This is nothing to crow about since it's as predictable as the rising sun in Japan where it begins and where Peter Eliot, after Vietnam, is working for an industrial company when he witnesses the knife-in-the-throat killing of a former friend in government (i.e., intelligence) work. Then there's Marta Frazier, old, old San Francisco family and curator of a museum to which she is bringing a Sung painting. On the way back to the States they are attracted to each other and love is very blind to another kind of traffic going on from stateroom to stateroom. Pleasant certainly and, equally surely, reminiscently forgettable.