Flash Point (9 page)

“What?” he replied.

“My hand.” She looked at her feet. “I guess you hadn’t seen it before.” She hesitated, then studied his face. “I’m very good at hiding it. I’ve had time to practice. Some people who consider themselves my friends don’t know, or at least don’t show that they know. But most people are so shocked when they notice that they can’t help reacting.” She leaned forward slightly to look into his eyes. “Like you did. Will it matter? Do you think less of me?”

“Of course not,” he said quickly. “How could it matter?”

“People react. They can’t help how they feel, and it makes a difference. Will it make a difference with you?”

“No. I just thought you were left-handed.”

“I am.”

“No, I mean naturally left han . . . never mind.” He looked at a house they were passing. The main door faced the canal, and there were steps leading down to the water directly in front of them. The door was three feet above the water level. “Do you have to take a boat to get to that house? I mean, when the guy goes to work every morning, does he have to take a boat?”

“Some of them do, but most either walk, or some have cars. Many of the houses have streets or alleys behind them in which they can walk or drive. Most cars aren’t allowed in Venice, but some can have them. I haven’t quite understood that yet.”

Vialli sat quietly and watched the houses go by. “I’m sorry I reacted. I thought I was bigger than that.”

Irit smiled at him. “Don’t feel bad, it’s natural. Most people wonder what happened to me. They think I was involved in some horrible accident, and want to pity me. But I was born like this. Nothing I can do about it. I won’t hold it against you. But you mustn’t hold it against me either.”

“How could I hold it against you?”

“Some boys, men, that I’ve dated, cool on me very quickly after they notice. I think they believe I am somehow defective, or worthless . . .”

“No way—”

“Let me finish.” She sighed. “I know they don’t mean to, but they do. They see me as an incomplete person. It isn’t intentional, but some men can’t get over it.” She looked down again, and was quiet.

Vialli knew she had seen his shock and dismay. He hated himself for reacting at all.

Sean was carefully studying anything that would require him to turn his head.

“There’s more,” she said quietly.

“What?”

Irit sat back and put her head on his shoulder. He moved his arm around her. She spoke softly. “I’m not Italian.”

He pulled back slightly and looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not from Trento. I don’t even live in Italy. My cousin lives in Trento and I come to visit her once in a while. That’s why I’m here. Then I travel around Italy because I love it. But I don’t live here.”

“Where do you live?”

“Nahariya.”

Vialli looked at her uncomprehendingly, his mouth open. “Where?”

“Israel.”

Vialli’s mouth stayed open. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know where to start. “Are you . . .”

“Jewish?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Catholic.”

“I know.”

Vialli stared past her at a small square that was full of shops. The light cascaded out of the shops and reflected on the wet pavement. It looked magical. Gondolas were lining up to unload. “Does it matter?” he asked finally.

“Not to me. Does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m not very Catholic.”

She smiled at him for the first time since they’d gotten into the gondola. “I’m not very religious either. My family is not Orthodox or anything.”

“If we see each other would your parents be upset?”

Irit looked at him with her gorgeous eyes. “Probably.”

“Does that matter?”

“A little.”

“Are we going to see each other?”

She shrugged. “That’s up to you. You’ve gotten two surprises today, and I doubt you liked either one very much. It will depend on you, I think.”

Vialli sat in turmoil. “Why didn’t you tell me from the first?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you would find me more interesting if I were Italian. Being Israeli can be quite a burden.”

Vialli considered what he had just heard. “I want to see you again.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Two people who love Italy who aren’t
from
Italy? We’re perfect for each other.” He watched the boats that passed the other way.

Woods caught his eye. With an immediate exchange of looks Woods asked him if everything was okay, and Vialli told him things were fine. Woods focused his attention back on the sights.

Vialli spoke. “When am I going to see you again?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Where is your next port?”

“Naples I think, but it’s not for a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll be back home by then.”

He breathed in sharply. “This isn’t going to be easy, you know.”

“I know. Most good things aren’t.”

He nodded. “We’re gonna be in Israel in about a month.”

“I know. You told me.”

“I guess that will be it. Our next chance to be together.” He thought for a moment. “And after that, I won’t see you again before we head back to the States unless you can meet me somewhere.”

“I’d like to see you sooner.” She pursed her lips. “I’m going to miss you.”

He leaned over and kissed her gently. She kissed him back.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

She looked at him curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. You’re so . . . together. You aren’t like all the silly girls I’ve dated. You’re just . . . different.”

She smiled but said nothing. “I need to get back.”

“You just got here.” He sat up straight as if he had just thought of something. “I’d like you to meet the guys. Want to walk with me to the hotel where we’re staying?”

“I don’t have time.”

“Sure you do.”

The gondola came to a gentle stop where they had started. They climbed out and walked to a café at the corner of the square. They sat down at a worn wooden table, grateful for the warmth.

“What’ll you have?” Vialli asked.

“Cappuccino for me,” Woods said enthusiastically.

Vialli looked at Irit. She shook her head. “I have to get going. I need to get the train back to Trento. I didn’t really even have time for this morning, but I’m glad I came.” She stood up and adjusted her coat with her left hand.

“You sure?” Vialli asked.

She nodded. “Send me an e-mail when you know where you’ll be next. We’ll see if there’s some way to get together.”

“Sure,” he said. He was dying at the idea of her walking away. “Are you going to the train station?”

“Yes. I have about an hour to get there.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said, deciding suddenly. “Okay with you?” he asked Woods.

“Sure. I’m going to go to the admin. I’ll probably just crash. I’m beat.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You going to come back here or go to the ship?”

“I’ll meet you back at the admin.”

“Okay,” Woods said. He finished his coffee quickly and put the cup down softly on the saucer, then looked for the waiter to order another. “It was nice to see you again,” he said to Irit.

