"Well, I'm impressed," Almond said. "And frankly a lit-tle relieved. Generals Cushman and Craig told me essen-tially what you've been telling me, but I like to get confirmation from the people actually doing things. Senior officers can only hope the junior officers are doing what they're supposed to do."
"Yes, sir," Pick said.
"General," General Pickering said, "Pick made an inter-esting observation a little while ago, just before you came. He said that most senior officers have more logistical sup-port than they actually need."
"Interesting," Almond said. `Tell me, General, why am I getting the feeling I am about to be ambushed by Marines?"
"I have no idea, General," Pickering said.
"And that there's a hook in the phrase `more logistical support than they actually need'?"
"Now that you mention it, General..." Pickering said.
"What, Pickering?" Almond said, smiling.
"Pick wants to borrow a light aircraft, and make a per-sonal survey of airfields in Korea," Pickering said. "And my aide-de-camp tells me that having access to a light air-plane in Korea would make his work there considerably easier."
Almond looked at Pickering for a long moment.
"Is that an official request from the Assistant Director of the CIA for Asia?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"There are very few light aircraft left in Japan," Almond said. "I ordered almost all of them sent to Korea."
Disappointment showed on Pick's face.
"I was afraid that might be the case, sir. But I had to ask."
"There are four at SCAP," Almond went on. `Two L-19s, one L-4-that's a Piper Cub-and one L-17, that's a four-seater North American Navion."
"Sir, if I could have the Cub for a couple of days..."
"You can't," Almond said. "That's mine. I call it `The Blue Goose.'"
"I understand, sir," Pick said.
Curiosity overwhelmed General Pickering.
"Why the `Blue Goose' he asked. "Goose suggests... the index finger raised in a vulgar manner."
"Somehow that lettering appeared on the nacelle shortly after every other general officer on the SCAP staff got a new L-19 but me," Almond said. "You are the first senior officer to ask me what it means."
Pickering chuckled.
"The L-19s are out, too," Almond went on. "One be-longs to General Willoughby, and the other to the G-3, who really needs it. That leaves General MacArthur's Navion. He rarely uses it. General Willoughby uses it rather often. So what I'm going to do is go back to the Dai Ichi Building and inform the Supreme Commander that General Pickering asked to see me here to meet his son, and to ask for the use of a light aircraft. I'm going to tell the Supreme Commander that I told you, General Picker-ing, that I would bring your request to his attention, and that, barring objections from him, I would see if I could find one for you. I don't think the Supreme Commander will object. Then I'm going to send Al Haig, my aide, out to Haneda to inform the people there that with the permis-sion of the Supreme Commander, the L-17 will be picked up by General Pickering's pilot for purposes not known to me."
"Thank you, sir," Pick said.
"It might be wise to get the aircraft out of Tokyo as soon as possible," Almond said.
"Yes, sir," Pick said.
"There's always tit-for-tat," Almond said to Pickering. "Okay?"
"What can I do for you, General?" Pickering replied.
"I'd like to see McCoy's-and, come to think of it, Ma-jor Pickering's-reports on what they find. Unofficially. I sometimes wonder if the reports we're getting at the daily briefings are designed to spare General MacArthur unnec-essary concern."
In other words, you suspect-with damned good reason- that Willoughby isn't reporting anything to MacArthur he doesn't think he should know.
"I'll see you get them," Pickering said.
Almond nodded.
"Major," he said to Pick, "it might be a good idea if you happened to be around the SCAP hangar at Haneda, in case Captain Haig might show up there."
"Yes, sir, I'll be there," Pick said.
Almond walked to the door and opened it. Then he turned and, in a voice loud enough to ensure the CIC could hear it, said, "I'll take your request to the Supreme Com-mander as soon as I can."
"Thank you, sir," Pickering said.
They smiled at each other, and then Almond went through the door.
[TWO]
THE PRESS CLUB
TOKYO, JAPAN
1530 28 JULY 1950
It was alleged by many of Miss Jeanette Priestly's associ-ates in the SCAP (and now UN Command) press corps- all of whom were male-that the Chicago Tribune's war correspondent had a Jesuit-like attitude regarding the de-velopment of her sources. That, in other words, the end justified the means.
While it was obviously not true that Miss Priestly would fuck a gorilla to get a story-as was sometimes alleged around the press club bar-it was on the other hand true that Miss Priestly was not above looking soulfully into the eyes of some virile major-or general or, for that matter, PFC-simultaneously allowing him to glimpse down her blouse at her bosom, onto which she often sprayed Chanel No. 5, and perhaps even laying a soft hand on his, if she thought the individual concerned was possessed of knowl-edge that would give her a story. Or, more recently, in Ko-rea, if he had access to a Jeep, or space on an airplane.
But she did not take these sources of news or air passage space to bed in payment for their cooperation. While it had been some time since she had lost the moral right to virginal white, the facts were that the urge and the opportu-nity had not coincided for quite some time.
Jeanette was honest enough to admit to herself that she had been strongly drawn to Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMC, probably because he had seemed like the only man in Korea who knew what he was doing. And he was cute. But he hadn't made a pass at her, and if he had, where could they have gone to share carnal bliss?
The green rice fields of Korea in the summer are fertil-ized with human feces, the smell from which tends to dampen romantic ardor.
And since they had been together in Korea, she had never seen McCoy again, so he was added in her mind to her long list of missed opportunities.
And sometimes, when everything else was right, some-thing in her psyche made her back off. There was no deny-ing that the Trans-Global Airways pilot, the one who had set the speed record, and whose father was a buddy of MacArthur, Pickering, was the legendary answer to a maiden's prayer. Tall, good-looking, wicked eyes, and with an undeniable charm. And rich.
Pickering had obviously been smitten with her. If he'd been a horse, he would have been neighing and tearing up the carpet with his hooves. And, if she had been willing to drop her almost maidenly reticence, there would have been a soft bed in the Imperial Hotel, with room service cham-pagne. And she had heard somewhere that airline pilots could provide free tickets, which was something to think about, too.
But there was something about Captain Pickering of Trans-Global Airways that turned on her alarm system. She had not become a foreign-now war-correspondent for the Tribune by making herself vulnerable. As the boys in the press club bar would phrase it, she knew how to keep her ass covered, literally and figuratively.
She could have made an ass of herself over Pickering, and she rarely put herself in that position. And anyway, he was gone. Since it was unlikely that she would ever see him again, she put him out of her mind.