"Yes, Sir," Second Lieutenant John Marston Moore, USMCR, replied. "More or less."
"What the hell is going on here, Moore?" Dillon demanded.
General Pickering? What the fuck is that all about?
"Is the Colonel back there?" Moore asked.
"Yes, Sir," the civilian behind the counter replied.
"Open the gate, Sergeant, please," Moore said. "Major Dillon, will you come with me, please?" The solenoid buzzed. Moore put his hand to the gate and pulled it inward.
"This way, please, Major."
"Lieutenant, what about the log?" the staff sergeant asked.
"Log him in on my authority," Moore said.
Dillon followed him through a door, and then down a corridor. He noticed that Moore was walking awkwardly, limping.
"What did you do to your leg?" he asked.
Moore did not reply.
They came to an office at the end of the corridor. Through a partially opened door Dillon saw a skinny civilian sitting at a desk. He had taken off his suit coat. His trousers were held up by a pair of well-worn suspenders.
He glanced up from his desk and saw Moore.
"You want to see me, Moore?"
"Yes, Sir. I think it's important." The civilian gestured for Moore to enter. Moore motioned for Dillon to precede him.
"This is Major Dillon, Sir," Moore said.
"Who is Major Dillon?" the civilian asked.
"The question in my mind is who the hell are you to ask who I am?" Dillon flared.
The civilian looked at him.
"I think we need some ground rules in here," he said.
"Major, I am a colonel in the USMC. If you insist, I will show you an identification card. For the time being, however, I suggest you stand there, at attention and with your mouth shut, until I find out what's going on here." There was an unmistakable tone of I-Will-Be-Obeyed authority in the civilian's voice.
Jake Dillon came to attention, wondering, If he's a colonel, how come the civilian clothes?
"OK, John, who is this officer?" Colonel F. L. Rickabee asked.
"He's Major Dillon, Sir. He has something to do with Public Relations."
"Fascinating! And what's he doing here?"
"He's looking for Lieutenant McCoy, Sir. I overheard that as I came through the gate." Rickabee looked at Dillon.
"If you find this officer-Lieutenant McCoy, you said? What will you do with him, Major?"
"Colonel, Lieutenant McCoy's brother behaved very heroically on Guadalcanal; he is being returned from Guadalcanal to receive a high decoration."
"And you wanted to tell him about that?"
"No, Sir. General Stewart-"
"Who the hell is General Stewart?"
"Public Affairs, Sir. At Eighth and Eye?"
Rickabee nodded. "Go on."
"General Stewart thinks Lieutenant McCoy would be helpful in connection with getting The Corps some good publicity."
"That's out of the question," Rickabee said. "Forget it. Can you relay that to General Stewart or will I have to do it?"
"I think it would be helpful if you spoke with the General, Sir," Dillon said.
"Sir, there's more," Moore said.
"What would that be?"
"Major Dillon and General Pickering are friends."
"Is that so, Major?"
"If we're talking about Fleming Pickering, yes, Sir. We're old friends."
"Sir, Major Dillon is a friend of Major Banning's too. I don't know if-"
"Do you know what Major Banning's doing for a living these days, Major?"
Rickabee interrupted him.
"Yes, Sir, I do."
"Damn!" Rickabee said. "But, now that I think of it, maybe you don't.
You tell me what you think Banning's doing."
"Colonel, I don't know who you are," Dillon said. "I'm sure what Banning is doing is classified, and I'm not sure you have the Need to Know."