W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines

by Behind The Lines(Lit)

Banning nodded, and went on:

  "-to make contact with Fertig. When that's done, Fertig will contact the submarine, which will be lying off shore, with a new code McCoy will have (who'll also have a new crypto device, of course); and he can set up a place where the supplies and gold can be off-loaded from the sub. How they'll get out, and when, is still up in the air." Haughton nodded. "Maybe these OSS people will have some ideas," Banning said. "We get them tomorrow?"

  "First thing tomorrow morning."

  "There may be some trouble getting them over there," Rickabee said. "We laid on only one AAAAA priority, for Sessions. Now we'll need three."

  "If you have any trouble, let me know."

  "I will," Rickabee said.

  "Who are these people? Have you got names?" Banning asked.

  "Yes, I do," Haughton said. He dug in his pocket and came up with the three-by-five card Colonel Donovan had given Secretary Knox, and which Knox had passed on to him.

  "Brownlee, Major James C. III," he read, "and Macklin, Captain Rob-ert B."

  "What was that second name?" Banning asked, incredulously.

  "Macklin, Captain Robert B."

  "I don't believe this," Banning said.

  "You know him?"

  "If it's the same guy-and I don't think there's that many Marine officers around named Macklin-yeah, I know him," Banning said. "I sent him home from China with an efficiency report, endorsed by Chesty Puller, that should have seen the sonofabitch kicked out of The Corps."

  "Tell me about him," Rickabee said coldly.

  Banning delivered a sixty-second precis of the multiple character flaws of Captain Robert B. Macklin, USMC. "I wonder what moron promoted the sonofabitch," he observed bitterly when he was finished.

  Rickabee looked thoughtful for a moment.

  "Captain Haughton," he said formally, "if it is determined that the officer in question is indeed the one with whom Major Banning is familiar, it will be necessary to inform Colonel Donovan that he is unacceptable to us."

  "Christ, Fritz, I don't know," Haughton said.

  "If he is the officer with whom Major Banning is familiar," Rickabee re-peated, "he is unacceptable to us." Haughton shrugged.

  "How do we find out?"

  "Presumably, Banning will recognize him when he reports for duty," Rickabee said.

  Chapter Ten

  [ONE]

  USMC Office of Management Analysis

  Temporary Building T-2032

  The Mall, Washington, D.C.

  1105 Hours 18 November 1942

  Captain David L. Haughton, USN, walked into the office of Colonel F. L. Rickabee, USMC, and handed him a square envelope.

  "Sorry, Fritz," he said.

  Rickabee opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper it contained.

  THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  18 November 1942

  Colonel P. L. Rickabee, USMC

  USMC Office of Management Analysis

  Commandant, United States Marine Corps

  Washington

  By Hand

  Dear Colonel Rickabee:

  Inasmuch as I have been led to believe that assignment of officer personnel within the Naval Service is my responsibility, I was somewhat surprised to hear from Captain Haughton that you feel that one of the officers being seconded to you from the Office of Strategic Services is "unacceptable."

  You are directed to carry out the operation in question with the personnel assigned to it by me.

  No further discussion of this issue is desired.

  Sincerely,

  Frank Knox

  Secretary of the Navy

  Rickabee looked up at Haughton but didn't speak.

  "Out of school, Fritz," Haughton said, "he went right through the roof."

  "He doesn't want to risk a confrontation with Donovan," Rickabee said. "Donovan might go to the President, accuse Knox of going back on a deal, and Knox might lose. That's what this is all about."

  Captain Haughton did not think it would be proper for him to reply, even though he'd had the same thought when he witnessed Knox's surprisingly angry-and highly unusual-response to Rickabee's request.

  "Well, I can always arrange to have the sonofabitch run over by a truck," Rickabee said.

  "Don't say something like that, even as a joke," Haughton said.

  Rickabee nodded but didn't reply.

  Captain Haughton felt a sudden chill.

  "For God's sake, Fritz, I hope you were joking."

  Rickabee's eyes, cold and expressionless, met Haughton's.

  "When Major Brownlee and Captain Macklin reported to me this morn-ing," he said, "I informed them only of what they had Need To Know at this time. Specifically, that tentative arrangements have been made to fly them, this afternoon, to Pearl Harbor, for further transportation to an unspecified location somewhere in the Pacific."

  Haughton nodded.

  "Captain Macklin assured me that while he was of course willing to go wherever ordered, he nevertheless felt obliged to inform me that not only had he not completed the training course offered by the OSS, but that he had not yet fully recovered from the wounds he suffered at Gavutu."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "You will see, won't you, Colonel-personally, I mean-that Captain Macklin makes it safely to the airport?"

  "Unfortunately, David, I am one of those people who obeys his orders."

