In Danger's Path (67 page)

Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, CINCPAC, was busy. When one of his aides put his head in the door of his office, a dozen officers were sitting at the conference table. Most of them were admirals and generals, but a few Navy captains and one Marine colonel were sprinkled among them.

“General Pickering and Captain Groscher are here, Admiral.”

There were barely concealed looks of annoyance on the faces of the men at the table. They sensed an interruption to their labors and didn't like it. Nimitz understood. He really resented the interruption to his schedule that was about to take place, but it had to be done.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Take a ten-minute coffee break. I'll be as quick as possible.”

Everyone began to stuff documents into briefcases. Almost all of the documents were stamped
SECRET
and
TOP SECRET
.

For a moment Nimitz considered telling them to belay that. Captain Groscher had already seen everything on the table, or soon would, and Pickering was cleared for anything classified. Time would be saved by telling his staff just to leave the documents where they were. But he immediately realized that that would set a bad precedent. If the Admiral was a little sloppy with classified material, that would constitute a license for the others to be sloppy.

He waited until all the documents had disappeared from sight, then stood at the door of his office until all the officers had filed through it.

“Welcome to beautiful Hawaii, again, Fleming,” he called. “Come on in. You, too, Groscher.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Pickering said.

Nimitz closed the door himself. He saw the clock on the wall.

“Actually, it's the cocktail hour,” he said. “Can I offer you something stronger than coffee?”

“Sir, I think I'd rather wait until I talk to my people,” Pickering said.

“Okay, coffee it is,” the Admiral said, and walked to a table against the wall that held a coffee machine and a rack of standard Navy, white china cups. He worked the lever, filling a cup, and then handed it to Pickering. He filled another, handed it to Groscher, and finally poured one for himself.

“Would you mind standing?” he asked. “My doctor's been telling me that sitting for long hours with my knees bent is bad for an old man's circulation.”

“You're not old, sir,” Pickering protested automatically.

“You've read the two messages?” Nimitz asked, getting to the point.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fill me in, please,” Nimitz said.

Pickering told him what he knew of the events in Chungking and Washington.

“How bad is it? How long can we continue to believe that the Japanese don't know about
MAGIC
?”

“I just don't know, sir,” Pickering said.

“I think that's why George Marshall wants you in Chungking as quickly as possible,” Nimitz said. “For the damage evaluation.”

“Sir, I think that's why he promoted Colonel Albright,” Pickering said. “And is sending him to Chungking. He would be much better at that than me.”

“Groscher knows and likes this fellow. He told me he's just the man to keep the barn door closed. The question is, how many cows got out?”

“Let me give you the worst possible scenario, General,” Captain Groscher said. “That's my job.”

“And he's very good at it,” Nimitz said.

“The real harm those two in Washington did was to degrade the secrecy of
MAGIC
,” Groscher began. “Remove the awe for it, if you like. It's obvious—to me, at least—that they regarded access to
MAGIC
as a prerogative of rank or position, a marshal's baton, so to speak. They didn't really understand the necessity for keeping
MAGIC
secret.”

“Yeah,” Pickering agreed thoughtfully.

“I would suppose that of the senior officers around here, ninety percent know something about
MAGIC
, at least that it exists, and that only a very few, very senior officers—the Admiral and his chief of staff—and a handful of middle-level underlings like me have access to it. Everybody wants to be important, you follow me?”

Pickering shook his head sadly, in agreement, and blurted, “God, in Brisbane, MacArthur's G-2 pouted like a child until he got a
MAGIC
clearance.”

“We have that situation here. It is reasonable to presume it exists in Chungking,” Groscher went on. “What was the USMMCHI's signal officer's name? Dempsey?” Groscher asked.

“Right,” Pickering said.

“General Dempsey almost certainly knew of the existence of
MAGIC
and that only important people got access to it. The difference between here, Hawaii, and Brisbane is that the Admiral and General MacArthur knew of the importance of
MAGIC
, and more important, the absolute necessity of keeping it secret.…”

Groscher stopped. “How much do you know of the command structure over there?” he asked.

“Very little.”

“There is an overall command,” Admiral Nimitz said. “The China-Burma-India theatres of operation. Theatres, plural. Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten is the Supreme Commander. He's in New Delhi. As of this moment, he does not have
MAGIC
, although over the objections of Admiral Leahy and General Marshall, he's going to get it.

“There is also, under CBI, the China theatre of operations, with Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek the theatre commander. He asked for, and got, an American chief of staff. General Joseph Stillwell. Stillwell is also the commanding general of the U.S. military mission to China.

“The President has similarly decided that Chiang Kai-shek will be given
MAGIC
access. Again over the objections of Admiral Leahy and General Marshall. Probably in the hope that the President can be persuaded to change his mind, neither Chiang Kai-shek nor General Stillwell, so far as I know, has been told either that
MAGIC
exists or that they are to be given access to it,” Nimitz concluded, and then asked, “This is the first time you're hearing this?”

“I knew, sir, of Admiral Leahy's reluctance to give Mountbatten and Chiang Kai-shek
MAGIC
access.”

