Cold War

Virginia, meanwhile, had drawn him to the hotel bar, where Ron and Chips were gaping at him as the stunning woman led him in and then perched herself on a bar stool in a way that drew all men’s eyes to her legs. “What are you drinking, Chuck darling?” she asked with a heart-warming smile.

No, Kiwi told himself, he was not going to get drawn into cocktails and God-knew-what-next. He’d gone off the heavy liquor ever since he’d failed his first flight test on twins and had to retake it at his own expense. David had given him a second chance and he was not going to screw it up. “A half-pint of that German beer they sell around here.”

“Holsten, I think it’s called,” she supplied the name with a glance at the bartender for confirmation. He nodded and she ordered, “A Holsten for the captain and a Cuba Libre for me.”

The bartender withdrew and Kiwi cautiously took his seat beside Virginia. Without physical contact, he found he could think a little more clearly. He concluded that the best way to stop her from luring him into a new trap was to ask some questions of his own. “What are you doing here in Hamburg? I thought you were covering the Airlift.”

“So I am!” Virginia assured him enthusiastically. “That’s exactly why I’m here.” He looked at her blankly, and she exclaimed, “The Sunderlands! Surely you saw the news? They flew into Berlin for the first time yesterday, and I managed to get an exclusive interview with the squadron commander operating out of Finkenwerde. But there’s no good hotel there, so I’m staying here. I’m here half the time anyway because the Airlift Story isn’t all about Berlin, you know. It’s also about the organisation behind the Airlift and the departure fields, and ships bringing in supplies and all that.” She seemed to realise she was talking too much and suddenly exclaimed, “What a wonderful coincidence to run into you! I assumed you were flying yourself ragged, getting sick people out of Berlin.” She paused, looking at him with big, admiring eyes.

“Well, that’s what I wish I were doing and ought to be doing!” Kiwi burst out, and without thinking added, “But a certain Group Captain Bagshot, who happens to be in charge of the RAF effort, refuses to approve a flight plan for us unless he has express orders from General Robertson!”

“Good heavens! What a lot of nonsense! People might die if they can’t get out of Berlin to get the medical attention they need! You can’t be serious?”

“Of course I’m serious! We’re cooling our heels here wasting money on hotel bills and airport fees while seriously sick people are trapped in Berlin all because Group Captain Bagshot is too stubborn or too cowardly to approve a flight plan!”

“He ought to be called out on this,” Virginia noted.

“What do you mean?” Kiwi asked, suddenly wary.

“Well, an article describing the plight of sick children who can’t get out of Berlin—”

“Oh no you don’t!” Kiwi cut her off. “I was just telling you why I’m here. I don’t want you screaming about it in the papers. Bagshot will have it in for us if you do that.” Not to mention, he thought to himself, David will kill me for blabbing again. “Promise me you won’t publish anything about this!”

“Now, Chuck darling, you know the rules,” she admonished with a flirtatious smile. “When talking to journalists, unless you say upfront that something is ‘off the record,’ then anything and everything you say can be used.” She said it in a nice way, but Kiwi knew she was coldblooded when it came to her job — and he knew an article against Bagshot would ruin them.

He reached out and clasped her wrist in a fierce grip. “I wasn’t talking to you as a journalist!”

Virginia looked down at his hand pointedly, and he removed it. They sat tensely side-by-side. Kiwi watched her like a hawk. Her face had become hard. Then something seemed to click inside her, and she turned on a charming smile. “All right, Chuck, I won’t write anything about it. I just wanted to do you a favour. A little negative publicity often does wonders to clear away pointless bureaucracy, but if you don’t want my help…” she finished the sentence with a shrug.

“No. I don’t want you meddling in my affairs. We’ll work this out in our own way. And that’s that.”

Their drinks arrived, and Kiwi lifted his beer in salute and Virginia replied in kind. As she put her glass down, Virginia asked with a reconciliatory smile, “What are you doing for dinner tonight, Chuck? I’ve discovered this wonderful old beer cellar that didn’t get blitzed. It’s underground, you see, with big, vaulted ceilings and gigantic, wooden beer kegs. Very romantic.”

Did she mean that? Part of Kiwi was tempted, but he caught sight of Ron and Chips watching him alertly and he shook his head. “No, I’m here with my ground crew and we’ll do something together. That, or,” he had a better thought, “I’ll hitchhike to Berlin to discuss the situation with Mr Goldman.”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised, almost hurt by his rejection. She didn’t get turned down very often, Kiwi presumed.