Stardust

by:  Jennifer Rowland 

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Chapter Seven

 

 

Saturday, April 27, 1985

 

Sam had gone for a final walk in the woods around the cabin.  He’d asked Al if he wanted to come along, but Al declined.  Sam hesitated for a long time before conceding to Al’s insistence that he spend some time by himself for a change.  The young doctor had practically been glued to his side the entire week.  Even when they weren’t in the same room, Al could feel Sam’s eyes on him, evaluating his condition--both mental and physical.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the kid’s caring--he did.  And it wasn’t that he necessarily wanted Sam to leave him alone.  But the kid needed some solitary time--some time to just enjoy the beauty of the woods and the memories of the time he’d spent up here with his mentor.

 

Al turned away from the window (where he’d been watching Sam walk off in much the same manner as Sam kept an eye on him) and surveyed the cabin, locking away some memories of his own.  Memories of the victory he’d finally won against the taunting, demonic voice.  He hadn’t heard it since he’d resisted its badgering by hurling the bottle across the room--as if he’d destroyed more than just the glass container.  Sights and sounds from his past still assaulted him, but he was blessedly freed from his most persistent tormentor. 

 

Letting a peaceful sigh escape his lips, Al walked into the bedroom.  He’d already packed the majority of his belongings into his suitcase so efficiently that it didn’t seem as if he’d ever emptied it.  He gave the contents a cursory inspection, as if something might have shifted out of place.  Of course nothing had.

 

Al moved past the suitcase and sat down on his cot.  He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out the wristwatch he couldn’t wear, but couldn’t go without.  A chill descended on him as he realized the Committee hearing was only 36 hours in the future.  Al’s lungs quivered as he returned the watch to his pocket.  He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

 

How was he ever going to get through the hearing?  Somehow he’d managed to stay clean and sober for the week, but one week of sobriety wasn’t going to make months of poor choices and even poorer behavior disappear.  He had a rough idea of the interrogation and accusation he would have to face, but how he would respond he hadn’t a clue.  What could he say?  Everything they’d listed in the memo had been accurate.  He’d been a disgrace.  Al closed his eyes as he mentally ticked off the items on the list.  Drunken and disorderly conduct rounded out the catalogue.

 

A vision of himself being escorted from the Project’s property danced before his eyes.  Al hoped it wasn’t a premonition, as a panic attack tightened his lungs.  His eyes snapped open and he focused on the ceiling as he gasped and panted at the imagined, but all too-plausible, results.  ‘Breathe, Al.  Slowly and deeply.’  Al nodded at his own directions, the air whistling in his nostrils as he tried to calm his inhalations.  ‘Just breathe.’  He whispered the words on each exhale, focusing on the sensation of his lungs filling and emptying.  That and nothing else.

 

Calmer now, Al rubbed his face with both hands.  ‘At least they don’t know about the suicide attempt,’ he reminded himself.  An icy hand clenched his spine whenever he thought about his mindset and the action he’d taken.  Al lifted one hand and stared at the bandage on his wrist.  He knew that if he lost Starbright, his military career would be the next to go.  A dishonorable discharge wouldn’t set well, so civilian employment would basically be out, too.  And if the mere threat of that had been enough to lead him to slash his wrists, what would he do should it actually come to pass?

 

Al closed his eyes and let his arm flop back to the bed.  “I won’t,” he said aloud.  “I won’t, and that’s all there is to it.”  He wasn’t sure the promise was so much for his own sake as for that of the young man who’d stood by him and risked his own career over the last week.  ‘All in trying to save mine.’

 

He shook his head and hoped that Sam’s efforts hadn’t been pointless.  Everything hinged on the meeting with the Committee Monday morning.  Al wasn’t looking forward to the grueling experience--wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jack Eddison’s sneering face, for one thing.  And the fact that Eddison actually had Al’s future within his grasp wasn’t something that brought a sense of peace to his mind.  Eddison would do everything within his power to get rid of him, that he knew with as much absolute certainty as he knew the sun would rise from the east.

 

“All right, Calavicci, that’s enough wallowing,” he commanded himself.  He reached for his watch once more, checking the time.  “If you’re not going to do anything productive, you may as well take a nap.”  He tucked the watch away again and let his eyes slide closed. 

 

He drifted in and out of sleep--peaceful sleep for a change.  Eventually he heard the front door scraping across the wooden floorboards as Sam returned.  Still on the edge of wakefulness, Al kept his eyes closed.

 

Sam opened the bedroom door and stuck his head in.  “Al, are you sleeping?” he whispered.

 

“No, I’m just inspecting the inside of my eyelids,” Al quipped.  He grinned and propped himself up on one elbow as Sam walked into the room to kneel in front of his suitcase.  “Did you have a good walk?”

 

Sam nodded, rummaging through the bag.  “The woods smell so great.  I think I’m going to have to get a cabin of my own one day.”  He pulled a pair of jeans and a beige, long-sleeved shirt free.  “I’m gonna go take a shower and we could head into town for supper later, if you’d like.”

 

“Sure,” Al agreed. 

 

“I’ll let you get back to your nap--er, inspection,” Sam winked as he left the room.

 

Al burst out laughing and rolled onto his back again.  All kidding aside, he was drifting off again shortly after the cabin filled with the sound of running water.

 

He was still sleeping when Sam, clean and in his fresh clothes, came back to the room.  Sam paused in the doorway and watched him, noting the way Al’s brow repeatedly furrowed and relaxed.

 

‘If only there was something I could do,’ Sam thought as he rolled his dirty clothes and stuffed them in a corner of his suitcase.  The idea that passed across his mind next stunned him in its simplicity and rightness.  Sam had never considered himself to be a religious person, but his mother had insisted on his attendance at church every Sunday.  He hadn’t continued the practice when he was on his own, but that didn’t change the firmly laid foundation.

 

Sam turned his head to look at Al again.  The captain had rolled onto his side.  His brows knitted together and Al pulled his limbs in close to his body so he was in the fetal position.

 

Sam bowed his head and started silently praying for his friend.  He prayed awkwardly at first, rather out of practice and unable to find the proper words.  Then, deciding that a King James prayer probably wasn’t necessary, his petition became more confident.  He prayed for healing and peace on behalf of the man he doubted would ever ask for it on his own.

