"Granted," Taylor said.
Taylor opened the cover of the control panel and started the engine, which fascinated Miss Priestly.
Korean sailors, assisted by Marines, hauled on ropes, and three sails rose up their masts like so many Venetian blinds.
Taylor unlashed the rudder, then engaged the engine. The Wind of Good Fortune moved almost sidewards away from the pier.
"What's going on?" Jeanette asked, in her most charm-ing voice.
No one replied.
Taylor got the Wind of Good Fortune headed out to deep water, then shut down the engine.
The Wind of Good Fortune's sails filled with wind, and she began to act like a sailing vessel.
"Ah, come on, McCoy, tell me what's going on," Jeanette asked, entreatingly.
"In just a minute," McCoy said. "I've got to have a word with Major Kim first. Enjoy the sights."
He went down the ladder to the main deck and walked forward to Major Kim, who was standing midway between the stern and the forecastle. McCoy had given a lot of thought about how he was going to deal with Major Kim, and had finally decided that the old saw, "When in doubt, tell the truth," seemed to be not only the best, but really the only, solution.
When he reached Kim, the Korean national police offi-cer looked at him expectantly.
"Major, we're headed for Tokchok-kundo," McCoy said.
Kim nodded, and waited for him to go on.
"There is a strong possibility that General MacArthur will make an amphibious invasion at Inchon," McCoy said. "There are two islands in the Flying Fish Channel, now oc-cupied by the enemy, from which the ships of the invasion fleet could be brought under artillery fire-"
"Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do," Kim interrupted, nod-ding. ,
McCoy was surprised, even startled, that Kim knew of the islands.
"-and should be taken as quickly and as quietly as pos-sible," McCoy went on, hoping that his surprise had not been evident on his face or in his voice.
It apparently had been.
"Major Dunston," Kim said, sensing an explanation was in order. "When there was talk of Operation Bluehearts-"
McCoy was again surprised. This time he blurted: "You knew about Operation Bluehearts?"
Kim nodded. "When that looked possible-not likely, but possible-Major Dunston had me look into the Flying Fish Channel. We saw the danger Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do posed."
"How do you mean, `saw'?"
"I went there on a fishing boat, Captain McCoy," Kim said, "to both Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do, and looked around."
"I didn't know that," McCoy said.
What the hell, McCoy, you decided this was "when all else fails, tell the truth" time.
"If Major Dunston filed an intel report..."
"He did," Major Kim said.
"I didn't see it. I got my-more importantly, my superi-ors got their-Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do intelligence from Lieutenant Taylor. I'm positive that General Picker-ing never saw Dunston's report."
"That's curious," Kim said.
"Dunston's report was filed before General Pickering took over as CIA Assistant Director for Asia," McCoy said, thinking aloud.
"Yes," Kim agreed.
"General Pickering has ordered me to take Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do as quickly and as quietly as possible," McCoy said.
Kim nodded.
"I decided," McCoy went on, "that Major Dunston didn't have the need to know about this operation, and I didn't tell him about it. And I kept you in the dark, Major Kim, because I knew you worked for Major Dunston, and might feel duty-bound to tell him what we're up to."
Kim nodded.
"When he hears that the Wind of Good Fortune has sailed with you and your Marines and me and my men..."
"He will probably make a very good guess about what we're doing," McCoy said. "I'm sorry about that. But the fewer people who know about this operation, the lesser the chance that the North Koreans will hear about it."
Kim nodded, but said nothing.
"I had to keep the Marines in the dark, too," McCoy said.
"Sir?"
"Major, I'm a captain. I don't think you should call me `Sir'-the other way around."
"You are in command," Kim argued. "Under that cir-cumstance, I suggest we address one another as `Captain' and `Major.'"
"In front of the men," McCoy said. "Between us, I would be pleased if you call me `Ken.'"
Kim looked into McCoy's eyes for a moment.
"My given names are Pak Su. My friends call me `Su.' I would be pleased if, between us, you called me `Su.'"
He put out his hand.
One of the first things I learned in Shanghai was that when an Oriental smiles and offers you his hand, you should quickly put the other hand on your wallet.
I don't think that applies here. I think this guy is an hon-orable man, an honorable officer, who has just come on board.
"Thank you, Su," McCoy said.
"You were saying something about the Corps of Marines?" Su said.
It took McCoy a moment to remember what he had said.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "The Marine aircraft aboard our air-craft carriers are going to provide us, once a day, with aerial photographs of the islands in the Flying Fish Channel. I didn't want to run the risk of a Marine pilot being captured and knowing that we were interested in any particular island. So I didn't tell them about Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do."
"When will you get the first photographs?"
