Thurston Wentworth and his huge guards shoved their great shoulders through the doorway of Spicer’s home. The trio’s prodigious volume swallowed up the small space. Their guns were not drawn, but their eyes gleamed like pistol steel. Rollins stood to attention. Thurston acknowledged the major with a sly nod. He looked about the room, eyeing most particularly a canvas over the fireplace: a Dutch navel battle. He studied the painting for a moment, then looked grimly at Spicer. The point was made; the councilman saw that Thurston would commandeer the painting should the next few moments did not go as he wished. Spicer took the threat of confiscation very seriously. An art collection was a matter of prestige in San Francisco.
Wentworth said, "Get my brother, Councilman."
"Your brother?”
Thurston held up his hand and shook his head in disgust. He craned his neck, as though to loosen a muscle. “Soldier, do you see that tasty painting?”
“Aye, Sir.”
Spicer gasped.
Thurston put his hand to his heart. With heavy sarcasm he said, “A favorite, Councilman? What is it called? Who painted it?”
“All I know,” Spicer said, shaking his head in resignation, “is that it’s the 1672 Battle of Solebay. Says so on the frame. Dutch or British, it seems. Don’t know the artist. Gift from my brother-in-law. Don’t know where he got it--”
“Fix your eye on that seascape!” said Thurston. He closed his eyes and said deliberately, "I want Todd front-row center! Now!"
"And if I told you he wasn’t here?"
“I’d have a new oil painting. Councilman, only a fool would try to lie his way out of this. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know exactly what was going on. ” Again, Thurston eyed the artwork around the room, but this time without true interest; the Dutch sea battle was all he wanted, and he began to want it even more. He walked to within inches of Spicer. The older man was smothered in the smell of the killer’s body. His stomach twisted in revulsion. He did all he could to keep from contorting his face in disgust.
Thurston returned his attention to Spicer’s small eyes. "Councilman, your niece isn’t at the little home we made for her. That’s an infraction. Did you involve yourself in an infraction by an enemy of the State? Did you do that during a war?”
Spicer began to tremble. Thurston nodded with satisfaction. “Now, somewhere in this house, Todd and the banker’s daughter are playing young lovers! Just point to the door.”
Spicer merely shrugged. He assumed that Todd had heard the intruder’s demands and that he was, by now, over the back fence. Yet every moment counted, so the councilman did what he had done so well through out his political career: He dragged his feet.
Thurston shook his head and spit the order. “Find him!”
The two giants lumbered toward the room’s two doors that that led to other parts of the house. Their faces were tight with tension. Even these outsized men feared Todd’s capacity for fatal violence.
Suddenly, Todd burst through a door. He was shirtless and holding a handgun. He waved the pistol about. Thurston nodded in answer to his guards’ questioning glance. They pulled back behind their Wentworth. In the ensuing hush, Todd and his brother examined each other’s eyes. Each saw his own soul in his sibling’s face, as though he was looking into a mirror. Each brother was steeled by the Wentworths’ inherited sense of God-given righteousness. Todd asked softly, "What’s this about? You have no business here.”
In the distance, an explosion went off, then another. No one moved. The moment went on forever.
"Thaddeus wants you back home," said Thurston.
"Sorry. Otherwise engaged."
Thurston took a deep breath. It was no time to be mincing words. He looked uncomfortably at Rollins and his guards; the three soldiers stood erect, eyes forward. Thurston knew that whatever was said in front of these men would never be repeated. He looked at the councilman and knew that Spicer would repeat anything he deemed valuable; discretion was a matter of price. It grievously irritated Thurston to know that his words to his brother must fall into such unprincipled hands. This frustration, brought on merely by Spicer’s presence, suddenly enraged him. His face reddened and he shouted at Todd, "Your new squeeze goes in a prisoner exchange." Thurston immediately regretted his outburst and looked accusingly at Spicer. The councilman swallowed hard and told himself, This too shall pass. He was accustomed to having people in tense situations lash out at him whether or not he was part of their problem. It happened weekly in city council chambers. He mentally cataloged these times, the times he was used as a whipping boy for the confounded, and he brought them up when it suited his interests to be thought of as a victim.
