Kennedy took the book over to the clerk, paid for it, and then came back to Sylvia's table. 'I hope this means you've come to your senses, politically speaking,' he remarked, though the way he looked at her didn't seem political at all.
She said, 'I've always been a Democrat.' That wasn't strictly true. She'd favored the Socialists till she saw Upton Sinclair do no more than protest to the Confederate States when it came out that Roger Kimball had torpedoed the USS Ericsson after the Confederates were supposed to have stopped fighting. But she'd voted Democratic for as long as she'd had the suffrage.
'You sometimes picked odd ways to show it.' No, Kennedy hadn't forgotten seeing her at a Socialist rally on the Boston Common.
Knowing he hadn't forgotten, she asked him, 'What do you want with me?'
The way his eyes flashed told her one thing he wanted. He knew she knew he was married; his wife had watched her children when she spoke at a Democratic function. He didn't care if she knew. He wanted what he wanted. But he made himself remember he wanted something else, too: 'I hear you're doing well with your book. I look forward to reading it.'
'Thank you,' Sylvia Enos said.
Kennedy hefted his copy of I Sank Roger Kimball. 'This has put you in the public eye, you know. We have a campaign to run, Mrs. Enos. Would you help Governor Coolidge-help the Democratic Party-take Powel House back from the Socialists? They were lucky at first, but what's happened to the country in President Blackford's term shows their true colors.'
That wasn't even close to fair, and Sylvia knew it. But she'd already seen that political campaigns weren't designed to be fair. They were designed to convince, by whatever means possible. She said, 'I'd like to help, Mr. Kennedy, but I don't know if I can. Times are hard.'
'Don't you worry about that,' Joseph Kennedy said. 'Don't you worry about that a bit. We'll take care of you.' That glint showed again in his eyes. 'How does a hundred dollars a month sound, from now till the election? Plus expenses, of course.'
For a moment, it sounded too good to be true. But then Sylvia remembered Ernie talking about his dicker with their publisher, and about first offers' being meant to snag people who didn't have the nerve the stand up for what they were really worth. Her spine stiffened. She said, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Kennedy, but I've got so many things planned, that isn't really enough to pull me away.'
Joseph Kennedy eyed her again, this time in a very different way. Plainly, he'd expected her not just to say yes but to swoon with gratitude. After a long moment, he nodded, perhaps seeing her for the first time as a person and not just as a tool or a nicely shaped piece of meat. 'More to you than meets the eye, isn't there?' he said, more to himself than to her. He grew brisk. 'Well, business is business, and you'll do us some good. How does two hundred a month sound, then?'
Sylvia didn't gasp, but she came close. The way things were, that was a lot of money. 'And expenses? And full pay for November, too?' she asked.
Kennedy bared his teeth. 'You sure you're not a sheeny, Mrs. Enos?' he said. She didn't answer. She just waited. He gave her a sour nod. 'And expenses. And full pay for November, too,' he promised, and stuck out his hand. 'Bargain?'
She was oddly reluctant to touch him. She didn't see how she could avoid it, though. When they shook on the deal, his hand felt like.. a hand. Somehow, she hadn't expected his flesh to seem so ordinary. 'Bargain,' she said. The wolf wouldn't come round her door again till the end of the year-longer, if she salted some money away, as she planned to. That made it a fine bargain indeed, as far as she was concerned.
A eroplanes roared off the Remembrance 's flight deck, one after another. Even with a push from the catapult to speed them on their way, they almost dropped into the gray-green water of the northern Pacific till they gained altitude and buzzed away, some to the north, others to the south.
Sam Carsten scratched his nose. His fingertip came away white with zinc-oxide ointment. Even here, off the west coast of Canada, he needed shielding from the summer sun. But, though he might burn in these waters, he wouldn't scorch.
He turned to George Moerlein. Back when they were both petty officers, they'd bunked together. But Moerlein was even newer on the Remembrance than he was now, having rejoined her crew during a fueling stop in Seattle. Carsten said, 'Feels good to see us in business again.'
