Jesus Christ, what the hell is this? The last time I see this kid, he's a sergeant passing canap‚s for Pickering, and now he's a Special Agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence!
"That's his Need to Know. And I'm his boss," Rickabee said. "Good enough?"
"Yes, Sir," Dillon said. "Sir-"
"Close the door, John," Rickabee interrupted him. "And you can pull up a chair, Major. If you're a friend of General Pickering, you're obviously not the asshole of a public relations feather merchant I first thought you were." Colonel Rickabee was just about finished explaining to Major Dillon the change in Fleming Pickering's military status when there was a knock at his door.
"Come!"
"Colonel," Captain Ed Sessions said, putting his head in the door.
"There's an Army officer out here asking for General Pickering."
"Tell him the General will not be in today and ask him what he wants."
"I did, Sir. He said he's a liaison officer for General MacArthur. I think maybe you had better see him."
"Douglas MacArthur?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Jesus Christ! Well, go fetch him." The door closed and then a minute later, reopened.
"Colonel Rickabee," Captain Sessions announced formally, "Colonel DePress." A lieutenant colonel marched into Rickabee's office. He was in Army Pink and Green uniform, the lapels decorated with the insignia of the General Staff Corps, his brimmed cap tucked under his arm; and he was carrying a leather briefcase chained to his wrist. He saluted crisply before he seemed to notice the man behind the desk was not in uniform.
Rickabee made a vague gesture in the direction of his forehead; the gesture could be loosely defined as a salute.
"I'm afraid General Pickering is not available right now, Colonel," he said. "I'm his deputy. Maybe I could help you somehow?"
"Sir, I have a Personal from General MacArthur to General Pickering."
"I'll see that he gets it," Rickabee said, holding his hand out.
"Sir, my orders from General MacArthur are to personally deliver the Personal."
Rickabee considered that a moment. While they were talking, Rickabee gave the Army Lieutenant Colonel a quick once over. He may be a Doggie Feather Merchant, he decided, but he wasn't always one.
On his right sleeve, Lieutenant Colonel DePress was wearing the insignia of the 26th Cavalry, Philippine Scouts, signifying that he had served in combat with that unit. And topping the I-Was-There fruit salad on his breast were ribbons representing the Silver Star and the Third Award of the Purple Heart.
"Colonel," Rickabee said, "not for dissemination, General Pickering is in the hospital."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Sir."
"I'm about to visit him. Would you have the time to come along?"
"Yes, Sir. I would appreciate that, Sir."
"Sessions, is there a car available?" Rickabee asked.
"I'll check, Sir."
"Colonel," Lieutenant Moore said, "I've got General Pickering's car. If you wanted to use that, Sergeant Hart could bring you back."
"OK, done," Rickabee said. "You have the material packed up for the General, Moore?"
"No, Sir."
"It's on my desk, Sir," Sessions said.
[Three]
WALTER REED ARMY GENERAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
1015 HOURS 21 SEPTEMBER 1942
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, had been assigned a three-room VIP suite in the Army Hospital. His rank would have entitled him to a private room in any case, but the hospital authorities had decided that since a VIP suite was available, who was better qualified to occupy it than a man who was not only a brigadier general, but "an old and close friend of the President," according to The Washington Star?
The suite was on the third floor. It consisted of a fully equipped hospital room and a sitting room, furnished with a sofa, a pair of upholstered chairs, and a four-place dining table set. These rooms were connected by a smaller room that held a refrigerator and a desk.
When Colonel Rickabee and party entered the suite, they found General Pickering in the small connecting room playing gin rummy on the desk top with Sergeant Hart. Pickering was wearing a silk bathrobe, and Sergeant Hart was in civilian clothing; his shoulder holster and pistol were on top of the refrigerator.
Hart stood up.
"Good morning, General," Rickabee said, and then, "as you were, Sergeant."
"Where he was was about to take me for twenty dollars," Pickering said. "I didn't expect to see you here this morning, Rickabee. And who is that ugly Marine tagging along behind you?"
"How the hell are you, Fleming?" Dillon inquired, walking to Pickering and shaking his hand.
"General," Rickabee said, "this officer has a Personal for you from General MacArthur." Lieutenant Colonel DePress saluted.
"Good morning, General," he said.
"Good morning," Pickering said.
"May I inquire as to the General's health?"
"You may," Pickering said. "The General's health is a hell of a lot better than I can convince anybody around here that it is."
"I'm glad to hear that, Sir," Colonel DePress said.
"What, Colonel? That my health is better? Or that I can't convince the doctors that it is?"
Colonel DePress, looking uncomfortable, finally managed, I'll m glad to hear the General is feeling better, Sir," and then, somewhat awkwardly-because it was chained to his wrist opened his briefcase and handed Pickering a large manila envelope.