“On deck, George,” Pickering said softly. “Here she comes.”
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then on the porch, and then the old-fashioned, manual, twist-it-with-your-fingers doorbell rang.
Wearing not only his hours-old lieutenant’s uniform, but a silver cord identifying him as an aide-de-camp to a general officer, George Hart went to the door and opened it.
“May I help you?” George asked.
Pickering looked up and let his gaze rest casually on Ellen. She was a tall woman in her middle thirties, dark haired and smooth skinned; and she was wearing little makeup. She seemed surprised to see Hart. At the same time, Pickering was surprised to see how she was dressed. She was in uniform. An Army officer’s uniform, complete to cap with officer’s insignia. But on the lapels, where an officer would have the U.S. insignia above the branch of service, there were small blue triangles. The uniform was authorized for wear by civilians attached to the Army.
Now that he thought about it, Pickering was not surprised that Ellen had decided to put herself in uniform. He noticed, too, that the uniform did not conceal her long, shapely calves or the contours of her bosom.
He had a quick mental image of her naked, and as quickly forced it from his mind… consciously replacing it with an image of Johnny Moore wincing with pain as he pulled his torn-up leg from the Studebaker.
What happened to Johnny is as much Ellen’s fault as it was the fault of the Japanese. This is a world-class bitch.
“Mrs. Feller to see General Pickering,” Ellen said.
“Just a moment, please,” George said, “I’ll see if the General is free.”
“He expects me, Lieutenant,” Ellen said, not at all pleasantly.
“One moment, please,” Hart said, and closed the door in her face.
He turned to look at Pickering, smiling. Pickering nodded, held up his hand for ten seconds or so, and then dropped it. Hart turned back to the door and opened it again.
“Would you come in, please?” Hart said, and turned to Pickering. “General, Mrs. Feller.”
“Hello, Ellen, how are you?” Pickering said, and added, “That will be all, Hart, thank you.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Hart said, and marched across the living room to the kitchen, closing the door after him.
“He’s new,” Ellen said. She crossed the room to him and shook his hand.
That was better than being kissed.
“Yes. Moore has been promoted, and Hart is my new aide.”
“I heard only yesterday that you had come back,” Ellen said. “I was in Melbourne.”
“Yes, I know,” Pickering said. “With Colonel Jasper, of Willoughby’s staff.”
“Oh, you’ve spoken to him?”
“Not yet,” Pickering said.
I’ll be damned if there isn’t something really erotic about her in the uniform.
“Well, I’m sure you know that the OSS is setting up here. Jasper met with them in Melbourne. I thought I should know what’s going on.”
“If you’re fond of Colonel Jasper, Ellen, you might tell him that General MacArthur is opposed to the OSS setting up here.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Fleming?” Ellen asked. “If I’m fond of him?”
“Well, you’ve been sleeping with him. That generally presumes a certain fondness.”
Ellen could not quite conceal her surprise at that.
“Fleming, you weren’t here,” she said after a moment. “So far as I knew, you were never coming back. Charley Jasper doesn’t mean anything to me.”
She didn’t deny it; I rather thought she would. I wish she had. And she assumes I’m jealous. I suppose maybe I am. That’s a perfectly natural male reaction.
“Ellen, your sleeping around is posing problems we have to deal with.”
“I’m not going to beg for your forgiveness, Fleming, if that’s what you’re talking about. If you were here, what happened with Jasper never would have happened.”
I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Guadalcanal? You know damned well what would have happened. The only reason it only happened once was that I did go to Guadalcanal.
“Problems with MAGIC,” Pickering said. “As of this moment, the only MAGIC material to which you will have access will be that provided to you by Pluto or Moore for the purpose of briefing General MacArthur.”