In Danger's Path (52 page)

“I'm sure there are many things about which you are not informed, Colonel. Do I have a
MAGIC
clearance? No. I expect one momentarily. I would have thought you would have brought that with you.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you, sir?” Banning asked General Newley.

“Not at this moment, Colonel.”

“Sir, under these circumstances, I would be in violation of my orders to discuss
MAGIC
in the presence of General Newley,” Banning said.

“Now, listen to me, Colonel, and listen carefully, for I have had just about enough of your word-bandying. I am the person who decides who in this headquarters is cleared for
MAGIC
. And when I ask you a question about
MAGIC
, you will answer it. Is that clear enough for you, Colonel?”

“Sir, I respectfully protest you are ordering me to disobey my previous orders.”

“I don't give a good goddamn about your previous orders, Colonel. Get that though your head. You are now attached to the Signal Section of Headquarters USMMChi. You take your orders from me. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, for the last goddamned time, do you have the
MAGIC
machines?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long will it take you to set them up?”

“Once I have a secure area, sir, I can be up and running in about eight hours.”

“You will set them up in my crypto area.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, who are those two bearded characters I saw in the main lateral?”

“Captain K. R. McCoy, USMCR, and Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman, sir.”

“And why are they wearing beards and civilian clothing?”

“Sir, it is in connection with their mission.”

“Which is?”

“Sir, with respect, Captain McCoy and Sergeant Zimmerman are on an OSS mission that I am not at liberty to discuss.”

“You are refusing to answer my question?”

“Sir, with respect, I do not believe the General has the Need To Know.”

“We'll see about my Need To Know just as soon as you have
MAGIC
up and running,” General Dempsey said. “In the meantime, I am going to give you two simple orders. One, get
MAGIC
up and running and tell me the moment we have a link with Washington. Two, have those two characters report to Colonel Platt at the OSS station. I'm sure he'll see that they are shaved and into uniform.”

“Sir, with respect, I don't believe you have the authority to issue orders to Captain McCoy or Sergeant Zimmerman.”

“Goddamn you! How dare you question my authority? Don't you ever again question any order I give you!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are dismissed, Colonel. Report to me, whatever the hour, when you have established a
MAGIC
link with Washington.”

“Yes, sir.”

Banning snapped to attention, saluted, performed a crisp about-face maneuver, and marched out of General Dempsey's office.

Over his shoulder, he heard General Dempsey furiously demand of General Newley, “Jack, can you believe that? Goddamned arrogant Marine!”

He walked back to the wide area in the tunnel and motioned for McCoy to join him.

“Captain,” he said, formally, “you may consider yourself and Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman detached.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” McCoy said. “What's going on?”

“You've got the gold?” Banning asked.

McCoy tapped his waist. A money belt heavy with U.S. twenty-dollar gold coins was strapped around it.

“There's an OSS station here. Do you know anything about that?”

McCoy shook his head negatively. “First I've heard of it.”

“The signal officer here has ordered me to order you to report there, to a Colonel Platt.”

“What gives this Army Signal Corps officer the right to give you orders?”

“That's a very interesting question, Captain.”

“Is that what you're doing? Ordering me to report to the OSS here?”

“You're detached,” Banning said. “I am no longer authorized to give you orders.”

“What went on in there?” McCoy asked. “What's going on?”

“I can't go into that, Ken,” Banning said. “Sorry.”

McCoy looked at him very thoughtfully.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Captain, but I seem to recall that your last valid order from Brigadier General Pickering was, upon detachment from the team bringing personnel records here, to make preparations to move into the Gobi Desert.”

“Yes, sir, that is correct.”

“Having been detached, Captain, those orders remain valid unless countermanded by an officer senior to Brigadier General Pickering, such as the major general who is the signal officer here.”

“I'm getting the message,” McCoy said.

“I don't know what's going on around here, Ken, but whatever it is, you shouldn't be involved with it.”

“Yes, sir,” McCoy said, and put out his hand to Banning.

“Grab your gear, Ernie,” he said. “We're leaving.”

“Don't go into the desert, Ken, until Pickering tells you to.”

“I'll be around,” McCoy said, and motioned for Zimmerman to precede him out of the tunnel.

[FOUR]
U.S. Navy Hospital
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1615 25 March 1943

“Well, look what's washed up on my beach again,” Commander Jerome C. Kister, MC, USNR, greeted Captain James B. Weston, USMC, when he walked into his office and found Weston waiting for him. He touched Weston's shoulder.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Come on in. Rest your weary bones. It's a long drive from West Virginia, isn't it? Even in your gas guzzler?”

“It's a long ride,” Weston agreed.

During which I had a lot of time to think about what I'm going to do about Janice. And did not come up with any answer, except perhaps suicide
.

“Sit,” Dr. Kister said, indicating an upholstered chair facing his desk.

“Thank you, sir.”

