General Pickering was aware that he had no one to blame for his present unhappiness but himself: To begin with, General Pickering of the Horse Marines had grandly ordered the people in Pearl Harbor to send him "anything and everything." General Pickering of the Horse Marines would decide what was and what was not important. Next, even though such training had been regularly offered by Major Hong Song Do, General Pickering the prevaricator had successfully escaped on-the-job practice training in the efficient use of the cryptographic machine. If General Pickering the prevaricator had accepted such training, he would an hour ago have been been finished with decrypting the current MAGIC, analyzing the current MAGIC, and shredding the ten pages of verbose Japanese bullshit and putting it in the burn bag. And finally, General Pickering the idiot had learned as a corporal that the one thing you don't do in The Marine Corps is volunteer for anything. Even so, he had volunteered to come to the dungeon. The fact that it still seemed the decent thing to do did not alter the fact that he was in fact spending this lovely Sunday morning in a goddamned steel cell, three floors underground, with water running down the goddamned walls.
The telephone rang.
"Yes?" he snarled into the receiver.
"General Pickering?"
"Speaking," he snapped.
"Sir, this is Sergeant Widakovich."
Who the hell is Sergeant Widakovich? Oh, yeah, that enormous Polish Military Policeman. He looks like he could pull a plow. His hands are so big they make that tommy gun I've never seen him without look like something you 'd buy for a kid in Woolworth 's.
"What can I do for you, Sergeant?"
"General, I'm sorry to bother you..."
Perfectly all right, Sergeant. The sound of the human voice has a certain appeal. I was beginning to think I'd be here alone for the rest of my life.
He looked at his watch.
Oh Christ, it's quarter to twelve. Hart's going to relieve me at noon. Please don't tell me, Sergeant, that Hart called and will be late.
"What's up, Sergeant?"
"Sir, there's an officer out here. A Marine lieutenant colonel..."
That must be that idiot who relieved the other idiot CINCPAC sent here as liaison officer. Obviously. When The Corps has a supply of idiot lieutenant colonels on hand they don't know what to do with, they make them liaison officers. What the hell does he want? I told him I was not to be disturbed when I was down here.
"... He's been waiting over an hour, Sir."
Good, let the sonofabitch wait.
"... and I thought I should tell you, Sir."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
"His name is Stecker, Sir."
"Say again, Sergeant?"
"It's a Lieutenant Colonel Stecker, Sir."
"I'll be right there, Sergeant. Thank you."
Pickering waited impatiently while the steel door leading to the anteroom of the Cryptographic Section was opened. That required unlocking two locks, then removing the bars these held in place. Finally the door creaked open.
"General," Lieutenant Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker, USMCR, said, "I didn't want to disturb-"
"Jesus Christ, Jack, am I glad to see you!"
He stepped around the guard's counter and shook Stecker's hand, then wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"When did you get in? What are you doing here?"
"Last night-" Stecker began.
"Come on back with me," Pickering broke in. "If CINCPAC comes on line, and there's no instant reply, they start pissing their pants."
"Sir," Sergeant Widakovich asked, "are you taking the Colonel in there with you? Sir, he's not on the list."
"If anybody says anything, Sergeant, you tell them you did everything short of turning that Thompson on me, and I still took him back."
"Yes, Sir, General," Sergeant Widakovich said, smiling.
"General. I can wait," Stecker said uneasily. "I have nothing but time."
"Come on in the dungeon, Jack," Pickering said, then took his arm and led him down the interior corridor to the MAGIC room. He unlocked the door and gestured for Stecker to go in. He followed him in, then closed and locked the door.
"What is this place?"
"Don't ask, Jack," Pickering said. "How about some coffee? I just made a fresh pot."
"Thank you," Stecker said. When he saw the crypto machine, which Pickering, in violation of his own rules, had not covered up, curiosity overwhelmed him. "What the hell is that thing?"
"Don't ask, Jack," Pickering said. He took the heavy canvas cover from its hook on the wall and spread it over the machine.
"Sorry," Stecker said.
"We can talk about anything else," Pickering said. "Tell me about Dick, for instance."
"They've got him up, out of bed. In sort of a man-sized baby walker," Stecker said. "Some new theory that the sooner they start moving around, the better." He met Pickering's eyes. "I think he's in a good deal of pain, but he won't take anything but aspirin."
"He wrote you?"
"I saw him. I came here the long way around, via Pearl Harbor."
"So you saw Elly, too?"
"Yes, indeed. That's what I'm doing here. I wanted to thank you for all you've done-"
"Don't be an ass," Pickering said, cutting him off. "Elly's comfortable? I haven't had a chance to check myself."
"Yes, of course, she's comfortable. That apartment you got for her!"
"And she's met Patricia?"
"Yes, indeed. That's another reason I came down here looking for you." He reached in the bellows pocket of his jacket and handed Pickering an envelope. "From Patricia."
"Thank you," Pickering said. He glanced at the envelope and put it in his pocket. "So what are you doing here? When did you get in?"
"I got in last night. I'm sort of stationed here. I'm the first member of the advance party, but they're not calling it that yet."
"What are you going to do?"
"Arrange things, here and in New Zealand, to take care of the Division when it's relieved and comes here for rest and refitting. They took my battalion away from me."
That sounds, Pickering thought, as if he was relieved for cause. I don't believe that, but I'm damned sure not going to ask.
"So why didn't you call me when you got in?"
"I had to get a BOQ, look up the Marine liaison officer."
"You wasted your effort getting a BOQ," Pickering said. "You just moved in with me. I have a little house. Four bedrooms, and only two of us-"
He was interrupted by a deep, ugly, bell-like sound. Someone was beating on the steel door, which caused it to vibrate like a drum.
"What the hell?" Stecker exclaimed.
"My replacement has arrived," Pickering said. He walked over to the door, then unlocked and opened it.
Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, came in. His uniform was adorned with the insignia of an aide-de-camp.