Either he's stupid, which I doubt. Or he didn't hear me, which is unlikely. Or he is simply unable to comprehend what I said. It's like being told that someone you know has just had lunch with Saint Peter, if not God himself.
Moore did indeed hear what Banning said. He had also noticed that Banning was wearing the Purple Heart ribbon, making him the second man he'd met (Lieutenant "Killer" McCoy was the first) who had actually seen combat in this war. He supposed that Banning had been wounded in the Philippines, which, aside from Wake Island, was the only place the Marines had seen ground combat so far. But if that was so, he wondered, how had Banning escaped when the Philippines fell?
It was at once possible and incredible to consider that the man driving him around in a Studebaker had actually escaped from Corregidor.
He had not made a response because he could think of none to make.
Banning drove to a hill outside Melbourne overlooking Port Philip Bay and pulled the Studebaker off the road.
"There goes your plane," Major Banning said, pointing. Moore followed the finger and saw a Navy Martin PBM-3R Mariner moving across the blue waters of the bay.
I've ridden on a plane like that, he thought, and then, Major Banning said, "your plane," so that must be the very plane, headed back for Hawaii
The Mariner rose into the air, and then with a tremendous splash fell back into the water. It repeated this twice more before it rose finally into the air. Then it banked, and passed right over them.
Banning offered Moore a cigarette, and then held his Ronson out to light it for him.
"I don't think anyone has to tell you that you're now on the perimeter of the intelligence business, Moore, do they? I mean, you're a bright young man, you did think there was something a little odd about the way they took you out of Parris Island and sent you here? Flew you here, ahead of some pretty senior officers?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And would it be a reasonable statement that you don't know diddly-shit about the Intelligence business? Or for that matter, about the Marine Corps?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You have seen the spy movies, of course, where the sneaky little Jap with the buck teeth and the thick glasses has the plans for the latest aircraft carrier in his briefcase? And is foiled at the last moment by Commander Don Winslow of the U.S. Coast Guard?"
Moore chuckled. "Yes, Sir."
"Commander Winslow of the Coast Guard" was a popular children's radio program.
"Well, for openers, you couldn't get the plans for an aircraft carrier in a boxcar, much less a briefcase. And then, in the real world, I have come to know a number of Japanese Intelligence types who are as large as I am, have perfect teeth and eye sight, and are probably a lot smarter than I am. And I know from personal experience that our Intelligence, and Counterintelligence, fucks up by the numbers far more often than it works at all."
Moore looked at him, expecting Banning to be smiling. He was not.
"For example," Banning said, "all that effort by all those people to get you over here as soon as humanly possible was a waste of time, money, and airspace. I can't use you." He waited for a moment until that announcement had time to sink in, and then added, "Comment?"
Oh, shit! What happens to me now?
"I don't know what to say, Sir."
"But finding you and sending you here the way they did was sound, a good idea, and well carried out."
"Sir?" Moore asked, wholly confused.
"What I'm doing, what Special Detachment 14 is doing, in other words, is very important. Importance is normally judged by how many American lives can be saved, or how many of the enemy can be killed, by what you're doing. Are you still with me?"
"You're saying, Sir, in effect, 'damn the expense'?"
"Just about. When something important is at stake, you can't worry about what it costs, or anything else. So here you are, and I can't use you."
"Sir, what happens to me now?"
"I wondered when you were going to get around to asking that," Banning said. "One of two things: We send you down to the First Division, the initial elements of which just arrived in New Zealand. Your Japanese language skills can be put to good use there.''
"Yes, Sir."
"Or, we keep you here," Banning said.
"Sir, I thought you said you don't need me."
"You might be of value working for Captain Pickering, or more precisely, for an officer who works for Captain Pickering."
"May I ask doing what, Sir?"
"It has to do with intelligence, and it has to do with your knowledge of Japanese, and the Japanese culture."
"Sir, I don't understand."
"I said before, if you remember, that importance is usually judged by how many American lives can be saved, or how many of the enemy can be killed. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What you would be involved in could literally affect the outcome of the war," Banning said evenly.
"I still don't understand, Sir."
"No, you don't. And I will not entertain any questions about what that is."
"Sir, I don't really..."
"That's the whole idea, Moore. You're not supposed to know what's going on. You would be expected to do what you were told, and not only not ask questions, but not try to guess. It's that important."
"Wow!"
"No romance. Nobody in a trench coat, but-and I tell you this because it would be self-evident-real world intelligence at the highest level. There would be a high degree of risk to you."
"May I ask how, Sir?"
"If I, or anyone else, ever learned that you had run off at the mouth about any aspect of this operation, you'll be shot. There would be no court-martial, nothing like that. The burden of proof of innocence would be on you. You would be shot out of hand, and your family would get a telegram from the Secretary of the Navy expressing his deep regret that you had been lost at sea. Something like that."
Moore, his eyes wide, looked at Banning for confirmation that he had correctly heard what Banning had just said.
"Yes," Banning said, reading Moore's mind. "I'm serious. Deadly serious, pun intended."
"Sir, when they took me out of Parris Island, they-Captain Sessions-led me to believe that I could ultimately get a commission."