"We already have the first photographs," McCoy said, and gestured toward the stern.
"I think it would be useful if I saw them," Su said.
"I know it would be useful if you could point out to me which of the islands are Yonghung-do and Taemuui-do,"
McCoy said, and waved his hand as a signal for the South Korean officer to follow him to the stern.
Jeanette Priestly was waiting for McCoy at the head of the ladder.
"Now?" she asked.
"In just a minute," McCoy said.
Visibly annoyed, she followed him as he went to his musette bag and took from it the envelope of photographs flown to Pusan on the Sicily's COD Avenger.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Lieutenant Taylor was going to turn the captain's cabin over to you," McCoy said. "I've just decided we need it more than you do."
"What am I going to need a cabin for?"
"Because it will be four-maybe five-days before we get back to Pusan," McCoy said.
"What?" she asked, incredulously.
"Captain," McCoy said to Taylor, "I suggest we turn your cabin into the operations room, and give Miss Priestly one of the other cabins."
"Permission granted," Taylor said, smiling.
"If you think I'm going to spend the night on this thing..."
"You're a pretty good swimmer, are you?" McCoy asked, and waved his hand at the now far-off shore.
Zimmerman chuckled. Jeanette glared at him.
"Ernie, take Major Kim to the captain's cabin and have him explain these photographs to you," McCoy ordered.
"Aye, aye, sir," Zimmerman said.
McCoy turned to Jeanette.
"Okay," he said. "Now's now. Would you rather talk here, or in your cabin?"
"What you're going to do, McCoy, is tell this man to turn this thing around and let me off of it."
"No, what I'm going to do now is go down and have a look at your cabin. If you want to come there to talk, fine. If you don't, enjoy the view."
Zimmerman chuckled again, and Jeanette glared at him again.
McCoy reached into his musette bag again and came out with a bottle of Famous Grouse wrapped in a clean T-shirt.
"What's that for?" Jeanette asked.
"It's 1700," McCoy said. "The cocktail hour. Once a day on this voyage, we get one drink. I'm going to have mine now. You can have yours now, or you can stay up here and enjoy the view."
Carrying the bottle, he went down the interior ladder and walked into the smallest of the three cabi
ns.
A minute later, Jeanette walked into it after him.
He stepped around her and closed the door. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
"Zimmerman-no, Sergeant Jennings-got some air mattresses from the Army," McCoy said. "This shouldn't be too uncomfortable."
She looked at him with mixed incredulity and anger.
He handed her the bottle of Famous Grouse.
"I don't want a goddamn drink, goddamn you!"
"You may need one," McCoy said. "Pick's been shot down, behind North Korean lines, near Taegu. We don't know whether he's still alive."
She looked at him for a long moment, then reached for the whiskey. She unscrewed the cap, took a pull, and handed it back to him.
"What happened?" she asked, levelly.
"He was shooting up locomotives. Best guess is he got hit by either antiaircraft or by pieces of the locomotive. Colonel Dunn flew over the site right afterward. It was on fire, but the cockpit was empty. We think he was probably in one piece when he put it down."
"And is now a prisoner?" she asked calmly.
"The odds are... ," McCoy began, and stopped when she took the whiskey bottle from his hand again. He didn't say anything when she took another pull and handed the bottle back again.
"That's my drink for tomorrow, Okay?" she said. "You were saying?"
"The odds are that the North Koreans would like to have a Marine aviator, a major, to interrogate."
"Especially if they knew his father was the CIA guy for Asia," she agreed.
"We don't think they know that," McCoy said. "And ob-viously, I could not permit you to write a story telling them."
"What are you going to do, keep me a prisoner until the end of the war?"
He didn't reply.
"Goddamn you, McCoy," she went on. "All you had to do was tell me."
"I couldn't take that chance," he said.
"And what is this, some kind of rescue operation?"
"There are two islands in the Flying Fish Channel lead-ing to Inchon from which the North Koreans could bring artillery fire to bear on the invasion fleet headed for In-chon. What we're going to try to do is take them now, very quietly, using South Korean national police, in such a way that they won't guess it's a prelude to an amphibious inva-sion."
She took a moment to consider that.
"That would be a good story," Jeanette said. "And, under these circumstances, it would be an exclusive, wouldn't it?"
He nodded.
"Not as good a story-not one that would get as much front-page play as `CIA Chief's Marine Hero Son Shot Down in Korea,' of course-but a pretty good little story."
McCoy didn't reply.
"But, obviously, I couldn't write about Pick, could I?"
"Why `obviously'?"
"You dumb sonofabitch, you don't understand, do you?"
"Understand what?"
"I'm in love with the sonofabitch!"
