W E B Griffin - Corp 08 - In Dangers Path Read online

  "Damn you! Stop this. I don't think it's funny. It's cruel. It's perverse!"

  "Before I cabled my father," Ed said. "I went down to the legation and asked the consul general some questions." He caught her eye. "He's a nice guy and won't run off at the mouth about that."

  "Questions about us?"

  "About you," he said. "Your Nansen status. Specifically, I asked him how I can get you into the United States."

  "And he told you that that's impossible. I'm surprised you don't know that. You can't immigrate to the United States on a Nansen passport."

  "Unless you get a special law passed by Congress, is what he told me."

  "What do you mean, a 'special law'?"

  "The Congress of the United States in solemn assembly passes a law stating that so much of the applicable laws pertaining are waived in the case of Maria Catherine Ludmilla Zhivkov, and the Attorney General is hereby directed to forthwith issue to the said Maria Catherine Ludmilla Zhivkov an immigration visa."

  "That's possible?" she asked incredulously.

  "We can't get married here. I'd need permission, and the Colonel would never grant it. And I can't resign from the Corps now. Resignations have been suspended for what they call 'The Emergency.' "

  "So what are you talking about?"

  "What we have to do is get you to the States," he said. "Once you're in the States, we can get married. I won't be the first Marine officer with a foreign-born wife. And I really want to stay in the Corps."

  "You're dreaming the impossible. Didn't your consul general tell you what we both know? I can't get into the United States on a Nansen passport."

  "That's where good old Uncle Zach comes in with his special law," Ed said. "My father's cable said that he had gone to see Uncle Zach, and Uncle Zach came on board."

  "Your Uncle Zach has political connections?"

  "He's not really my uncle. He and my father were classmates at The Citadel. But I've known him all of my life."

  "But he has political connections?"

  "The Honorable Zachary W. Westminister III has the honor to be the Representative to the Congress of the United States from the Third Congressional District of the great state of South Carolina."

  "And he will help?"

  "The way my father sounded, it's a done deal. It won't happen next week, but it can be done."

  Oh, Holy Mary; Mother of God, is it possible ? Has the wheel stopped spinning and the ball really dropped into my hole ?

  Milla started to weep.

  He raised his head to look down at her and saw the tears running down her cheeks.

  "Hey," he asked, very tenderly, touching her cheek with his fingers. "What's that all about?"

  "Ed, I want so much to believe, but I'm so afraid."

  "I told you. baby, the Marines have landed, and the situation is well in hand."

  "What does that 'Marines have landed' mean?" she asked, confused.

  "It means that between now and the time the next Pan American Clipper leaves for the States, we have to go to the legation and get certified true copies made of all your documents, including your Nansen passport and what they call a 'narrative of the circumstances' by which you wound up here. Then we stuff everything in an airmail envelope and send it off to Uncle Zach. Who will get a special law passed for us."

  "Really, Ed? This can be done?"

  "Really, baby. It will be done."

  Believe the dream. Why not? A dream is all I have.

  She kissed his chest.

  "But we don't have to do that right now," Ed said. "And, anyway, I see that something else has come up we're going to have to do something about."

  "Excuse me?" Milla asked, looking up at him.

  He pointed to his midsection.

  "Oh," she said.

  "Does that suggest anything to you?" he asked.

  Milla put her hand on him, rolled over onto her back, and guided him into her.

  [THREE]

  They had three months together.

  Without telling Ed. Milla went to her Russian Orthodox priest. Father Boris didn't have a church. He supported himself exchanging one foreign currency for another. He'd even shaved his beard and wore a suit so that he would look like a respectable businessman. But before the Revolution, he had been a priest at St. Matthew's in St. Petersburg. She didn't remember him there-she had been too young-but he remembered her family, and he had buried both her father and her mother here in Shanghai with the holy rites of the church. Several times, when he looked particularly desperate when she saw him on the street, she had given him a little money, and once, a little drunk on the anniversary of her mother's death, she had gone into the hem of her mother's girdle and taken a stone from it-one of the small rubies-and given it to him "for the poor."

  When they met, he called her "Countess"; and when she asked, he heard her confession. She was having carnal relations, she told him. And while she was sorry to sin, she was not ashamed, for she loved the man very much.

  Since she was not willing to swear an oath to break off the sinful relationship, Father Boris could not grant her absolution. But she believed him when he told her he was sorry. "Your sin is now between yourself and God," he went on to say, "and you will have to answer to him."

  That was all right with Milla. She didn't see how a merciful God could be angry with her for being in love. God had to know that she and Ed would already be married, if that had been possible. And just as soon as it was possible, she would marry him, and be a good and faithful wife to him.

  In a sense, they were married. She didn't feel like a mistress, even though, after the first week, she slept more in Ed's apartment than her own.