'Yeah-uh, yes, sir,' Moerlein said. 'Sorry, sir.'
'Don't worry about it,' Sam answered. His old bunkmate had forgotten for a moment he was an officer these days. He went on, 'I'm just glad this ship isn't tied up at the Boston Navy Yard any more.'
'Me, too, sir.' Moerlein got it right this time. 'That was what finally made me put in for a transfer-I wondered if she'd ever go to sea again. For a hell of a long time, sure didn't look like it.' He pulled out a cigar, then sheepishly put it back in his pocket. The smoking lamp was out on the flight deck during takeoffs and landings, for excellent good reasons. The petty officer shook his head. 'I've been away too damn long. I shouldn't even have started to do that.'
'Well, you saved me the trouble of barking at you,' Sam answered.
Moerlein gave him a wry grin, then said, 'What the hell do we do if we catch the Japs with their finger in the cookie jar? They're in international waters, same as we are. What can we do?'
'Damned if I know,' Carsten said. 'But if they're sending people into Canada to try to get the Canucks to rise up against us, we can't let 'em get away with that, can we?'
'Beats me,' Moerlein told him. 'But if we do find 'em and we do clobber 'em, don't you figure it's about even money we're doing it on account of President Blackford needs votes and wants to look tough?'
Sam scowled. 'I'd hate to think that.' He drummed his fingers on his trouser leg. 'Of course, just because I'd hate to think it doesn't mean it's wrong.'
An hour later, another flight of aeroplanes took off from the Remembrance, while a flight that had gone out before landed on the deck. The carrier kept aeroplanes in the sky all the time. If the Japs really were trying to sneak something past her, they wouldn't have an easy time of it.
As far as Sam could prove, the Remembrance was just going through the motions. Her air patrols had spotted nothing out of the ordinary: fishing boats and merchantmen, none of them flying the Rising Sun. Whether they stumbled upon any actual Jap warships or not, though, the training the whole crew-and especially the pilots- got was priceless, as far as he was concerned. George Moerlein had it dead right: anything was better than sitting in the Navy Yard.
When klaxons started howling a couple of days later, Sam sprinted to his battle station figuring it was just another drill. He certainly hoped so; going to the bowels of the ship on antitorpedo duty wasn't, never had been, and never would be his favorite choice. By now, though, he'd spent more than twenty years in the Navy. He knew how things worked. The Navy did what it wanted, not what he wanted.
Commander van der Waal was down there ahead of him, at the head of a damage-control party. The other officer's face was thoroughly grim. 'What's up, sir?' Sam panted. 'They tell you anything?'
'Yes,' van der Waal said. 'Our aeroplanes spotted a high-powered motorboat pulling away from what looked like an ordinary freighter. Ordinary freighters don't carry speedboats, though.'
'Son of a bitch,' Sam said softly, and then, louder, 'They sure don't. What flag is the freighter flying?'
'Argentine,' van der Waal answered. 'But the aeroplane buzzed her at smokestack height, and the sailors don't look like they're from Argentina. She doesn't respond to wireless signals, either.'
The throb of the Remembrance 's engine grew louder and deeper as the great ship picked up speed. ' Son of a bitch,' Sam said again. 'What are we going to do about it?'
'Freighter's only about sixty miles north of us,' van der Waal said. 'Seems like we're going up for a look-see of our own.'
'What about that speedboat?' Carsten asked.
'It won't outrun an aeroplane-probably a swarm of aeroplanes by now,' Commander van der Waal said. 'But if we find that freighter's full of Japs sailing under cover of a false flag… Well, I don't know what we'll do then.'
'Argentine flag's handy for them-Argentina doesn't love us, either,' Sam said. During the Great War, Argentina had fought Chile and Paraguay, both of them U.S. allies, because she'd been making money hand over fist sending grain and meat to Britain and France. Sam's old ship had been part of the American-Chilean fleet that sailed round the Horn to try to cut off that trade: not altogether successfully, not till the Empire of Brazil finally entered
