“Oh, Christ, Kelly,” the general said with an operational smile that relaxed the veteran as no words could have done, “you already took care of that one. It was Blakeley, and – and it got cleared afterwards because of the other, the funny gray guy. But that was when they decided that somebody ought to be brought in over Blakeley to ride herd.”
Redstone nodded a period to his thought. Then, in a voice that could have been Tom Kelly’s in a similar case, he added, “And if you hadn’t nailed him, soldier, I would’ve done it myself after the bucket he put – a whole lotta people in.”
He turned quickly, mumbling as he opened the door, “I’ll see to your pants.”
“Damn, it’s bright out there,” said Tom Kelly as Redstone slid closed the door of the van. The latch stuck and the panting general had to bang the door again to jar loose metal covered with El Paso’s omnipresent yellow-gray grit. “I ought to eat more carrots.”
“It’s an old wives’ tale that carrots improve vision,” said the passenger who had arrived with the van. They were idling beside the low terminal building until the rest of the entourage had mounted up. The cavalcade of locally available transportation included a pair of canvas-topped Army three-quarter-tons. At least they’d put Kelly in something air-conditioned, though that was probably because he was riding with Pierrard. “Are you having trouble with your eyes?”
“You’re a doctor?” Kelly asked, squinting. The thirtyish man had short hair and a short-sleeved shirt with a tie.
The car radio sputtered. The driver with a plug earphone turned and said “Sir?” to Pierrard.
“Drive on,” ordered the white-haired man, scowling.
“I’m an MD, if that’s what you mean,” the passenger said. “Also a PhD. Name’s Suggs.” He offered Kelly his hand.
The veteran shook it, saying, “Then you ought to know that carotene helps the eye adapt to rapid changes in light level – which is the only eye problem I’ve got.”
Dr. Suggs jumped as though Kelly had hit him with a joy buzzer.
“Kelly, calm down,” said General Redstone. “Doctor, you’re here to do a quick physical, not to talk. Why don’t you get on with it?”
The landscape beginning to slide past the van’s windows was not dissimilar to that in the vicinity of Diyarbakir, though the mountains in the distance here seemed neither as extensive nor as high.
“Will you roll up your sleeve, please?” said the doctor distantly as he took a sphygmomanometer from his case.
“How tight’s the timing?” Kelly asked Redstone. The van rocked more violently than the condition of the road seemed to require. The vehicle was loaded well below its normal capacity of nine persons and luggage, so the springing seemed unduly harsh.
“This isn’t the time to discuss the situation,” Pierrard said in a flat voice.
“It’s the goddam time we got,” Kelly snapped back as Suggs started to fit the rubber cuff on him. “Look” – Kelly waved and the doctor sucked in his lips with a hiss of anger, poising as if to capture the arm when next it came to rest – “you’ve got a lieutenant colonel driving, for Chrissake. If you’ll go that far for a secure environment, then use it. Even if you don’t like me, okay?”
The uniformed driver’s eyes flickered back in the rearview mirror, though he neither spoke nor turned his head.
Pierrard had taken his unlighted pipe from a side pocket of his suit. Unexpectedly, he dropped it back and said, “I don’t like very many people, Mr. Kelly, and that has not in general affected my performance.”
He smiled, and though the expression itself was forced, the attempt was significant. “I think it may be that you don’t cringe enough.”
“Naw,” said the veteran. “When I’m scared, I fly hot. And you scare the crap outa me, buddy, that I’ll tell you.”
Redstone, seated behind Pierrard and kitty-corner across the van’s narrow aisle from Kelly, looked from man to man and squeezed unconsciously against his own seatback.
“The gun in your pocket,” said Pierrard, nodding toward the borrowed trousers over which Kelly let the tail of the borrowed shirt hang. “That’s the one that killed Blakeley?”