Thurston tried to soften his tone. "I’m sorry, Todd.”
“I won’t forgive either of you,” said Todd.
“And I will hate to live with that,” Thurston replied. “But this is how we find ourselves.”
Silence ensued. They looked from one to the other. Faces hardened, and then Thurston dropped his eyes. He loathed the moment, loathed the mission. This should have been a happy time: His brother had fallen in love. He blamed the Angelenos for this. His reasoning was that had they not invaded, brought this great evil to San Francisco, Todd’s choice of a wife would be welcomed, celebrated, and honored. Todd read his brother's thoughts, knew that Thurston would have given anything not to be in the position he was in; but, despite his revulsion at the assignment, Thurston Wentworth would, under no circumstances, regardless of pleas, threats, or deals, do anything other than exactly what Thaddeus had instructed.
Thurston shrugged. "It’s done. Thaddeus just wants to look you in the eye and tell you why he’s going this way."
"Going this way? Nothing of the sort is ‘going that way’!"
Todd's obstinacy further frustrated Thurston. The goodness of Thaddeus's overall intentions sprung to his lips. "Listen, today twenty San Francisco families got their men back. It’s done."
"Irma Kout is going to be my wife."
"Too late."
"I will have her!"
Again, Thurston was touched by Todd’s plight and developed a feeling of sympathy that pushed aside, for the moment, his anger and guilt. "There’s no hope," he said gently.
In response, Todd trained his gun on Thurston and the giants. Thurston looked at the gun and shook his head. After all, he was doing his best to be sympathetic and civil. But if Todd just planned to spit in his face . . . Now they were in a familiar sibling confrontation. Todd looked at the gun. The soldiers looked at Thurston. Thurston watched Todd. Rollins stood back, for this was not his fight. Spicer pressed himself against the wall. Todd studied his gun for a long time. Though his face showed nothing, Todd lamented that the day had come when he had held a gun on his brother. He thought, as he kept the gun trained, about a time when as children, Thurston had rescued him from drowning, from being pulled out into the Pacific by a great riptide.
Thurston held up his hand to ready his soldiers. Todd continued looking at the gun for a while. This moment would determine the rest of his life. He dropped the gun, looked up with sad eyes, and lunged at his brother. Among Wentworths, no fraternal challenge went unanswered, and Thurston lunged at Todd. So did his giants. Todd was quickly, roughly--but not brutally--subdued. They held him firmly to the ground and handcuffed him. Then the giants pulled him to his feet and quickly dragged him outside. Without so much as glancing at Rollins or Spicer, Thurston marched out of the room behind his manacled brother.
Spicer fell faintly into a chair. Rollins watched through the curtains as Todd was led away. Not a sound came from the bedroom or Irma.
#
The late sun shone through the breeze-blown curtains of the small window. The die was cast. At the foot of the bed, Spicer sat, eyes cast downward. He demanded of himself that he think clearly. How now to salvage the best position? For inspiration, he looked at his disconsolate Irma; she had only him to depend on. Her cheeks were chalky white, her lips gray. Her dark-blue eyes, usually so limpid and light filled, were now befogged and exhausted. Irma took a deep breath, focusing on her uncle’s eyes for support. She lifted her nose and said, "I won’t go."
Spicer took her strong, callused hand. "Thaddeus Wentworth has spoken; not a soul in this city could or would get in his way. This is how things stand. We must see our situation clearly. Irma, the present is a product of the past, and it is immutable; we can only hope to shape the future. And we have but a short time to do so. I’m just not sure yet what we want and how we go about getting it."
Irma laughed through her tears. “We don’t even know what we want? My God, I was better off as a prisoner. Then I knew very clearly what I wanted.”
He held up his palms. “And this is what you got.”
They laughed bitterly.
