“I must confess, sir, that’s pretty close to the truth,” Pickering said.
“Then that Navy Cross on your chest is part of—what shall I say?—your disguise? The Navy Cross and the Purple Heart with how many clusters?”
“I am wearing no decoration to which I am not entitled,” Pickering said.
Pickering’s quietly cold—even angry—tone of voice penetrated Stillwell’s contemptuous rage.
“That’s your Navy Cross?” he asked dubiously.
“Yes, sir.”
“The Navy Cross isn’t passed out with the rations,” Stillwell said. “Where’d you get it?”
“In France, sir. At Château-Thierry.”
“And you were wounded four times in France?”
“Three times in France, sir. Once in this war.”
“Where in this war?”
“I was aboard a destroyer, sir, between Guadalcanal and Espíritu Santo. We were hit by a Japanese bomber.”
“You were on Guadalcanal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Doing what?”
“I was filling in as G-2 of the First Marine Division, sir. Until a replacement could be sent in to replace the G-2 who was killed in action.”
“And the Silver Star? Where’d you get that?”
“Aboard the destroyer.”
“Why?”
“I assumed command when her captain was killed, sir. We got the Jap who bombed us.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Stillwell said. He put what he thought of as two and two together. “You didn’t happen to be wounded when you took command?”
“Yes, sir, I’d been hit.”
“Where did you learn to command a destroyer?”
“I’m a master mariner, sir. That’s what I did before I came back in the Corps.”
“That adds up to two things, General,” Stillwell said. “First, that I owe you an apology for thinking what I did.”
“No apology is necessary, sir.”
“And also, as someone used to exercising command, that you should understand how I felt when General Marshall ordered me to place in arrest-to-quarters two general officers in whose professional ability and character I have great confidence. One of whom has been a friend for years.”
“I’m sure it was distasteful sir,” Pickering said.
“I’m a soldier. I comply with whatever orders I am given. Even orders I consider grossly unjust and stupid. But I don’t have to pretend I like it, and I won’t.”
“The decision to relieve Generals Dempsey and Newley, sir, was made by the chief of staff to the President. I had nothing to do with it, sir, but I must tell you frankly that I wholly agree with it.”
“You don’t really think, do you, General, that the Japanese are unaware we’re reading their messages?”
“I can only hope they are,” Pickering said.
“There is really no such thing as a military secret. You should know that.”
“I respectfully beg to disagree, sir. MAGIC, SO far as anyone knows, has never been compromised.”
“Until General Dempsey compromised it, you mean?”
“We have no reason, at this point, to know if it was compromised by General Dempsey or not, sir.”
“Then why was I ordered to place him and his deputy—another fine officer—in arrest-to-quarters?”
“I have an opinion, sir. That’s all.”
“All right, in your opinion.”
“He was tainted by those who did act in a manner that made compromise a real possibility. He learned about it, and he should not have. I think it’s entirely possible that Admiral Leahy, or General Marshall, wanted to make an example of him. And of General Newley.”
“Pour l’encouragement de les autres?” Stillwell quoted sarcastically.
“Oui, mon général,” Pickering replied.
“You take my meaning? You remember in France, in the First War, when certain regiments mutinied, the French shot every tenth man in those regiments, innocent men, to ‘encourage the others’?”
“Yes, sir. I know that happened.”
“Would something like that have ‘encouraged’ you, Pickering?”
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.
XX
[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 s
aid.
“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.
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