"The President told me, when he told me that he had named General Smith, that he had considered me but decided General Smith was the best man for the job. I told him I completely agreed."
"You know Smith?"
"I met him for the first time after I spoke with the President."
"From everything I hear, he was the brains behind Eisenhower," MacArthur said. "Well, for the record, I think you would have been the best man for the job."
"I respectfully disagree," Pickering said with a smile.
"Well, it's water over the dam," MacArthur said.
"Yes, sir, it is."
"As soon as we get within radio range of Tokyo, I'll set the wheels in motion about your son," MacArthur said. "The first step, obviously, is to get a more precise indication of his physical condition than . . . What did the message say, 'very dirty and very hungry'?"
Pickering chuckled.
"It also said, 'uninjured, unwounded, and in sound psychological condition,'" he said.
MacArthur acted as if Pickering hadn't spoken.
"And once we have that information," he went on, "which shouldn't take long to acquire, we can decide whether it would be best for you to fly out to the Badoeng Strait, and arrange for that, or to wait until your boy is to be flown from the carrier to Tokyo."
"That's very kind of you, General," Pickering said.
"Not at all," MacArthur said. "I'm delighted that everything has turned out so well for you."
MacArthur stood up. After a moment, Pickering realized that he was being dismissed and got hurriedly to his feet.
MacArthur put his hand on Pickering's arm in an affectionate gesture.
"I hate to turn you into a runner, but would you mind sending Colonel Thebideaux in here as you pass through the cabin? He's the plump little chap with the shiny cranium."
"Yes, sir, of course. And thank you again, General."
MacArthur didn't reply. He smiled faintly and sat back down.
Pickering left the compartment, closing the door after him. Halfway down the aisle, he spotted a plump little lieutenant colonel with a shiny cranium. When he got closer, he saw that he was wearing a nameplate with thebideaux etched on it. When he got to the seat, Pickering squatted.
"Colonel Thebideaux," he said, "General MacArthur would like to see you."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Pickering went to the cheap seats and slipped in beside George Hart.
"What's up?"
"As soon as we're in radio contact with Tokyo," Pickering replied, "El Supremo will 'set the wheels in motion' to get me together with Pick. Either fly me out to the carrier or have Pick flown to Tokyo."
"That was nice of him," Hart said.
"I thought so."
"That's all he wanted?"
"That's all he wanted."
Hart pursed his lips and shrugged.
[THREE]
Haneda Airfield
Tokyo, Japan
21O5 15 October 19SO
As the Bataan taxied up to what he thought of as "El Supremo's Hangar," Brigadier General Fleming Pickering saw Master Sergeant Paul Keller leaning on the front fender of his Buick.
So much for the secrecy about El Supremo's movements, he thought. Willoughby and Company almost certainly didn't call Keller and give him our ETA. Paul knows how to find out "top secret" things like that.
As usual, he waited until the important members of MacArthur's staff deplaned before unfastening his seat belt and standing up.
When he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see MacArthur standing impatiently by the open door of his black Cadillac limousine. Willoughby was with him.
When MacArthur saw him, he motioned him over.
"Fleming, why don't you get a good night's sleep and then come by the office first thing in the morning?" MacArthur said. "Willoughby is still collecting information about your boy, and by, say, eight, we should know just about everything."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
MacArthur nodded and ducked inside the Cadillac. Willoughby trotted around the rear of the limousine and got in beside him. The limousine, preceded by the usual escort of chrome-helmeted MPs in highly polished jeeps, rolled off.
Pickering walked to his Buick. Keller straightened and saluted. Pickering returned it.
"You got the good news, General?" Keller asked.
"The President told me at Wake Island," Pickering said, and got in the front seat. Keller got behind the wheel and turned to him.
"Okay, while George is getting the luggage, this is what I know," Keller said.
Master sergeants are not supposed to refer to commissioned officers by their Christian names, but rather than being disrespectful, Pickering thought, it was an indication that Keller both liked Hart and considered everybody part of a special team.
"As soon as I got The Killer's message off," Keller began, "I went to Denenchofu and told Ernie."
"Good for you," Pickering said.
"Whereupon, she passed out," Keller said. "Scaring the bejesus out of me."
"My God! Is she all right?"
"She says she is. I tried to make her go to the hospital, or at least let me call a doctor, but she wouldn't let me."
"Before we go to the hotel, Paul, we'll swing by Denenchofu," Pickering ordered. Yes, sir.
"Did she hurt herself when she fell?"
"She says no, but I still think she ought to see a doctor."
"So do I."
"Anyway, right after that happened, we put in a call to Mrs. Pickering. We found her in Washington."
"So she knows?"
"Yes, sir. She said that she'd just gotten off the line with Colonel Banning and he'd already told her."
"He probably called her immediately after reading the decrypt of McCoy's message."
"Yes, sir, that's what I thought. I haven't been able to get in touch with the blond war correspondent. Ernie said I missed her at the house by a couple of hours, that she's on her way to Wonsan. I tried to call her at Wonsan. They said she wasn't there, so I called the Press Center at Eighth Army Rear in Pusan. They didn't know where she was, but she's on a list of press people trying to get to Wonsan. She'll turn up."
"And what do we hear about my son?"
"All I know is what's in Killer's message. I think that's probably what it is. He isn't hurt, he's okay psychologically, he's hungry, and he needs a shower and a shave."
"Thank you, Paul," Pickering said. "I suppose we'll have more news in the morning."
"I'm sure we will, sir."
[FOUR]
The Imperial Hotel
Tokyo, Japan
O21O 15 October 195O
Master Sergeant Paul Keller answered the telephone before it had a chance to ring twice.
"General Pickering's quarters, Sergeant Keller," he said. Then he listened briefly, covered the microphone with his hand, and turned to Pickering, who was sitting sprawled beside Captain George Hart on the couch. Both were holding drinks in their hands.
"I've got Mrs. Pickering on the horn, General."
"Thank you," Pickering said. "You two can now go to bed."
Hart stood up, drained his drink, and nodded at Keller as a signal for him to precede him out of the room. When Keller had gone through the door, Hart looked at Pickering, who was looking at him curiously, his raised eyebrow asking,
"Jesus, right now, George?"
"General," Hart said, "would it be too much to ask Mrs. Pickering to call my wife and tell her we got Pick back? She's been holding her breath. Actually, she's been praying."
"Of course not," Pickering said, reaching out his hand for the telephone.
"Good night, sir," Hart said, and walked out of the room.
"Patricia?" Pickering said to the telephone.
"Flem?"