In Danger's Path (27 page)

Inside T-2032, there were considerable differences from the other buildings. Just beyond the ground-floor entrance was a counter behind which sat two Marine noncoms armed with pistols and World War I trench guns—Winchester Model 12 12—gauge pump-action shotguns, with six-round magazines and twenty-inch barrels with bayonet fixtures. They controlled access to the rest of the building. This was through a door covered (as was the wall itself) with pierced steel planking normally used to pave temporary aircraft runways.

“You look like you been out in the sun, Captain McCoy,” Technical Sergeant Harry Rutterman said.

“Oh, you are an observant sonofabitch, aren't you, Harry?” McCoy said, and touched his shoulder in a gesture of affection between old friends.

And then he reached for his ONI credentials. No one was passed through the steel planking until the security provisions had been complied with. There were no special credentials for personnel assigned to the Office of Management Analysis; if there were, McCoy knew, people would wonder exactly what Management Analysis did that required special identification. The less people wondered about Management Analysis, the better. ONI credentials served just fine; everybody knew about ONI; and no one asked questions of people with ONI credentials.

Rutterman checked the credentials and handed them back with a smile.

“And who is being honored with the pleasure of your visit?”

“Got a little last night, Harry, did you? You're in a very good mood.”

Rutterman laughed.

“Major Banning get in yet?” McCoy said.

“He don't work here no more,” Rutterman said. “Captain Sessions is here.”

“Sessions, then,” McCoy said.

Rutterman picked up a telephone and dialed two digits. “Captain McCoy to see you, sir,” he said, listened a moment, and then hung up. “Pass, friend,” he said to McCoy, indicating the door covered with pierced steel planking.

As he reached it and tugged on it, there was another solenoid buzz, and the door opened. McCoy passed through it and then up a narrow flight of stairs. Captain Ed Sessions was waiting for him at the top.

“Don't tell me, let me guess,” he said. “You've been in Florida.”

“It's not funny,” McCoy said.

“Come with me, Captain, the General wishes the pleasure of your company.”

“He's here?” McCoy asked, surprised. General Pickering normally spent very little time in Building T-2032.

Sessions didn't reply. He led McCoy three quarters of the way down a narrow corridor, then knocked at a door before opening it.

“Captain McCoy to see you, General,” he said, and motioned McCoy through.

“Christ,” Brigadier General F. L. Rickabee greeted him, “what did you do, fall asleep on Palm Beach?”

“Yes, sir,” McCoy said. “Good morning, sir. Good morning,
General
.”

“Ah, you noticed! I was hoping you might.”

“Congratulations, Sir. Well deserved.”

“I'm not sure about that. There has been a promotion frenzy around here. I got caught up in it.”

“Sir?”

“A silver leaf now adorns Ed Banning's collar points, and sometime this week even Sessions is going to have go buy major's leaves.”

“That's about time, too,” McCoy said to Sessions, then turned to General Rickabee. “Sergeant Rutterman said Major—Lieutenant Colonel—Banning doesn't work here anymore?”

“I would say Rutterman talks too much,” Rickabee said coldly.

“Sir, he wasn't running off at the mouth. I told him I wanted to see Major Banning, and he said, ‘Sorry, he doesn't work here anymore.'”

Rickabee seemed only partially satisfied.

“Sir,” Captain Sessions said, “not only is he a good Marine, but Rutterman knows McCoy.”

“I like that,” Rickabee said. “Loyalty is a desirable characteristic of a Marine officer. But—correct me if I'm wrong—what Rutterman was
supposed
to say was, ‘Sorry, sir. I don't know the name.'”

“Yes, sir,” Sessions said.

“Let it pass, Ed,” Rickabee said. “Rutterman
is
a good man.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Well, now that security has been breached, and the cat, so to speak, is out of the bag, I might as well confirm that Lieutenant Colonel Banning is now assigned to the OSS. And so, Captain McCoy, are you.”

“Yes, sir. General Pickering told me that was going to happen.”

“Your records have already been sent over there. You know where it is, the National Institutes of Health Building?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Maybe when this goddamn war is over I can get you back, McCoy. This is where you belong, and you've always done a good job for me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Send him over there in a car, Ed,” Rickabee ordered. “Don't let the doorknob hit you in the ass on your way out, McCoy.”

“Sir, I've got the ONI credentials,” McCoy said. It was a question.

Rickabee thought that over a moment.

“Banning sold me on the idea of letting him keep his. Said we'll be working together, and they might come in handy. Same logic applies to you. Keep them. I'll deal with ONI if necessary.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Rickabee came from behind his desk and gave McCoy his hand.

“Good luck, McCoy,” he said. “Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.”

[THREE]
The Office of the Deputy Director
(Administration)
The Office of Strategic Services
The National Institutes of Health Building
Washington, D.C.
0955 3 March 1943

“The Deputy Director will see you now, Captain,” the DDA's secretary said, and motioned him toward a closed door.

McCoy, who had been cooling his heels for the better part of an hour, rose up from the couch and walked to the door. He hesitated, then knocked. There was no answer. McCoy looked over his shoulder at the secretary, who gestured for him to go in. He opened the door and stepped inside.

