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

failure.
    The DDO knew that if Director Donovan had been consulted vis-à-vis General Pickering’s appointment, he would have strongly advised against it. Director Donovan was not an admirer of General Pickering, for a number of reasons he had shared with the DDO immediately after learning of the presidential appointment. The DDO had decided that that conversation had been private and so had not shared it with good ol’ Charley. But now it seemed obvious to him that Donovan had also complained to good ol’ Charley.
    â€œPresumably, there is written notification of this assignment of mission in the briefcase?” the DDA asked.
    â€œDuly initialed by all parties concerned.”
    â€œI’ll bring it to the Director’s attention as soon as I see him.”
    â€œIf you see him before I do, Charley, ask him to give me a ring, will you?”
    â€œIn connection with the Gobi Desert operation?”
    The DDO pushed himself out of the green leather armchair.
    â€œActually no,” he said. “Something else. Thanks for the coffee, Charley.”
    He was pleased with himself. He had nothing really important for Donovan, nothing that couldn’t wait. But the DDA didn’t know this; and, with a little bit of luck, he’d worry all afternoon about what the DDO was going to discuss with the Director.
    [TWO]
Paotow-Zi, China
8 February 1943
    Milla, Mae Su, and the children left Shanghai on November 30, three days after the 4th Marines sailed away aboard the President Madison . It took them six weeks to travel to Mae Su’s home village in the tractor-drawn cart. Milla dressed as a Chinese. At night, they stopped by the side of the road. And when they passed through a village, she hid herself in the cart, sometimes for five or six hours. Mae Su dealt with the curious who came to see what they could sell to—or steal from—the travelers. Several times, it was necessary for her to brush aside the flap of her loose, thigh-length blouse to make the curious aware of the Mauser Broomhandle machine pistol hanging there, but there was no serious trouble.
    By the end of the third week on the road, Milla knew she was pregnant.
    She prayed that wasn’t so—not in this worst of all possible times to bear a child. Into what horrible kind of world would she be bringing it?
    And worse, it would not have a father. Not now, certainly, with Ed in the Philippines, and probably—facing reality—not ever. Even on the back roads they were traveling over, they heard stories that the Japanese had attacked the American Navy base in Hawaii, and that America and Japan were at war. Ed would certainly be in that war. Facing reality, he would probably die in it.
    That left the entire responsibility for rearing a child on her shoulders. Facing reality, that meant finding enough food for it to eat, a place for it to live, and medicine for it when it became ill.
    Facing reality, she was not equipped to do any of those things. If she was arrested—facing reality, a real possibility—her possessions would be searched and the gemstones in her mother’s girdle, her only means of buying food and shelter for herself and an infant, would be seized.
    God did not answer her prayers. She was pregnant.
    Suicide was no longer a possibility. Suicide was a sin, but she had been willing to endure whatever punishment God gave her for doing it to herself. But now suicide would mean killing the life in her womb, and she could think of no greater sin. She had no option but to bear the child and do whatever she could to keep both of them alive.
    Finally, she told Mae Su, very much afraid that Mae Su would decide the only way to keep herself and her own children alive would be to abandon the Nansen stateless person and her unborn child.
    â€œIt will make things more difficult,” Mae Su responded. “There is a midwife in my village, but she will expect to be paid not to report another birth to the