 

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

Al tore his eyes away from the retreating form of their shapely waitress and returned his attention to Sam.

 

Sam smiled patiently.  “It wasn’t important.”

 

“Okay, if you say so.”  Al picked up a breadstick and started gnawing on it while his eyes scanned the mid-scale restaurant, pausing every time an attractive woman came into his line of sight.

 

Resting his cheek on his fist, Sam asked, “Are you ready to get back to the project?”

 

Al put the remaining half of his breadstick in his plate and leaned back in his chair.  “I’d be lying if I said I was looking forward to it.  But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

 

Sam shook his head.

 

“I didn’t think so,” smirked Al as he settled forward again.  “I know what you’re getting at.  And, yeah, I think this week has helped a lot.”  He tapped his breadstick in the center of his plate a few times.  “I’ve got a question for you, now.  Are you satisfied with the work we got done on your theories?”

 

“Yes!”  Sam perked up in his seat.  “I wasn’t expecting us to make that much progress.”  He looked as if he’d just devoured half his shoe.  “What I mean is...  Well, I wouldn’t have had anything to show the Committee without your help.”

 

Al shrugged.  “I’m not sure I helped you develop all that much that was new.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?  Al, the final report wouldn’t have any focus without you.”

 

“So I understand bureaucracy.”  Al waved the breadstick in the air and snapped off a bite.

 

“And you also understand the ins and outs of the project.  Better than the other administrators, I might add.  Al, I think you know how everything at Starbright interconnects even better than some of the lab directors.”

 

“You’ve got to understand the basics if you want to run something right.”

 

“Exactly my point.”

 

Al didn’t answer.  His attention was suddenly directed elsewhere.  Their waitress was returning with their salads and appetizers.  She balanced the tray on her slender arms as she approached.  Al’s face lit up with a grin that was positively devilish in its charm.

 

He looked her up and down as she set the plates on the table.  Sam understood now where the phrase “undressing her with his eyes” gained its meaning. 

 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said.

 

“We certainly will,” Al responded in a velvet tone.  He raised his eyebrows appreciatively.  The woman pinked and gave him a winning smile, gently brushing his shoulder as she turned to attend to her other tables.

 

“Al, she was probably half your age,” Sam said, a different kind of pink coloring his face.

 

“Don’t you ever just flirt?”  Al shook his head as if he’d just questioned the Pope about the authenticity of his catechism training.  “She knows I don’t mean anything by it.  And if she does take me up on it . . . . well, it’s a win-win situation, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and stabbed at a helpless lettuce leaf.  “You don’t like commitment?”

 

Al paused in his attack on his own salad.  “I committed five times.  Besides, whenever I sleep with a woman, I am committed to her--at least for that night.”

 

“You’re a regular serial monogamist.”

 

“I guess I am.”  He stated it matter-of-factly without a hint of shame.  A merry grin played at the corner of his mouth for a moment before slowly fading.  “I’m not sure what it is they see in me though,” he soberly added.

 

“Can’t be the uniform,” Sam said to lighten Al’s mood again.  “I’ve yet to see you in it.”

 

It worked.  Al started laughing.  “That’s ‘cause I have to save the heavy guns for the really special occasions.  The female population couldn’t handle it on a regular basis.”

 

“I guess not.”  Sam smiled, picturing the reaction Tom had gotten from every teenage girl over the age of 15 when he’d returned to Elk Ridge from his commissioning.  The uniform alone was one thing, but there was something about a full dress uniform and the air it lent to the man wearing it that Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever understand.  His girlfriend at the time certainly didn’t need the phenomenon analyzed.  She’d given him the most withering, exasperated look when he tried to get her to explain why his older brother was suddenly of such interest to her.

 

“What about you?  Any of the girls at the project caught your eye?”

 

“No.  No, I haven’t really been looking.”

 

“And why not?  It’s not like it’s a huge city.  The grounds aren’t that big.  There’s got to be someone you find interesting.  Besides, when they haven’t been talking about me and my . . . problems,” Al’s eyes burned and he hesitated for a telling second, “the rumor mills have been buzzing about who’s trying to land you.”

 

“They’re what?”  Sam was mortified.

 

Al nodded and innocently continued eating his salad.  “Half the clerical staff thinks you’re the most eligible bachelor on the entire property.”

 

“That girl in your offices didn’t seem too impressed.”

 

Al choked on the tomato he was chewing on.  He swallowed a huge gulp of water to wash it away.

 

“Rachelle???  You’re basing the truth of my statement on Rachelle?  For one thing, she’s not in that half I was talking about.  And for another, the only person Rachelle gives a flip about is herself.”

 

“Well, I . . . .”

 

“What about Shari Washington?”

 

“Shari?  Oh, no, we’re just friends.  Besides, I thought she . . . .” Sam suddenly froze as he realized Shari had never actually verbalized her feelings where Al was concerned.

 

Apparently she’d never had to verbalize them.  “You thought she and I were some sort of an item, huh?  We’re not.  I mean, we’ve had dinner a few times.”

 

“And danced,” Sam put in.

 

Al smiled and nodded.  “And danced.  But that’s it.”  He shrugged and shoved another lettuce leaf into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.  “It might have actually gone somewhere if I wasn’t drinking.  But now. . .  Well, hopefully I still have her friendship at least.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you do.”

 

“You two spend a lot of time together, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam answered hesitantly.  He wasn’t comfortable with the track the conversational train had taken, and he was afraid of where Al was going to steer it next.

 

“Look, Shari’s friends with just about everyone on staff.  If you’re not interested in her, you should at least let her introduce you to some of her girlfriends.”

 

“Oh, no, Al.  I don’t know about that.”  Sam glanced around the restaurant, wishing he could jump into the canvas of one of the landscape prints and run away from Al’s pressing.

 

“I’m telling you, Sam, you’ll be missing out on some nice company if you don’t expand your horizons.”

 

“You mean there’s some women you haven’t gotten hold of yet?”

 

Al laughed.  “Yes, believe it or not, there are actually some women at the project who somehow manage to resist the Calavicci magnetism.”  He winked.  “That leaves a handful for you.”

 

“I don’t want a handful,” Sam sighed, dragging his fork through the greens of his salad.

