The Corp - Counterattack Part 37

He had called her from Oklahoma City to tell her that he was en route in a Navy plane to San Diego, where he had some business with the Navy. He also intended to see his secretary-soon his ex-secretary-aboard the U.S. Navy transport President Millard G. Fillmore, ex-Pacific Princess. He would then, he told her, see about catching a plane home.

She could expect him late that night, or early the following morning. They would have four or five days home before he had to take the San Francisco-Pearl Harbor courier plane. She should think of something interesting for them to do.

He had wrapped his arms around her in Charley Ansley's bedroom and somewhat sleepily asked, "What brings you here, honey?"

"You said I should think of something interesting for us to do," Patricia had said, gently touching a sensitive part of his anatomy. "How does this strike you?"

She had come to join him by plane to Los Angeles, and then on the d.a.m.ned Greyhound bus to San Diego. Over breakfast, she told him she thought it would be fun to borrow a car from Charley Ansley, drive to Los Angeles, have dinner with friends there, and then drive leisurely on to San Francisco, perhaps spending another night on the way.

He told her he had to make a quick call on the Admiral commanding the San Diego Naval Yard, prepare a quick memorandum for Frank Knox reporting what the Admiral had told him, and then find an officer courier to take it to Was.h.i.+ngton. He also told her that Ellen Feller had arrived a couple of days before and was in the Pacific & Far East suite at the Coronado Beach.

"She's going to work at CINCPAC," Pickering said. There was an implication that she was going to become secretary to someone else. That was not actually the case. Officially, Ellen was going to work with the highly secret cryptographic unit at Pearl Harbor, putting her knowledge of j.a.panese and Chinese to work. And she had a second mission, to serve as a conduit for Fleming Pickering's confidential reports to the Secretary of the Navy. He would prepare the reports himself and send them to her at Pearl Harbor, sealed, via an officer courier. At Pearl Harbor, Ellen Feller would encrypt them with a special code and send them to Was.h.i.+ngton, either by cable or radio, cla.s.sified TOP SECRET, EYES ONLY, THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY.

That way, only Pickering, Ellen Feller, a cryptographer who worked solely for Captain Dave Haughton, Haughton himself, and the Secretary of the Navy would ever see Pickering's reports. Knox knew that if more people were brought into the link, or if standard Navy encryption-decryption procedures were followed, the Navy bra.s.s would be reading Pickering's reports before they got to him. Since the reports made considerable reference to the Navy bra.s.s, including, for instance, Pickering's opinion of their ability and performance, it would not have been clever to offer them to the bra.s.s on a silver platter, as it were. None of that, obviously, was any of Patricia's business. "Aren't you going to miss her?" Patricia asked, poker-faced. He wasn't sure whether she was serious or teasing, or even if there was a touch of jealousy in the question.

"There's a war on, Madam. We must all make what sacrifices are necessary in the common good," Pickering replied sonorously.

After Pickering stopped the Cadillac in front of the door, he opened the car door and started to get out. As he did that, the doorman rushed over and said, "I'm sorry, Sir, we no longer offer valet parking ..." And then he recognized Pickering. "I'll take care of it, Mr. Pickering. You going to be long?"

"We're going to have lunch."

"Then I'll leave it right over there, Sir. Nice to see you, Mrs. Pickering. It's been some time."

"h.e.l.lo, d.i.c.k. How are you?" Patricia said.

Pickering called the Pacific & Far East suite from a house phone in the lobby.

"I'm not quite packed," Ellen Feller said. "Could you come up for a minute?"

"Sure," Pickering said. "The s.h.i.+p sails at two-forty-five, so I've been told."

"Then we have plenty of time."

Pickering put the phone down.

"She's not quite ready," he said.

"I thought she was Miss Efficiency of 1942?" Patricia said.

"We're not running late," Pickering said loyally.

"You go up," Patricia said. "I'll get her a box of candy or a basket of fruit. For Bon Voyage."

"I'll go with you."

"No, you won't. You know how I hate it when you breathe impatiently over my shoulder in a shop. And I know where the suite is."

(Three) Ellen Feller spent a good deal of time considering very carefully the pluses and minuses of her new a.s.signment. Some of the pluses were inarguable. She'd been promoted from Oriental Languages Linguist to Intelligence a.n.a.lyst. And after her name on her travel orders now appeared the parenthesized phrase "(a.s.similated Grade of Lt. Commander)." That meant she was ent.i.tled to the privileges the armed forces gave to an officer of that rank; and that she was earning just about as much money as a Lieutenant Commander made.

