In Danger's Path (73 page)

Pickering hesitated.

“Would it have, General?” Stillwell pursued.

“I was about to say, sir, that as far as I know, Marines have never refused to fight. But that wouldn't answer your question, would it?”

“No, it would not have,” Stillwell said.

“No, I don't think it would have,” Pickering said. “I was a kid at the time. If they had shot innocent Marines, I would have hated the Corps. But that's not the situation here.”

“What is the situation here, General? You tell me.”

“I am reluctant to do so, sir.”

“I don't give a damn if you're reluctant or not.”

“General Dempsey behaved in an unacceptable manner, considering the importance of keeping
MAGIC
uncompromised. He is a general officer. General officers have to be held to a higher standard.”

“But he did not, Pickering, compromise
MAGIC
.”

“He took action which might have compromised it.”

“Whoever told him about it before he was supposed to know is the man who took such an action. What about him? Who was he? What happened to him? Can you tell me, or is that something else you are ‘not at liberty' to discuss?”

“There were two men, General, the Secretary of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and—”

“General Adamson?” Stillwell asked incredulously.

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened to General Adamson?”

“When I left Washington, he had been relieved and placed in arrest-to-quarters. I was led to believe he will be reduced to his permanent rank. He may be court-martialed.”

“I wasn't aware Adamson was involved in this,” Stillwell said, and added: “You said there were two officers?

“The OSS's Deputy Director for Administration, sir. He was also relieved of his duties.”

“That's all?”

“Colonel Donovan ordered him placed in St. Elizabeth's Hospital for evaluation.”

“He was crazy? I have to ruin the careers of two fine officers because some civilian in the OSS was crazy?”

“Sir, so far as I know, this man was not out of his mind.”

Stillwell looked at him curiously for a moment, then took his meaning.

“That's what happens to OSS people who talk too much?”

“It's what Colonel Donovan believed to be the appropriate action to take in the case of someone who jeopardized the security of
MAGIC
.”

Stillwell paused to take a cigarette from a battered case and light it. He did not offer one to Pickering, and it was obvious to Pickering that Stillwell was thinking over their conversation.

“Are you carrying orders for me about what I am to do with Generals Dempsey and Newley? Or are you relaying a ‘recommendation' like the one I got to name General Albright as my signal officer, a man I never saw before in my life?”

“No, sir.”

“Isn't that a little odd?”

“I suspect that General Marshall is waiting to hear how badly—if at all—
MAGIC
has been compromised. But I would expect, General, as a minimum, that both officers will be reduced to their permanent grade and ordered home.”

“To encourage the others?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not court-martialed?”

“A court-martial couldn't be held without getting into
MAGIC
,” Pickering said. “Something, sir—I feel obliged to bring this up to you—that has apparently occurred to General Dempsey.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sir, I spoke very briefly with General Albright before I came here. He met me at the airport. He told me that when he tried to speak with General Dempsey, to determine how many other people might have been told about
MAGIC
, General Dempsey invoked his right to decline to answer any questions that might tend to incriminate him.”

“And General Newley?”

“I don't know, sir,” Pickering said. “My suspicion would be that he would follow General Dempsey's lead.”

“Well, I certainly can understand how they feel,” Stillwell said. “If I found myself under arrest for nothing more than having somebody tell me something I wasn't supposed to know, I wouldn't be in much of a mood to cooperate with the people who'd put me there either.”

“Sir, the importance of
MAGIC
—”

“But we can't have that, can we?” Stillwell interrupted. “I'll speak to both of them. Despite their—wholly justified—feeling they have been handed the short end of a very dirty stick, they have the obligation, the duty, to tell General Albright everything he wants to know. Or you. Do you want to talk to them?”

“I think General Albright would be better at that than I am, sir. I was also going to suggest that Colonel Banning talk to them. He is an intelligence officer, and has a
MAGIC
clearance.”

“I'll see that he does,” Stillwell said immediately. “Tell them to come see me before they see Generals Dempsey and Newley.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Was this little chat of ours the sole reason you came to Chungking, General?”