 

“Great, I’ll take your leftovers when you find the one you want.  But you’ve got to start looking first.”  Al waved his fork for emphasis.

 

Sam rubbed his face.  He wanted to ask Al to drop it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.  After all the pressing he’d done of Al over the last week, urging the captain to open up, to bare his soul, Sam didn’t think it was fair to expect that Al couldn’t good-naturedly return some of the pressure.  He didn’t think Al was exacting any sort of vengeance--the teasing was too good-hearted and had an undercurrent of genuine interest to it.  Certainly the captain was enjoying himself and seemed in one of the lightest moods he’d been in for most of their stay.  The best thing to do would be to grin and bear it.  So he did.

 

 

Sunday, April 28, 1985

 

Sam and Al returned to the Project Starbright property late Sunday evening.  Their initial flight was delayed several hours due to bad weather at the connecting airport, which meant, of course, that they missed their connection.  Fortunately, there was another flight with available seats, but it didn’t help Al’s antsiness.  All he could think of was Bob Jansen’s warning about what might befall him if he wasn’t back at the project in time for his Monday morning hearing.  He’d nearly worn a rut into the airport carpeting as he paced a small circuit, glancing at the arrival and departure charts every ten minutes.  The nervousness was contagious, and it soon spread to Sam as well as several other passengers who’d ended up in the same predicament.  In fact, it got so bad that the airport staff soon advised the entire group to retire to the restaurant, and gave them all generous vouchers for dining.

 

The change in scenery had alleviated Sam’s uneasiness and apparently that of the others, but didn’t calm Al’s agitation.  He didn’t pace again, but he chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, requiring him to wrap a paper napkin around it to staunch the bleeding.  After an interminable wait, they were able to board the flight to New Mexico.  Blessedly, Sam and Al were among the first group to board.

 

The in-flight film offered some distraction, and Al at least seemed to pay attention to the Billy Crystal comedy.  Still, it was a huge relief when they landed and were able to board the shuttle back to the project.

 

A different Marine had auto pool duty that evening.  The stolidly built young man silently loaded their luggage and gestured them aboard.  The drive back was unnaturally quiet, and Al attacked his left thumbnail until it met a fate identical to that of its twin.  This time, though, the driver brought them directly to the door of the residential wing, saving them the hike across the parking lot.

 

As it usually was, the lobby was crowded with people who tonight were cheering over a pay-per-view boxing event.  Not surprisingly, the audience was primarily male, and so intent on the action that they didn’t even notice Sam and Al’s entry.  The pair walked down the long hallway to Al’s quarters first.

 

Al took his luggage and dropped it in front of his closet.  Sam followed him inside as he reacquainted himself with his room.  Al stiffened when he drew close to his desk.

 

“You okay?” Sam quietly asked.

 

Al slowly nodded, turning away from the site where he’d almost ended his life.  He nervously rubbed his hands together.  “Yeah.”  He gave a strained laugh.  “It’s just a desk.”  As if to prove the truth of his words, he sat down in the wooden chair. 

 

Sam stepped nearer.  His own breath caught in his throat because Al very nearly assumed the posture in which Sam had found him that night.  Al shifted in the chair to pick up the dogtags that had remained unclaimed on the corner of the desk, and Sam released the air from his lungs.

 

“Back to reality,” Al said, softly, as he slipped the chain around his neck and tucked the tags under his dark blue shirt.  He picked up the memo from the Committee and skimmed the typewritten page.  “0800 hours.”  Al tugged his watch from his pocket, glanced at it and sighed.  “Gonna be here sooner than I’d like.”

 

“Can I do anything?”

 

Al faced Sam.  He’d almost forgotten Beckett was standing there.  “No, kid, I don’t think so.  Not this time.”  He smiled.  “Not any more than you’ve already done, anyway.”

 

“Okay.”  Sam didn’t, couldn’t move.  “Do you need anything?”

 

“To be alone,” he said the words gently.

 

“Okay,” Sam said again.  He bent to pick up his suitcase.  “I’ll just be . . . well, call me if you, you know, need anything.” 

 

“I will.”  Al was already halfway gone, lost in preparatory thoughts and maybe even prayers, for all Sam knew.  He pulled himself back long enough to give Sam a parting wave and a smile, rising and walking the young scientist to the door.

 

Sam stood uncertainly in the hall after Al closed the door.  He placed a hand flat against the wood, willing his presence to reach the captain, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.  “See you in the morning, Al,” he whispered.

 

He walked back to his own quarters, following the twisting route of almost identical hallways.  Once there, he quickly unpacked his suitcase, distributing the clothes between the hamper and closet.  The task done, Sam moved to his desk and picked up a small blank card and pen.  He jotted off a note, thanking Dr. LoNigro for the use of his cabin.  Mentally, he thanked the professor for far more than he could put down on paper.  He addressed the envelope, sealed it, and set it aside to be mailed.

 

Sam stretched in his chair and the movement set his stomach to rumbling.  He checked his watch.  The cafeteria was closed by now, but hopefully he could make it to the lounge before they shut down for the night as well.  He checked his wallet for cash and headed out of his rooms.

 

His hallway was deserted, but not quiet.  Music and TV programs drifted their conflicting and competing noises into the passageway.  Sam cleared the cacophany and turned left into an identical, but quieter hall.   At the far end, he saw two people talking.  As he drew nearer, he recognized Shari, but not the woman she was speaking with.  Their voices drifted toward him.

 

“I don’t believe it.  You’re actually leaving?” Shari exclaimed.

 

“In two weeks.  They offered me more money at the private firm, and I just can’t pass that up,” the other woman responded.

 

“Well, I definitely can’t fault you for that.  But, Donna, things just aren’t going to be the same without you.”  Shari impulsively hugged the dark-haired woman.

 

Sam was right next to them when they pulled apart.  He nodded a greeting and moved as if to go past them, when Shari snagged his arm.

 

“Hey, Beckett, glad to see you’re back.”  She wiped a small tear from her eye and grinned at him.  “Oh, do you know Donna Elysee?”

 

Sam smiled at the dark-haired woman who towered over Shari.  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”  He stuck his hand out.  “Hi, I’m . . .”