Back in Was.h.i.+ngton, Commander Kramer had informed her that when she reached Hawaii, she would be provided with bachelor women officers' quarters on the Navy Base at Pearl Harbor. ("The last time I was there, lieutenant commander nurses had nice little bungalows; they'll probably a.s.sign you one of those.") And she would be ent.i.tled to members.h.i.+p in the officers' club, where she would take her meals, and have access to everything else-the base exchange and the golf course, that sort of thing-that a lieutenant commander would have.

A remarkably short time after starting as a temporary civilian employee brought in to help with foreign-language translation (really a sort of multilingual clerk), she had risen to the upper echelons of Navy intelligence. The proof was that she was privy to, and would be working with, the Big Secret: that the Navy had cracked the Imperial j.a.panese Navy code. And she would continue to work-though remotely-with Captain Fleming Pickering, who answered to n.o.body but the Secretary of the Navy.

It now seemed very unlikely that there would be any difficulty about the crates s.h.i.+pped home from China. And since she was going to Hawaii, it would no longer be necessary for her to make the weekly trips to the nursing home in Baltimore to see her father. Or to endure the hour-long sermon he always delivered.

There were just a few minuses to her promotion and transfer; and they were all spelled Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR.

She had been attracted to him from the very first moment she had met him in his suite in the Foster Lafayette Hotel. The expensively furnished suite itself represented a style of living that she had previously believed existed only in the movies. And as she had learned more about him, her fascination with him grew: He owned steams.h.i.+ps, A fleet of them! His wife's father owned a chain of hotels, including the Foster Lafayette! He personally knew a large number of very important people, people like Senator Fowler and Henry Ford, and even the President of the United States!

There was a physical attraction, too. From that first day, she had wondered what it would be like to be in bed with him. He was tall, good looking, and in splendid physical shape. She loved the deep timbre of his voice. But just about as immediately, she also recognized that any notions of getting him into her bed were dangerous.

Since a rich and handsome man like Fleming Pickering must have had any number of women to choose from, she was convinced that he must have grown very selective. It was entirely possible that he would not be interested in her at all, and that any overtures from her would see her returned to her old job. It didn't especially surprise her to learn that he was faithful to his wife, and that they apparently had had a long and successful marriage . . . but it disappointed her, all the same.

After a while, as he grew to rely on her faithful services, she realized that he was taking her under his wing. She was protected by his authority and influence. If questions about the crates from China now came up, she was sure that she could convince him of her innocence, and that he would defend her- with all of his influence-against any accusations.

Of course, with her in Hawaii and Fleming Pickering in Australia-or G.o.d knew where else-that would no longer be the case. She would be an ex-employee, no longer his faithful right hand. She could probably call on him for help, but the situation would be changed. She might be an "a.s.similated lieutenant commander" in Hawaii, but she would no longer be Captain Fleming Pickering's a.s.sistant.

On the train to California, she wondered whether she had made a mistake in playing out her perfectly platonic half of their entirely platonic relations.h.i.+p. More than once she had seen him looking at her as a man looks at a desirable woman.

But it would now be in her interest for Fleming Pickering to remember her as a woman he had bedded, and who had asked for nothing from him. There had been several occasions in the Foster Lafayette suite when he might well have responded to an overture. More than once he had been at his Old Grouse beyond the point where his judgment was affected.

But she had let those opportunities pa.s.s, and there was nothing that would bring them back. That was really a pity, she thought ruefully. It almost certainly would have been a very pleasant experience to have Fleming Pickering in her bed. Or, for that matter, on the floor. Anywhere.

And then he had sent word that he would come to the hotel and see her aboard the s.h.i.+p.

(Four) When Ellen Feller answered Pickering's knock at the door, she was wearing a dressing gown. It was flowing-and translucent. Not missionary-lady style, he thought, recalling the black lace underwear she had worn the day he met her. And in that grossly embarra.s.sing erotic dream.

"Hi!" she said. "Come in. I'm almost ready. I just stopped to make myself a drink. Nerves."

"I didn't know you drank," Pickering said.

"There's a lot about me you don't know," Ellen said. She walked across the room to the bar. The light behind her revealed the outline of her body beneath the thin dressing gown. And certain anatomical details.

"Old Grouse," she said, reaching for a bottle. "I know how you like it."

She made a drink, and then held it out to him. Her upper leg parted the dressing gown as he, uncomfortably, walked to her to take the drink.

"I don't mind if you look," Ellen said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I don't mind if you look," she repeated. "I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. The most fascinating man I've ever met, and he appears totally immune."

"Ellen . . ."

"Have a good look," she said. She tugged at the dressing-gown cord and it fell open. "Do I pa.s.s inspection?"

"My wife is on her way up here," Pickering said.

Oh, G.o.dd.a.m.n it! What have I done now?

"I'm sorry," she said evenly, after a moment.

"You'd better get your clothes on."

"Pity," she said, then put his gla.s.s of Scotch down and walked into one of the bedrooms. She stopped at the door and looked at him. The dressing gown was still open.