“And how was your recuperative leave? Are you appropriately grateful to the grateful taxpayers who picked up the tab for your month in the lap of luxury?”

“I wish they just gave me the money,” Weston said.

“But—a little bird told me—you did find the time to work in a little romance. So all was not lost time, was it?”

“I also found time to go to Pensacola,” Weston said. “I don't think I'm going to have to learn to fly all over again.”

“I heard. Tubby Bolemann has been keeping me up to date.”

Weston smiled. Although it made sense, it was the first time he had heard the corpulent psychiatrist called that. “He's a good guy,” Weston said.

“Yeah. They offered him retirement—a hundred percent to start, and fifty percent guaranteed for the rest of his life—but he decided to stick around. Now he's trying to go back to sea.”

“A good guy,” Weston repeated.

“He's also made it official that you are no crazier than any other Marine Aviator. So what happens now is we run you though another quick physical, which I'll schedule for tomorrow morning. And then you can go back to full duty.”

“A flight physical, I hope?”

“Since you're not on flight status, I'm not technically supposed to give you a flight physical. But—don't be shocked by this confession—I have made administrative errors before. I don't know if Pensacola will accept a flight physical from here, but you never know.”

“Thank you.”

“You can spend the rest of the day tomorrow putting your affairs in order—pay, that sort of thing—and then I'll discharge you from here as of the day after tomorrow. I think you get five days to drive to Pensacola.”

“Fine,” Weston said.

“It's one hell of a drive from here to Pensacola,” Dr. Kister said. “I suppose you have been thinking about that.”

“Sir?”

Dr. Kister didn't reply. He reached for his telephone and dialed a number.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” he said to whoever answered the phone. “Just the Naval officer with whom I wished to communicate. And how are you this afternoon?”

He's scheduling my physical
, Weston decided.

There was a reply, and then Kister said, “Yes, by a wild happenstance, he's sitting right here with me.”

He handed the phone to Weston, who took it.

“Captain Weston.”

“Hi,” Janice said.

His heart jumped. “Hi, yourself.”

“How was the drive?”

“Long.”

“Listen, I have duty until 2000.”

“Damn!”

“Can you meet me in the Benjamin Franklin Hotel at eight-thirty?”

“Sure.”

“You can find it all right?”

“I know where it is.”

“Eight thirty at the bar,” Janice said. “Don't drink too much.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Janice hung up.

Weston put the handset in its cradle.

“Thank you,” he said to Dr. Kister.

“Nice girl. If I had something like that waiting for me at the end of the long trail, I don't think I'd mind driving all the way up here from Pensacola myself.”

“Yeah,” Jim said thoughtfully.

“Okay, James,” Kister said. “Get out of here. Spruce yourself up. Get a shave and a shower.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“I want to see you before you actually leave, Jim,” Kister said.

“Yes, sir. And thanks, Commander.”

“I think of myself as Cupid's Little Helper,” Kister said.

[FIVE]
The Lobby Bar
The Benjamin Franklin Hotel
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
0845 25 March 1943

“Hi, honey,” Lieutenant (j.g.) Janice Hardison, NNC, USNR, said to Captain James B. Weston, USMC, as she slid onto the barstool beside him. She kissed him, chastely.

“My God, you're beautiful!”

“How many of those have you had?” she asked, nodding at the glass in his hand.

“This is the second,” he said.

“Since 1600?” she challenged.

“I took in a movie,” he said.

“What did you see?”

“Tyrone Power,” he said. “
A Yank in the Royal Air Force
. He doesn't make a very convincing pilot.”

She laughed. “But he is,” she said. “You don't know?”

“Know what?”

“Tyrone Power is a pilot. He's a
Marine Aviator
.”

“No shit?” Weston exclaimed, truly astonished. Then he heard what he had said. “Sorry.”

“No shit,” she confirmed, then blushed when she realized the approaching bartender had heard her.

God, she's adorable when she blushes
.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Janice said to the bartender. “I won't be staying.”

“I don't have to finish this,” Weston offered. “Where are we going?”

“You're staying. I'm going,” Janice said, then waited for the bartender to move down the bar before continuing. “I've got a present for you,” she said. “Actually two.”

“I didn't get you anything,” he said.

She went into her purse and then pressed something into his hand. It was a hotel key.

“Jesus!” Jim said.

Janice blushed again.

“Stay here. Finish your drink slowly. Give me ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said.

“Nice to see you again, Captain,” Janice said, loudly enough so that the bartender could hear her. Then she slid off the stool and walked out of the bar into the lobby.

Weston watched her go, then turned back to the bar. The bartender was there.

“Very nice,” the bartender said. “Sorry you struck out.”

“The story of my life,” Weston said.

“You want another one of those?”

“One more,” Weston said. “And then I'll have to go.”

“I liked the second present better than the first,” Captain Weston said to Lieutenant Hardison. “But of course without the first, I wouldn't have gotten the second, would I?”