McCoy wondered if they had found out that he'd been under charges in Shanghai about the Italian marines, and whether or not he should tell them if they weren't. The charges had been dropped. Did that mean they didn't count? Was getting charged with murder a "blemish" if they dropped the charges?
He sat down at the desk and looked at the form.
It was immediately apparent that they knew more about him than he knew himself. He didn't know his mother's date of birth, or his father's, but they were in the blocks on the form. And so were Anne-Marie's and Tommy's, and even Anne-Marie's husband's.
(Two)
An hour later, he had worked his way through the six-page form to a section headed, "Arrests, Detentions, Indictments, Charges, et cetera."
They knew about the charges in China. (Not Prosecuted, initial facts in error.) And they knew about the old man signing the warrant for his arrest (Nol prossed on condition enlistment, USMC.) And they knew about speeding tickets, reckless driving, and even two charges of malicious mischief and being found in possession of a Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun in violation of the city ordinances of Norristown, Pa. (Nol prossed. BB Gun confiscated. Released in custody of parents.) It was absolutely incredible how much they knew about I him. He wondered what was going to happen when whoever previewed his records came to the business about the Marines in China. Was that going to keep him from getting a security clearance?
The door opened and the tall skinny clerk-type walked in.
Without knocking, McCoy saw. In the same moment Major Almond rose to his feet. He is about to get his ass eaten out. The clerk-type walked toward the door of Lieutenant Colonel F.L. Rickabee and put his hand on the knob. For all intents and purposes he looked as if he was going to barge in there, too, without knocking. Then he stopped, turned to McCoy, and smiled.
"Come on in, McCoy," he said. "Whatever that is, it'll wait." Then he looked at Major Almond. "What the hell is that?" he demanded.
"Sir, it's Lieutenant McCoy's background statement."
"Isn't that a waste of his time?" Rickabee demanded sharply. "And ours? When I read the FBI report I had the feeling they knew everything there is to know about him."
Major Almond seemed to have difficulty framing a reply.
"I know, Jake," Colonel Rickabee said, more kindly. "It's regulation."
"Yes, sir."
"Come on in, McCoy, and you, too, Jake. It'll save time."
"Aye, aye, sir," Major Almond said.
Rickabee sat down behind his desk.
"For openers, McCoy, despite that inexcusable outburst of mine, let me make it clear that Major Almond is what keeps this lash-up of ours functioning. Without him, it would be complete, rather than seventy-five percent, chaos. I didn't mean to jump your ass, Jake. I've had a bad morning."
"Yes, sir. I know, sir," Major Almond said. "No apology is necessary, sir."
Colonel Rickabee turned to McCoy.
"With a three-inch-thick FBI report on you in Major Almond's safe, McCoy, we won't have to waste much time asking and answering questions about your background. And in addition to the official report, I have two personal reports on you. You made one hell of an impression on the boss in Philadelphia."
"Sir?" McCoy asked.
"You apparently delivered quite a lecture on the high state of discipline in the Imperial Japanese Army and how they were going to be formidable foes. Since the one true test of an intelligent man is how much he agrees with you, the boss thinks you're a genius."
" 'The boss,' sir?"
"The chief of intelligence," Rickabee said. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"
"No, sir."
"Let it pass, then," Rickabee said, smiling. "Newly commissioned second lieutenants should not be praised. It tends to swell their heads. I had another personal report on you just a week ago. Ed Banning wrote me from Manila… you knew that the fourth has been shipped to the Philippines?"
"No, sir, I didn't."
"Banning said that he thought I should have you transferred to this lash-up and that I should consider, somewhere down the line, even sending you to officer candidate school."
McCoy didn't know how to respond.
In Japanese, Colonel Rickabee said, "I understand you're reasonably fluent in Japanese and Chinese."
"I wouldn't say fluent, sir-"
"Say it in Japanese," Rickabee interrupted.
"I can't read very much Japanese, sir," McCoy said, in Japanese. "And my Chinese isn't much better."
Rickabee nodded approvingly. "That's good enough," he continued in Japanese, and then switched to English. "We can use that talent. But there's a question of priorities. When we knew you were coming here, McCoy, what we planned to do with you was to have you replace Sergeant Ruttman. I want to run him through Quantico, too. He thinks he's been successfully evading it. The truth is that I needed somebody to take his place while he was gone. You seemed ideal to do that. You're a hardnose, and it would give you a chance to see how things are done here. But the best-laid plans, as they say. There are higher priorities. Specifically, the boss has levied on us-and I mean the boss personally, not one of his staff-for three officer couriers. We're moving a lot of paper back and forth between here and Pearl and here and Manila, especially now that the Fourth is in the Philippines. You're elected as one of the three, McCoy."
"Sir, I don't know what an officer courier is."
"There are some highly classified documents, and sometimes material, that have to pass from hand to hand, from a specific officer here to a specific officer someplace else-as opposed to headquarters to headquarters. That material has to be transported by an officer.''
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"There's one other factor in the equation," Rickabee said. "The Pacific-especially Pearl Harbor, but Cavite too-has been playing dirty pool. We have sent officer couriers out there with the understanding that they would make one trip and then return to their primary duty. What Pearl has done twice, and Cavite once, is to keep our couriers and send the homeward-bound mail in the company of an officer they didn't particularly need. We have lost two cryptographic officers and one very good intercept officer that way."
McCoy knew that a cryptographic officer dealt with secret codes, but he had no ideas what an "intercept" officer was.
"I've complained, of course, and eventually we'll get them back, after everything has moved, slowly, through channels. But I can't afford to lose people for sixty, ninety days. Not now. So there had to be a solution, and Major Almond found it."
McCoy said nothing.
"Aren't you even curious, McCoy?" Rickabee asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Every officer in the Marine Corps is required to obey the orders of any officer superior to him, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"If the orders conflict, he is required to obey the orders given him by the most senior officer, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wrong," Rickabee said. "Or at least, there is an interesting variation. There is a small, generally unknown group of people in the Corps who don't have to obey the orders of superior officers, unless that officer happens to be the chief of intelligence. Their ranks aren't even known. Just their name and photo and thumbprint is on their ID cards. And the ID cards say that the bearer is a Special Agent of the Assistant Chief of Staff, Intelligence, USMC, and subject only to his orders."
"Yes, sir."
"Congratulations, Lieutenant McCoy, you are now-or you will be when Ruttman finishes your credentials-a Special Agent of the Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence. If anybody at Pearl or Cavite knows, or finds out, that you speak Japanese and decides they just can't afford to lose you, you will show them your identification and tell them you are sorry, but you are not subject to their orders."