"You want to sign this, Lieutenant?" Sergeant Ruttman asked.
There was space for two signatures on the identification: the holder and the issuing officer. The tall skinny civilian had already signed it. According to the card, he was Lieutenant Colonel F.L. Rickabee, USMC. He sure as Christ didn't look like any lieutenant colonel McCoy had ever seen before. He didn't even look much like a Marine.
"Just your signature, again," Ruttman said. "No rank."
"You didn't give me back my ID card," McCoy said.
"You don't get it back," Ruttman said, and then apparently had doubts. He raised his voice. "Does he get his ID card back?"
"No," the tall thin man who looked like a clerk called back. "Not anymore. They changed the policy."
As if McCoy hadn't heard the exchange, Ruttman said, "You don't get it back, Lieutenant."
The tall skinny clerk-type had another thought and turned from his map and SECRET teletype messages.
"How long is it going to take to get him his credentials?"
"I'm just about to take his picture," Ruttman said.
"Today, you mean? He'll get his credentials today?"
"He'll have them by lunchtime," Ruttman said, confidently.
"Okay," the clerk-type said, and returned his attention to the map.
Based on the total absence of military courtesy (Ruttman had not once said "sir," much less "aye, aye, sir," to him, and the clerk-type hadn't seemed to care) McCoy decided that the clerk-type was not Lieutenant Colonel F.L. Rickabee, USMC. It was common practice for junior officers to sign senior officers' names to routine forms, sometimes initialing the signature and sometimes not. He went further with his theory: The tall skinny clerk was probably a warrant officer. Warrant officers were old-time noncoms, generally with some special skill. They wore officer's uniforms, could go to the Officers' Club, and were entitled to a salute, but the most senior chief warrant officer ranked below the most junior second lieutenant. And a warrant officer, particularly a new one, would probably not get all excited if an old-time noncom like Ruttman didn't treat him as if he was a lieutenant or a captain.
Ruttman stood McCoy against a backdrop, at which was pointed a Speed Graphic four-by-five-inch plate camera-
"Take off your blouse and your field scarf, and the bars," Ruttman ordered, "and put this on."
He handed McCoy a soiled, well-worn, striped necktie.
McCoy looked at him in disbelief.
"The way I'll shoot this," Ruttman explained, "that shirt'll look just like an Arrow."
He took McCoy's picture twice, "to make sure I get it," then led him to a table where he inked his fingers. He put his thumb print on both of the ID cards, and then took another full set on a standard fingerprint card.
Ruttman handed him a towel and bottle of alcohol to clean his hands, and then said, "That's it, here, Lieutenant. Now you go see Major Almond. He's in the last office down the passageway."
There was no sign hanging on Major J.J. Almond's door, either; but aside from that, he was what McCoy expected a Marine major to be. He was a short man, but muscular, and so erect he seemed taller than he was. And he was in uniform. His desk was shipshape, and two flags were on poles behind his desk, the Marine flag and the national colors.
And to the left of Major Almond's desk was a door with another sign: LT. COL. F.L. RICKABEE, USMC, COMMANDING. It was clear to McCoy now that he'd just gone through some sort of administrative service office where they made out ID cards and did that sort of thing, and that he was now about to face his new commanding officer.
"Let me say, McCoy," Major J.J. Almond said, "that I appreciate your appearance. You look and conduct yourself as a Marine officer should. As you may have noticed, there is a lamentable tendency around here to let things slip. Because of what we do here, we can't run this place like a line company. But we go too far, I think, far too often. I am going to rely on you, Lieutenant, to both set an example for the men and to correct, on the spot, whomever you see failing to live up to the standards of the Corps."
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.
"Now, before we get started, you reported in early."
"Yes, sir."
"You are entitled to a fourteen-day leave. If it is your intention to apply for that leave now that you have reported aboard, I would like to know that now."
"No, sir."
"You're in the BOQ at the Barracks, I presume?"
"No, sir."
"Where are you?"
"In a hotel, sir."
"I don't want to go through this, McCoy, pulling one fact after another from you."
"I'm in the Hotel Lafayette, sir. Sharing a room with another officer, sir. Lieutenant Malcolm Pickering, sir."
"Well, that is fortuitous," Major Almond announced. "It is the policy of this command that both officer and enlisted personnel live off the base. You will draw pay in lieu of quarters. Will that pay be enough to pay for your hotel room?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's your room number?" Almond asked. "And I'll need the hotel telephone number."
"I don't know the phone number, sir," McCoy said. "We're living in the maid's room of the bridal suite, sir."
Major Almond smiled and nodded approvingly.
"Very enterprising," he said. "I wondered how you could afford to live in the Lafayette."
He reached into his desk drawer and came out with a three-inch-thick manila folder. He saw his name lettered on it, and that it was stamped "SECRET-COMPLETE BACKGROUND INVESTIGATION
"This is the report of the FBI's investigation of you, Lieutenant," he said. "It is classified SECRET, and you are not authorized access to it. I show it to you to show how carefully they have gone into your background." McCoy had no idea what was going on. Major Almond then handed him a printed form. "In normal circumstances, the procedure would have been for you to complete this form before the FBI did its complete background check. But the circumstances have not been normal. Time was important. The FBI had to, so to speak, start from scratch using existing records. So what has happened is that I have had our clerks prepare your background statement using existing records and the FBI report. Are you following me, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "I think so, sir." ' "The standing operating procedure requires that your completed background statement be in the files," Major Almond said. "Now, while I am sure that the FBI has done their usual thorough job, I am nearly as sure that they have missed something. What I want you to do is take your background statement to the desk over there and go over it with great care. If there is anything on it that is not absolutely correct, I want you to mark it. We will then discuss it. More important, I want you to pay particular attention to omissions, particularly of a nonflattering nature." "Sir?"
"I want you to make sure that all the blemishes on your record are visible," Major Almond said. "The next step in the administrative procedure is to evaluate your record and judge whether or not you are qualified to be granted a top secret, and other, security clearances. If it came out later that there are blemishes which do not appear on the record, that would cause trouble, do you understand?" "Yes, sir."
"The sergeant will give you a lined pad and pencils," Major Almond said. "Make your notations on the lined pad, not on the form."
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.
"Work steadily, but carefully," Major Almond said. "Time is of the essence."
"Aye, aye, sir."