In Danger's Path (66 page)

“Aye, aye, sir,” Technical Sergeant Kranz barked. “Prisoner, one step backward, h-arch.” Lieutenant Pickering took one step backward. “About-FACE! Forward, h-arch.”

Preceded by one Marine Shore Patrolman and trailed by Technical Sergeant Krantz, Lieutenant Pickering marched out of Admiral Ball's office.

Admiral Ball waited until the door was closed before looking at his aide. “God, Marines!” he said. “They're never anything but trouble. If we didn't need them to fight wars, there would be a bounty on them!”

“Yes, sir,” his aide said.

“Call flight scheduling,” Admiral Ball ordered. “Lay on a PBY-5A, and the best IP on the base for 0730 tomorrow. Tell him I want Pickering qualified in the PBY5-A as fast as possible—I don't care if they fly ten hours a day—and to give me daily reports on his progress. And then send a TWX to General McInerney's office telling him I think, repeat think, I will have a PBY-5A volunteer for him in a week.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Admiral Ball then reached for his telephone and dialed a number. He worked his way through the switchboard of the Planter's Bank & Trust Company of Memphis, and then a secretary, and finally got Braxton V. Lipscomb on the phone.

“Brax, Jesse. That little problem we had? Romeo and Juliet? It's fixed. No further problem, Brax.”

[THREE]
Naval Air Transport Command
U.S. Naval Base
Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Territory of Hawaii
1715 2 April 1943

Major Jake Dillon, USMCR, leaned against the fender of a 1941 Ford station wagon, with the logo of Pacific & Far East Shipping painted on its doors, and watched as the huge four-engine NATC Coronado with Brigadier General Fleming Pickering aboard splashed down at Pearl Harbor. Parked beside the Ford were a General Motors two-and-a-half-ton canvas-bodied truck and the Plymouth staff car assigned to Rear Admiral Daniel J. Wagam, USN, of the CINCPAC staff. A detail of white hats had sought shelter from the brass hats by stationing themselves at the rear of the truck.

Admiral Wagam was in the backseat of his Plymouth, using his briefcase as a desk. His aide, Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, was leaning on the Plymouth's fender.

When the Coronado was safely down, Lewis went to the rear window of the Plymouth and told Admiral Wagam, who nodded, glanced out the window, and returned his attention to his paperwork. He knew it would be a good five minutes before the passengers could be ferried ashore, and five minutes was precious.

Wagam had come to the terminal to see if he could hasten Pickering, whose time was also valuable, and the cargo—which he knew Pickering would insist on seeing through the bureaucratic process—through de-embarkation.

As the first of the barges sent to off-load the Coronado's passengers and cargo reached the wharf, a black 1939 Cadillac pulled in beside the Ford and stopped.

Admiral Wagam saw it out of the corner of his eye and recognized it. It was the staff car assigned to Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, CINCPAC. Wagam hurriedly stuffed his papers into his briefcase and got out of the car.

Nimitz was not in his car. Captain Kurt Groscher heaved himself out of the backseat. In Wagam's view, Groscher was the brightest of the intelligence officers on the CINCPAC staff.

When he saw Wagam, he saluted.

“What brings you here, Groscher?” Wagam asked, as he returned the salute.

“The Boss wants to see General Pickering,” Groscher said.

“Am I allowed to ask about what?”

“You're allowed to
ask
, Admiral,” Groscher said with a smile.

“Okay, fellas, let's go,” Lieutenant Lewis said to the work detail, and led them toward the pier.

Major Jake Dillon walked up to Admiral Wagam and Captain Groscher and saluted.

“Do you know Major Dillon, Captain?” Admiral Wagam asked.

“Only by reputation,” Groscher said. “How's the refueling project going?”

Dillon didn't reply.

“Captain Groscher, Major,” Admiral Wagam said, “not only knows everything about everything but, more important, is considered to have the Need To Know everything about everything.”

Dillon shrugged. “We're just about finished installing some auxiliary fuel tanks in one of the Catalinas,” he said. “We'll test that. Them. If that works, we'll put tanks in the other one.”

“And if it doesn't?” Groscher asked.

“We'll try something else,” Dillon said.

“I don't have to tell you the Boss is personally interested in this project,” Groscher said. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, sir,” Dillon said.

“There he is,” Wagam said, as Brigadier General Pickering and Lieutenant Hart came onto the wharf. The three walked toward them. Salutes were exchanged.

“I trust the General is pleased with the reception he is being given?” Dillon said jokingly.

“Actually, Jake, I'm a little disappointed. When I left Memphis—I stopped in to see Pick—there were troops lined up and a band playing ‘The Marines' Hymn.'”

“Really?”

“Mac McInerney flew me up there,” Pickering said, more to Wagam than Dillon. “The base commander turned out to be an old pal of his.”

“Jesse Ball,” Wagam said.

“Right. We wetted down Mac's new stars together.”

“I'm surprised you could get on an airplane after a night with those two,” Wagam said.

“Admiral Nimitz's compliments, General,” Captain Groscher said. “The Admiral would be pleased if you could see him at your earliest convenience.”

Pickering looked at Wagam.

“I'll handle things here, Fleming,” Wagam said. “The Admiral does not like to be kept waiting.”

“I don't want that equipment to disappear somewhere,” Pickering said.

“Where do you want it? Ewa?”

“That would mean we'd have to bring it back here when we need it,” Pickering said. “But on the other hand, it probably wouldn't disappear at Ewa.”

“It will be at Ewa, under guard, in an hour or so.”

“Let's go, Captain,” Pickering said, then called to Lieutenant Hart. “George, go with the equipment to Ewa. Find Lieutenant Colonel Dawkins, and tell him I would regard it as a personal favor if he put this stuff somewhere safe, and under guard. Then I'll see you—and you, too, Jake—at Muku-Muku.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hart said.

Pickering got into the Cadillac.

The car had barely started to move when Captain Groscher reached into the interior pocket of his tunic and handed Pickering a sealed—but not addressed or otherwise marked—envelope.

“I thought it would be better if you were familiar with these before you saw the Admiral,” Groscher said. “The one from Marshall came in two days ago; the one from Donovan this morning.”

Pickering tore open the envelope and took off two sheets of paper and read them.

Pickering read both messages twice and then handed them back to Captain Groscher. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then met Groscher's eyes. “Banning works for me—” he began.

“I know him,” Groscher said. Pickering understood that he had been interrupted in order to save time; an explanation of who Banning was and what he did would not be necessary.

“When he got to Chungking with the
MAGIC
devices the President had sent to China, these two signal officers—and God only knows who else—knew all about it.”

“Who told them?” Groscher asked coldly.

“The Secretary of the JCS and the Deputy Director for Administration of the OSS,” Pickering said.

“My God!”

“Yeah,” Pickering agreed.

“What happened to them?” Groscher asked. “Admiral Nimitz will want to know.”

“The OSS fellow was sent to St. Elizabeth's,” Pickering said. “I don't know what's happened to General Adamson.”

“Adamson, Charles M.?” Groscher asked. “Major General?”

Pickering nodded.

“They should have been shot,” Groscher said.

Pickering looked at him in surprise and realized Groscher was perfectly serious.

“Any explanation why they did what they did?” Groscher asked when Pickering didn't reply.

“None that made any sense to me,” Pickering said.

“I know Albright,” Groscher said. “I went to Washington when we were going to get
MAGIC
devices here. He checked me out on them. Good man. He should have been a general long before this.”

“I like him,” Pickering agreed.

He looked out the window and saw they were pulling up before the two-story white masonry building that housed the Commander in Chief, Pacific, and his senior staff.