Part 35 (1/2)

I knew a shrink would say this was a visceral, even predictable response to a mission that had been tense and dangerous. The human psyche gets wound up, and death and violence breed thoughts of procreation, which has something to do with s.e.x. It's Freudian, or maybe French--inner peace through o.r.g.a.s.m.

Also, aside from a few obviously minor idiosyncrasies--my occasional chauvinism, my pigheadedness, my faltering career--I am fairly irresistible. Women, after all, are willing to overlook a lot. Even my brother, who's a selfish, overbearing p.r.i.c.k, always has a babe on his arm. I mean, I love the guy. I'm just not sure why.

Of course, he is stinking rich, with a huge house on a glorious bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. With women, that helps.

Bian rubbed a little more and said, ”Excuse me, but I think I've made my intentions clear. It's your move.”

Or was this plain and uncomplicated horniness? Maybe. But such impulsiveness seemed incongruous for a lady whose life and career were the embodiment of self-discipline. No . . . that just didn't wash, if you'll pardon the bad pun.

So, two possibilities. She was using her body to manipulate me, or she was making a huge emotional mistake, which was about to become my mistake.

s.e.x, in my experience, comes either at the start of a relations.h.i.+p, when intercourse is no more or less meaningful than a handshake--except n.o.body wakes up in the morning regretting a handshake. Or it is part of a ripening relations.h.i.+p, an acknowledgment of deepening affection, love, and commitment. Bian and I were more than acquaintances, and less than in love. In love and in battle, timing is everything; when the timing is off, what follows usually sucks.

I took a few deep breaths, stepped back, picked up the towel, and carefully draped it around her body. She looked surprised. ”This is a joke, right?”

We stared into each other's eyes for a moment. I said, ”Would you buy it if I told you I'd keep going if I didn't care about you?”

”That's . . . the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

”Right.”

She looked away for a moment. ”This is really humiliating. I'm throwing myself at you. I think you owe me a better explanation.”

”Okay. I do owe you a better explanation,” I agreed, trying to think up that explanation.

”I'm listening.”

”This doesn't feel right. Not here, not now. You're engaged, and I particularly don't like the idea of sleeping with a soldier's girl. I think you're emotionally confused, and I'm not the key to resolving it; I'm part of the problem.”

”Maybe you're overthinking this.”

There was a new one; usually, I underthink these things. ”Maybe.”

”I--”

I put my finger on her lips. ”Bian, don't talk, listen. We're both confused right now. You're beautiful and s.e.xy, I'm very attracted to you, and . . .” I paused, then said, ”When this is over, you need to have a word with your fiance. We'll see where we stand. Sound right?” In keeping with the watery theme, I added, ”This is either a rain check or maybe, in a saner moment, it will be rained out.”

She threw a towel at me. ”Being a n.o.ble p.r.i.c.k doesn't become you.”

”I'm regretting it already.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, ”I have to rinse off.

Since you're such a gentleman, why don't you get out?” ”If you hear a gunshot, it will be me blowing my brains out.” She smiled. ”Oh, please don't.” I smiled back. She stopped smiling. ”Let me pull the trigger.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I broke into my duffel bag, shaved, and changed into fresh battle dress. When I emerged from the stately bedroom, Bian had returned to the lounge and had her nose tucked back inside broke into my duffel bag, shaved, and changed into fresh battle dress. When I emerged from the stately bedroom, Bian had returned to the lounge and had her nose tucked back inside TIME TIME magazine. magazine.

It's always a little touchy dealing with somebody after you've been naked together, especially when the chemistry failed and it's your fault. I needed a moment to think through my approach.

Well, the proper course would be to sit down and have an honest heart-to-heart discussion about what happened, to expose my inner feelings, to achieve an emotional communion. Men aren't very good at this; we're emotionally awkward, disconnected, and shallow. I can do better than that, and I decided I would. So I told Bian, ”Time to interrogate our prisoner. Let's go.”

She ignored me and studied her magazine.

”Now, Bian. We need to have this done before Phyllis and Waterbury arrive.”

”Fine.” She continued reading.

”Also, presumably he knows bin Pacha. A little background will help when we interrogate bin Pacha later. Make sense?”

”Whatever you say.”

”You try to untangle whatever he knows about future bombings, and who he was giving his explosives to. You understand that stuff better than I do.”

”I imagine I do.” Her nose was still inside her stupid magazine.

”Good cop, bad cop--you're the bad cop.”

”Naturally.”

I stepped toward her and bent forward until my face was two inches from hers. ”Put the personal issues aside. Mission first, Major.”

She calmly put down her magazine and stood. ”I'm not mad at you--okay? I thought about it. You know what? You were right. It would've been a huge mistake.”

Boy, was I ever glad we'd had this discussion and got that cleared up. I said, ”Come with me.”

We went to the guest suite, and as we entered, Nervous Nellie jolted upright and stared at us. I approached him and untied his gag.

He wanted to rub his dry lips, but his hands were manacled to the bedposts, and he had to settle with ma.s.saging his lips with his tongue.

He would always be Nervous Nellie to me, but I asked, ”What's your name?”

”Please . . . sir . . . my leg, it hurts. Most badly.”

I repeated my question.

”Please . . . maybe you have . . . I don't know, aspirin?”

Bian looked at him and said to me, ”Dead men don't need aspirin.”

This, of course, was not a threat of death, which would be a serious violation of the Geneva Conventions; it was a statement of fact. One could see, however, where it might be misinterpreted.

Apparently this guy misinterpreted Bian, because he said with some enthusiasm, ”I am Abdul Almiri.”

Bian asked, ”From where?”