The well-dressed man behind the desk did not look up from his papers on his desk. After a moment, McCoy closed the door behind him and then stood near it in a position very close to Parade Rest.

Finally the man looked up at him, and after a moment McCoy understood he was expected to speak first. “Good morning, my name is McCoy,” he said.

“Good morning. Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm the OSS Deputy Director for Administration,” the man said. “I've just been going over your records, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They're a…bit unusual,” the DDA said. “If I'm reading them correctly, your formal education ended with high school, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And after service as an enlisted man—in China?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You went through the Marine Corps Officer Candidate School at Quantico, and were commissioned second lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I had been under the impression that a college degree was a prerequisite for going to Officer Candidate School.”

“I wouldn't know about that, sir.”

“You have to understand, Captain, that you don't quite measure up to what we expect—in terms of education—of applicants for the OSS.”

McCoy did not reply.

“On the other hand, your records indicate that you speak Chinese. Does that mean you can only speak—carry on a conversation? Or does that mean you can read and write Chinese?”

“I read and write Wu, Mandarin, and Cantonese,” McCoy said.

“And Japanese?” the DDA asked dubiously after having another look at McCoy's service record.

“Not as well as I read and write the Chinese languages,” McCoy said.

“And German and French?”

“And a little Italian and Spanish,” McCoy said.

“Well, I'm sure you do,” the DDA said, “but we'll run you through our Languages Division to see just how well you speak so many languages. Perhaps what the Marine Corps considers fluency…You understand?”

McCoy nodded.

“Let me be very frank,” the DDA said. “We're going to send you through our training program. It's conducted at a base we operate in Virginia. And I'm frankly wondering if you might have some difficulty with the academic aspects of the course.”

McCoy said nothing.

“Well, I suppose the way to handle this is, as I said, to run you through our Languages Division, have you tested, and then send you to the base.”

The door to the DDA's office opened and the secretary walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” she said, “but I thought you should know Colonel Banning is outside.”

“Tell the Colonel I'm tied up,” the DDA said, somewhat impatiently, “and that I will see him as soon as I can.”

“Sir, I couldn't help but overhear. Colonel Banning is telephoning a General Rickabee.”

“And?” the DDA interrupted impatiently.

“He's trying to locate Captain McCoy.”

The DDA thought that over a moment. “Ask Colonel Banning to step in, will you, please?”

Banning came through the door a moment later. “What a pleasant surprise, Captain McCoy,” he said. “I was just asking General Rickabee when we might expect to see your smiling face. Also, if I may say so,
really
sunburned?”

“Good morning, sir.”

“I'll take the Captain off your hands, sir,” Banning said to the DDA.

“I beg your pardon, Colonel?”

“I said I'll take Captain McCoy off your hands, sir.”

“Colonel, Captain McCoy is about to go to the Languages Division to determine the exact level of his languages proficiency. That will probably take up most of the morning. After that, he will be transported to the training base.”

“Sir, I don't think that's what General Pickering has in mind for Captain McCoy.”

“Colonel, why don't you ask General Pickering to discuss that with me?”

“Yes, sir, I'll do that,” Banning said, and walked out of the office.

“I gather you and Colonel Banning are acquainted?” the DDA asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Unfortunately, he hasn't been here long enough to understand our system of operation.”

McCoy didn't reply.

“Now, where were we?” the DDA said. “Oh, yes. I'll telephone the Languages Division.” He reached for one of the telephones on his desk.

His office door opened again.

“I'll take Captain McCoy off your hands, Charley,” the Deputy Director (Operations) said.

“I just told Colonel Bann—”

“I just saw him in the hall; he told me,” the DDO interrupted.

“—that it was my intention to have Captain McCoy's extraordinary facility with languages tested, and then to send him to the training base.”

“Charley, you were there when General Pickering told Wild Bill that one of the officers he was bringing in with him had already done three successful behind-the-lines operations. He was speaking of Captain McCoy. And Pickering wasn't counting what McCoy did for Banning in China before the war. I've just made the decision that it would be a waste of time and money either to test his language skills—I'll take Colonel Banning's word about that—or to send him to the Country Club. Do we understand each other?”

“I'll have to discuss the matter with Director Donovan.”

“And at the same meeting, it was decided that all of General Pickering's people will be issued barber's pole badges. Why don't we give McCoy's to him while he's here, and save him time?”

The DDA looked at the DDO for fifteen seconds, then picked up his telephone. “Mrs. Rogers, would you please pull Captain McCoy's Any Area Any Time identification badge from the safe and have him sign for it as he leaves? And then come in here, please. I need to dictate a memorandum for the record.”

“You want to come with me, please, Captain?” the DDO asked.

McCoy followed him out of the office.

The DDO watched as Mrs. Rogers made McCoy sign for the identification badge, politely told her, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Rogers,” and then led McCoy out of the outer officer into the corridor.

Banning, who had been leaning against the corridor wall, stood erect.

The DDO put his hand out to McCoy. “Welcome aboard, McCoy,” he said. “I'm out of time right now—Banning will explain—but we'll find time for a chat as soon as possible. In the meantime, are you familiar with that great truth about any bureaucracy?”