Carte Blanche

might have had about whether or not they would pick up where they left off yesterday was dashed when she flung her arms around him and kissed him hard. He smelled her perfume, radiating from behind her ear, and she tasted of mint.
    “I’m a mess,” she said, laughing. She wore a blue cotton shirt, tucked into designer jeans, which were crumpled and dusty.
    “I won’t hear of it,” he said, and kissed her again.
    “You’re sitting in the dark, Gene,” she said. And for the first time in the operation he was jarred by the reminder of his Afrikaner cover.
    “I like the view.”
    They stepped apart and in the dim light from outside Bond took in her face and thought it as intensely sensual as last night, but she was clearly tired. He supposed the logistics of marshaling the largest shipment of food ever to arrive on the African continent were daunting, to say the least.
    “Here.” A wine bottle appeared from her shoulder bag—vintage Three Cape Ladies, a red blend from Muldersvlei on the Cape. Bond knew its reputation. He took out the cork and poured. They sat on the sofa and sipped.
    “Wonderful,” he said.
    She worked her boots off. Bond slipped his arm around her shoulders and struggled to put aside thoughts of his father.
    Felicity slumped and rested her head against him. On the horizon there were even more ships than there had been last night. “Look at them all,” she said. “Our food deliveries. You hear so many bad things about people but that’s not the complete truth. There’s a lot of good out there. You can’t always count on it, it’s never certain but at least—”
    Bond interrupted, “At least someone’s . . . willing to help.”
    She laughed. “You nearly made me spill my wine, Gene. I could’ve ruined my shirt.”
    “I have a solution.”
    “Stop drinking the wine?” She pouted playfully. “But it’s so nice.”
    “Another solution, a better one.” He kissed her and slowly began to unfix the buttons of the garment.
    An hour later, they lay in bed, on their sides, Bond behind Felicity. His arm was curled around her and his hand cupped her breast. Her fingers were entwined in his.
    Unlike last night, however, in the after-moment, Bond was wholly awake.
    His mind was racing furiously, past all assortments of topics. Exactly how much was the future of the ODG resting on him? What secrets did the Research and Development department of Green Way hold? What precisely was Hydt’s goal with Gehenna and how could Bond craft a suitable countermeasure?
    Purpose . . . response.
    And what of his father?
    “You’re thinking about something serious,” Felicity said drowsily.
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Women know.”
    “I’m thinking how beautiful you are.”
    She lifted his hand to her face and gently bit his finger. “The first lie you’ve told me.”
    “My job,” he said.
    “Then I’ll forgive you. It’s the same with me. Coordinating the help on the docks, paying the pilots’ fees, working on the ship charters and lorry leases, the trade unions.” Her voice took on the edge he’d heard before, as she said, “And then your specialty. We’ve already had two attempted break-ins at the dock. And no food has even been offloaded yet. That was odd.” Silence for a moment. Then: “Gene?”
    Bond knew something significant was coming. He now grew alert and receptive. The intimacy of bodies comes prepackaged with an intimacy of mind and spirit, and you ought not to seek the first if you’re unwilling to take delivery of the second. “Yes?”
    She said evenly, “I have a feeling there’s more to your work than you’ve told me. No, don’t say anything. I don’t know how you feel but if it turns out we can keep seeing each other, if . . .” She trailed off.
    “Go on,” he whispered.
    “If it turns out we see each other again, do you think that maybe you could change just a bit? I mean, if you do go to some dark places, could you promise me not to go to the . . . worst?” When he said nothing he felt tension ripple through her. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me, Gene.”
    Although she was speaking to a security expert–cum–mercenary soldier from Durban, in a way she was also talking to him, James Bond, a 00 Section agent.
    And, ironically, he took her acknowledgment that she could live with a certain degree of darkness in Theron as indication that she might accept Bond as he was.
    He whispered, “I think that’s very