Tell Me When It Hurts by Christine Whitehead Read Free Book Online Page B

Preferably longer, but we’re not the Mafia. You’re free to leave anytime. We hope that if you leave, though, you care enough about this country to keep your own counsel about the things you do and see.”
    Bennett paused and looked at Archer as if to gauge her reaction. She sat silently staring at him, then spoke. “Want me for what?”
    “ An operative.”
    Archer waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Speak English, not CIA mumbo jumbo. What kind of work do you want me to do—exactly?”
    Bennett hesitated, then said, “We’re not CIA. We’re—how shall I put it?—a semiautonomous joint arm of the Justice Department and the Pentagon. A little cusp agency, shall we say, all but invisible to the naked eye.” He paused to sip his coffee, then continued. “We want you to be a sniper—for the good guys, of course,” he added hastily. “Archer, this is an opportunity—a tremendous opportunity.” He was leaning forward now, eyes bright. “Your country needs you. Your mother’s family came here from Hungary in ’fifty-six and found safe haven from a tyrannical regime. Can’t you give two years to your country? Just two. Reagan is going to make a sweep of it in November, and we’ll have even more latitude and superb resources, financial and otherwise. You’ve seen the quality of our training facility.”
    Archer said nothing.
    “ The money is good. It’s cash—tax free.”
    Archer stared at her hands for a minute, then looked back into those eager eyes. “You want me to kill certain people—people I don’t know—just because someone somewhere thinks they should die?”
    “ Archer, Archer. Don’t be naive. You may not know the reason for the assignment, but I can assure you there is a reason, and a good one. Look, just give it a chance. Do the training, and if, at the end of it, you decline, well, we’ll shake hands and you can finish out your little internship and return to your other life, if that’s what you want. Hey, look at the perks—after our training, you won’t have to be afraid in a dark alley. You see, you really are my favorite intern,” he concluded with a wink.
    Archer was unmoved. “Tell me, Peter, if I ever got caught, would you or the Agency or whatever you are get me out, go to bat for me, or am I hanging out there on my own?”
    “ Well, that would be a bit of a sticky wicket. You see, we are unofficial, and if . . . that ever came to pass, we would have to, uh, deny any knowledge of your operations. Surely, you can see why that would be necessary.”
    “ Sure,” she said with a wry smile. “Sure. That’s the story, then.”
    “ Look, finish the training, Archer. What else do you have to do for the next seven months? Write thank-you notes for some bauble from the Ambassador of Ceylon or Sri Lanka or whatever the hell they‘re calling it these days? Review boring foreign student visas? Come on, that’s not for you,” he cajoled. “You’ll die of boredom.”
    Archer felt a strange combination of repulsion and attraction. Bennett’s agenda repulsed her, and she felt violated, as if he had just ransacked her personal desk and read her journal. Maybe he had. Moreover, she hated being “handled.” Still, she hated being bored even more. She hated preparing tea for visiting heads of state and being window dressing. He was right on that point: she wasn’t cut out to be an office worker bee. In truth, some aspects of the “program” intrigued and attracted her, and in spite of herself, Peter Bennett’s zeal was intoxicating, and the man himself was inspiring. Spending another six or seven months at the training center would at least be interesting—maybe even useful.
    She made up her mind. “I’ll finish the training, but then I decide.”
    “ Absolutely,” Bennett said, putting out his hand. She shook it firmly, then turned to go. As she grasped the doorknob to leave, he added, “Oh, and, Archer, I’d suggest you keep this little assignment to yourself.