“My dear,” her uncle continued, “we are in salvage mode. Something can always be salvaged. That’s what we must put our minds to. What are your advantages and how shall we use them?”
Wiping her red-rimmed eyes, Irma groaned, “Honestly, Uncle. You do hunt angles.”
“Scheming is a weak man’s only defense.”
They laughed, fell silent, and grasped each other’s hands. Irma looked out the window and saw the orange sunset over the cactus garden. With unaccustomed pride, her uncle observed that he was genuinely sad for her and not for his own lost opportunity for a family connection with the Wentworths. He said in an unfamiliar voice, "The agile mind adapts to reversals of fortune."
In the moments of silence, Irma had retrenched. She set her jaw and said with fierce conviction, "Todd will kill anyone who--"
"He can’t do a thing! This is a matter of state. The deed is half done. Our prisoners have been released."
"Thaddeus is his brother, will be my brother-- He can’t-- That kind of cruelty . . . to his own family . . . it's sinful.”
“The chancellor has no choice. The arithmetic is incontrovertible. Trade a traitor’s daughter along with two POWs for the return of twenty San Franciscans: husbands and sons. It’s arithmetic, and that means two plus two equals four, always, in all places. Prayers can’t change the equation."
She dropped her head back to the pillow. As she lay staring at the ceiling, she could not stop her tears; angrily, she wiped them away as though they were little bugs on her face, a nuisance. Slapping the bed at her side, Irma groaned, "Again my father! . . . May he drown in his own blood!"
"Irma!"
"His treason ruined my life. He’s a greedy, self absorbed--"
Spicer shook his head with weary compassion. "Irma, don’t curse your own blood; don’t let hatred eat your soul.”
"I spent the last half-year imprisoned because of him. Now he ruins my first and best chance at a wonderful marriage and causes me to lose San Francisco. My San Francisco!"
"That’s past now. Resign yourself. You face obstacles and opportunities. The Angelenos are powerful men; you must plan your future with them. For you, San Francisco is over, but your life is just beginning.”
Irma stretched her arms across the bed, grabbed her feet angrily, and bounced her head against her knees.
#
Chancellor Thaddeus Wentworth designed his office based on pictures he had seen of twentieth- and twenty-first century corporate boardrooms. The executive lifestyle of those bygone times resonated with his inner sense of what it was to appear powerful. Dark wainscoting covered the lower portions of the high walls; a long oak conference-table filled the center of the large room. A picture window looked out on the Shambles and across the Bay.
The chancellor sat in his high-backed chair; before him lay a meal of stewed squirrel with rosemary, cabbage, and onions. On the wall behind his imposing chair, a large poster read, “Our People, Our City, Our Water.” Thaddeus sipped wine from a Bohemian-glass chalice. He swirled the liquid in his mouth, raised his eyes heavenward, and contemplated its quality. Todd Wentworth, ashen-faced and handcuffed, stood stiffly at the other endtable. A rifle-toting soldier leaned against the door, dull eyes forward.
The chancellor, his forehead wrinkled tightly, tore into his meal. Mouth full, he pointed his fork at Todd and said, "You would make the same decision in my place."
"Never." Todd had answered his brother in only monosyllables since coming into his presence a few moments previously. He did not intend to allow his oppressive family to believe that his bitterness was a short-term affair. Thus, he was determined to make this encounter as unpleasant as possible. When Thaddeus shrugged and went on eating, even nodding approvingly at his food, Todd blurted, "She’ll be your sister! How can you ignore that?"
"It can’t matter," answered Thaddeus thickly, his mouth stuffed with cabbage. He kept chewing as he talked. "Come on. Let’s get you uncuffed. Have something to eat."
"You have no right to interfere with my life. I’ve chosen Irma Kout--"
“You don’t even know her,” the chancellor interrupted dismissively. “Be reasonable. Behave like an officer and we’ll uncuff you. This stew is great!”
