A middle-aged j.a.panese woman in a black kimono came through the steel gate in the wall around McCoy's house, bowed to the black Buick, then went back inside the wall. A moment later, the double gates farther down the wall opened, and Keller drove the car inside.

Mrs. Ernestine Sage McCoy, who was standing outside the door of the sprawling, one-floor j.a.panese house, was also wearing a black kimono.

Pickering decided she was wearing it as a maternity dress rather than a cultural statement of some kind. He also thought that it was true that being in the family way did indeed give women sort of a glow. Ernie looked radiant.

She came down the shallow flight of stairs as Fleming, Jeanette, Hart, and Keller got out of the Buick.

As Ernie hugged Fleming, he could feel the swelling of her belly against him.

"How are you, sweetheart?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "The question seems to be, How are the men in our extended little family?"

"Ken's fine," Jeanette answered for him. "He looked like a recruiting poster when I saw him. Pick is still among the missing."

"Ken told me they had missed him by no more than a couple of hours yesterday," Pickering said. "They'll find him, I'm sure."

"Well, come on in the house, all of you, and have a drink. I didn't know how many of you were coming, or when, so dinner will have to be started from scratch."

"Then I'll have time to take a shower?" Jeanette asked. "Shower, h.e.l.l, a long hot bath?"

"Come on with me," Ernie said. "Uncle Flem, you know where the bar is."

She put her arm around Jeanette and started to lead her into the interior of the house.

"Wow," Ernie said, first sniffing and then wrinkling her nose. "You really do need a bath, don't you?"

"You can go to h.e.l.l," Jeanette said.

The middle-aged j.a.panese woman and a younger j.a.panese woman were already in the living room when Pickering led the others in. There were four bottles on the bar: bourbon, scotch, vodka, and beer.

The men indicated their choices-two scotches and a bourbon-by pointing. The young woman made the drinks, and the older woman put them on a tray and served them. The younger woman left the room, returning in a moment with a tray of bacon-wrapped smoked oysters.

Ernie came in as the oysters were being served.

"I would really like a very stiff one of those," she said. "But I am being the perfect pregnant woman."

"Good for you, sweetheart," Pickering said. "How about an oyster and a gla.s.s of soda?"

"Take what you can, when you can get it," Ernie said, and said something in j.a.panese to the younger woman, who started to fill a gla.s.s with soda water.

She turned to Pickering.

"Was Ken telling Jeanette the truth about Pick? Or whistling in the wind to make her feel good?"

"The truth, I'm sure," Pickering said.

"I really feel sorry for her," Ernie said.

"Ernie, two things. Thank you for dinner, but no thank you. MacArthur has invited me for dinner, and George and Paul have got things to do."

"Things that won't wait until they can eat?"

"That's the second thing. No, they can't wait. Don't tell Jeanette, but there's been a message from the President; he wants me in Washington as soon as I can get there."

"What's that all about?"

"I really don't know. But he's the President, Ernie. I do what he tells me to do."

"Don't tell Jeanette?"

"She's a reporter."

"She's Pick's . . . I was about to say girlfriend, but she's much more than that."

"I know," he said. "But I still don't want you to tell her."

"About you going to Washington, or about anything?"

"This will sound cruel, perhaps, but the less Jeanette knows about anything, the better. Let me, or Ken, decide what she can know."

"You're going to Washington, and Ken's in Korea," Ernie replied.

"Come to Washington with me," Pickering said.

"No."

"You could see your parents for at least a couple of days."

"No."

"And then come back here, if you'd like."

"No, Uncle Flem. Thank you, but no."

"You want to tell me why?"

"Ken's here. This is our home."

"A couple of days with your parents would be good for all concerned," Pickering argued.

"They would spend all their time arguing that I should stay with them, and then be really hurt when I wouldn't. It's better the way it is."

"You don't want your mother here when the time comes?"

"Not unless Ken's here, too. Then, sure."

"If she decides to come, you can't stop her, Ernie."

"She knows how I feel. Can we get off this subject?"

"Got your Minox, George?" Pickering asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then take a couple of pictures of me and the hard-headed pregnant lady in the kimono."

"Okay," Ernie said, and smiled.

"And then we have to get out of here, sweetheart," Pickering said. "If you need anything, tell Paul. And if he can't get what you need, he knows how to contact General Howe, and Howe will get it for you."

"Thanks, Paul."

"Anything you need, Ernie," Paul Keller said. "Anything. "

Pickering stood up and put his arm around Ernie's shoulders, and George Hart took three shots of them with the tiny Minox.

[FIVE].

HANGAR 13 KIMPO AIRFIELD (K-14) SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA 0815 30 SEPTEMBER 1950.

