“Dawn Morris.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Doris Morrison.”
Dillon thought that over a moment. “Dawn Morris isn’t bad,” he decided. “Do we understand each other, Dawn Morris?”
“Yes, Mr. Dillon, we do.”
“It’s Major Dillon,” he said. “This is Lieutenant Ken McCoy. You can call us Jake and Killer.”
“Screw you!” McCoy flared disgustedly. “Goddamn, Dillon!”
“You can call us Jake and Lieutenant,” Dillon said, not chagrined. “Sit down, Dawn. Can I have Maria-Theresa fix you something to eat?”
“I am a little hungry,” Dawn confessed.
[THREE]
Supreme Headquarters
South West Pacific Ocean Area
Brisbane, Australia
1910 Hours 18 October 1942
General Douglas MacArthur’s Philippine Scout orderly pushed open the door to MacArthur’s sitting room and announced, “General MacArthur, it is General Pickering.” The orderly was a portly, dark-skinned master sergeant, and Fleming Pickering could never remember seeing a smile on him. He was not smiling now.
“Thank you, Juan,” MacArthur said, and rose from an armchair to extend his hand. “Fleming, I’m glad they were able to find you.”
“I was in the dungeon, Sir,” Pickering replied, and nodded at Mrs. MacArthur. “Good evening, Mrs. MacArthur.”
“Oh, Fleming, I’ve told you time and again that we’re friends, and to please call me Jean.”
“Well then, good evening, Jean,” Pickering said.
“Do you have to go back to your ‘dungeon,’ ” MacArthur asked, “or can I offer you something?” He turned to his wife. “The ‘dungeon,’ Jean darling, is the cryptographic room in the basement.”
“Deep in the basement,” Pickering added, “and yes, Sir, I have to go back. And yes, Sir, I would be very grateful if you offered me something.”
“Good, because I have one thing to tell you which I think will please you, and another thing to tell you I hope ultimately will be cause for celebration.”
“Sir?”
“Where the hell is he?” MacArthur asked impatiently. “I am about to wear this bell out!”
Pickering saw for the first time that MacArthur was tapping his foot on what looked like a doorbell button under the coffee table.
The Filipino orderly appeared.
“Ah, there you are, Juan!” MacArthur said warmly, without a hint of displeasure in his voice. “Would you please get General Pickering something to drink? And while you’re at it, would you refreshen this, please? Jean, darling?”
“Nothing for me, thank you, Juan,” she replied.
“The General drinks scotch-soda, small ice, is correct?” Juan asked.
“That’s right, thank you,” Pickering said.
“Why do you call it the ‘dungeon’?” Mrs. MacArthur asked. “Because it’s in the basement?”
“Because the walls run with water, and there is a steel door which creaks like a Boris Karloff movie,” Pickering said.
“I don’t think I have ever been down there,” she said.
“I don’t think they’d let you in, dear,” MacArthur said. “Willoughby has to have written permission from Fleming before he can get inside the steel door.”
“That’s not true, Sir,” Pickering said. “He would need a note from you.”
“The security is necessarily quite rigid, Jean,” MacArthur lectured. “It is in the dungeon that Fleming and Pluto and the boy… I shouldn’t say ‘boy’… and the young officer who was raised in Japan, Moore, analyze intercepted Japanese messages. Only three people here-myself, Willoughby, and Fleming-are authorized access to that material. Or, for that matter, are even authorized to know what MAGIC means.”
“I see,” she said.
Except of course, you, Jean, Pickering thought. The most serious violation of security vis-a-vis MAGIC is committed by the Supreme Commander.
Or are you being holier than thou? If Patricia were here, would you talk to her, secure in the knowledge that it would go no further?
Juan handed Pickering a stiff drink.
“Thank you, Juan.”
“There was a radio from CINCPAC an hour or so ago,” MacArthur said. “Actually two, but the important one to you first. That’s when I asked if you could be located.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“After distinguishing itself almost beyond words in the air war over Guadalcanal, VMF-229 has been withdrawn from combat,” MacArthur announced. “I sent a personal radio to General Vandegrift, to which there was an immediate reply. Lieutenant Malcolm Pickering, I am de-lighted to inform you, is one of the officers who survived.”
My God, he came through! Pick’s all right!