“How did he get an intelligence assessment like that? Whose intelligence assessment?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, Mr. President, but I have every reason to believe that it was prepared by a Captain McCoy, who was on General Pickering’s staff when they were both in the OSS.”
“Another Oh-So-Social, this one a Navy captain?”
“A Marine Corps captain, sir. He’d been a major and was reduced to captain after the war.”
“I don’t have a thing in the world against captains,” Truman said. “But wasn’t this one out of his league? Captains usually don’t prepare assessments predicting the beginning of a war.”
“This one did, sir,” Hillenkoetter said. “And so far, everything he’s predicted has been on the money.”
“Why didn’t this assessment . . . You’re telling me you knew nothing about this assessment?”
“I had never seen it before, Mr. President. And when I read it, it went counter to everything my people had developed, Mr. President.”
“Who did he do this assessment for?”
“Captain McCoy was assigned to Naval Element, SCAP, sir. He submitted it to his superior, who passed it on to General Willoughby, General MacArthur’s G-2. . . .”
“And?”
“According to General Pickering, General Willoughby ordered it destroyed.”
“He didn’t place any credence in it?”
“Apparently not, Mr. President.”
“And now it turns out this captain was right on the money?”
“It looks that way, Mr. President.”
“And when General Willoughby ordered this assessment destroyed, this captain gave it to General Pickering?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who brought it to you? Accompanied by Senator Fowler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which means Senator Fowler’s seen it, knows the story?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which means, if we’ve just gone to war, and I’m very much afraid that we have, that the story is going to get out that we should have known it was coming, because of this captain’s assessment, which MacArthur ignored. My God, it’ll be another Pearl Harbor scandal!”
“I’m afraid that’s a real possibility, Mr. President.”
“And what did you do when this assessment came to your attention?”
“I decided that it deserved further investigation, Mr. President.”
“Meaning you sat on it?”
“I sent my Deputy for Asiatic Activities, David Jacobs, to Hong Kong on the next plane with orders to light fires under everybody we have over there to check it out.”
“And?”
“Well, there hasn’t been much time, Mr. President, but what feedback I got tended—until yesterday—to make me question the assessment.”
Truman looked at him for a long moment.
“I appreciate your honesty, Admiral,” he said. “Thank you.”
He looked as if he was in thought, then asked, “Where is this captain now? What else has he got to tell us that no one wants to hear?”
“That was some of the first feedback I was given, Mr. President,” Hillenkoetter said. “Captain McCoy was returned to the United States for involuntary separation from the service.”
“Kill the messenger, huh? That sounds like something Emperor MacArthur would do.”
“Mr. President, General Pickering led me to believe that General MacArthur is unaware of the assessment.”
“How the hell would he know that?”
“He and MacArthur are friends, Mr. President. He had dinner with the MacArthurs when he was in Tokyo.”
“Then, since he had it, why didn’t he give the damned assessment to MacArthur?”
“The way General Pickering put it, Mr. President, is that General MacArthur’s loyalty to those officers who served with him in the Philippines and throughout World War Two is legendary.”
“The ‘Bataan Gang,’ ” the President said. “I’ve heard about that, about them.” He paused and looked at Hillenkoetter. “Where is the captain now?”
“I have no idea, sir. In the States, someplace. Maybe at Camp Pendleton, that’s a separation center.”
“What about General Pickering?”
“He lives in San Francisco.”
The President looked at his watch.
“It’s half past ten here,” he said. “What’ll it be in San Francisco?”
Hillenkoetter did the arithmetic.
“Half past seven, Mr. President.”
Truman turned to the sideboard behind him and picked up the telephone.
“This is the President,” he said. “In this order, get me General Fleming Pickering, in San Francisco, California.”
He looked at Hillenkoetter.
“Have you got a number?”
“No, sir. And I should have one. I’m sorry, Mr. President. ”
Truman waved a hand to show that it didn’t matter, and turned his attention back to the telephone.
“Start looking for him at Pacific and Far East Shipping. When I’m through talking to him, get me Senator Fowler. I don’t know where he is.”
He put the telephone back in its cradle.
“If you have the time, Admiral, stick around until I make these calls.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“Do I have to tell you the fewer people who know about this, the better?”
“No, sir.”
“You said you sent Dave Jacobs to the Far East. How much does he