Ann Caracristi came to work at Arlington Hall each day wearing bobby socks, flat shoes, and a pleated skirt that billowed and swung. She looked like a bobby-soxer, the kind of carefree and heedless college girl who lived for boyfriends and swing dances. But appearances were deceiving. What hidden depths Ann Caracristi had. What capabilities. General Douglas MacArthur did not know it, but his secret weapon—or one of them—was this affable and somewhat cosseted twenty-three-year-old from the upper middle classes of exurban Bronxville, New York. Intellectually ferocious, Annie worked twelve-hour
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