"Why did you go?" Sessions asked.

"You acted like it was important," McCoy said. "Anyway, it's done. And if you were to tell Captain Banning that you and Macklin and the Reverend were making a diversion, that you knew I was going to Yenchi'eng, I wouldn't say anything," McCoy said.

"You're not, I hope, suggesting, McCoy, that I submit a patently dishonest report," Sessions said.

"Rule one, doing what we're doing," McCoy said, "is don't make waves. Either with the Corps or with the people you're watching. You tell them what really happened, you're going to look like a…"

The next word in that sentence was clearly going be ' 'horse's ass," Sessions thought. He stopped himself just in time from saying, "How dare you talk to me that way?"

A small voice in the back of his skull told him quietly but surely that he had indeed made a horse's ass of himself already-in China ten days and already grabbed by the Japanese doing something he had been told not to do, and digging himself in still deeper every time he opened his mouth.

He had been a Marine eleven years. Never before had an enlisted man-not even a Master Gunnery Sergeant when he had been a wet-behind-the-ears shavetail-talked to him the way this twenty-one-year-old corporal was talking to him now.

And the small voice in the back of his skull told him McCoy was not insolent. Inferiors are insolent to superiors. McCoy was tolerantly contemptuous, as superiors are to inferiors. And the painful truth seemed to be that he had given him every right to do so.

He had been informed-and had pretended to understand- that he would have to learn to expect the unexpected. And he hadn't. Because he was a thirty-two-year-old officer, he had presumed that he knew more than a twenty-one-year-old enlisted man.

If he followed the book-the code of conduct expected of an officer and a gentleman, especially one who wore an Annapolis ring-he would immediately grab a telephone and formally report to Captain Banning that-against McCoy's advice-he had taken the Reverend Feller and Lieutenant Macklin to Yenchi'eng, been detained by the Japanese, had a pot of some greasy rice substance dumped in his lap, and then had returned to find that not only was Corporal McCoy fornicating with the missionary's wife (conduct prejudicial to good military order and discipline) but was silently insolent to boot. And that he just incidentally happened to have a roll of 35-mm film of the 11th Japanese Division's artillery park.

"I need a bath, a shave, and a clean uniform, Corporal," Lieutenant Sessions said. "We'll settle this later." "Aye, aye, sir."

"I'd like to get started again first thing in the morning," Sessions went on. "Will there be any problems about that?" "No, sir," McCoy said. "Now that you're back, we can move anytime you want to."

Sessions realized he was still making an ass of himself and that he had to do something about it.

"What I intend to do when we get somewhere with secure communications, Corporal McCoy," he said, "is advise Captain Banning that I went to Yenchi'eng against your advice and was detained by the Japanese. I will tell him of your commendable initiative in getting the film of the Japanese artillery park. I can see no point in discussing your personal life. I would be grateful, when you make your own report, if you would go easy on how I stormed in here and showed my ass."

"I hadn't planned to say anything about that, sir," McCoy said.

"And I'm sure," Sessions said, searching for some clever way to phrase it, ' 'that… you will not permit your romantic affairs to in any way cast a shadow on the Corps' well-known reputation for chastity outside marriage."

"No, sir," McCoy said, chuckling. "I'll be very careful about that, sir." And then he added: "I'd be grateful if you didn't tell Lieutenant Macklin about Mrs. Feller."

Sessions nodded. "Thank you, McCoy," he said, then turned and walked out of the room.

Chapter Five

(One)

The Hotel am See Chiehshom, China 2215 Hours 18 May 1941

McCoy could not sleep. The smell of Ellen was inescapably on the sheets. And her image was no less indelibly printed on his mind.

Earlier, he found himself next to her at dinner. The moment he sat down, her knee moved against his.

There wasn't anything particularly sexy about her touch, and she didn't try to feel him up under the table-or he her-or anything like that. She just wanted to touch him. She didn't say two words to him either, except "please pass the salt." But she didn't take her knee away once.

All too soon, the Reverend Feller announced, "Well, we have a long day ahead of us." Ellen rose after him and followed him out… leaving McCoy with a terrible feeling of loss.

Later, McCoy and Zimmerman went to the European servants' quarters to make sure none of the drivers had shacked up in town. Afterward, Zimmerman asked matter-of-factly, "Sessions find out you're fucking the missionary lady?"

He had not been "fucking the missionary lady." It had started out that way, but it wasn't that way now. McCoy couldn't bring himself to admit he was in love, but it was more than an unexpected piece of ass, more than "fucking the missionary lady." And she had called him "my darling," and had meant it. And he had meant it, too, when she made him say it back.

"Yeah," McCoy said.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What's he going to do about it?"

"He's not going to do anything about it," McCoy said. "He's all right."

"You're lucky," Zimmerman said. "If that bastard Macklin finds out, McCoy, you 're going to find yourself up on charges.''

"One good way for him to find out, Ernie, is for you to keep talking about it."

"You better watch your ass, McCoy," Zimmerman said.

"Yeah," McCoy said. "I will."

Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess!

He turned the light back on and reached for the crossword puzzles from the Shanghai Post. He did three of them before he fell asleep sitting up. Then, carefully, so as not to rouse himself fully, he turned the light off, slipped under the sheet, and felt himself drifting off again.

When he felt her mouth on him, he thought he was having a wet dream-and that surprised him, considering all the fucking they had done. And then he realized that he wasn't

dreaming.

"I thought that might wake you up, my darling," Ellen

Feller said softly.

"What about your husband?"

"What about him? As you so obscenely put it," she said, "fuck him."

"You mean he knows?"

"I mean he sleeps in a separate bed, and when I left him, he was asleep."

"I had a hard time getting to sleep," McCoy said, "thinking about you."

"I'm glad," she said. She moved up next to him and put her face in his neck. "I would have come sooner," she said, "but he insisted on talking."

"About what?"

"That his being detained by the Japanese was a good thing, that it will probably make it easier to get the crates on the ship. Without having them inspected, I mean."

The thought saddened him. In nine days she would leave, and that would be the last he would ever see of her.

"You'd better set your alarm clock," she said practically. "I don't want to fall asleep in here."

He set the alarm clock, but it was unnecessary. They were wide awake at half-past four. Neither of them had slept for more than twenty minutes all through the night.

(Two)

Huimin, Shantung Province

27 May 1941

It took them another nine days to reach Huimin, nine days without an opportunity for McCoy and Ellen to be together.

The days on the way to Huimin were pretty much alike. They would start out early and drive slowly and steadily until they found a place where they could buy lunch. Failing that they stopped by the side of the road and picnicked on rice balls, egg rolls, and fried chicken from the hoods and running boards of the trucks and cars.