"General MacArthur hopes that General Pickering will be able to join him and Mrs. MacArthur at luncheon."
"What time, Sid?"
"If it would be convenient for the General, the Supreme Commander customarily takes his luncheon at one, in his quarters."
"I'll be there, Sid. Thanks."
"Thank you, General."
The phone went dead.
Pickering hung up and looked at Hon.
"Sometimes I have the feeling that Colonel Huff doesn't approve of me," he said. "He didn't welcome me back to Australia."
"I wonder how he knew you were back, and here?" Moore wondered aloud.
"I think he likes you all right," Hon said. "It's that star you're wearing that's a burr under his brass hat."
"Why, Lieutenant Hon. How cynical of you!"
"That's what I'm being paid for, to be cynical," Hon said.
[TWO]
Lennon's Hotel
Brisbane, Australia
1255 Hours 17 October 1942
When Pickering arrived, with Sergeant George Hart at the wheel of the Studebaker President, MacArthur's Cadillac limousine was parked in front of the hotel.
"We're putting a show on, George," Pickering said. "Stop in front and then rush around and open the door for me."
"I already got the word from Lieutenant Hon, General," Hart said, smiling at Pickering's reflection in the rearview mirror.
Colonel Sidney Huff was waiting on the veranda of the sprawling Victorian building. He watched as Hart opened the door and Pickering stepped out; then he waited for Pickering to start up the walk before moving to join him.
He saluted. Pickering returned it and put out his hand.
"Good to see you, Sid," Pickering said.
"It's good to see you again, too, Sir," Huff said. "If you'll come with me, please, General?"
He led Pickering across the lobby to a waiting elevator. When MacArthur had his headquarters in the Menzies Hotel in Melbourne, Pickering remembered, one of the elevators was reserved for his personal use; it had a sign. This one had no sign, and was presumably available to commoners.
When the elevator door opened on the third floor, a nattily dressed MP staff sergeant rose quickly and came to attention. The chair he was sitting in didn't seem substantial enough to support his bulk.
Huff led him down the corridor to the door to MacArthur's suite and pushed it open. Pickering walked through.
"Fleming, my dear fellow," said the Supreme Commander, South West Pacific Ocean Area, holding his arms wide.
He was in khakis, without a tie. He had a thin, black cigar in his hand. The corncob pipe generally disappeared in the absence of photo-graphers.
"General, it's good to see you, Sir," Pickering said, and handed him a package. "They're not Filipino. Cuban. But I thought you could make do with them."
"This is absolutely unnecessary, but deeply appreciated," MacAr-thur said, sounding genuinely pleased. "What was it the fellow said, 'a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke'?"
"I believe he said that out of the hearing of his wife," Pickering said.
"Speaking of which, Mrs. MacArthur, Jean, sends her regrets. She will be unable to join us. But she said she looks forward to seeing you at dinner. You did tell him about dinner, Sid?"
"No, Sir, I didn't have the chance."
"A small dinner, enfamille, so to speak. And then some bridge. Does that fit in with your schedule?"
He did not wait for a reply. He handed Colonel Huff the cigars. "Unpack these carefully, Sid, they're worth their weight in gold. And put them in a refrigerator. And then get yourself some lunch."
"Yes, Sir."
Huff left the room.
"What is your schedule, Fleming?" MacArthur asked.
"I gratefully accept Mrs. MacArthur's kind invitation to dinner, General."
" 'Jean,' please. She considers you, as I do, a friend. But that's not the schedule I was talking about."
"You mean, what am I doing here?"
"To put a point on it, yes," MacArthur said. "But let me offer you something to drink. What will you have?"
"I always feel depraved when I drink alone at lunch," Pickering said.
"Then we will be depraved together," MacArthur said. "Scotch whiskey, I seem to recall?"
"Yes, thank you."
Almost instantly, a Filipino in a white jacket rolled in a table with whiskey, ice, water, and glasses.
As the steward, whose actions were obviously choreographed, made the drinks, MacArthur said, "Churchill, I am reliably told, begins his day with a healthy hooker of cognac. I like a little nip before lunch. But, unless it's something like this-a close friend, no strangers-I don't like to set a bad example."
"I'm flattered to be considered a close friend, General," Pickering
said.
"It should come as no surprise," MacArthur said, and took a squat glass from the steward and handed it to Pickering. "There we are," he said, and took a second glass and raised it. "Welcome back, Fleming. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you."
"Thank you, Sir," Pickering said.
"And to look at you, you're in splendid health. Is that the case?"
"I'm in good health, Sir."
"I had a report to the contrary from Colonel DePress..."
From who? Who the hell is Colonel DePress?
"... who told me that when he saw you in Walter Reed, you were debilitated by malaria, and in considerable pain from your wound. I was disturbed, and so was Jean."
Pickering remembered Colonel DePress now. He was one of MacArthur's officer couriers, a light colonel, wearing the insignia of the 26th Cavalry, Philippine Scouts. He'd delivered a letter from MacArthur congratulating him on his promotion to brigadier general.
"I like your Colonel DePress," Pickering said. "I hate to accuse him of exaggerating."
"I don't think he was. But no pain now? And the malaria is under control?"
"No pain, Sir, and the malaria is under control."
"Good, good," MacArthur said cheerfully, and then, instantly, "You were telling me what you're up to here, Fleming."
Second Principle of Interrogation, Pickering thought: Put the person being questioned at ease, and then hit him with a zinger.
"I'm here on a peacemaking expedition, General," Pickering said.
"Sent by whom?"
"The President, Sir."
"You may assure the President, General," MacArthur laughed, "that the tales of friction between myself and Admiral Nimitz, like the tales of the demise of Mark Twain, are greatly exaggerated. I hold the Admiral in the highest possible esteem, and flatter myself to think that he considers me, for a lowly soldier, to be a fairly competent fellow."
"The President had in mind Mr. Donovan, Sir," Pickering said.
"Donovan? Donovan? I don't know who you mean."
"Mr. William Donovan, Sir, of the OSS."
"I know him only by reputation. He had a distinguished record in the First War. But then, so did you and I, Fleming. Whatever gave the President the idea that we are at swords' points?"
"I believe the President is concerned about what he-or at least Mr. Donovan-perceives to be a lack of cooperation on the part of SWPOA with regard to Mr. Donovan's mission to you."