"What kind of boats? How many?" she asked.
What the hell, as long as I'm physically sitting on her, and she has no access to communications, it doesn't mat-ter how much she knows. And talking an operation like this through is always a good idea. You almost always come up with something you didn't think of.
So he told her what kind of boats, and how many of them, they were going to need. And everything else she asked him.
[TWO]
THE DEWEY SUITE
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
1730 6 AUGUST 1950
When the knock at the door came, Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, was sprawled on a couch in the sitting room, reading a paperback copy of Mickey Spillane's My Gun Is Quick.
He went quickly to the door and pulled it open.
Major General Ralph Howe was in the corridor, dressed as Hart was, in a tieless uniform shirt and trousers.
"Professional reading, George?" Howe asked.
"I can't believe this thing," Hart said.
"Maybe that's why they call it fiction," Howe said. "Where's your boss?"
Hart pointed to the bedroom.
"I hope he's asleep," Hart said, and added: "The drinks I fed him at the cocktail hour were stiff ones."
Howe's eyebrows rose.
"Not drunk," Hart said. "I've never seen him drunk."
"I have to talk to him, George," Howe said.
"Yes, sir," Hart said, tossed My Gun Is Quick onto the couch, and went to Pickering's door. He knocked twice and then went in without waiting.
Pickering-also dressed in only a uniform shirt and trousers-was lying on his bed.
"Sorry to disturb you, boss," Hart said.
"No problem," Pickering said. "I've already counted the kimonoed ladies on the wallpaper twice. What's up?"
"General Howe, sir."
Pickering swung his feet out of bed and walked into the sitting room in his stocking feet.
"Sorry to wake you, Flem," Howe said.
"I was awake," Pickering said. "Would you like a drink?"
"I'd love one, but this may not be the time," Howe said.
"I had a telephone call from Harriman. They just landed at Haneda, and they're coming here to see us. They want to see us both, and separately."
"They meaning Harriman and Ridgway?" Pickering asked.
Howe nodded.
"Get us some coffee, George, while I put my shoes on," Pickering ordered.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"You all right, Flem?" Howe asked.
"Meaning am I plastered? No. I gave getting plastered some serious thought and decided it wasn't the smart thing to do."
Howe followed Pickering and leaned on the bedroom door as Pickering put his shoes on.
"The other day, McCoy's wife said she knew Harriman. Do you?"
Pickering nodded.
"That's probably why he said he wants to see you, first," Howe said.
"We're not pals," Pickering said. "I've met him, oh, a bunch of times over the years. My wife knows him better than I do. And can't stand him."
"What's he like?"
"You never met him?"
"Only briefly. Truman is impressed with him."
"Interesting man. His father died when he was eighteen, leaving him the Union Pacific Railroad. And the Southern Pacific. He was our ambassador to Russia during the Sec-ond War. I always thought that was Roosevelt playing Machiavelli again, sending one of the richest men in Amer-ica to be ambassador to the Communists."
"I got the feeling that he was one of the first-and very few-of that bunch around Roosevelt to warn Truman that Uncle Joe "The Friendly Bear' Stalin was a real sonofabitch," Howe said.
"Could be," Pickering said, grunting as he tied his shoelaces. "He's working for Truman. Most of the rest of that bunch, thank God, is gone."
He stood up and walked into the bathroom.
"Five o'clock shadow," he said. "I don't know if Ernie Sage thought that line up, but it's made him a hell of a lot of money."
"Ernie Sage?" Howe asked, walking across the bedroom to stand in the bathroom door.
"McCoy's father-in-law," Pickering said. "First, Ameri-can Personal Pharmaceuticals-that was actually Ernie's father-made men ashamed of having beards, and then started selling them safety razors and shaving cream. You ever think about how stupid shaving is?"
Howe chuckled.
"You ever have a beard?" he asked.
"I had a beard from the time I got out of the Corps after the First War until the day I got married. Literally, the day I got married. Patricia said she wouldn't marry me with `that fur on your face,' and I believed her. I should have held my ground."
"From what I've seen of her, she's a formidable lady," Howe said. "You said before she doesn't like Harriman?"
"Can't stand him."
"Why?"
"Patricia has always had the odd notion that men should not have carnal knowledge of ladies to whom they are not joined in holy matrimony," Pickering said, as he lathered his face.
"I wonder where they get that silly idea," Howe said.
"And the sin is compounded when the chap boffing the lady to whom he is not married is himself married."
"Of course," Howe said. "You're talking around Harri-man? He looks-and acts-like the Chairman of the Vestry."
"And he probably is," Pickering said.
"But?"
"During the war, Patricia was in London a good deal- she was on the War Snipping Board. She kept an apartment in Claridge's Hotel. Claridge's was where Ambassador Har-riman stayed when he flew in from Moscow to confer with Eisenhower and, incidentally, to boff Pamela Churchill."
"Pamela Churchill?"
"Winston's daughter-in-law," Pickering said. "His son Randolph's wife."
"I never heard this before," Howe said.
"Well, it was hardly a secret," Pickering said. "I heard about it over here, in one of Wild Bill Donovan's Top Se-cret monthly reports on Important World Events, before Patricia told me. And if Wild Bill knew about Harriman and his girlfriend, then Roosevelt did. You were in Europe during the war, Ralph. You ever hear about Eisenhower's `driver,' the English girl he had commissioned into the U.S. Army as a captain?"
Howe nodded.
"My God, I am running off at the mouth, aren't I?" Pick-ering said. "Maybe George's drinks were stronger than I thought."
"Indelicate question," Howe said. "You ever hear any-thing about the Viceroy?"
"Not a word. And I would have. Of course, it's a lot eas-ier to be faithful to your wife if she's with you. What did Oscar Wilde say, `Celibacy is the most unusual of all the perversions'?"
"If you don't ask me about my fidelity while overseas defending God, Mother, and Apple Pie," Howe said, "I won't ask you about yours."
Pickering chuckled.
"I think what really annoyed Patricia was that Harriman apparently didn't give a damn who knew about the Churchill woman, which had to be very embarrassing for Mrs. Harriman."
"What does it say in the Good Book, Flem? `Judge not, lest ye be judged'?"
"I've never met a woman who got that far in reading the Bible," Pickering said.
He splashed water on his face, wiped it with a towel, and then splashed on aftershave.
"Well, there we go. My shameful five o'clock shadow having been shorn, and smelling like a French whore, I am now prepared to meet with the ambassador. And Ken Mc-Coy's father-in-law is just a little bit richer."