"Please wait here, Captain," Agent Taylor said. "We'll be just outside."
By now, McCoy was convinced he was in the hands of the CIA, because the two clowns with Secret Service badges were behaving much like the OSS clowns-most of whom, in the beginning, had never seen a Jap or heard a weapon fired in anger-had behaved, copying their cloak-and-dagger behavior from watching spy movies.
He walked to the desk, rested his buttocks and his hands on it, and waited for Spy Movie, Act Two.
The door opened.
The President of the United States walked in.
It took McCoy a moment to believe what his eyes saw, and then he popped to attention.
"Stand at ease, Captain," the President said, offering his hand. "What did they do, sneak you in the back door?"
"Yes, sir."
"How was the flight?" the President asked.
"Very interesting, sir," McCoy replied, truthfully. "It's hard to believe you're moving that fast." And then he had another thought. "Mr. President, my uniform's a mess...."
"There were many occasions, Captain McCoy, when it was Captain Truman of Battery B, that my uniform was, with good reason, a mess."
McCoy didn't reply.
"I've seen your assessment of war in Korea in ninety days, Captain," the President said. "I wanted to have a look at you."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"I don't want you to think before you answer these ques-tions, Captain. I want you to say the first thing that comes to your mind. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think General MacArthur has seen your assess-ment?"
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"I think he would have called me in, if he'd seen it."
"Why do you think he hasn't seen it?"
"General Willoughby didn't want him to see it; didn't give it to him."
"Why not?"
"I can only guess, sir."
"Guess."
"He had only recently given MacArthur an everything-is-peachy assessment."
"And that's why he ordered it destroyed?"
"I think that's the reason, sir."
"And you were aware you were defying your orders when you kept a copy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you customarily disobey your orders?"
"Not often, sir."
"This was not the first time?"
"No, sir."
"Why, in this case?"
"I knew I had to do something with it, sir."
"You saw it as your duty?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that's why you gave it to General Pickering? You saw that as your duty?"
"Yes, sir."
"And if he had not conveniently been in Tokyo, then what?"
"I would have given it to him in San Francisco, sir."
"Two things," the President said. "First-you're getting this from the Commander-in-Chief-you did the right thing. Secondly, General Pickering is concerned that you'll be in hot water if what you did ever gets out. I hope to en-sure that it never gets out, but if it does, you will not be in any trouble. You understand that?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The President extended his hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Captain McCoy. I wouldn't be surprised if we saw one another again."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The President went to the door, opened it, and stepped through it.
"Take Captain McCoy wherever he wants to go," Mc-Coy heard the President order. "And take him out the front door."
"Yes, Mr. President," he heard the shorter Secret Service agent say.
By the time McCoy was led to the front door of Blah-House and walked down the flight of stairs, the Chevrolet Suburban was at the curb.
He was again installed in the backseat and heard the door lock click.
"Where to, Captain?" the larger Secret Service agent asked.
McCoy fished in his short pocket and came with the three-by-five card General Dawkins had given him at Camp Pendleton.
"Twenty-four thirty E Street," he read from it. "The East Building."
"The CIA compound?"
"If that's what's there," McCoy said.
They were now driving down Pennsylvania Avenue past the White House. McCoy had a change of heart.
"No," he ordered. "Drop me at the Foster Lafayette."
"You're sure? That place is about as expensive as it gets."
"I'm sure," McCoy said.
He was a Marine. He had been a Marine since he was seventeen. Marines do not appear in public in mussed, sweaty uniforms, much less report for duty that way. The Foster Lafayette Hotel had a splendid-more important, very fast-valet service. And he thought he could avail himself of it.
The doorman of the Foster Lafayette was visibly surprised when a Chevrolet Suburban made an illegal U-turn in front of the marquee and a Marine captain in mussed and sweat-stained tropical worsteds got out.
"Thanks for the ride," McCoy said, and walked past the doorman into the lobby of the hotel, and then across the lobby to the desk.
"Good afternoon, sir," said the desk clerk, who was wearing a gray frock coat with a rose in the lapel, striped trousers, and a formal foulard.
"My name is McCoy," he said.
"I thought you might be Captain McCoy, sir. We've been expecting you, sir."
"You have?"
"We have a small problem, Captain. General Pickering left word that if he somehow missed you, we were to put you in the Pickering suite. And Mrs. McCoy called and said that when you arrived, you were to be put up in the American Personal Pharmaceuticals suite. Which would you prefer, sir?"
McCoy thought it over for a moment.
"In the final analysis, I suppose it's safer to ignore a gen-eral than your wife," he said. "And I'm going to need some instant valet service for this uniform."
The desk clerk snapped his fingers. A bellman appeared.
"Take Captain McCoy to the American Personal Phar-maceuticals suite," he ordered. "And send the floor waiter to the suite."
[THREE]
THE FOSTER LAFAYETTE HOTEL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
1730 30 JUNE 1950
The door chimes sounded, and Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, attired in a T-shirt and shorts-from the Foster Lafayette's Men's Shop, and for which he had paid, he noticed, as he signed the bill, five times as much as he had paid for essen-tially identical items in the Tokyo PX-went to answer it, expecting to find the floor waiter with his freshly cleaned uniform.
He found, instead, General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, standing there in civilian clothing.
"The manager of the establishment tells me you ignored another order of mine, Captain, but if you will pour me a stiff drink, I'll let it pass," Pickering said, putting out his hand.
"Ernie called ahead," McCoy said, "and told them to let me stay here. I don't have any money, and I thought it would be better to charge things to my father-in-law, who doesn't like me anyhow, than to you, sir."
"You can put a hell of a lot in one sentence," Pickering said, as he walked into the suite. "First things first, where does your father-in-law-who does, by the way, think very highly of you-keep the booze?"
"In here," McCoy said, leading him to a room off the sit-ting room that held a small, but fully stocked, bar.