“Don’t you think,” Doug Blakeley interjected, “that it’s time the USG got involved instead of leaving things to barbs whose only link to the twentieth century is a machinegun?”
Kelly turned toward the other man, prey indeed if he chose – as he did not. Doug was trash, the discussion was trash, and Elaine –
Elaine stepped between the two men, close enough to Kelly that she had to tilt her face to meet his eyes. “He doesn’t matter, Mr. Kelly,” the black-haired woman said as if she had read the veteran’s mind. “This matters very much, if it’s true. You know it does.”
“And you know a videotape doesn’t prove jack shit!” Kelly shouted, as if to drive her back by the violence of his reaction.
“Then come look at the body itself, Kelly,” Elaine said with an acid precision. “If you’re man enough.”
She would not back away from him and he would not face her glare, so Kelly spun on his heel to stare out at the reception area. “Figured you’d tell me that, ‘Gee, the Turkish police had it’ – or maybe the plane bringing it back to the World had flown into a mountain.” Even five years after the last tour in the Lebanon, Kelly had the veterans’ trick of referring to the continental United States as ‘the World.’ ”
“The evidence – the body – is at Fort Meade,” said the woman behind him. “We have a car. We can have you there in forty minutes to examine it yourself.”
“Are you doing a job on me, honey?” Kelly said as he turned again to face her. “Is this all a way to get me behind walls with no fuss ‘r bother?”
“Oh, come now, Kelly,” said the blond man standing behind Elaine, arms akimbo. “Don’t you think you’re being overly dramatic?”
There were only two things in the office which were not Congressman Bianci’s – or alive. Kelly stepped toward the VCR. Elaine, who thought he was trying to close with her companion, sidestepped quickly to block the veteran. She was wearing sequined flats rather than the high heels to be expected with the formality of her suit. The sensible footgear saved her from falling when Kelly’s shoulder slammed her back as remorselessly as a hundred and eighty pounds of brick in motion.
Doug shouted something that began as a warning and ended in a squawk as his hands by reflex clasped the stumbling woman. Kelly bent, his back to the couple momentarily as he took the videotape from the VCR. The cassette was cool, its upper edge rough beneath his fingers. As Elaine’s hands touched Doug’s, in part for balance’s sake but also to restrain her companion as both stared at Kelly, the veteran pivoted and smashed the tape down on the aluminum attache case.
The impact did not scar the anodized surface of the Halliburton, but the polystyrene videocassette shattered with a sound like the spiral fracture of a shin bone.
“Hey!” Doug shouted. Elaine’s hands clamped in earnest on those of the man behind her.
Kelly slammed the cassette down again. The lower half of it disintegrated like a window breaking, spilling coils of half-inch tape along with the take-up sprocket. The veteran raised his right hand and opened it, letting the remainder of the cassette fall to the floor. Bits of black plastic clung to the sweat of his palm, and an inch-long shard had dug a bloody gouge into his flesh.
Kelly grinned at the others with his hand still lifted like a caricature of a wooden Indian. “You know,” he said in a voice so light that only his eyes suggested what he was saying was the baldest truth, “I figured when I walked in here it was fair odds I’d kill you both. Guess I’ll go back to Meade with you instead – but no more jokes about me acting crazy, okay?”
“You can call Representative Bianci and tell him where you’re going,” the woman said, twisting sinuously out of Doug’s arms and stepping to the side, her fingertips smoothing the lines of her skirt.
“I’m doing this to me,” Kelly replied, dusting his palms together like a cymbals player to clear them. Sweat stung the open gash, and he felt like a damned fool; overdramatic just like the blond meathead had said. “I don’t want Carlo getting involved if it’s me being too dumb to keep my head down.”