note 34
Temporary Building T-2032
The Mall
Washington, D.C.
0805 3 March 1943
A painfully sunburned Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, walked down the sidewalk between the rows of temporary buildings until he came to T-2032, then approached the door and rang the bell. A face appeared at a small window in the door, and a moment later there was a buzzing noise as the solenoid-operated lock functioned. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The «temporary» buildings on The Mall, built during World War I, had been designed to last no more than five years. Despite a quarter century's painting and patching to keep them functional, they showed their age. Floors sagged, roofs leaked, and keeping windows and doors operational required a small army of maintenance people.
The sign, painted Marine Corps Green, hung from a small pole on the tiny lawn before Temporary Building T-2032. It read, «USMC Office of Management Analysis.» From the street Temporary Building T-2032, a two-story frame building with a shingle roof, looked no different than Building T-2034, «USMC Office of Dependent Affairs,» to its right, or Building T-2030, «USMC Office of Procurement Contract Management,» to its left.
Inside T-2032, there were considerable differences from the other buildings. Just beyond the ground-floor entrance was a counter behind which sat two Marine noncoms armed with pistols and World War I trench guns—Winchester Model 12 12-gauge pump-action shotguns, with six-round magazines and twenty-inch barrels with bayonet fixtures. They controlled access to the rest of the building. This was through a door covered (as was the wall itself) with pierced steel planking normally used to pave temporary aircraft runways.
«You look like you been out in the sun, Captain McCoy,» Technical Sergeant Harry Rutterman said.
«Oh, you are an observant sonofabitch, aren't you, Harry?» McCoy said, and touched his shoulder in a gesture of affection between old friends.
And then he reached for his ONI credentials. No one was passed through the steel planking until the security provisions had been complied with. There were no special credentials for personnel assigned to the Office of Management Analysis; if there were, McCoy knew, people would wonder exactly what Management Analysis did that required special identification. The less people wondered about Management Analysis, the better. ONI credentials served just fine; everybody knew about ONI; and no one asked questions of people with ONI credentials.
Rutterman checked the credentials and handed them back with a smile.
«And who is being honored with the pleasure of your visit?»
«Got a little last night, Harry, did you? You're in a very good mood.»
Rutterman laughed.
«Major Banning get in yet?» McCoy said.
«He don't work here no more,» Rutterman said. «Captain Sessions is here.»
«Sessions, then,» McCoy said.
Rutterman picked up a telephone and dialed two digits. «Captain McCoy to see you, sir,» he said, listened a moment, and then hung up. «Pass, friend,» he said to McCoy, indicating the door covered with pierced steel planking.
As he reached it and tugged on it, there was another solenoid buzz, and the door opened. McCoy passed through it and then up a narrow flight of stairs. Captain Ed Sessions was waiting for him at the top.
«Don't tell me, let me guess,» he said. «You've been in Florida.»
«It's not funny,» McCoy said.
«Come with me. Captain, the General wishes the pleasure of your company.»
«He's here?» McCoy asked, surprised. General Pickering normally spent very little time in Building T-2032.
Sessions didn't reply. He led McCoy three quarters of the way down a narrow corridor, then knocked at a door before opening it.
«Captain McCoy to see you, General,» he said, and motioned McCoy through.
«Christ,» Brigadier General F. L. Rickabee greeted him, «what did you do, fall asleep on Palm Beach?»
«Yes, sir,» McCoy said. «Good morning, sir. Good morning,
General
.»
«Ah, you noticed! I was hoping you might.»
«Congratulations, Sir. Well deserved.»
«I'm not sure about that. There has been a promotion frenzy around here. I got caught up in it.»
«Sir?»
«A silver leaf now adorns Ed Banning's collar points, and sometime this week even Sessions is going to have go buy major's leaves.»
«That's about time, too,» McCoy said to Sessions, then turned to General Rickabee. «Sergeant Rutterman said Major—Lieutenant Colonel—Banning doesn't work here anymore?»
«I would say Rutterman talks too much,» Rickabee said coldly.
«Sir, he wasn't running off at the mouth. I told him I wanted to see Major Banning, and he said, 'Sorry, he doesn't work here anymore.' «
Rickabee seemed only partially satisfied.
«Sir,» Captain Sessions said, «not only is he a good Marine, but Rutterman knows McCoy.»
«I like that,» Rickabee said. «Loyalty down is a desirable characteristic of a Marine officer. But—correct me if I'm wrong—what Rutterman was
supposed
to say was, 'Sorry, sir. I don't know the name.' «
«Yes, sir,» Sessions said.
«Let it pass, Ed,» Rickabee said. «Rutterman
is
a good man.»
«Aye, aye, sir.»
«Well, now that security has been breached, and the cat, so to speak, is out of the bag, I might as well confirm that Lieutenant Colonel Banning is now assigned to the OSS. And so, Captain McCoy, are you.»
«Yes, sir. General Pickering told me that was going to happen.»
«Your records have already been sent over there. You know where it is, the National Institutes of Health Building?»
«Yes, sir.»
«Maybe when this goddamn war is over I can get you back, McCoy. This is where you belong, and you've always done a good job for me.»
«Thank you, sir.»
«Send him over there in a car, Ed,» Rickabee ordered. «Don't let the doorknob hit you in the ass on your way out, McCoy.»
«Sir, I've got the ONI credentials,» McCoy said. It was a question.
Rickabee thought that over a moment.
«Banning sold me on the idea of letting him keep his. Said we'll be working together, and they might come in handy. Same logic applies to you. Keep them. I'll deal with ONI if necessary.»
«Aye, aye, sir.»
Rickabee came from behind his desk and gave McCoy his hand.
«Good luck, McCoy,» he said. «Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.»
note 35
The Office of the Deputy Director (Administration)
The Office of Strategic Services
The National Institutes of Health Building
Washington, D.C.
0955 3 March 1943
«The Deputy Director will see you now, Captain,» the DDA's secretary said, and motioned him toward a closed door.
McCoy, who had been cooling his heels for the better part of an hour, rose up from the couch and walked to the door. He hesitated, then knocked. There was no answer. McCoy looked over his shoulder at the secretary, who gestured for him to go in. He opened the door and stepped inside.