 

“Sam Beckett,” Donna interrupted with a smile.  She grabbed his hand and pumped it with a firm grip.  “I’m glad I finally got to meet you.  It’s just a shame it’s right when I’m about to leave.”

 

“You’re leaving?” Sam echoed, even though he’d overheard their conversation.

 

Donna nodded.  “I’m going to give private business a go.”

 

“She’s only here for two more weeks,” Shari complained, catching Donna in a sideways embrace.  “I’m gonna miss her like crazy.”

 

Donna seemed to be fighting off tears of her own.  “I’m going to miss you, too, hon.”   She wrapped her arm around Shari’s waist and returned the hug.

 

“Well, I certainly wish you the best of luck,” Sam said.  He started to leave them to their emotions, when Shari asked where he was going.  “I’m going to grab some supper at the lounge,” he answered.

 

“Oh, Sam, the lounge is closed.”

 

“Already?”  Sam looked at his watch.  Then he smacked his forehead.  “I forgot it’s Sunday.”

 

Shari grinned.  “Donna and I were going to head into town for a celebratory-farewell dinner.  Would you like to join us?”  She glanced at Donna.  “That is, if it’s okay with you, Donna.”

 

Donna smiled and nodded.

 

“Don’t you two want some time together, though?  I mean, since you’re leaving so soon and everything.”

 

“Oh, we’ve got two weeks.  Besides, I think you two have a lot in common,” Shari responded.  “Donna’s a physicist, too.  So, ya coming?”

 

Donna glanced at Sam from under the dark fringe of her bangs.  Her dark eyes invited him.  Sam looked from her eyes to Shari’s encouraging face.

 

“Okay,” he acceded.  “You talked me into it.”

 

“Great.  Let me just grab my purse.”  Shari ducked into her room (they were standing right outside her door) and came out a few short seconds later.

 

“Lead on, MacDuff,” Donna teased.  She slowed her pace so that she was side by side with Sam.  Shari glanced back at them and faced forward again with a smile so huge that it appeared the cat had cleaned out a pet store specializing in canaries.

 

Monday, April 29, 1985

 

Al hesitated with his hand on the doorknob.  He’d checked his appearance six dozen times and knew not even the slightest hair was out of place.  True to Sam’s predictions, he’d been able to go without the bandages on his wrists, and he’d been pleased to discover that even when he raised his elbow to salute, the wounds were hardly visible from any angle.  His uniform was immaculate, every crease and ribbon in its place.  But still something froze him at the doorway, some niggling thought that he’d better check just one last time.

 

He turned on one perfectly polished heel and strode toward the mirror for yet another inspection.  He picked imaginary threads and hairs from his shoulder and brushed his jacket and slacks for the thousandth time.  The only defect he could find was that his complexion was a half-tone paler than normal.

 

“Calm down, Calavicci,” he told his reflection.  “Let’s get through this.”  He nodded at his mirror-image and turned away, walking to the door with his cap under his arm.

 

One sharp turn of the knob and he was in the hallway.  Al locked his door and slipped the single key inside his pocket.  Exuding more confidence than he felt, Al walked down the hallway.

 

The few staff members who were just leaving or entering their own quarters froze at the sight of Captain Calavicci in full dress uniform.  Regardless of whether or not they had any knowledge of the cause, each of them straightened their posture ever so slightly as he passed.  Hurried congregating and whispered speculations and gossip were left in his wake.

 

Al tried his best to ignore the repeated effect as he passed through what seemed like the entire project property until he reached the meeting rooms.  Even the most ignorant among the staff knew something was up.  He’d overheard several tense whispers as the news was passed along that the entire Committee was on site.  That combined with Al’s attire meant that even the janitorial staff had an inkling that something of concern was taking place.  ‘Hell, the sanitation department probably knows,’ thought Al.

       

He had a good twenty minutes before he had to walk through the doors.  The short bursts of laughter he heard told him the Committee was already in there, catching up with each other and engaging in small talk.  Probably also comparing preliminary notes about him.

 

Al started a slow pace in the hallway, grateful it was isolated.  He slid his palms back and forth against each other as he trod in the repetitive pattern.  “I can get through this,” he whispered every time he turned to head in the opposite direction.  Finally, he stopped pacing and faced the double doors.  He squared his shoulders, inhaled deeply, and reached for the handle.

 

The sound of advancing footfalls made him turn his head.  True to his word, Sam Beckett was hurrying towards him.  Al dropped his hand to his side and faced his approaching friend.

 

“Am I late?” Sam panted, checking his watch before realizing he’d forgotten to put it on.

 

“I’m early,” Al said.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

“Yes.  I am.”

 

Al swallowed and nodded.  “Okay, then.”  He reached for the handle again.  Steeling himself as if he were about to enter a den full of hungry lions (which wasn’t too far from the truth), he pulled the door open.

 

The light atmosphere he’d overheard dissipated the moment he took his first step inside.  The seven Committee members abandoned their banter and greeted him formally, making their conversational circle appear awkward and artificial.  He got the feeling that they would have preferred to already be seated behind the long table set up at the far end of the room when he entered, leaving him to automatically take his position at the small table facing them.  They didn’t seem prepared for Sam’s entrance, either.

 

“Dr. Beckett, you’re not scheduled to deliver your findings until tomorrow,” Jack Eddison said.  “I believe there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

 

“No, sir, there hasn’t,” Sam answered.  “I’m here for Captain Calavicci.”

 

“This isn’t a proceeding for an audience,” Eddison countered.  “Those empty chairs on the side are for those scheduled to testify.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for.  To testify on Captain Calavicci’s behalf.”

 

“I am allowed to have someone on my side, am I not?” Al finally spoke.

 

Eddison’s face turned crimson.  After a moment, Senator Francine Lehmann, a willowy woman with salt and pepper hair, broke the silence.

 

“Yes, you are, Captain.”  She took a sip from her paper cup of coffee.  “As soon as the rest of the administrative staff gets here, we can get started.  Dr. Beckett, if you’ll take a seat in one of the chairs Senator Eddison referred to, please.”

 

“Thank you, Senator Lehmann,” Al said as Sam complied.  She smiled graciously and nodded.

 

“You can take your seat as well, Captain,” snapped Eddison.