  [TWO]

  Supreme Headquarters

  South West Pacific Ocean Area

  Brisbane, Australia

  1405 Hours 18 November 1942

  Brigadier General Fleming S. Pickering, trailed by Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, passed through the two MP-manned security posts barring entrance to the Cryptographic Facility of Supreme Headquarters, SWPOA, and then walked down an inside corridor to an unmarked steel door leading to the Spe-cial Section.

  Hart snatched a.38 Colt snub-nosed revolver from under his tunic and rapped three times with the butt on the door. A lighter knock on the thick steel door-with the knuckles, or even with a Zippo lighter or keys or something else metallic-could not be heard inside; it was necessary to make the door ring like a drum.

  In a moment, a three-by-five-inch panel in the door screeched open.

  "It's me, Pluto," Pickering said.

  The panel screeched shut, there was the sound of metal bars sliding out of place, and then the door creaked open. Pickering and Hart entered the small room.

  "I didn't expect you, Sir," Major Hon said, pulling his tie into place. He was also wearing a.45 automatic in a shoulder holster. Pickering looked past him. On a table was an open briefcase, to which was attached a chain and half of a set of handcuffs.

  "Going somewhere, Pluto?" Pickering asked.

  "To see you, Sir," Pluto said, as he closed the steel door behind Pickering and slid the bars back in place.

  Pickering waited.

  Pluto went to the briefcase and came out with a business-size envelope. He handed it to Pickering.

  "That just came in," he said. "I thought you'd want to see it right away."

  Pickering tore open the envelope. His lips tightened.

  "Somehow, I didn't think you were going to like that," Pluto said.

  "Anyone else seen this?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Nobody but you, Hart, and me does, OK, Pluto?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  Pickering handed Hart Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox's Special Chan-nel Personal announcing that Colonel Wild Bill Donovan of the OSS-with Knox's blessing-was sending two OSS agents to participate in the Fertig Op-eration.

  Pickering's first reaction-which he immediately recognized as such- was fury.

  "Goddamn Franklin Roosevelt," he said, and was immediately sorry. Not for the thought, but for the emotional outburst.

  The one thing I cannot afford to do here is lose my temper.

  Pluto and Hart looked at him in surprise.

  "Am I missing
something here?" Hart asked. "Or is that one of the ques-tions I'm not supposed to ask?"

  Pickering smiled. "I suppose this will come as a shock to you, as a devout Democrat, George, but our beloved Commander-in-Chief makes Machiavelli seem innocent as Francis of Assisi."

  "I never said I was a Democrat," Hart said. "And I still don't under-stand."

  "There are a number-by God, this is Machiavellian!-of factors at play here, George. In theory, President Roosevelt is the Commander-in-Chief, and MacArthur, like every other officer in a uniform, is supposed to obey without question any order received. Roosevelt wants the OSS to start operating in SWPOA. MacArthur wants nothing to do with the OSS. On the surface, the simple solution would be to simply issue the order. That is not going to happen. Why?" he asked rhetorically. "Because Roosevelt has decided that issuing the order would not be in his best interests. Why? Because MacArthur-having made his feelings about the OSS known, through me-is very likely to disobey that order."

  "Can he get away with that?" Pluto asked, not sounding very surprised.

  "Oh, yes. In two ways. Maybe three. For one thing, he could simply ig-nore the order. In effect, he's already done that. The way it's supposed to work is that when the desires of the Commander-in-Chief are made known, every-body is supposed to jump through a hoop to see the desires satisfied. MacAr-thur has not yet found time in his busy schedule to even talk to Donovan's people. That's why I was sent over here this time, to sell Donovan's people to him."

  "What's El Supremo got against the OSS?" Hart asked.

  "El Supremo doesn't want anything going on in his ballpark that he can't control; and he thinks-probably correctly-that he will not be able to control the OSS because Bill Donovan has the President's ear. This is the proof of that, come to think of it," Pickering said, waving Knox's Special Channel Personal in his hand.

  Hart looked confused.

  I have no business explaining this to them, Pickering thought. But on the other hand, Roosevelt and Knox had no right putting me in the middle of their chicanery.

  Another seed of thought appeared in the back of his mind, quickly sprouted, blossomed, and then gave fruit.

  Of course, that's what this is all about! Or at least has a hell of a lot to do with it! Roosevelt is one of those people who believe that "If you're not with me, you're against me" nonsense. If I quietly go along with this business, which would mean not telling MacArthur, deceiving MacArthur, then I will have chosen sides, joined Roosevelt's team. His political team, not his military team. When he ordered me over here to try to sell MacArthur on the OSS, as a serving officer, I had no choice but to obey my orders, even though I thought that Donovan's OSS will probably be more trouble here than they're worth, and that Bill Donovan personally is an arrogant, goddamned Democrat New York lawyer and New Dealer.

  And Christ knows I tried to sell Donovan's people to El Supremo.