After a moment, McCoy asked: "When did that hap-pen?"
"It probably happened in the hotel, the night I met him," she said. "Or maybe when he came back from that first sor-tie, kissed me, and I practically dragged him to bed."
"I didn't know," McCoy said. "I'm sorry."
"But I didn't know until just now," she said. "When you told me."
McCoy said nothing.
"Oh, Jesus, McCoy!" she said.
He reached out to touch her shoulder. He felt her shud-der, and the next thing either of them knew, she was sob-bing shamelessly in his arms, and he was patting her comfortingly.
Chapter Fifteen
[ONE]
ABOARD WIND OF GOOD FORTUNE
34 DEGREES 18 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,
126 DEGREES 30 MINUTES EAST
LONGITUDE
THE YELLOW SEA
0445 6 AUGUST 1950
They had not wanted to attract attention to themselves by leaving Pusan Harbor under power-McCoy guessed there were probably a hundred North Korean agents in Pusan-so they had sailed out into deep water. Once out of sight of Pusan, they'd lowered the sails, started the diesel, and "steamed"-Lieutenant Taylor's term-as fast as Taylor thought prudent, through the night.
McCoy volunteered to relieve Taylor at the tiller for however long he wanted, but Taylor said he'd catch up on his sleep when they reached Tokchok-kundo, and sug-gested that McCoy get as much sleep as he could.
When wakened by the first light that came through the small window-he couldn't think of it as a port, since it was wooden, thin-glassed, and even had a small curtain- McCoy went to the bridge and found both Zimmerman and Jeanette Priestly were already there.
A shoreline was just visible to starboard. He guessed the distance to be four miles. He thought he could smell bacon frying.
"Well, Captain Kidd has finally woken," Jeanette greeted him.
"I prefer to think of myself as Jean Lafitte," McCoy replied. "He was one of the good pirates, we won that war, and he was pardoned for his crimes, and lived happily ever after. They hung Captain Kidd."
Taylor chuckled.
"Is that bacon I smell?" McCoy asked. "And who do you have to know to get coffee?"
"Me," Zimmerman said, and pointed to the deck where an olive-drab Thermos chest on which was stenciled d co. 24TH inf was lashed to the railing.
McCoy went to it and opened it. It held two canteens, presumably full of coffee, and a stack of aluminum can-teen cups. He helped himself, then offered the canteen cup to Taylor, who nodded and smiled.
"Breakfast will be served shortly," Zimmerman said. "Bacon-and-egg sandwiches."
"All the comforts of home," McCoy said. "What else could anyone ask for?"
"A flush toilet would be nice," Jeanette said.
"Where are we?" McCoy asked, handing Taylor the cof-fee.
"Well, if we are where I hope we are, we made it through the Cheju Strait, and are now in the Yellow Sea, heading north, and it's decision time."
"Let me get myself a cup of coffee before I start making decisions," McCoy said, and went back to the Thermos chest. Then he went and stood by Taylor.
"I meant it, you know, when I said you were the cap-tain," McCoy said.
Taylor didn't reply directly.
"It's getting light," he said. "I don't know if we're going to meet anybody out here-and there would be less chance we would if we went another couple of miles offshore- but if we did meet somebody, using the diesel, questions would be asked. Our speed will be cut in half if we raise the sails. Decision time."
"We have to get to Tokchok-kundo as soon as we can," McCoy thought aloud. "Operative words: `have to get to' and `as soon as we can.' The options conflict."
"Your decision, McCoy."
"I think `as soon as we can' justifies a certain risk."
"In other words, keep the diesel running?"
"If we run into a navy vessel, ours, British, or South Ko-rean," McCoy said, "they'd probably fire a shot across our bow and stop us. We could talk our way out of that."
"All these waters are closed to all but local fishermen," Taylor said. "If we get spotted by a reconnaissance air-plane, all they're going to see is a junk under power. Local fishermen don't have powered junks. If I were a pilot, I'd think North Koreans."
"Why?"
"Because I would have been told if a friendly vessel was going to be in the area."
"Well, let's hope if we get spotted by one of our guys, he'll make a low and slow pass before blowing us out of the water. I don't see how we can justify moving at six knots when we can make twelve."
"What about her?" Taylor asked.
"She's a war correspondent, right? They get in the line of fire."
"I like her," Taylor said. "As a person, I mean."
"Yeah, me too," McCoy said, without thinking.
I'll be damned. I mean that.
McCoy saw that Taylor, with an effort, was making a major course change with the tiller, heading away from the coastline.
Ten minutes later, the Wind of Good For
tune made an-other course correction, and McCoy saw they were now headed north. He looked at the landmass.
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 53
