He was beginning to like her. Maybe an awful lot. He didn't know if he should, if this truly
She brushed his legs again… his upper back again… neck, scrotum. Only much faster, even lighter, now. Turning him into jelly, no container.
There was no real impression of fingers, he was noticing. Quite amazing. More like the softest combs of air.
How had she gotten this good?… A little unbelievable in a way… being who she was… Who was she, really?
Her lovely face came down very close. “Smile for the camera, Arch.” Faint, smiling whisper from Caitlin. “My heart is pure, but my mind is occasionally kinky.”
At some time, somewhere in all the light touching, brushing, tickling, Caitlin had taken off her jeans and blouse. She still wore pink underpants, wool knee socks. Her breasts had the loveliest, delicate, shell pink nipples. They were hard now, totally aroused. She touched one erect nipple, then the other, to the head of Carroll's penis.
She was a classic feminine masterpiece, Carroll couldn't help thinking, completely filling his eyes. She was so elegant to look at, to drink in like the finest wine. He remembered what she'd said before in the kitchen, and it made him smile:
There was no longer such a thing as time; no Green Band urgencies existed right now. Carroll had the comfortable, wonderful idea that he trusted Caitlin Dillon… How could he so easily trust her already?
“Tell me all about yourself. Whatever comes out. No editing, okay, Carroll?”
To the continuing rhythm of her fingers, to the slightest crooning of the bed springs, to the dancing morning sunbeams, Carroll spoke the truth, as he knew it.
“Whole life story, about thirty seconds… As a little kid I always wanted to play for the Yankees, maybe, maybe for the football Giants. I settled for the Golden Gloves-Arch ‘White Lightning’ Carroll. Son of a New York cop. Very good, honest, poor cop. Typical Irish-Catholic family from the west Bronx. That's my youth. Notre Dame on scholarship… Law school at Michigan State, then drafted. I didn't try to dodge it, for some crazy reason.
“Four great, absolutely terrific kids. Kind of a perfect marriage until Nora passed away. That's middle American for she died… I'm, I think I'm a very different person when I'm with my kids. Childlike and free. Maybe a little retarded… um… boy… that's very nice… Yes, right there. Ohio, huh?”
“What else? You were telling me your life story
“Oh, yeah… I have this recurring problem. Big problem… with
“Who's
Arch Carroll suddenly felt a sharp twist of tension. Not now. He made it go away.
“Just
Caitlin gently kissed Carroll's curly brown hair; she kissed his puffed cauliflower ear. She finally found his mouth, which tasted very nice, she thought. Fresh and clean and sweet.
“I don't like
“All I can do is try, Caitlin. You're beautiful. You're witty. You seem to be nice as hell. I'll
Somewhere else that morning…
“Now me. Your turn to…”
“This an' that, the next thing.”
“Really softly, Arch… with you that name's more like the verb. To arch. Anybody ever call you Archie?”
“Not more than once.”
“Tough guy,” she purred.
“Grrr. I'm a street cop.”
Carroll slowly rose onto his hands, then his knees. He was very hard, almost painfully hard.
At his first touch, Caitlin tightened her stomach. Then slowly she let herself relax. She tightened the abdominal muscles in her long flat stomach, then let herself relax again. She controlled her breathing magnificently, holding effortlessly for several seconds. Her pulse was slow, that of a long-distance runner…
Where did she learn this stuff? he wondered. Not in Ohio; not at Oberlin College.
Her eyes closed softly. She was unbelievably easy to be with.
Carroll's pulse was thumping so damn hard. He'd never in his life held off this long, never felt excited in quite this way. His head grew light.
“Please wait. Okay?” Caitlin whispered to him. Her body spasmed lightly.
“Trying…”
“Just… wait… please… Arch?”
Carroll's brain was screeching, burning up. His body was a million raw exposed nerves-as he floated down, floated down, floated down. Finally-he went inside Caitlin, both of them hyperventilating.
Her mouth opened. Wider and wider, and unbelievable soft, delicately pink mouth.
Her face was generous, so surprisingly sweet in passion. She actually seemed to be smiling all the time…
Then Caitlin's eyes opened-looked at him-and she made him feel so good. Wanted again. So necessary to somebody.
“Hi there, Arch. Nice to have you here.”
“Hi yourself. Nice to be had.”
They moved faster together. Her hair slowly danced backward and forward. Her thick curls spread across the pillow, brushed, flowed majestically across his face- hid her eyes.
Carroll arched dramatically. He spasmed, shuddered, called out her name so loudly that it embarrassed him.
“
It was a new way of saying… trust.
Completely new feelings were coming so fast… Old familiar feelings were returning.
Again: “Caitlin.”
“Oh, Arch. Sweet, dear Arch.”
He felt as if she knew him-instantly saw through his defenses, his poses… Finally, somebody… Jesus.
When it was over, when it was finally, finally over, neither of them could move at all… Nothing anywhere in the universe could possibly move. Not ever again.
Carroll and Caitlin slept in each other's arms. Carroll was able to sleep deeply for the first time in days. He had a dream, and it wasn't a bad one this time; it wasn't a dream haunted by past losses and old wounds. He and Caitlin were in a quiet French seaside village. They were walking hand in hand on a deserted, rock-strewn beach. They met his four kids along the way. The kids had been playing and swimming…
A soft ringing sounded in his ears.
He was suddenly looking all around the beach, searching for the sound. Caitlin and the kids were searching as well.
Telephone.
Carroll flung out his arm across a tangle of quilt and bedsheets. He groped for the unseen phone receiver, finally picked it up.
“Yes, who is it?”
It was Phil Berger of the CIA. He had something that might interest Carroll.
Berger's voice was characteristically cold. It was obvious he didn't care to pass along information to Carroll, but at the same time he realized he was under an obligation to do so. The investigation of Green Band was still a team effort, right?
The call was about Margarita Kupchuck's coded letter from Zavidavo.
The call was about the Russians.
About an upcoming meeting in London.
About two billion dollars. At least that much.
About Green Band happening again.
“How soon can you leave, Carroll?”
“I'm on my way.”
Carroll put the receiver back in place and turned to look at Caitlin, who was watching him through half-open eyes, her look one of pleased satisfaction-as if she'd at least solved one of the puzzles in her life.
“Four minutes?” She smiled outrageously. “Uninterrupted time? Phone-off-the-hook seclusion and quiet?”
19
Outside Dublin, Ireland
Thomas X. O'Neil, chief of U.S. Customs at Dublin International Airport, Ireland, habitually walked with his weight ponderously thrown back on his boot heels. As he walked, his toes splayed out as if he were wearing ill-fitting bedroom slippers. His size 47 waist protruded obscenely, as did his customary nine-incher Cuban cigar. Chief O'Neil looked like an unflattering caricature of Churchill, and he couldn't have cared less. He had a public image, and he enjoyed it. He didn't give a good goddamn what anyone thought.
At noon O'Neil casually waddled across the frozen gray tarmac toward North Building Three at the Irish airfield located outside Dublin. As he walked, O'Neil could smell fresh peat settling in the air. Nothing quite like that blessed aroma, he was thinking. He looked up and saw a majestic 727 from America just gliding in through a blowing fog. Seven years before, he'd come over from New York himself. He never ever planned to return to that syphilitic rat's asshole. He had even tried to alter his accent so that he'd sound Irish. It was a ludicrous attempt, and he came off sounding like a ham in some third-rate touring company doing George Bernard Shaw.
Inside Building Three there were literally hundreds of various-size wooden crates marked with the usual faded corporate logos. A carrot-haired Irish inspector stood