Todd stood at attention and defiantly looked over his brother’s head. Despite several attempts by Thaddeus, his youngest brother remained mute for the rest of his dinner. “Well, if you won’t talk, I will!” Thaddeus proceeded to remind Todd of Kout’s unmatched treachery and of the pain it had brought to their city. He relayed stories of the prisoners whom his bargain had freed--for he had spoken with each man and his family upon their release. He knew the poignant details of their personal lives, knew firsthand the joy of their wives and children. He quoted heart-wrenching disappointments by another group of wives whose men had not come home. Todd did not speak throughout the chancellor’s twenty-minute speech. Finally, in a sudden fit of anger, Thaddeus threw his fork at the table; the utensil bounced off the hard surface and into Todd’s arm. Todd winced slightly, but he kept his eyes forward. Thaddeus shouted, "Duty before family! You know the good of the many trumps our personal needs! Kout would not respect that. Now you consort with his daughter and you suddenly don’t understand it either. It adds just one more reason that I should get that woman out of our lives!"
Todd neither blinked nor moved.
Thaddeus continued, "My life is not my own. Responsibilities must come first. You must think and act the same way!"
Now Todd shook his head and walked to the door. He stood there for some moments, while Thaddeus angrily finished his meal and sloppily poured himself another chalice of wine. Finally, the furious chancellor waved to the guard, who, in turn, summoned two other soldiers, who took Todd away.
Thaddeus was left alone with his guard. He pushed his empty plates away. He held his head in his hand for a moment, then looked up at his loyal guard beseechingly. The chancellor shouted, "Twenty lives for one unsavory woman. There is no argument."
The soldier nodded vigorously.
"Even my best intentions hurt someone. So be it. The choice is clear."
Again, the soldier nodded, this time with a reassuring grunt.
"He’ll get over it."
Again, the soldier nodded. Thaddeus stood and leaned across the table. He slammed it with his fist. "I’d trade my soul to save San Francisco. War requires that of me."
"Sir! We bless you for it!" the soldier barked.
The chancellor grunted appreciatively. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and stared thoughtfully at the garlanded ceiling. After a moment of reflection, he said to the guard, “Get my brother out of those goddamned chains!”
#
Todd was released. He said nothing to the soldier who unlocked his manacles, nothing to the two standing outside his room, nothing to any of the many people he passed on the bottom floor HQ. Expressionless, Todd marched briskly out of the house, turned right, and headed across Lafayette Square, making his way toward Councilman Spicer’s little house. He was stopped by several guards in front of the house. Despite pleas, orders, and entreaties, he was denied entry. Todd knew he could not fight his way in, and in frustration he shouted curses at the guards. The ruckus filled the neighborhood. Rollins came outside and found Todd screaming at the top of his lungs at the apprehensive yet determined squad of guards. He ordered them to let Todd Wentworth pass. Todd, unaware that Rollins’ rank remained intact, watched dumbfounded as the guards promptly followed the orders of the one-armed bodyguard. As he walked into the house, the old major said, “I’m sorry, sir. They were following your brother’s orders.”
Todd nodded sharply. He said with some curiosity, “Thank you for countermanding them.”
Inside, Irma rushed to him and the councilman ask interminable questions. All three agreed that there was no stopping the cruel policy from taking effect. Irma would be sent to her father within the hour. Spicer, with much physical animation, tried to portray the advantages the lovers had. Certainly, Irma would be safe both in the camp of the ALA and eventually back in Los Angeles. He had trouble constructing a sanguine logic beyond her physical safety.
He looked back at Todd, now sitting at the kitchen table, which served as a desk. He leaned on his arm and glared at the floor. Irma watched him from the other side of the table. Her hand was on her stomach her face was deathly white. Tears stained her cheeks, no matter how frequently she wiped them away. Yet despite the terror that had drained all blood from her face, Irma’s red-rimmed eyes were sharp and thoughtful.
"After the war," said Todd.
"Yes. After the war," Irma agreed distractedly. Then she sat straighter, took her hand from her stomach, and picked up a pencil, which she twirled like a baton between her fingers. Nervously, she tapped the table with the eraser in a rapid staccato. "You must live through it."
