Part 11 (2/2)

MacArthur was wearing well-washed khakis, his famous battered, gold-encrusted uniform cap, and an Air Force A-2 leather flight jacket, not unlike the fur-collared Naval aviator's jackets Pickering and Hart were wearing.

Pickering was reasonably sure that his Naval aviator's jacket was not an authorized item of uniform for Marine officers, but he was equally sure that no one was going to call him on it. So far as he was concerned, his-and El Supremo's-leather jackets were a comfortable, practical garment for senior officers, who were not likely to find themselves rolling around in the dirt. Furthermore, he had heard somewhere that as a privilege of rank, general officers were permitted to select their own uniforms. He thought that if this were true, it probably applied only to Army officers, but had decided on the jacket anyway.

And had extended the privilege to his aide-de-camp (and bodyguard), Captain George F. Hart, as well.

”General, would it be all right if I got one of those leather jackets?” Hart had asked. ”It would make hiding these a lot easier.”

Hart had shown what he meant by first pulling up his trousers' leg and revealing a Smith & Wesson snub-nosed .38 Special five-shot revolver-his ”backup” gun-in an ankle holster, then showing General Pickering his back and the Colt Model 1911A1 semiautomatic .45-ACP-caliber pistol he carried in a skeleton holster in the small thereof.

Captain Hart, who as a civilian commanded the Homicide Bureau of the Saint Louis, Missouri, Police Department, had brought the weapons with him when recalled to the Corps for the Korean Conflict. He was never either without the pistols or very far from Brigadier General Pickering.

It makes sense, and if the Palace Guard doesn't like it, sorry about that.

”Sure, George. Why not?” Pickering had replied.

Hart now carried the .45 in a shoulder holster and the snub-nose in the right side pocket of the leather jacket.

And, predictably, the Palace Guard hadn't liked the sight of Captain Hart in a Naval aviator's leather jacket identical to that of General Pickering's, and had used it to take a shot at what really bothered them-Marine General Pickering wearing a leather jacket much like the one worn by the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers and United Nations Forces.

”General,” Colonel Sidney Huff had said, ”I'm sure you won't take offense where none is intended, but do you think your aide's leather jacket is appropriate?”

The translation of that, of course, was: ”Do you think ”Do you think your your leather jacket is appropriate when (a) General MacArthur's leather jacket has become his trademark and (b) General MacArthur has made it plain he would prefer that his staff officers do not wear leather jackets or battered gold-bedecked uniform caps?” leather jacket is appropriate when (a) General MacArthur's leather jacket has become his trademark and (b) General MacArthur has made it plain he would prefer that his staff officers do not wear leather jackets or battered gold-bedecked uniform caps?”

General Pickering had smiled at Colonel Huff.

”Let me think about that, Sid. Thank you for bringing the subject up.”

After that, George's leather jacket-and of course his-were set in concrete. Brigadier General Pickering, the a.s.sistant Director of the CIA for the Far East, was not a lowly brigadier on the staff of the Supreme Commander, as much as the staff-and probably El Supremo himself-would like it so. He was, de jure de jure, subordinate only to the Director of the CIA, Rear Admiral Roscoe Hillencoetter, USN, but, de facto, de facto, only to President Harry S Truman. only to President Harry S Truman.

MacArthur's people had to be reminded of that every once in a while. If the petty nonsense about who could wear leather jackets and who couldn't served to accomplish this, so much the better.

General MacArthur somewhat impatiently returned the salutes being offered and hurried up the stairway into the aircraft, trailed by Colonel Huff and some of the others.

Air Force ground crewmen hurried to move the stairway away from the aircraft, and there immediately came the whine of an aircraft engine being started.

MacArthur entered the cabin, knocked politely at the door of the VIP suite on the right, entered, and a moment later reappeared in the aisle.

He looked around, spotted what he was looking for, and gestured for Brigadier General Pickering to join him.

”I guess you get to sit on the right hand of G.o.d,” Captain Hart said.

”George, you're going to get us both in trouble,” Pickering said, but he was smiling.

Hart got out of the way, and Pickering made his way to the VIP cabin on the right.

There were six leather-upholstered seats in the compartment, two double sets facing forward, and two against a bulkhead that faced to the rear. A table, on which sat a coffee thermos, cups and saucers, and a map case, was between the forward- and rear-facing seats.

MacArthur was in the window seat of the first forward-facing row, in the process of fastening his seat belt. He waved Pickering into one of the seats opposite him.

Colonel Huff stepped into the compartment.

”That will be all, Huff. Thank you,” MacArthur said, dismissing him.

There was the sound of a second engine starting, and the aircraft began to move.

”Good morning, General,” Pickering said.

”Good morning, Fleming,” MacArthur replied. ”I'm pleased you could come with me.”

There was a discreet knock at the door, and then, without waiting for permission, an Air Force colonel entered.

”Good morning, General,” he said.

”Storms, turbulence, and a bad headwind all the way, right?” MacArthur greeted him.

”Quite the contrary, sir. Weather's fine en route and there.”

He laid a sheet of paper on the table and went on: ”I think we'll be wheels-up at six thirty-five, which should put us in Seoul a few minutes before ten.”

”Splendid! Thank you, Colonel.”

The colonel left, and a white-jacketed airman came in with a plate of pastry.

The Bataan Bataan taxied to the end of the runway, ran the engines up quickly, and then began to race down the runway. taxied to the end of the runway, ran the engines up quickly, and then began to race down the runway.

When the rumble of the wheels stopped and the whining of the gear being retracted ended, MacArthur said: ”I think dignity and simplicity should be the style for this business in Seoul, Fleming. Do you agree?”

”I would trust your judgment about that above anyone else's,” Pickering said.

I meant that, even if it made me sound like a member of the Palace Guard.

”Let me make a note or two,” MacArthur said. He reached for a lined tablet on the table, then changed his mind and instead picked up the coffeepot.

He held it over a cup, then asked with a raised eyebrow if Pickering wanted some, and when Pickering said, ”Please,” poured coffee for him.

He poured a second cup for himself, then picked up a pencil and slid the tablet to him.

Pickering pulled the sheet of paper the pilot had left on the table to him.

It was their routing. There was a simple but adequate map, and the data:

Direct Haneda-Kimpo.

Ground Miles: 739 Estimated Air Speed en route 227 mph Estimated Flight Time 3 hours 16 min Rendezvous with fighter escort over f.u.kui (before reaching Sea of j.a.pan) No Adverse Weather Expected.

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