In Danger's Path by W. E. B. Griffin

there was just too much work for Pluto and Moore.
    Pickering himself, who was Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox’s Personal Representative to both SWPOA (MacArthur) and CINCPAC (Nimitz), also had MAGIC clearance.
    â€œDo you suppose, Pluto,” MacArthur asked thoughtfully, waving the Special Channel, “that General Pickering had any inkling of this?”
    â€œI don’t think so, General,” Pluto replied. “I don’t think the possibility ever entered his mind.”
    MacArthur grunted. “No,” he said, almost to himself. “Neither do I. One generally knows precisely what Pickering is thinking.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Pluto said, chuckling.
    Lieutenant Colonel Huff’s curiosity was nearly out of control.
    MacArthur either saw this and took pity on him, or perhaps simply decided that this was a MAGIC Special Channel message that his aide-de-camp should be familiar with. He handed it to him.
    â€œTake a look at this, Huff,” he said.
    Huff took the two sheets of teletypewriter paper containing President Roosevelt’s Special Channel Personal to General Douglas MacArthur and Brigadier General Fleming Pickering.
    Pluto watched Huff’s face as he read the message. It was a study of surprise and displeasure.
    â€œWhere is General Pickering, Pluto?” MacArthur asked. “Still on Espíritu Santo?”
    â€œSo far as I know, sir. I’ve had no word from him.”
    â€œYou had best get the President’s message to him as soon as possible,” MacArthur ordered.
    â€œI’ve already had Radio do that, sir.”
    â€œYou didn’t think, Major,” Huff snapped, “that you should have waited for the Supreme Commander’s authority to do so?”
    Pluto’s temper flared, although it did not show on his face.
    â€œWhat I thought, Colonel,” he said coldly, “was that General MacArthur would expect me to immediately carry out the wishes of the President.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” MacArthur said with a smile.
    â€œI was thinking, sir,” Huff explained, somewhat lamely, “that the President’s message was classified MAGIC . There’s no one on Espíritu Santo cleared for MAGIC .”
    â€œNo, Colonel,” Pluto said, in the manner of a professor explaining something simple to a dense student. “The President’s message was classified Top Secret, not Top Secret— MAGIC . The President—or, more likely, Admiral Leahy—chose to transmit it over the Special Channel, probably because that would guarantee the most rapid transmission.”
    Huff’s face tightened.
    Whether MacArthur saw this and decided to pour oil on obviously troubled waters, or whether he was simply in a garrulous mood, he decided to change the subject. “The miracle of modern communications,” he said. “Did I ever tell you, Pluto, that I am a qualified heliograph operator?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Pluto said. It took him a long moment to search his brain until he could recall that the heliograph was a Spanish-American War—era method of transmitting Morse code from hilltop to hilltop using tripod-mounted mirrors to reflect the rays of the sun.
    â€œI was seven or eight at the time,” MacArthur went on. “A Signal Corps officer on my father’s staff was kind enough to take the time to teach me. By the time I was finished, I could transmit twelve words per minute, which was the speed required of enlisted men assigned to such duties.”
    â€œI’ve only seen pictures,” Pluto said.
    â€œI believe there’s a photo in my album,” MacArthur said. “I’ll show it to you tonight, Pluto, before we begin our bridge game.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Pluto said.
    â€œAbout half past seven?” MacArthur asked.
    â€œWhenever it’s convenient for you, sir.”
    â€œThen seven-thirty,” MacArthur said. “Thank you,