 

“Certainly, Senator,” Al responded, finding it easier to keep his cool than he’d expected.  He strode to the small table and calmly took his seat, placing his cap on the table next to a glass and a pitcher of water which had been put there for his benefit.  Although he was thirsty, he didn’t pour himself a drink.  He appeared calm, but he knew his nerves would set the ice to rattling and he’d nervously clink the edge of the pitcher against the glass, very likely spilling the whole of its contents into his lap. 

 

Some industrious staff member with too much time on his hands had fashioned nameplates for each of the Committee members and placed them along the length of the table at the focal point of the room.  Combined with the deep red banquet tablecloth, it almost seemed as if a luncheon had been planned, instead of a hearing that was one step away from a tribunal.

 

The heavy double doors creaked open.  The greeting showered upon the new arrivals was much more forthright than the one Al had received.  Undoubtedly the administrators had arrived.  Al wasn’t going to turn around to see.  He’d catch sight of them when they took their seats next to Sam.  Al turned his head to the left and smiled at his friend.

 

Sam, who had turned to regard the proceedings at the back of the room, saw the motion in his peripheral vision and returned the smile.  He looked overwhelmed.  Al could relate.

 

The Committee members finally put an end to their socializing and made their way to the long table, where each took his or her place behind their appropriate nameplate.  As they were getting settled, Al watched Bob Jansen, Walter Hollis, and Annalise Wilkes settle into the witness chairs.  He was gratified that they had the decency to look uncomfortable.

 

He next surveyed the seven people who quite literally held his future in their hands.  Senator Jack Eddison had the central seat.  Al could have predicted that without the benefit of the nameplate.  The man’s ego was so big Al was sure it had been a huge contributor to his receding hairline.  The other Committee members were spread three each to Eddison’s left and right.  Dr. Ransi Gupta had the far left seat.  Next to the tall East Indian M.D. was Francine Lehmann.  Major Ronald Van Sant, a bulky black man who looked as if he’d earned every single stripe on his uniform, sat to Eddison’s immediate left.  On the other side, Dr. Lois James, a plump brunette, had the distinction of being to Eddison’s right.  Of all of the Committee, she displayed the most unease about the situation.  Next to her was Senator Martin Garrett, a stern, silver-haired man who regarded Al with steely eyes.  Rounding out the group was the lone civilian accounting executive, a spindly redhead named Mick Kramer.

 

Eddison rapped a gavel to begin the proceedings.  He nodded at the young man serving as a transcriptionist.

 

“This hearing has been assembled to determine the future standing of Captain Albert M. Calavicci at Project Starbright.  Please note the following people are in attendance.”  Eddison rattled off the full names of everyone in the room.  “Captain Calavicci, please stand to your feet.”

 

He was going to treat this as a full-out trial.  Al rose and stood at attention as Eddison read off the charges against him.

 

“Captain Calavicci, you have been called to this hearing on account of your behavior.  It has come to our attention that your job performance has been affected by alcoholism, volatile behavior, and general conduct unbecoming to an administrator, least of all an officer of the United States Navy.  However, at this time, we are focusing solely on your behavior as it relates to this project; and that behavior has led us to question your actions and your suitability as a continued employee of this undertaking.”  Eddison glanced at his compatriots before continuing.  “Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

 

Al stood stony-faced.  “No, sir.”

 

“Very well, then.  You may be seated.”

 

As Al took his seat, Eddison relinquished control to Martin Garrett.

 

“Annalise Wilkes, please come forward.”

 

Annalise flushed as she left her seat.  She lowered her head as she passed Al, unable or unwilling to look at him, hiding behind the curtain of thick black hair that swung to either side of her face.  She clenched and unclenched her fists in the few moments before she sat in the single chair placed across the room from the transcriptionist.  She had a clear view of Al, but she kept her head turned toward the Committee.

 

“Ms. Wilkes, would you please describe the events you witnessed on Friday, March 15.”

 

Annalise glanced at Al for the first time.  “With all due respect, I wouldn’t exactly say I witnessed anything, Senator Garrett.”

 

Garrett scowled as Major Van Sant and Mick Kramer softly chuckled.  “Very well, then, Ms. Wilkes, if you would kindly describe what you heard on the day in question.  And please describe the morning in explicit detail.”

 

She swallowed and nodded.  “Uh, Senator Eddison had just finished a brief meeting with the administration staff and . . .”

 

Eddison interrupted.  “I should like to point out that Captain Calavicci was not in attendance at that meeting, as he was extremely tardy to his office.  And drunk.”

 

Al stared straight ahead, refusing to react to Eddison’s words.  His lips tightened and he inhaled deeply.  He could have kissed Lois James when she spoke up.

 

“Senator Eddison, I believe this is Ms. Wilkes’ testimony.  I, for one, would appreciate being able to hear her speak without interruption.”

 

The other Committee members agreed.  Scowling, Eddison folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

 

“Please continue, Ms. Wilkes,” Garrett said.

 

Annalise seemed to wish she was anywhere but in that chair.  She pursed her lips before starting over.  “As I said, Senator Eddison had just finished a brief meeting with the administration staff and we had all returned to our offices.  I guess it was about five minutes after he’d left that I heard a door slamming.  Hard.  I walked to my office door to see what was going on, and by the time I got to the passageway, I heard loud thumping and crashing noises.”

 

“And where were these noises coming from?” Garrett pressed.

 

Annalise’s eyes closed in pain and she shook her head.  When she raised her long lashes, she looked apologetically at Al before facing the Committee again.  “They, uh, they were coming from Captain Calavicci’s office.”

 

“What did you do when you heard the sounds?” Dr. James quietly asked.

 

Looking at the floor, Annalise said, “Nothing.  Bob, Walter, and I just went back into our offices.”

 

“Why didn’t you do anything?” demanded Dr. Gupta.

 

Annalise would have sunk through the floor if she could have, Al knew.  She answered in a voice too low for anyone to hear.

 

“Ms. Wilkes, you will have to speak up,” Garrett said, coldly.

 

“Because I knew he was mad about something and I was pretty sure that he was drunk.  I was afraid of what he might do if I went in there!  He obviously wasn’t in control of himself!”  The words exploded out of her and tears spilled down her cheeks.  She looked at Al and wiped her eyes, smearing mascara on her face.  “I’m sorry, Al.  I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all right, Annalise,” Al quietly told her.  He hoped she could see the understanding in his eyes. 

