In Danger's Path Read Online Free Page A

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?
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œâ€˜Killer’? What’s that mean?”
    â€œHe hates to be called that,” Ed told her, “but the truth of the matter is that he’s killed a lot of people. 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.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    â€œDo you know who Captain Bruce Fairbairn is?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    Fairbairn was Chief of the British-run Shanghai Police Department, and one of the best-known westerners in Shanghai.
    â€œFairbairn 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.”
    â€œHad they?”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œSo he was set free,” Milla observed. “And now they call him ‘Killer.’ He has a killer’s eyes.”
    â€œHe’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.”
    â€œIncredible!”
    â€œHe likes you, Milla,” Ed said.
    â€œHow can you say that?”
    â€œHe talked to you. For the Killer, he talked a lot. And he just doesn’t talk to people he doesn’t like.”
    â€œAre most of your friends like him?”
    â€œI really don’t have many friends, Milla,” he said after a