“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 hell 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 flashing 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 God, 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.
“Goddamn 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 sonofabitch about Garvey.
Why he didn’t just say, “We’ll take him,” or “We better not take him.” He damned 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 sonofabitch again–a male sonofabitch. He was simply unable to understand that she thought as he did. He still thought she was playing at being a spy; the bastard had even called her “Mata Hari” and accused her of flashing her OSS credentials to impress people.
Goddamn 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 damned 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 fuck 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.
And then, more quickly than she would have thought possible, he erupted from the couch and came to her.
Embarrassed, she averted her face.
His hand came up, and the balls of his fingers touched her cheek and gently turned her face to his. She met his eyes.
His fingers moved down her cheek, and down her neck, and onto her shoulders. He buried his face in her hair. She felt his arms around her, pressing her to him, and then felt his body shudder.
And then he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.