 

“Captain, you will please refrain from speaking,” Garrett sharply cut in.  “You’ll have your time to speak, but that isn’t now.”

 

Al narrowed his lids, but this wasn’t his game.  “My apologies, Senator Garrett.”

 

Annalise dug in her pockets for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, sniffling.  Her moment under the spotlight wasn’t over yet.

 

“Ms. Wilkes, your contributions to the administration’s report on Captain Calavicci paint an interesting portrait,” Martin Garrett continued.  “Would you care to elaborate on them?”

 

“H-how do you mean?” she asked.

 

Garrett thumbed through the report.  “Let’s take this example right here.  You describe a week in which two departments complained to you about delays in requisitions submitted to Captain Calavicci.”

 

“They weren’t exactly delays.  More like resubmits,” Annalise qualified, obviously trying to downplay her part in this and deemphasize her complaints against him.  Al suspected she’d been railroaded into contributing.  Her eyes reddened and she seemed as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment.

 

“Resubmits.  I see.  And why did the forms need to be resubmitted?”

 

“According to the departments, Captain Calavicci told them there was some problem with the processing machinery and the forms had been damaged beyond repair.”

 

“Did the machinery have a tendency to destroy forms?” Kramer put in.

 

Annalise shook her head, staring at the floor again.  “No.”

 

“So the captain lied to the departments to cover his own inefficiencies,” concluded Garrett.

 

“I couldn’t answer that,” Annalise responded.  “I only know what I was told by the departments.”

 

Al rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together.  As the Committee continued pressing her, Annalise was finally unable to meet Al’s eyes at all.  Reluctant or not, she had many examples of his inadequacies over the last few months.  Even the most innocuous of mistakes took on the light of incompetency under the prodding of Garrett and Eddison.  As the other members of the Committee pressed for details, it didn’t make things look any better.  Even so, he was unprepared for the final questions they asked of Annalise.

 

Jack Eddison leaned forward, “Ms. Wilkes, at any time did Captain Calavicci make any sexual advances toward you?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”  Annalise was shocked.  “What are you suggesting?”

 

“I’m not suggesting anything, Ms. Wilkes.  I simply want to know if Captain Calavicci ever approached you with anything less than business in mind.”

 

“I . . .”  Annalise froze, unable to see how to proceed without landing smack in the middle of the trap.  Al closed his eyes.  “He invited me to dinner.”

 

“To discuss administrative matters?” Francine Lehmann offered.

 

Annalise shook her head.  “No.  For a date.”

 

Eddison’s brows perked up.  “How many times did he ask you?  Did you accept, and if so, when?” 

 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Annalise snapped with a sudden fire uncharacteristic of her.

 

“Ms. Wilkes, anything relative to Captain Calavicci’s behavior on Project Starbright, including his behavior where the staff is concerned, is our business,” Garrett shot back.  “You will answer the question.”

 

Subdued, Annalise pinched the bridge of her nose as if she were in excruciating pain.  “Yes, I accepted.”  She took a deep breath.  “And, no, it wasn’t the first time he asked.”  Annalise looked over at Al again and tears welled up in her eyes.  “He was very persistent.”

 

Al rubbed his forehead.  Eddison’s smile was more of a jeer, and he folded his arms on his chest with great satisfaction.

 

Surprisingly, Francine Lehmann broke in.  “Well, my dear, you are an attractive young lady.”  She glanced toward Al and smiled.  “I can imagine any man wouldn’t easily take no for an answer.”

 

Eddison glared at her, and then viewed her words as an excellent opportunity to dig the knife in a little deeper.

 

“So Captain Calavicci refused to take your no when it came to a dinner date.  Was there anything else he refused to take your no for?  Did he pressure you for sexual favors?”

 

Annalise’s jaw dropped.  The rest of the Committee looked at Eddison as if he’d gone nuts.  Even Garrett pulled back.  Al was shocked that Eddison would stoop so low.  The flurry of reaction told even Eddison he’d gone too far.

 

“Ms. Wilkes, you do not have to answer that question,” Dr. James hurriedly said.

 

“Captain Calavicci has quite the reputation as a womanizer,” Eddison said, trying to defend himself.

 

“We are not here to deal with rumors,” James responded, fire in her pale green eyes.  “That so-called reputation has no concrete evidence to support it.”

 

Annalise broke into their arguing.  “I want to answer that question.  Captain Calavicci never once mentioned intimacy.  We simply had a date.  A nice sociable dinner.  That’s all.”

 

Al exhaled with relief that she’d been willing to speak the truth.  She shouldn’t have even had to deal with such a question, and he only hoped it would backfire on Eddison.

 

Vindicated, James turned her back on Eddison.  “Ms. Wilkes, you may leave.  I don’t believe we need anything else from you.”

 

Annalise gratefully slid from the chair and walked rapidly out of the room before they could call her back, cheeks aflame.  Al watched her leave, and then turned to regard the three men still waiting to speak.  Bob Jansen sat like a wooden statue, staring at a spot on the far wall.  Walter Hollis was aghast, apparently wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.  Sam Beckett’s eyes, meanwhile, were as wide as saucers.  Al wondered if he’d dropped in the young man’s estimation after just one devastating testimony.

 

The Committee members engaged in a vicious whispering session as soon as Annalise left.  It was several minutes before they were ready to proceed.  Al finally poured himself that glass of water, relieved that any nervous rattling wouldn’t be noticed.  He let the cool water soothe his parched throat, moistening the thick cotton that seemed to fill his mouth.  All the while he watched the Committee, noting how Eddison fell under nearly as much focus and pressure as he himself was.

 

Eddison wasn’t through with his own version of the Salem Witch Trials, though.  Once everyone had resumed their seats, he called Dr. Walter Hollis forward.

 

Walter exchanged a look with Bob Jansen before he moved.  Al couldn’t even begin to guess the meaning behind the glance.  He wasn’t positive Walter felt the same way about the hearing as Annalise apparently had.  He could only hope.

 

Walter settled into the chair.  Unlike Annalise, he kept his eyes on Al until the Committee demanded his attention with their first question.  As they had before, they first asked him to describe the events of March 15th.  The details were identical, and once again, Gupta pressed for an explanation of why they hadn’t investigated the incident.

