Loose Cannon: The Tom Kelly Novels - Plot & Excerpts
Kelly asked. He dared not stop yet. A quick glance to the side showed him only that his two passengers were sprawled across the seat. Vlasov straightened up slowly. He had been pressing his ear against the Defense Attaché’s chest. “Yes,” he said quietly in Russian, “but your friend, I am afraid, is dead. I am very sorry.” Kelly slammed his hand against the padded dash as he had hit the wall of the tomb the night before. “Shit,” he whispered. He had not cared for Posner, an officious turkey who let his illusions get in the way of doing the job . . . but he had lived by those illusions, and now he seemed to have died by them. “The world,” muttered the agent, “just might be a better place if everybody was a Posner and there weren’t any Tom Kellys to fuck things up.” “Eh?” “I’m going to pull over and change tires,” Kelly said aloud. “This wasn’t autostrada even with four tires.” They were three quarters of a mile beyond the Citröen, and there were a number of twists and turns besides.
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