"He's one of the cave-dwellers, Colonel."
"I beg pardon?"
"Classified documents and cryptography are two floors underground. They call the people who work down there in the dark 'cave-dwellers.'"
"I see."
"I think I heard someone say that that sergeant is a Japanese-language linguist."
"I see," Dailey said. He was about to ask how come a sergeant had a staff car when the obvious answer came to him. It belonged to a Marine officer of appropriate rank. He wished they'd gotten into that in the briefings. He would have liked to know if he was junior to or senior to the other Marine officer. Or officers.
The elevator took them to the eighth floor.
Brigadier General Charles Willoughby greeted Dailey cordially, offered him coffee, quite unnecessarily apologized for not having met him personally at the airport, and asked if he found his quarters satisfactory.
And he asked an odd question:
"Does the phrase MAGIC mean anything to you, Colonel?"
"No, Sir. I can't say that it does."
"It's of no importance," Willoughby said.
Dailey was no fool. He knew that General Willoughby had not asked him about MAGIC, whatever the hell that was, because it was "of no importance," but very probably because it was important, and he expected Dailey to know what it was.
I wonder what the hell MAGIC is, and why haven't I been told about it?
At 1643, they were in General Douglas MacArthur's outer office. General Willoughby introduced Dailey to Lieutenant Colonel Sidney Huff, MacArthur's aide-de-camp. Dailey was reminded again what august company he was now keeping. A lieutenant colonel for an aide-de-camp!
At 1645 exactly, Colonel Huff formally announced, "The Supreme Commander will see you now, gentlemen."
General Douglas MacArthur looked exactly like the picture of him that had been on the cover of Life magazine. When he rose from behind his huge, mahogany desk, he was wearing a khaki shirt open at the neck and pleated khaki trousers. The famous, battered, heavily gold embroidered cap was sitting in MacArthur's IN basket. Dailey looked for but did not see MacArthur's famous corncob pipe.
"General, may I present Lieutenant Colonel Dailey? Colonel, the Supreme Commander."
Dailey remembered that it was the Army's odd custom to salute indoors, and did so. MacArthur returned it with a vague gesture toward his forehead and then offered that hand to Dailey.
"We are very pleased to have you here, Colonel," he said.
"I am honored to be here, Sir."
"To clear the air between us, Colonel..." MacArthur said, interrupting himself to say, "Please, be seated. There's coffee of course, but it's nearly seventeen hundred-what is it you sailors say? Time to sink the main brace?-and at that hour I always like a little pick-me-up."
"Thank you, Sir."
"There is no naval officer for whom I have higher professional or personal regard than Admiral Chester Nimitz," MacArthur said, coming very quickly to the reason why Dailey was there. "I regard him as a brother."
"Yes, Sir."
"There has been some unfortunate talk of friction between us. That's absolute rot. We have had some frank interchanges of thought, where we both approached problems from our different perspectives. Which is as it should be. We have resolved our differences without an iota of rancor. Isn't that so, Willoughby?"
"Absolutely, General."
"I don't know how that sort of thing gets started," MacArthur said. "All I know is that it does, and that it's circulated so quickly that the Signal Corps should find out how and adapt the technique for themselves."
Dailey understood in a moment that the Genera] had been witty, and he was expected to at least chuckle and smile. He did so.
"General Willoughby's got you settled all right, I presume. Decent quarters, a car, that sort of thing? Is there anything I can do to make Admiral Nimitz's representative here feel more welcome than General Willoughby has?''
"My quarters are fine, Sir. General Willoughby has been most gracious."
"No car, General," Willoughby said. "I didn't think about that."
"Sid, get on the phone and tell the headquarters commandant to arrange for a car for Colonel Bailey..."
"It's 'Dailey,' General," General Willoughby said.
"Dailey then," MacArthur said, his tone making it clear that he did not like to be either interrupted or corrected. "Effective immediately."
"Yes, Sir," Huff said, and started to leave the room.
"Sid," MacArthur called after him, "Tell Sergeant Gomez that I have just decreed that it is seventeen hundred. He has his orders to be executed at that hour."
A moment later, a stocky Filipino Master Sergeant rolled in a tray loaded with liquor bottles, glasses, and a silver bowl full of ice.
Five minutes or so later, one of the four telephones on MacArthur's desk rang.
Huff grabbed it on the second ring.
"Office of the Supreme Commander, Colonel Huff."
He listened, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand.
"General, it's Lieutenant Hon. He has two MAGICS."
There's that word MAGIC again. And it's obviously important, or they wouldn't be telling General MacArthur about it. Them. He said MAGICS: Plural. What the hell does it mean?
"Ask him to bring them up," MacArthur ordered. "Tell him General Willoughby is here."
Huff nodded.
"Come up, Hon. General Willoughby is here."
MacArthur looked at Dailey.
"Take your time, Bailey. Finish your drink. But when Pluto-Lieutenant Hon. Unusual fellow. He has a PhD in Mathematics from MIT; splendid bridge player-gets here, I'll have to ask you to excuse me."