Captain Howard C. Dunwood, USMCR, was having breakfast-ham chunks with raisin sauce, out of a can-with Major Alex Donald, U.S. Army, when the small door in the left hangar door opened and a Marine corporal, a very large fair-skinned man in his early twenties, his field cap perched precariously on his head, came through, followed by four other men.

"Heads up!" Major Donald whispered. "That must be the people I was told to expect."

Captain Dunwood said nothing.

After a moment, he recognized two of the men. He had seen them before, the last time when Baker Company had landed on Tokchok-Kundo Island in the Flying Fish Channel leading to Pusan. At that time, both had been wearing black cotton pajamas, with bands of the same material wrapped around their foreheads. The tall and lanky one was now dressed in crisply starched utilities, with the chevrons of a technical sergeant painted on the sleeves. The other character who had been wearing black pajamas on the island was now in crisp utilities, with the gold leaves of a major pinned to his collar points.

Dunwood had seen that one once before Tokchok-Kundo.

At Haneda. On 15 August, the day I arrived in j.a.pan from the States. Six weeks ago. It seems like a h.e.l.l of a lot longer.

At Haneda the major had been wearing a tropical worsted uniform and the insignia of a captain. A Marine brigadier general and a strikingly beautiful woman had put him and a Navy lieutenant on a C-54 bound for Sasebo.

And I was half in the bag, and pegged him as a candy-a.s.s chair warmer and made an a.s.s of myself on the airplane, for which I paid with a dislocated thumb that still hurts sometimes. I suppose it's too much to hope he doesn't remember that incident.

Dunwood had no idea who the other two were-a Marine master gunner and an Army Transportation Corps major in a rumpled uniform-and absolutely no idea what was going on.

Major Donald-subtly making it clear that he was privy to highly cla.s.sified information that he could, of course, not share with a lowly Marine captain-had told him only that "there had been a change of plans" and that "sometime in the immediate future, I will be contacted with further orders reflecting that change."

Major Donald put down his can of ham chunks in raisin sauce and marched to meet the newcomers. The crews of the two helicopters, who were also having their breakfast, sitting on the floor of their aircraft, watched with interest.

Dunwood shrugged, put his can of ham chunks in raisin sauce down, and walked after Major Donald. When Donald became aware he was being trailed, he turned to look at Dunwood.

And here's where the sonofab.i.t.c.h tells me to b.u.t.t out.

"h.e.l.lo, Dunwood. How are you?" McCoy said.

Dunwood saluted.

"Good morning, sir."

"You know Sergeant Jennings," McCoy said. "That's Gunner Zimmerman and that's Major Dunston."

"My name is Donald, Major."

"You're in charge of these aircraft?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, I am."

"And I understand you were told you'd be contacted about them?"

"Yes, I have."

"Well, here we are," McCoy said. "My name is McCoy."

"I wonder if I might see some identification?" Donald said.

"Ernie," McCoy said.

Zimmerman took a small leather wallet from his breast pocket, opened it, and held it so Donald could see it.

"Thank you," Donald said, then looked at McCoy. "I'm at your orders, sir."

"How much have you told anybody about any of this?" McCoy asked.

"Not a word to anyone, Major."

"I'd like to speak to the aircraft people right now," McCoy said. "Dunwood, you listen, and you decide which of your Marines you can tell, and what."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Donald walked to the closest of the H-19s and gestured for the men gathered around the second helicopter to come over.

When they were finally a.s.sembled, McCoy saw there were four pilots, two enlisted men also wearing flight suits, and half a dozen maintenance personnel, all noncoms but one, who was a warrant officer.

Donald barked "Atten-hut" and, when everybody was at attention, said, "This is Major McCoy."

"Stand at ease," McCoy ordered. "I'm sure you're all wondering what's going on. I'll tell you what I know, which frankly isn't much. What follows is cla.s.sified Top Secret, and I don't know how many of you have that security clearance. For the time being, it should be enough to tell you that nothing about this operation is to be told to anyone. As I'm sure you all know, divulging Top Secret information will see you standing before a General Court-Martial. I'm dead serious about that. You don't tell your pals about this, and you don't write home telling your mother, your wife, or anyone else. If you do, we'll find out about it and you'll find yourself in front of a General Court. No second chances. We cannot afford to have loose mouths. Pay attention. The lives you'll save by keeping your mouths shut will be your own." He paused. "Any questions?"

He took the time to make eye contact with everyone, including Major Donald, and then went on.

"These aircraft, and all of you, have been a.s.signed to the Central Intelligence Agency. You will continue to receive your orders from Major Donald, who will get his from the CIA station chief. Any questions?"

One of the pilots raised his hand.

"Okay," McCoy said.