[FIVE]
THE DEWEY SUITE
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
TOKYO, JAPAN
2245 1 JUNE 1950
In the limousine on the way to the Hotel Imperial, Fleming Pickering had consoled himself with the thought that while he had absolutely no idea what to do about McCoy's predicament, he didn't have to face him right now with that announcement. What he was going to do now was have a drink-maybe two, but certainly one really stiff one-and fall into bed.
Sometimes, perhaps even often, he went to bed facing a problem that seemed to have no solution and when he woke in the morning-for that matter, sometimes at three a.m.-he had found one. He couldn't explain it, except perhaps to wonder if the brain continued to work while one was asleep, but it happened, and with a little bit of luck it would happen tonight.
He heard the sound of a party as he walked down the corridor toward the Dewey Suite, and as he felt for his key, was surprised to realize that it was coming from his suite.
What the hell?
He had just put the key in the lock when it was opened for him by a white-jacketed Japanese barman.
Pickering looked quickly around the room and saw there were two dozen or more people in the living room, includ-ing Charley Ansley and the station manager who had met them at the airport, and whose name he still didn't know. After a moment, he recognized Pick's copilot on the flight.
The record-setting flight. That's what this is all about. Charley's throwing a party for the crew, the people who run the operation in Tokyo, and, more than likely, for the press.
Seeming to confirm this, there was a bartender now be-hind the bar, and another white-jacketed Japanese was walking through the room carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
Jesus! Just what I need! Like a third leg.
He saw Pick paying rapt attention to a tall, graceful brunette, and then, surprising him, he saw Captain and Mrs. Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR.
Pick and Charley Ansley saw him at the same time, and Ansley, a portly man in his fifties who combed what was left of his hair over the top of his skull, started toward him.
"Hail the father of our conquering hero," Charley said.
Pickering smiled, hoping it didn't look as insincere as it felt, and put out his hand.
"Good to see you, Charley," he said.
"This was the best place I could think of to do this..."
"They don't have party rooms at the Hotel Hokkaido?"
"... and even if they did, you probably would not have come over there, and I would have had to invite Bart Stevens, which I didn't want to do."
"It was a good idea, Charley," Pickering said.
"How did things go with MacArthur?" Charley asked.
"He's an amazing man," Pickering said.
"If you're talking about the Supreme Commander," Pick said, "Jeanette here would be ever so grateful for details."
Pickering had not seen Pick and the lanky brunette walk up.
"Jeanette, this is my dad," Pick went on. "Pop, this is Jeanette Priestly."
She put out her hand to him.
"Pick tells me you just had dinner with General MacArthur. True?"
"Miss Priestly, I feel morally bound to tell you that one-especially if one is a very attractive young woman- should never trust anything my son says."
`True or not?" she pursued.
"Jeanette's interest is professional," Pick said. "She's a reporter."
"Chicago Tribune," she furnished.
"It was a private dinner between old friends,'" Pickering said. "General MacArthur said nothing newsworthy."
And even if he had, despite that brilliant smile you're flashing me, did you really think I would tell you?
"Whatever General MacArthur says is newsworthy," she said, with a smile.
"How did it go, Pop?" Pick asked.
"A trip down memory lane," Pickering replied.
"Just you and MacArthur and Mrs. Supreme Comman-der?"
He's doing this to get on the right side of the girl. Well, why not?
"We had drinks, first," Pickering said. "General Willoughby, Colonel Huff, and MacArthur's chief of staff, General Almond. I'd never met him before. It was just the MacArthurs and me for dinner."
"What did you think of General Almond?" Jeanette asked.
"He's an army officer, a senior one, and he must be com-petent, or he wouldn't be MacArthur's chief of staff. Nice fellow, I thought. And you may quote me, Miss Priestly."
"There's a story going around about General Almond," she said. "I'd love to know if it's true or not."
"I really don't think I want to hear the story," Pickering said, rather coldly. "Isn't that what they call muckraking?"
"I know nothing but nice things about General Almond," she said. "But his previous-to being chief of staff to the Supreme Commander-claim to fame was that he had one of the two Negro divisions in Italy during World War II."
"I don't think I follow you," Pickering said.
"Are you being diplomatically dense, General?"
"Please don't call me `General,' Miss Priestly, it's been a long time since I wore a uniform."
"Sorry," she said, and then smiled at him. "You make it sound like something you're ashamed about."
"I meant to imply, Miss Priestly," Pickering said coldly, "that `General' is a title of honor to which I am no longer entitled."
Well, aren't you the pompous ass, Fleming Pickering?
Goddamn, she made me mad.
And, I think, on purpose.
Get the old fart mad, and he's liable to say something he shouldn't.
"And I don't know what `diplomatically dense' means," Pickering said.
"That's when you pretend not to understand what some-one has just told you."
"I understood that General Almond commanded a Ne-gro division in Italy. I don't understand the significance of that."
"Really? Or is that diplomatic density?"
He didn't reply.
"Is this history lesson boring you, General?"
He looked at her for a long moment before replying.
"No. If you wanted to get my attention, you've suc-ceeded. Please go on."
"Okay," she said, then waited as Pickering grabbed a wandering waiter.
"Famous Grouse, double, water on the side," he ordered
"Yes, sir."
`Two," Jeanette said.
"Three," Pick said.
"Oh, what the hell," Charley Ansley said. "Four."
"Please continue, Miss Priestly," Pickering said.
"You can call me `Jeanette,'" she said. "What should I call you?"
" `Sir' would be nice."
Charley Ansley chuckled.
"Score one for sir," Jeanette said. "The game ain't over...".
"Until the fat lady sings?" Pick offered.
"And half a point for Little Sir," Jeanette said.
Pickering chuckled. Jeanette smiled at him.
That smile she meant.
"We're waiting, with somewhat bated breath, for your history lesson, Jeanette."
"Okay, sir. Consider the end of World War Two."
"Sir was on the first plane to land in Japan," Pick said.
"How fascinating. Next time, raise your hand before you interrupt me."
"Score one for Jeanette," Pickering said.
"We have two five-stars, Eisenhower in Germany, specifically in Frankfurt, and El Supremo here. Each has a three-star chief of staff. Ike had Walter Bedell Smith, who had been his chief of staff throughout the European war, and MacArthur had Sutherland here."