"Fleming," she said, using his first name for the first time ever, "the last thing in the world I want is to cause you trouble with your wife."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

She walked into the bedroom, took the dressing gown off, and tossed it toward the bed. Then she walked, naked, to the door and closed it.

Jesus Christ! She must be drunk. I wonder if we can get through the next couple of hours without a major disaster.

Fantastic teats!

(Five) United States Navy Yard San Diego, California 8 March 1942 "Sir, I can pa.s.s you in, but not with these ladies," the Marine sergeant at the gate said, handing the identification card back to Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR.

"Sergeant, this lady is on orders," Pickering said. "Ellen, show him your d.a.m.ned orders."

Mrs. Ellen Feller took from her purse a thin stack of mimeographed orders and her identification card and handed them over the seatback to Pickering, who then pa.s.sed them to the sergeant. The sergeant read the orders, looked at the ID card, compared the photograph on it with her face, and then handed it all back.

"Sir, this lady can pa.s.s. But the other one-"

" 'The other one' is my wife!" Pickering flared.

"Sir, she doesn't have any ID."

"Flem," Patricia Foster Pickering said, aware that her husband was about to lose his. temper, "I'll just wait here. You put Ellen on the s.h.i.+p and come back and pick me up."

"Patricia, please b.u.t.t out of this," Pickering said sharply.

They had managed to get through lunch without a disaster. When Ellen came out of the bedroom to meet Patricia, she was modestly dressed, her hair was done up in a simple bun, and she wore no makeup.

She thanked Patricia for the basket of fruit, apologized for not having been ready, and never again called him Fleming. She was a perfect lady at lunch. But he didn't want to set the stage for something happening aboard the s.h.i.+p by being alone with her there.

"Sergeant, please call the Officer of the Guard," Captain Pickering ordered.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

It took the Officer of the Guard three minutes to reach the gate in a Navy-gray Ford pickup. He found a Navy captain at the wheel of a glistening 1939 Cadillac Sixty-Two Special sedan, which did not have San Diego Navy Base identification. A civilian woman was next to him, a nice-looking lady wearing a diamond engagement ring that looked like it weighed a pound. Another woman was sitting in the back of the Cadillac. She was a little younger than the other one, but somewhat plain-not at all bad-looking, though. She had a Navy Department ID card and a set of orders giving her AAA travel priority to CINCPAC Headquarters in Hawaii.

The Officer of the Guard was a first lieutenant; Pickering thought he looked like a regular. The Officer of the Guard saluted.

"Good afternoon, Sir. May I help you?"

"My name is Pickering, Lieutenant. This lady is my wife. The other lady is Mrs. Feller, who is to board the ... the President Fillmore. I don't want to leave my wife here at the gate while I take Mrs. Feller aboard."

"No problem at all, Sir," the Lieutenant said. "If you'll just follow me in the pickup."

Pickering looked at the sergeant who had denied him access.

"Sergeant, when I was a Marine corporal, there was a saying that 'a Marine on guard duty has no friends.' Do they still say that?"

"Yes, Sir, they do."

"Your sergeant, Lieutenant, was the soul of tact," Pickering said.

"I'm glad to hear that, Sir. If you'll just follow me, Sir?"

The little convoy moved out.

In the Cadillac, Patricia Foster Pickering said, "What was that all about?"

"That sergeant was just doing his duty. I didn't want to get him in trouble."

"Why should he?"

"The Lieutenant obviously knows who I am," Pickering said.

"Who you are? What a monumental ego! Am I missing something? Who are you?"

"I mean that I work for Frank Knox. We're in, aren't we? And what does ego have to do with it?"

In the cab of the pickup, the Marine Lieutenant said to the driver, "Take us down to the Millard Fillmore."

"That's that great big civilian liner, Sir?"

"Yeah. They used to call it the Pacific Princess. As soon as I take that Captain up the gangplank, you find a telephone, call the Officer of the Day, and tell him that Captain Pickering just came into the yard, and that I'm escorting him aboard the Millard Fillmore. You get that name?"

"Yes, Sir. Pickering. Who is he?"

"He works for the Secretary of the Navy. He's got the bra.s.s scared s.h.i.+tless. He showed up here yesterday for a private conference with the Admiral, after which the Admiral thought Pickering was going back to Was.h.i.+ngton. But he didn't. He wasn't on the courier plane. They pa.s.sed the word that the Admiral was to be notified the moment anybody saw him anywhere."

The pickup truck driver drove as close as he could to the great s.h.i.+p, and then stopped. The Lieutenant got out and walked to the Cadillac.

"This is as close as we can get, Sir. If you'll wait a moment, I'll get someone to carry the lady's luggage."

"I'm not too old to carry a couple of suitcases," Pickering said.