 

“I honestly didn’t see the point,” Walter admitted.  “There wasn’t anything we could do, and I felt that interference would only make things worse.  So we just let the storm blow over.”

 

“Did you see the results of this storm, as you put it?” Kramer asked.

 

Walter nodded.  “I caught a glimpse of it, yes.”

 

“Quite a bit of project property was damaged, correct?” added Kramer.

 

“Yes, along with much of Captain Calavicci’s personal property.  I had to approve the damage estimates.  It totaled out at about $2500.”

 

“Was that the first time you had to approve damage estimates related to one of Captain Calavicci’s outbursts?”

 

Walter hesitated.  He glanced at Jansen, then turned his head to look at Al.  His eyes telegraphed an apology before he faced the Committee again.  “No, it wasn’t.  A vending machine on the third level was destroyed in February.  An unconfirmed rumor suggested Captain Calavicci may have had something to do with it.  But, as I said, it was never confirmed.”

 

Sam shifted in his seat.  Al caught the movement out of the side of his eyes, but didn’t look over, didn’t react.  Walter knew he was the one who’d smashed the machine as well as he did.  But he was throwing some doubt, reminding the Committee that they lacked definitive proof about Al’s role.  He wasn’t going to risk revealing anything, and Al only hoped Sam could keep the truth from showing on his face as well, even though the Committee didn’t seem the least bit interested in him or Jansen at the moment.

 

They were, however, interested in Al’s expression.  Seven faces studied his own, apparently looking for any twitch, blink, sigh, or shift that would reveal the role he’d played in the vandalism.  Al sat as expressionless as possible until Garrett finally moved on to the next question.

 

“Dr. Hollis, in your portion of the report, you detailed an encounter with Captain Calavicci on the 20th of February.  Would you please describe the events of the altercation as they occurred?”

 

Al had a feeling of what was coming.  He lowered his head briefly, staring at the grain of the table for a moment.  Then he resumed his perfect posture and gave his full attention to Walter Hollis.

 

“It was late in the evening and both of us had been working overtime in our offices.  Everyone else was gone except for the two of us.  In all fairness, I have to say that it had been a long day.”

 

“Thank you for your clarification, Dr. Hollis, but you don’t need to make excuses for the captain.  Just describe the events.  As Jack Webb was fond of saying, ‘Just the facts,’” Eddison said.

 

Walter nodded.  “Yes, Senator.”

 

“Please continue.”

 

“We were coordinating over the network.  It saved more time than constantly picking up the phone or walking to the office doorway.  And it was certainly easier on the throat than hollering bits of information back and forth.”  The Committee quietly tittered.  “Al, I mean, Captain Calavicci updated me on a decision he’d just made regarding the project we were working on.  It contradicted two decisions I’d made previously, and informed him about, so I went into his office to discuss it personally.”  Walter sighed.  “He’d just drained a glass and quickly slammed a drawer when I walked in.  When I called him on the decision he’d made, he flew off the handle.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Major Van Sant asked. 

 

Al studied the table again.  His cheeks burned and he felt the heat rising to his ears.  He didn’t want to see the Committee’s faces--the shock on the women’s faces, the disappointment in Van Sant’s and Gupta’s, the confusion in Kramer’s, and the arrogance and smugness on Eddison’s face and that of his protégé, Garrett.

 

“He jumped out of his chair and shouted at me, asking me how dare I question his decisions.  He wouldn’t listen to anything I said, though I have to admit I wasn’t exactly keeping my own cool.  It turned into a shouting match, and then all of a sudden, we weren’t yelling about the project anymore.  I don’t remember what I said anymore, but I know it was a low blow.  Al . . . Captain Calavicci threw all the papers on his desk into my face and stormed out.  I didn’t see him again until the next morning.”

 

“And did he arrive on time?  How did the captain appear on the following morning?” Eddison asked.

 

“He was half an hour late.  He . . . . he was wearing the same clothes he’d on the day before and he was obviously hung over, if not still a little bit tight.”

 

“Did you ever see Captain Calavicci in this condition again?” Lehmann asked.

 

Al turned to look at Walter.  Walter averted his eyes.

 

“Yes.  Before and after that occasion.  Probably twice a week, at least.”

 

“When did you first notice this type of behavior?” Lois James wanted to know.

 

“I’m not certain.  Around the time the newest scientists were brought on board.  I believe it was the group Beckett and Nguyen were part of.”

 

Lehmann thumbed through a thick folder and her eyebrows lifted at something she found.  She leaned over and whispered something to Van Sant, pointing to the item at the same time.  Al watched curiously.

 

Van Sant nodded and leaned forward.  “Excuse me, but I’d like to direct a brief question to Captain Calavicci.”

 

Eddison looked as if he would protest, but a sharp glare from the burly major silenced him.

 

“Yes, sir,” Al replied.

 

“According to your personal file, isn’t it accurate that your now ex-wife,” he read the folder to check the name, “Maxine Delacroix Calavicci, from whom you’d been separated for a year, finalized divorce proceedings shortly before the scientists arrived.  That is, if I have my dates correct.”

 

Al’s lips shrank into a tight circle of nearly white flesh.  He furrowed his brows and glared at no one in particular.  The Committee not only had access to every public record of his life (as well as some private records), but they had carte blanche to make use of whatever information they uncovered.

 

“Yes, sir,” he tightly responded, “that is correct.”

 

“I see,” Van Sant said.  He looked up and down the table.  “So it’s possible to point out a correlation between the events in Captain Calavicci’s personal life and the moment in time when his peers first began to notice a change in behavior.”  He looked at Eddison with a stern expression on his face.  “Just so we all have a clear picture.”

 

“Yes, well, let’s save Captain Calavicci’s defense of himself for the proper moment, shall we?” Eddison said, refusing to let Van Sant deflect the case he was so carefully trying to build.  “We still haven’t heard from the chief complainant.”  Eddison quickly flicked his eyes to the left and right.  “If no one else has any more questions for Dr. Hollis, we can let him go and move on to the Chief Administrator.”

 

No one had anything further to ask, and Walter got up from the chair.  He paused as he passed Al on his way out.

