering took a fat business-size envelope from his interior jacket pocket and handed it to Fowler. Fowler handed it to Hillenkoetter.
"Take a look at that, Admiral, if you would, please,” Fowler said.
Hillenkoetter opened the envelope and took out the sheaf of paper.
“What is this?”
“Before we talk about it, Admiral,” Fowler said, “it might be a good idea for you to have some idea of what we’re talking about.”
Hillenkoetter’s lips tightened, but he didn’t reply. It took him three minutes to read the document.
“This would appear to be an intelligence assessment,” he said finally. “But there’s no heading, no transmission letter. Where did this come from?”
“I had my secretary excerpt the pertinent data from the original,” Pickering said.
“From the original official document?”
Pickering nodded.
“Such a document would be classified,” Hillenkoetter said, thinking out loud. “Secret, at least. How did you come into possession of the original?”
“The original document was prepared by an officer who worked for me during the war,” Pickering said. “I believe what he says in that assessment.”
“I’ve seen nothing from our people there, or from General MacArthur’s intelligence people, that suggests anything like this,” Hillenkoetter said.
“That assessment was given to General Willoughby,” Pickering said. “Who not only ordered it destroyed, but had the officer who prepared it ordered from Japan.”
“That sounds like an accusation, General,” Hillenkoetter said.
“It’s a statement of fact,” Pickering said.
“Why would he do something like that?”
“God only knows,” Pickering said. “The fact is, he did.”
“And the officer who prepared it, rather than destroying it, gave it to you? Is that about it?”
“That’s it,” Pickering said.
“General Willoughby is not only a fine officer, but I would say the most experienced intelligence officer in the Far East,” Hillenkoetter said.