“Inasmuch as General Stillwell knows nothing of
MAGIC
—except probably that something with that name exists, classified Top Secret—there has been no reason for him to impress on his staff the absolute necessity to keep
MAGIC
uncompromised. So far as General Stillwell is concerned, it is just one more Top Secret project, and he has filing cabinets full of those.”

“I think I'm beginning to get the picture, sir,” Pickering said.

“Go on, Groscher,” Nimitz ordered.

“So General Dempsey hears that he is going to get
MAGIC
and a
MAGIC
clearance, which means he is now important. He wants to share this proud accomplishment with somebody. So he shares it with his deputy. Why not? He doesn't know that
MAGIC
is not just one more military secret. His deputy has a Top Secret clearance. So he tells him. The deputy now feels important. He needs to tell somebody. And since he doesn't know how really important
MAGIC
is,
he
feels safe in telling a trusted subordinate, one who has a Top Secret clearance. And so on.”

“I'm very afraid Groscher may be right,” Admiral Nimitz said. “And I think that's why General Marshall wants you to be in Chungking as soon as you can get there, Pickering. You will be the OSS delegate from JCS—for that matter, from the President himself—to General Stillwell. I think you are expected to impress on him the importance of keeping
MAGIC
really secret, and also to let them know in Washington how far down the chain the breaking of the secret has gone.”

“I'm comfortable with the first part, sir,” Pickering said. “But I'm not at all sure I'm competent to judge how far
MAGIC
has been compromised.”

“Like an ONI or CIC agent would be?” Groscher asked.

“Right.”

“To know what they were looking for, an ONI or CIC agent would have to be told about
MAGIC
,” Groscher said. “Too many people already know about
MAGIC
.”

“There is a B-17 laid on for you, Pickering,” Admiral Nimitz said. “Whenever you're ready to go, it will take you to Espíritu Santo, where—courtesy of our friend Douglas MacArthur, who also feels it important that you talk with Stillwell in Chungking as soon as possible—another B-17 will be waiting to take you, via India, to Chungking.”

“Sir, I really would like to see how my people are coming—”

“They have been told to have the aircraft available as of 0700 tomorrow morning,” Nimitz interrupted him. “Will that give you enough time to see what you have to see here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Admiral Wagam is aware of my interest in the Gobi Desert project, and has been asked to make sure that we're doing whatever we can to get that moving,” Nimitz said.

Admiral Nimitz put out his hand. “I have every confidence, Pickering, that you are the man who will do what has to be done in Chungking,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Pickering replied, and realized that he was being dismissed.

[FOUR]
U.S. Highway 98
Near Pensacola, Florida
2130 3 April 1943

A billboard was by the side of the road, getting a little seedy, and no longer illuminated, but Captain James B. Weston, USMC, could easily read it when the headlights of his Buick convertible flashed over it.

The sign triggered a stream of thoughts in Captain Weston's somewhat weary brain:

I can get a room there, and go out to the base first thing in the morning
.

What I really need right now is a couple of drinks. I can either go to the bar, or have the bellboy bring me a bottle
.

And if I get a room there, I can call Martha. She expects me. But God, I don't want to see her. Not tonight. Not until I can figure out what the hell I'm going to do
.

That makes sense, get a room, call Martha, and then get a bottle and have a couple of drinks, and get some sleep. If I don't have a couple of drinks, I'll never get to sleep
.

So I'll call Martha and tell her I'm in the San Carlos
.…

Whereupon she will say, “I'll be right there, darling,” or words to that effect
.

An image of Mrs. Martha Sayre Culhane in her birthday suit jumped into his brain, accompanied by astonishingly clear and sharp memories of how warm, soft, and exciting the various parts of Martha's anatomy were.

And would be if she came to the San Carlos
.

You really are a rotten sonofabitch, Weston. Despicable. Beyond contempt
.

You really would do that to her. Exactly as you took advantage of Janice's innocence, her inability to suspect what a conscienceless prick you really are
.

An image of Lieutenant (j.g.) Janice Hardison, NC, USNR, in her birthday suit jumped into his brain, accompanied by astonishingly clear and sharp memories of how warm, soft, and exciting the various parts of Janice's anatomy had been in the room in the Benjamin Franklin immediately before he departed Philadelphia for Pensacola.

Though he hadn't actually given his own character much serious consideration until very recently—until Janice Hardison had entered his life, and Martha Sayre Culhane had reentered it—Captain Weston had believed that his character was as good as most, and possibly even a little better than some people's. When he spoke, for example, he told the truth. He was, after all, a Marine officer. Marine officers do not lie.

And he had thought of himself as a gentleman, as well. Perhaps not in the same leagues as Sir Galahad or Cary Grant, but a gentleman nonetheless. A gentleman, he had heard somewhere and believed, never intentionally hurts the feelings of others. A gentleman never takes advantage of the weak, male or female, but with obvious emphasis on the gentle sex.

And of course, when a gentleman does something he knows goddamn well is wrong, he quickly confesses the error of his ways to the individual wronged, tries to make amends, and willingly accepts whatever punishment is involved.