“I think it has become the primary reason I'm here, sir.”

“You want to explain that?”

“I was coming here anyway, sir, in connection with Operation Gobi.” Pickering hesitated, and then asked, “General, did either General Albright or Colonel Waterson discuss Operation Gobi with you?”

Stillwell shook his head negatively.

“They both tried,” he said. “I wasn't in the mood to listen. Waterson got here first, carrying Admiral Leahy's not very comprehensive letter of explanation. It said, as you probably know, that you were coming to explain everything in person. I told Colonel Waterson that I didn't at all like having a secret operation running in my zone of responsibility that I don't know anything about, and that I would discuss that operation with you when you arrived. General Albright arrived the next day. I told him that in compliance with my orders, I was appointing him
acting
signal officer until such time as I could discuss that appointment, and this secret operation, with you.”

“I understand how you felt, sir.”

Stillwell looked at him closely again. “Oddly enough, General, I think maybe you do,” he said. “You were saying something about the primary reason you're here?”

“I have come to believe, sir, that General Marshall—or perhaps Admiral Leahy—decided I was the only senior officer with a
MAGIC
clearance available to come here and see how badly—if at all—
MAGIC
has been compromised. And as the letter said, to answer your questions. I can think of no other reason why I was flown here so quickly from Pearl Harbor.”

Stillwell grunted.

“And I think—repeat, think, sir—that is Admiral Nimitz's belief as well.”

“And Douglas MacArthur's?”

“That seems to me to be a reasonable presumption, sir.”

Still well grunted thoughtfully. “It would explain Douglas's parting with one of his precious B-17s, wouldn't it?” he said. “Okay. Tell me about your secret operation.”

Pickering took ten minutes to explain Operation Gobi.

Stillwell listened without responding until he was finished. “For what it's worth, Pickering,” he said, “I think you're going to have a hell of a time contacting those people in the Gobi. That's bandit country, and so is the country between here and there.”

“Sir?”

“Bandits. Warlords, fighting for the Japanese or the Nationalist Chinese or the Communists, depending on who is paying the most money today. Have you heard from these people lately?”

“No, sir.”

“That raises the very strong possibility that they encountered the bandits, and the bandits killed everybody,” Stillwell said. “That's their standing operating procedure.”

“That's not very good news, sir.”

“I suppose there is a reason you could not just air-drop a weather station in there? Together with the necessary operating personnel?”

“We wouldn't know where to drop them, sir. And one of the considerations is concealing the weather station from the Japanese.”

“Of course,” Stillwell said thoughtfully. “Let me ask some questions, Pickering,” he added. “Maybe one of my Chinese can come up with something.”

“I would very much appreciate that, General.”

“I owe you,” Stillwell said. “That wasn't much of a welcome you got from me.”

Pickering sensed that he was being dismissed. “By your leave, sir?” he asked.

“Granted,” Stillwell said.

Pickering came to attention and saluted. Stillwell returned it casually. Pickering did an about-face movement and walked to the door.

[ONE]
OSS Station
Chungking, China
1920 7 April 1943

Brigadier General Fleming Pickering got out of the Studebaker President and walked to the wooden door and tried it. It was locked. He rapped on it with his knuckles. There was still no reply.

“I guess the doorbell doesn't work,” Second Lieutenant Hart observed, then politely nudged General Pickering aside and hammered on the door with the butt of his .45 automatic.

A young Army lieutenant whom Pickering did not remember from his first visit to the house opened the door. As he was pulling the door fully open, Lieutenant Colonel Ed Banning appeared in the corridor behind him. The two men shook hands. “I'm glad you're here, Ed,” Pickering said.

“I'm sorry I wasn't at the airport, General,” Banning said. “I was in the cryptographic room. They call it ‘the dungeon' here, too.”

“I understand,” Pickering said.

“I came as soon as General Albright told me you were here, sir.”

“No time lost,” Pickering said. “I was ‘received' by General Stillwell.”