  In time, a letter came from the congressman, acknowledging receipt of her documents, and advising Ed that he would move on the special bill as quickly as he could, but that it was going to take time.

  A very nice letter also came from Ed's mother. "You must really be a special person," she wrote, "because we had always assumed that Ed was married to the Marine Corps until we got the wire from him announcing your engagement.

  Meanwhile," the letter continued, "we're anxiously waiting for you to come to the States. When you arrive, why don't you plan on living in our house with us, for the time being at least. There's plenty of room, and I look forward to the company." She signed the letter, "with much love to my new daughter-to-be."

  With one exception, she didn't meet any of Ed's fellow Marines. She understood why. Theirs was an inappropriate relationship in the eyes of the United States Corps of Marines.

  The one Marine she met, a corporal, was a very strange young man. One morning Ed asked her if she would prepare a little dinner party for this young man. The next day he was returning to the United States.

  She was happy to do that. She roasted a chicken, made blini and rice, found some nice wine, and even, since it was a farewell party, a bottle of French champagne.

  When Ed introduced the young man to her-his name was McCoy-the one thing Milla most noticed about him was his cold eyes. He also looked as though he didn't approve of the inappropriate relationship. And a few moments later, when Ed told him to relax and take off his uniform tunic, Milla was startled to see that McCoy was wearing a nasty-looking dagger strapped to his left arm, between his hand and his elbow.

  She was also surprised that he spoke better Chinese-Wu, Mandarin, and Cantonese-than Ed did, and even knew a few words of Russian.

  He didn't stay long after dinner; and when he left, Milla asked Ed if the rules were different in the U.S. Corps of Marines than in Russia. Could officers have friends who were common soldiers?

  "The Killer's not a common soldier, honey," Ed said. "Not even a common Marine. And, though he doesn't know it yet, he's going to be an officer. He thinks he's being reassigned. But I've arranged for him to go to Officer Candidate School."

  " 'Killer'? What's that mean?"

  "He hates to be called that," Ed told her, "but the truth of the matter is that he's killed a lot of pe
ople. Around the Fourth Marines, he's something of a legend."

  He went on to explain that he had met McCoy when assigned to defend him against a court-martial double charge of murder. What had actually happened was that four Italian Marines had ambushed McCoy-Ed had had to define the word for her-and he had killed two of them with his knife. "It was self-defense," Ed said. "But I thought he was going to go to prison anyway. It was the word of the two surviving Italians against his, and they said he had attacked them."

  "So what happened?"

  "Do you know who Captain Bruce Fairbairn is?"

  "Yes, of course."

  Fairbairn was Chief of the British-run Shanghai Police Department, and one of the best-known westerners in Shanghai.

  "Fairbairn came to me-he and McCoy are two peas from the same pod. They're friends, and that knife McCoy carries is the one Fairbairn designed. He gave it to McCoy and taught him how to use it-anyway, Fairbairn came to me and said that if the Marine Corps went forward with the 'ridiculous' court-martial, he had three agents of his Flying Squad prepared to testify under oath that McCoy was the innocent party, they had seen the whole thing."

  "Had they?"

  "I don't really think so, baby. But Fairbairn didn't think McCoy attacked anybody, and he wasn't going to see him sent to prison for twenty years-or life- so an unpleasant diplomatic incident could be swept under the rug."

  "So he was set free," Milla observed. "And now they call him 'Killer' He has a killer's eyes."

  "He's a tough little cookie," Ed said. "But the Italians weren't the only people he had to kill. One time when he was on a supply convoy to Peking, the convoy was ambushed by Chinese 'bandits'-almost certainly in the employ of the Kempeitai, the Japanese Secret Police. Anyhow, McCoy and the sergeant with him, Zimmerman-but mostly McCoy-really did a job on them. After it was over, there were twenty bodies. When that word got out, he became 'Killer' McCoy for all time."

  "Incredible!"

  "He likes you, Milla," Ed said.

  "How can you say that?"

  "He talked to you. For the Killer, he talked a lot. And he just doesn't talk to people he doesn't like."

  "Are most of your friends like him?"

  "I really don't have many friends, Milla," he said after a moment, thoughtfully. "To me a friend is somebody you can trust when the chips are down-do you know that expression, 'when the chips are down'?"

  She nodded.

  "I trust the Killer. Like I trust you, my love."

  [FOUR]

  One day, in the middle of the morning, he came to her apartment, unexpected. Milla knew it was over as soon as she looked in Ed's eyes.

  "I don't know how to break this to you easy, honey," he said, just looking at her, not even kissing her.

  "Tell me."

  "The Fourth has been transferred to the Philippines," he said. "I'm on the advance party. I fly out of here the day after tomorrow."

  I knew it was too good to be true, too good to last.

  "Good God!"

  "Which means we don't have much time."