  I went to work for Knox to be his eyes and ears over here. While I really think I could be of more use to this war running a shipping operation- God knows I could do a better job of that than three-quarters of those chair-warming admirals in Pearl Harbor-there was a certain value to that. I think I've done some good.

  But I did not sign on to be a political errand boy for Knox. Or for Roose-velt. And that's what they're asking me to become.

  I'll be damned if I'll go along.

  He became aware that both Pluto and Hart were waiting for him to go on.

  "When in doubt, Pluto," Pickering said, "tell the truth. Write that on the palm of your hand so you don't forget it."

  "Sir?"

  "Let me at that phone, George," Pickering said. He squeezed past Hart, picked up a red telephone, and dialed a number.

  "Fleming Pickering, Sid," he said into it-telling Pluto and Hart that he had dialed MacArthur's personal number and that Lieutenant Colonel Sidney L. Huff, MacArthur's aide-de-camp, had picked up the telephone-"I would like a few minutes of the Supreme Commander's time at his earliest convenience."

  There was a pause.

  "No, Sid, squeezing me in for a minute or two at nineteen thirty will not be satisfactory."

  There was another pause.

  "I'll tell you what you can do, Colonel," Pickering said, his voice icy. "You can speak to the Supreme Commander, relay my request to him, and then relay his reply to me."

  There was another pause, a longer one.

  "Thank you very much, Colonel," Pickering said. "Please inform the Su-preme Commander that I'm on my way up."

  Hart started to slide the metal bars out of place.

  "You wait for me here, George," Pickering said. "Aides-de-camp are not invited to this tˆte-…-tˆte."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "Fleming, my dear fellow," General Douglas Mac Arthur, Supreme Com-mander, SWPOA, said, smiling and waving his hand in a come in gesture. "Come in, curiosity overwhelms me. Sid said this was an emergency of some kind?"

  MacArthur was dressed in his customary washed-soft khakis.

  "No, Sir. I said nothing about an emergency. What I told Colonel Huff was that I would be grateful if you could find time for me before half past seven."

  "I can always make time for you, Fleming. Sid should have known that," MacArthur said. "Sid, you may leave us."

  Huff looked as if he had just been kicked.

  Did El Supremo sense that I didn't want Huff to hear what I have to say? Or did he do that to humiliate him and thus placate me? He's just as Machia-vellian as Roosevelt, and I better not forget that.

  MacArthur waved Pickering into a chair and looked at him expectantly.

  Pickering handed him Knox's Special Channel Personal and then sat down.

  MacArthur picked up a long, thin, black cigar from an ashtray and puffed on it as he read the message twice. Then he met Pickering's eyes.

  "I appreciate your loyalty in showing me this, Fleming."

  "General, with all the respect I can muster, loyalty was not my motive."

  "Indeed?"

  "I did not want you to believe I had any part in this."

  "I would have known that without your telling me," MacArthur said. "Whatever terrible things may be said about you around here, no one I know has ever accused you of being devious."

  Pickering found himself smiling.

  "Among the things that are said about you around here is that you are mounting a supply mission to Lieutenant Colonel Fertig on Mindanao," MacArthur said. "I've been wondering when you were going to discuss this with me."

  "More of a reconnaissance mission, Sir," Pickering said. "To see what's really going on with him."

  "General Willoughby believes Fertig suffers from delusions of gran-deur."

  "Yes, Sir, he's made that clear to me."

  "I had plans, you know, Fleming, to conduct extensive guerrilla opera-tions against the Japanese-using the materiel and personnel available to Gen-eral Sharp's Mindanao Force."

  "No, Sir, I did not."

  "That, and good deal else, went down the toilet when the chain of com-mand became confused. You know what I'm speaking of, of course."

  "No, Sir. Not exactly."

  "When I was ordered to leave Corregidor by the President, it was my un-derstanding that I was simply moving my flag, not relinquishing my command and its concomitant responsibilities. I conferred with General Sharp on Min-danao-at the Dole Plantation, incidentally, do you know it?"

  "Yes, Sir. I was a guest there many times before the war."

  "Lovely place. It pains me to think of Japanese boots treading on the verandah of the main house... but I digress. I spoke with General Sharp at some length while waiting for the airplane. My orders to him were to hold on, that immediately on my arrival here, I would institute a resupply operation for the Mindanao Force; and, looking to the worst case-if it appeared to him that further organized resistance was not possible-to make provisions, select per-sonnel, and cache supplies and materiel for irregular operations."

  "I wasn't aware of that, Sir."

  "Oh,
yes," MacArthur said. "But the moment that B-17 broke ground at the Dole Plantation airstrip to bring me here, General Marshall began to com-municate directly with General Wainwright on Corregidor. General Wainwright naturally assumed the chain of command had been changed, that I had been taken out of it, and that he henceforth would be getting his orders from Washington. Nothing about that was said to me, then or now."