"I will."
"That above all else . . . even if San Francisco falls, you have to stay alive."
Todd smiled confidently. “San Francisco isn’t going to fall. Not even close.”
They fell silent. Spicer quietly dropped into an easy chair, biting his lips. Rollins was, as he had been for the better part of two days, sitting erect in the large wingback. A series of muffled explosions rang through the window. Then the crackle and sizzle of laser fire. Irma looked in the distant sounds’ direction. "I thought no one fought at night."
Todd looked at Rollins, then back at Irma. “I think the Yahoos are getting desperate. They have to get out of here.”
For the first time, Rollins jumped in. “Time is on our side.”
The councilman perked up. “Perhaps that’s why Kout is calling for Irma now! Maybe they’re getting ready to leave!”
“It can’t be too much longer,” said Todd.
Irma shook her head. With the competitive athlete's discipline she applied to most serious matters, Irma resigned herself to the approaching exile. She did not want to underestimate the time she would be separated from Todd. With a teammate's urgency, she now tried to help Todd. "When we look back, we’ll be proud to have helped those wretched POWs."
Todd pursed his lips and clasped his hands. "I take no pride from anything connected with this shameful war."
Irma stood, walked around the small table, and put her hand on his shoulder. Todd clutched and kissed passionately the slim-fingered hand. She closed her eyes and let herself drown in his touch. She said softly, "I’ll think of you each waking hour. I’ll thirst for your touch in every cell of my body. "
Todd could not help but smile; after all, he had been a lonely man and was now loved by the beautiful woman whom he adored. "I’ll be your hero."
As if his momentary adoption of an upbeat spirit changed the balance of emotion in the room, Irma suddenly became upset. She withdrew from his embrace and walked away. Todd followed, approached her with an embrace. The clung together; she rested her head on and kissed his shoulder. Then Irma pushed him away. "I can’t touch you right now or I’ll-- I can’t say!”
He was stunned. But Irma smiled. Blushing, she whispered, “Now is not the time. We need to . . . ”
Todd raised his hand and nodded to show that he understood. He took a few steps, then sat. He wasn’t sure what they should do other than make love in these last moments, but he tried to think of something. He was not accustomed to thinking of things to say; either something needed saying, or one held his tongue.
Suddenly, Irma said brightly, "The prisoners."
"The prisoners? You mean our POWs?"
“Yes. What will happen to them?”
"They’ll be sent back to fight again."
"After some time, surely?" Irma cried.
"They’ll get a few days with their families. My brothers know they’ll need some R and R."
Irma, speaking nervously and distantly, talked about how different the POWs’ experience of this transfer was from her own. It did please her that happiness was brought by her sacrifice. And she dwelt on this, though a line or two about her father’s perfidy slipped into her dialogue. Todd was pleased to see her being lively, so he encouraged her chatter with grunts and nods.
Irma, back on balance, again the cheerleader, said, "I think this next phase will nurture you. War can do that to some men."
"How would you know?"
She threw up her hands and said, "It’s the primordial myth: men made by war. Nerves steeled; bravery discovered."
Todd shook his head. "Don’t glamorize it."
"No, I can see where we don’t want to do that. I mean, you’re young; you’ll grow and change." She picked up and smelled a rose-scented candle. Her dark eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you won’t want me in the end. I’ll have been a wartime romance. An insignificant lay."
"Don’t talk that way!" He grabbed her, and they embraced and kissed deeply. When their lips parted, Todd sighed," I love you so much!"
For a painfully eager moment they gave way to groping and kissing with abandon. So strong was their fever for each other, their desperate longing for the fresh pleasure of first love, that the simple touch of one another drove them beyond reason to sensual abandon.
She whispered through her breath, "We can’t do more."
"Jesus!"
She held him more tightly. A pounding came at the door. They froze. The pounding came again. Irma broke away from Todd. She set her jaw, smiled sardonically when she noticed he was holding his crotch, then went to the door and opened it.