“General Albright told me. How did that go?”

“I may be kidding myself, but I think I have calmed him down to the point where he no longer wants to cut me in small pieces with a dull saw and will settle for something like crucifixion. He's one tough cookie.” And then he added what he was thinking: “But I like him. I understand why he was sore.”

“You were the bearer of bad tidings, sir,” Banning said. “Didn't that kill-the-messenger business start over here?”

Pickering chuckled, then asked, “Where's McCoy, Ed?”

“I don't know, sir,” Banning said.

“How did that happen?” Pickering asked.

“Right after I had my initial run-in with General Dempsey, I told him to make himself scarce. He's good at that.”

“I got that much from your Special Channel. McCoy has made no attempt to contact you at all?”

“He was here once…”

“Albright told me.”

“…and apparently had words with Colonel Platt.”

“He told me that, too,” Pickering said. “That doesn't sound like McCoy. What was that all about?”

“Platt felt that as the OSS station chief here, everybody in the OSS belonged to him. McCoy didn't think so—” He cut himself off in midsentence when he noticed Colonel John J. Waterson and Lieutenant Colonel Richard C. Platt walking across the foyer toward them.

“Good evening, General,” Waterson said.

“We were about to get into the subject of Captain McCoy,” Pickering said. “But I need first to visit the head, and then I want a drink.”

“The facility is right over there, General,” Platt said, pointing. “And we could talk in the bar, if you'd like.”

“I'd hate to run your people out of the bar, Colonel.”

“All of my people have Top Secret clearances, General.”

“But none of them, so far as I am aware, have the Need To Know about Operation Gobi,” Pickering said.

“Sir,” Platt said uneasily, “Washington has been keeping us up-to-date on Operation Gobi.”

“That was done without my knowledge, Colonel,” Pickering said. “From this moment, no one is to hear anything more about Operation Gobi unless it comes from Colonel Banning or myself.” He turned and walked across the foyer to the toilet.

“I don't really understand this, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Platt said to Colonel Waterson.

“I'm sure the General is about to explain it all to you, Colonel,” Waterson said. “Right now, I suggest that you either clear everybody out of the bar, or find some other place where we can all talk.”

When Pickering entered the room Platt was calling the “bar,” he found Waterson, Platt, and Banning standing at a bar, but there was no liquor in sight. George Hart, seeing his boss, lifted himself out of the chair in which he had been sitting at a small table. Pickering signaled for him to keep his seat.

He looks about as tired as I feel
.

“Is there any scotch?” Pickering asked.

“No Famous Grouse, sir,” Banning said. “I guess I should have thought to bring some with me.”

“Beggars can't be choosers,” Pickering said. “I'd like a weak one, Ed, if you'd—”

“Coming right up, sir.”

“And I'd rather not drink alone,” Pickering said.

Banning went behind the bar. Hart got out of his chair and joined him. Hart found glasses and put ice in them. Banning rummaged under the bar and came up with two bottles of scotch whiskey, Cutty Sark, and a brand Pickering had never seen before. He held them up to give Pickering his choice.

“The Cutty, please, Ed,” Pickering said. “And, if there is any, a little soda.”

“There isn't any, sir. Water?”

“Please,” Pickering said.

Hart poured water from a pitcher into a glass and then carried it to Pickering.

Pickering waited until the others had drinks. “I feel that a toast is called for,” he said. “But all I can think of is somewhat obscene, so I'll have to settle for ‘your health, gentlemen.'”

Everybody took a sip.

“Jack, the first thing that comes to mind,” he said to Colonel Waterson, “is getting you back to Brisbane. Unless you go back on the B-17 that brought me here, God only knows how long it will take to get you there. So make sure that airplane doesn't leave without you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Next question, Jack, how much did you tell Colonel Platt about what brought you here?”

“Almost nothing,” Platt answered for him.

“I told Colonel Platt, sir, that I was not at liberty to discuss why I was here, other than that I carried a letter to General Stillwell.”