  "Two days."

  She wrapped her arms around him and fought back the tears.

  "I've got to transfer title to all my stuff to you."

  "I don't want anything!"

  "You're my wife."

  "I am not."

  "You will be at eleven o'clock tomorrow. Jim Ferneyhough-Father Ferneyhough-at the Anglican Cathedral says he'll marry us, and to hell with getting permission from my colonel or anybody else."

  "But you will be in trouble with the Corps of Marines."

  "Oh, to hell with that, baby."

  [FIVE]

  Milla came very close to taking her life the day Ed left Shanghai. When she saw him enter the huge, four-engined Sikorski Pan American Airways "China Clipper," she was absolutely convinced that she would never see him again. And without Ed, she didn't want to live. Not the way things were now in Shanghai, and certainly not in the Shanghai that was soon to be. Even though Ed was an intelligence officer and should know how things really were, she was sure she knew what really was going to happen better than he did.

  Because it had a basement garage, and she wouldn't dare leave the red Pontiac on the street in front of her own apartment, Milla drove from the wharf to Ed's apartment-which by now she had begun to think of as their apartment, their home.

  Maybe, she thought, it would be best to take my life in our apartment, where we were so happy.

  The bed was still mussed from their last time together. Wondering why she was doing it, she made it over with fresh sheets.

  The towel in the bathroom was still damp from his last shower, and he had forgotten to take a half-empty bottle of his aftershave lotion that smelled of limes.

  She went so far as to take out the Colt automatic pistol he had left with her, after teaching her how to load and cock and aim it.

  Then she decided she would wait until the 4th Marines actually left Shanghai. The advance party, to which Ed was assigned, would fly to Manila to arrange for the arrival of the regiment, which would be moved by ship.

  She did not want Ed to receive news that she was dead. But if she took her life before the regiment left, especially in his apartment, it was possible someone would notify him in Manila.

  It would be different after the 4th Marines were gone. No one would then care if a Nansen person shot herself in an apartment once occupied by an officer of the 4th Marines.

  [SIX]

  Two days before the 4th Marines had finished loading aboard the USS President Madison, the ship sent to transport them to Manila, Milla had a visitor in her apartment. It was a Marine, a sergeant. He was short, barrel-chested, round-faced, and stubby-fingered; and her first impression was that he was stupid and crude. Behind him was a flat-faced Chinese woman, with a pair of children in tow-obviously half white-and a third in her arms.

  "Mrs. Banning?" he asked.

  It was only the second time in her life that she had been so addressed. The English priest at the cathedral had been the first. "May I congratulate you, Mrs. Banning, on your marriage, and offer my best wishes for a long and happy marriage?" he had said, knowing full well how the odds were stacked against that.

  "I am Mrs. Banning," she said.

  It was the first time in her life she had ever said that. It sounded strange and made her want to cry.

  "Sergeant Zimmerman, ma'am," he said. "Fourth Marines. This is my woman, Mae Su, and our kids."

  The woman nodded at Milla but did not speak. Milla, somewhat unkindly, thought they were a well-matched pair. Mae Su was built like Zimmerman, short, squat, and muscular, and looked no more intelligent.

  "How may I help you, Sergeant?"

  "I don't need any help, but Mae Su and the kids are probably going to need some help. Before he left, Killer McCoy said I should get the two of youse together. And before he left, I asked Captain Banning about it, and he said it was a good idea that the two of youse could probably help each other out."

  "Well, if my husband said that, Sergeant, I'll be happy to do anything I can for you," Milla said, noting what she had said. It was the first time she had ever used the phrase "my husband."

  This is insane. I'm insane. I'm in no position to help anybody. What I need is somebody to help me.

  "Okay," Sergeant Zimmerman said. "The Killer said you was smart and would know how fucked up things are going to get around here once we get on that fucking ship and sail off."

  The Killer said I was smart? Obviously, what has happened here is that Corporal the Killer was boasting to his friend the sergeant that he had met Captain Banning's woman-my God, we weren't married when the Killer went to America; that's all I was to him, his Captain's Nansen person equivalent of this Chinese peasant-and that the two women should get together.

  So why did this sergeant call me Mrs. Banning? Because Ed told him we were married? I don't think so. He just decided that Captain Banning's Nansen person woman would like to be called Mrs. Banning, it would make her fee
l less like a mistress, less like one more Nansen person whore.

  "Exactly what did you have in mind, Sergeant?" Milla asked.

  "Nothing now," he said. "But sure as hell, something will fucking well turn up."

  "Would you like to come in? Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

  Sergeant Zimmerman spoke to the woman, repeating her offer in what sounded like perfect Mandarin. The woman shook her head, "no."

  "We don't have much time," Sergeant Zimmerman said. "We looked for you first over at the Captain's apartment, waited around for you, and then we come here."