Part 21 (1/2)

”I don't think I want to hear it,” she said.

”I used to ask myself, Cynthia,” Whittaker said, looking at her, ”sometimes at very very inappropriate moments, 'Why are you doing this? If you love Cynthia, why the h.e.l.l are you s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g somebody else?' ” inappropriate moments, 'Why are you doing this? If you love Cynthia, why the h.e.l.l are you s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g somebody else?' ”

He looked at her as if he expected a response.

”No answer came, Cynthia,” he said. ”The conclusion to be drawn, therefore, is that I am an unprincipled sonofab.i.t.c.h. ”

”Another possibility is that you don't really love me,” she said. ”Not that way. For G.o.d's sake, Jimmy, we have known each other since we were kids. I used to take care of you when you were a little boy.”

”I have loved you since you were about fourteen,” he said, matter-of-factly. ”You were climbing out of Chesty's pool in Palm Beach, and I got a look down your bathing suit. My heart stopped, and then jumped. My heart still stops and then jumps sometimes when I look at you. What this equation means, I'm afraid, is that I do in fact love you. That way. That way.”

”What about Garvey?” she said.

Whittaker nodded his head as if he expected not only her change of subject but even that particular question.

”She said,” he said, ”changing the subject.”

He drained his drink, then stretched across the couch to put the empty gla.s.s on a table.

”I'm not going to let you off the hook there, Cynthia,” he said, and started to cross the room to the bar.

”What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?”

”There's more to playing Mata Hari, my dear Cynthia, than running around the woods in Virginia with a rifle, or flas.h.i.+ng your OSS credentials to impress people.”

”Now, that's a cheap shot!”

”It involves things like making decisions,” he said. ”For example, 'Do I send a nice little boy in a sailor suit off someplace where he is liable to drown, or have his head sliced off with a sword?' ”

My G.o.d, he's seen those pictures! He knows what he's getting himself into. He's frightened!

He looked at her out of Chesty's eyes.

”G.o.dd.a.m.n you!” she said.

He didn't reply. He walked back to the couch and sat down.

She felt a sudden infuriating urge to cry. She fought it down, then went to the bar and poured an inch of brandy into a snifter.

She wondered why Whittaker was being such a sonofab.i.t.c.h about Garvey. Why he didn't just say, ”We'll take him,” or ”We better not take him.” He d.a.m.ned well was equipped to decide whether the contribution Garvey could make to the mission overrode his youth, and inexperience, and lack of training, and, for that matter, physical stamina.

That's what had to be judged. Whether Garvey was drowned or beheaded was important only insofar as it would affect the mission.

Clearly, Garvey should go. Why had Jimmy been unwilling to come out and say that?

Because, she suddenly understood, he was being a sonofab.i.t.c.h again-a male male sonofab.i.t.c.h. He was simply unable to understand that she thought as he did. He still thought she was playing at being a spy; the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had even called her ”Mata Hari” and accused her of flas.h.i.+ng her OSS credentials to impress people. sonofab.i.t.c.h. He was simply unable to understand that she thought as he did. He still thought she was playing at being a spy; the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had even called her ”Mata Hari” and accused her of flas.h.i.+ng her OSS credentials to impress people.

G.o.dd.a.m.n him!

”Garvey will go,” she announced.

He nodded.

Their eyes met.

”If I asked you a straight question, could I have a straight answer?” Cynthia heard herself ask.

”That would depend on the question,” he said.

The telephone rang. It was Ellis.

”Sorry I didn't call earlier, Ellis,” he said. ”I just forgot.”

He reported that the material was on hand, that the weather was good, and unless Ellis heard to the contrary, they would depart Mare Island for Hawaii on schedule.

”And we're taking Garvey,” he concluded. ”Get him transferred officially as soon as you can. Get him overseas pay, and hazardous-duty pay . . . whatever you can.”

Ellis said something else, to which Whittaker replied: ”Thanks, Chief, I'll d.a.m.ned well try.”

Cynthia knew that Ellis had told him to take care of himself.

Whittaker hung the phone up again.

”You were asking?” he said, meeting her eyes.

”Are you afraid?”

”I'll tell you what I'm afraid of,” he said seriously, after a pause. ”I'm afraid I'll answer that dumb question the wrong way, and that'll give you your excuse to throw me out of here.”

”Are you afraid, Jimmy?” Cynthia asked.

”This is probably the wrong answer, but f.u.c.k it. Truth time. No, I'm not. I'm good at this sort of thing. There's a thrill, Cynthia. It's even better than flying.”

She looked at him first in disbelief, then in astonishment when she realized he was telling the truth.

”The wrong answer, I gather?” he asked dryly.

”It wasn't the answer I expected,” she said.

”Do I get to stay?”

She felt her face flush. She felt faint. There was a contraction at the base of her stomach.

She forced herself to look at him.

”If you like,” she said very softly.