“I should have known that, but I had to ask,” Pickering said. “You did the right thing. And what did you tell Colonel Banning?”

“I thought the Colonel should know you were on your way here, sir. And that the relief of Generals Dempsey and Newley had been ordered. And that General Albright was also en route. I told him all of that.”

“You spoke with General Albright, Ed. How much did he tell you?”

“Not much, sir, other than that you were en route, that Generals Dempsey and Newley were out of the Special Channel loop, that he had been appointed acting signal officer of USMMCHI, and, until further orders from you, we would be taking our orders from him—we being Easterbrook, Rutterman, and me.”

“Okay,” Pickering said. “Colonel Platt, there has been a possible breach of security. I'm afraid I can't tell you more than that, except it was of such importance—
potentially
of such importance—that Generals Dempsey and Newley here have been relieved of their duties, and so have the Secretary of the JCS and the OSS's Deputy Director for Administration.”

“Jesus Christ!” Colonel Platt said.

“I hope you understand, Colonel,” Pickering said, “that the fact that you cannot be given more information about this is in no way a reflection on you. You just don't have the Need To Know.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You've said you were advised of Operation Gobi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“By the Deputy Director Administration?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was something else he shouldn't have done,” Pickering said. “Or at least shouldn't have done without my knowledge and permission.”

“Sir…”

“That wasn't your fault,” Pickering said. “And General Albright tells me you have some ideas of your own—a proposed Opplan—on how Operation Gobi should go forward?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that you sent this Opplan to Washington?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Addressed to whom?”

“The Director, sir.”

“I want to see that. I was about to say tonight, but I wouldn't know what I was reading tonight. First thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can give it to Colonel Banning tonight,” Pickering said. “I'll want his opinion. Which brings us to Colonel Banning. Colonel Banning, and the people he brought with him, work for me. They are not part of the Chungking OSS station. Having said that, I want them housed here.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask why, sir?”

“Because they are engaged in work that can't help but attract the curiosity of their fellow cryptographers. Banning knows how to say none of your goddamn business, but it's a little harder for two junior officers and a warrant officer to say that to senior officers. If they're not in the BOQ, no one can ask them questions.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Going off at a tangent. Ed. Did John Moore arrive?”

“Yes, sir. Two days after I did. It took him a long time to get here from Brisbane.”

“That's probably my fault, General,” Colonel Waterson said. “I got him a triple A air priority. I didn't think there was a rush, and I didn't want to call attention to him.”

“He's here, that's all that matters,” Pickering said, and then asked, “Where's he billeted, Ed?”

“In the company-grade BOQ, sir.”

“Among other things Moore does, Colonel Platt,” Pickering said, “he's a special kind of intelligence analyst. I can't go further into that. And I want him to do that, rather than what a headquarters company commander—who can't be told what Moore really does—thinks are appropriate duties for a second lieutenant. I want him moved in here right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The next priority is to find McCoy,” Pickering said.

There was a knock at the door.

“With a little bit of luck,” Banning said. “That will be the Killer.”

Hart went to the door and opened it. It was Second Lieutenant Robert F. Easterbrook, USMCR.

“We just got a Special Channel for you, General Pickering,” he said. “I thought I'd better get it right to you, sir.”

“How are you, Easterbrook?” Pickering said, rising from his chair and walking over to him. “I was just talking to your cousin Slats.”

“Sir?”

“Colonel Easterbrook. General Stillwell's son-in-law. Isn't he kin?”

“Not so far as I know, sir,” Easterbrook said seriously.

“What have you got for me, Bobby?” Pickering asked.

Damn, I did it again. He's a Marine officer, and you shouldn't call a Marine officer Bobby. Unless he's six feet three, weighs two hundred twenty pounds, and comes from Alabama
.

I must be tired. Of course I'm tired
.

Easterbrook opened his buttoned-to-the-collar overcoat, reached inside, and produced a manila envelope. He handed it to General Pickering, who tore the envelope open and read it.