She averted his gaze. “Did you hear what I told Tony?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” he said, not giving her the complete forgiveness she expected.

“There’s really no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled.

Vialli watched Irit, thankful for the opportunity to observe her as she talked to someone else. “I’ll see you in a while,” he said to Woods, walking out with his arm around her.

“Bye,” she said to Woods as they went through the door.

Vialli took her left hand in his and they walked down the street toward an arching bridge that rose up over a canal. He stopped on the bridge and said, “What time is your train?”

“One o’clock.”

“We’ve still got forty-five minutes. How far away is the train station?”

“It’s a pretty good walk.”

He put one hand on the bridge rail and looked past her. He knew he had to bring it up again. “You could see I was shocked,” he said.

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. It happens.”

“I expected better of myself.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be with me now out of pity or something. Like now. You held my hand. Why?”

Vialli was pierced. “Because I care. Why do you think?”

“So you can show me you’re not holding it against me. And so you can think better of yourself.”

“Come on, Irit. Give me some credit.” He was growing frustrated. He couldn’t say anything right. “I really do care for you. I haven’t felt like this before,” he blurted.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.” He turned toward her and touched her face. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, tentatively, unsure of himself, not about how he felt, but about how she would respond. He was afraid. He broke off the kiss before it became a commitment. He kept his face next to hers and put his hands on her waist. She put her hands on his waist at the same time. The bridge was deserted. There was no one to be seen along the road. Two gondolas made their way under the bridge in opposite directions but took no notice of them.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Enough of that. We have to get past it,” she said softly.

He kissed her again and felt her warmth as she pressed against him. He was glad not to have to explain himself anymore. She understood and didn’t hold it against him. She was remarkable. She had forgiven him at a level beyond where he was entitled to it. He kissed her deeply. He put his arms around her and held her tightly as he kissed her, his desire for her growing with every moment.

“We need to get to the train station.”

“Stay the night, here in Venice,” he pleaded.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You said you weren’t working, what’s the hurry?”

“I just can’t.”

He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “
Why
?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not? What could you possibly not tell me about?”

“It’s personal.”

He studied her. “You still don’t trust me.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“I want to spend more time with you. This just isn’t good enough. There’s so much to say.” He kissed her again. “There’s so much to do.”

“I know. Next time. I promise. I have to go. Come to the train with me. Ride the train with me,” she said suddenly.

“What? I can’t go to Trento.”

“No, just buy a ticket to one of the stops on the way, then get off, and ride the next one back. You’ll be back in a couple of hours, and we can sit together for a while in the warm compartment. Maybe we’ll have one to ourselves . . .” She smiled as she took his hand.

“Let’s go,” he agreed finally. “Sounds like just the thing.”

“You got him, Wink?” Woods asked over the ICS.

“Yeah. I got him. He’s trying to come in out of the weeds.”

“There aren’t any weeds in the ocean, Wink.”

“No kidding. Come starboard hard to 005. Set four hundred fifty knots. He’s still descending. I show him at one hundred fifty feet doing four hundred fifty knots.”

Woods slammed the stick of the F-14 to the right and banked the Tomcat steeply, lowering the nose and starting a descent to complete the intercept. “He can’t be at one hundred fifty feet, Wink.”

“Why?” Wink replied as he worked the thumb wheel of the radar control handle between his legs.

“Because there’s a regulation against going below five hundred feet, Wink.”

“I forgot. Come port to 355. He’s made a hard right turn.”

The flat gray paint on the F-14 made it hard to see. That was the idea. Woods squinted as he looked down through the thick windscreen at the green diamond projected on the Heads Up Display. It showed where the bogey was; but Boomer was still too small a dot to see, even through the diamond that outlined his position. Just blue-gray water and blue-gray sky. “How far?”

“Twelve miles.”

“You think he’s got us yet?”

“If he does, he sure isn’t acting like it. He’s not coming up to get us. He’s just playing bogey.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“We’re going to break port in about two miles.”

“Roger.”

“Course 357 for ten miles, angels 0, slight left to right drift. He’s ten right, twenty low, closure nine hundred knots.”

“No tally.”

“Port hard,” Wink said, his voice cool. He watched the radar track on Boomer until it was sufficiently out to the right, then called, “Starboard hard,” as Woods wrapped it around in a hard right descending turn.

“Tally,” Woods said as he saw Boomer dead ahead at three miles with a shadow below him on the water.

They rolled in behind Boomer doing four hundred fifty knots at two hundred feet. “
Fox two, set up another one, Tiger
,” Wink transmitted.

“
That’s all we have time for, 207
,” Tiger replied. “
Your signal is RTB, check in with Strike
.” Return to Base.

“
Thanks for your help. Switching button one
,” Wink answered.

“
My pleasure
,” Tiger responded, a twenty-one-year-old OS-3, an enlisted man whose job it was to control intercepts from the carrier.

Woods checked his fuel and liked what he saw. He jammed the throttles into afterburner to catch up with Boomer quickly. He passed through five hundred knots and came out of afterburner as he approached his wingman’s F-14. Sliding out to the left, he signaled for Vialli to join on him. Boomer touched his forehead and pointed to Woods, transferring the lead to him. Woods pulled up quickly and climbed away from the ocean, the G forces causing him to grunt automatically. Wink gave Sedge a drinking signal. Sedge signaled 5,100 pounds left.

“Strike, Victory 207 checking in, flight of two, 258 at 15, angels 5, low state 5.1.”

“Roger, 207. Report ship in sight.”

“Wilco.”

He scanned the horizon where the Tactical Aid to Navigation needle — the TACAN — was pointing but couldn’t pick out the carrier from the haze and grayness. Quickly, Wink and Woods ran through their descent checklist as they passed through ten thousand feet on their way to five.