 

“Good luck,” he whispered.  “You’re going to need it.”

 

Al nodded his thanks.  Deep down, part of him wanted to bury his head in his hands and give up, but he wasn’t going to give Eddison the satisfaction.  It had taken years before Vietnam had even come close to breaking him, and he was going to be damned if he’d let Eddison do it in just a few short hours.  As long as even part of the Committee seemed to be on his side, he stood a chance.  Unfortunately, once Bob started talking, there would be so much ammunition piled against him, the heat from a flashlight would ignite it.

 

“Robert Jansen, please step forward,” Eddison directed.

 

Bob smoothly moved across the room to take the makeshift witness stand.

 

Francine Lehmann took over the introductory questioning in the latest round of evidence gathering.

 

“Mr. Jansen, you were responsible for the initiation of these complaints, and I must say that the information you’ve provided is quite extensive.”

 

“Yes, Senator Lehmann, I’m afraid it is.”

 

“Let’s begin at the beginning then, shall we?  Dr. Hollis remarked that he first noticed the change in Captain Calavicci’s professional demeanor during the last staff change.  When did you notice it?”

 

“Around the same time,” Bob said.  When the Committee requested a more specific answer, he conceded that Walter’s assessment had been accurate.

 

“Were you aware of the captain’s life-changing event?”

 

“I knew he was separated from his wife, and he’d commented to me that she was suing for divorce.”

 

Lehmann regarded him firmly.  “Mr. Jansen, were you or were you not aware of Captain Calavicci’s personal situation?  Yes or no.”

 

“Yes, I was aware of his divorce.  I was also aware that it was his fifth divorce.”

 

“Quite a track record,” Eddison put in.  “Was he proud of this dubious status?”

 

Bob shrugged.  “He didn’t brag on it.  If I had to classify his attitude towards it, I’d say he was just factual.  He wasn’t trying to hide it, but he wasn’t exactly up-front about it either.”

 

“Was he factual or up-front about his drinking?” asked Garrett.

 

Bob shook his head in negation.  “No.”

 

“May I ask how you became aware of this problem, then?” Gupta asked.

 

“His job performance started slipping.  He came in late on a routine basis, and the degree of tardiness increased as the weeks wore on.  And, well, his appearance and health started to suffer as well.”

 

Al felt the seven pairs of eyes on him, inspecting his current state against a mental image that Bob would soon be asked to describe more fully.  Sure enough, Eddison requested that he do just that.

 

Bob sighed.  “Captain Calavicci often reeked of alcohol in the mornings.  I’d say his eyes were bloodshot at least four days out of the week.  Maybe he would shave two or three times during a work week.  And on several occasions, he had not changed clothes from the previous day.  I couldn’t say whether or not he went without bathing.”

 

“That sounds about accurate with what I witnessed,” Eddison commented.  He challenged Al with his eyes, daring him to speak out of turn, just waiting for an excuse to pounce on him again.  Al refused to give him the satisfaction.

 

“Was Captain Calavicci consistently drinking during working hours?” Kramer wanted to know.

 

“Not at first,” Bob admitted.  “I believe that initially he was imbibing on his own time.  But for some reason, he gradually began drinking around the clock.”

 

“How do you know this for certain?”

 

“I discovered a bottle of alcohol in Captain Calavicci’s desk one day.  I’d been concerned about his change in attitude and invoked clause 243b.”

 

Eddison bent to retrieve something from the floor next to his chair.  He placed the bottle Bob had confronted Al with so many weeks previous onto the table.  “Is this the bottle you are referring to?”

 

Bob nodded.  “Yes, Senator Eddison, it is.”

 

Al froze in his seat, shocked that Bob had taken what he thought was a private confrontation and brought the Committee into it.  Somehow he kept control of his expression, appalled and yet not surprised by Bob’s actions.  ‘You two-faced S.O.B.’ he thought, directing a private, internal hatred in Jansen’s direction.  ‘Acting friendly and encouraging and stabbing me in the back the whole time.’  Al didn’t know what the outcome of the hearing would be, but he knew one thing for certain.  Things would never be the same between him and Bob.

 

Garrett was talking again.  “I understand from your report that you met with Captain Calavicci on several occasions to discuss your concerns about his behavior.”

“Yes, Senator Garrett, that’s correct.  I was hoping to avoid just this situation, so I confronted Captain Calavicci about what I found and about things I had noticed.  I also warned him every time he was tardy.  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to do any good.”

 

“Could you detail the instances of tardiness to which you refer?” Van Sant asked.

 

“Certainly, Major,” Bob responded.  “I believe they are all listed in my report, but I tallied a total of 15 occasions when Captain Calavicci was unreasonably late to work.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Jansen, we have all of these detailed before us.  I also see you have the most extensive notes related to Friday, March 15th.”  Eddison craned his neck to visually mark the other six Committee members.  “We’ve gotten the general gist of the events from Ms. Wilkes and Dr. Hollis.  We certainly don’t need to rehash the account of what was witnessed and heard, but I do believe you have some additional information for us, am I correct?”

 

Bob leaned forward.  “Yes, sir.”

 

Eddison bent to the floor again, coming up with a stack of photographs this time.  He passed them around the table.  A uniform gasp was released from each Committee member as he or she in turn viewed the images.  “Could you please explain what we are looking at, Mr. Jansen?”

 

Bob cleared his throat.  “Yes, Senator Eddison.  Those are photographs of Captain Calavicci’s office following his explosive outburst on March 15th.”

 

“And this would be the $2500 worth of damage Dr. Hollis referred to,” Kramer asked when it was finally his turn to look at the photographs.

 

Bob confirmed that it was.

 

Al’s blank face was nearly as white as his uniform.  Eddison not only noticed how profoundly Al paled, he practically reveled in it.  As soon as he had possession of the pictures again, he addressed Bob.

 

“Mr. Jansen, would you hand these to Captain Calavicci, please?”

 

Bob got to his feet to receive the pictures, and then actually had to face Al to deliver them.  He kept his expression as neutral as Al did, turning to go back to his seat as soon as he laid the photographs on Al’s table.

 

Al mechanically flipped through the pictures, confronted by the physical evidence of his temper.  He felt rather than visually confirmed Sam’s shock.  The kid was probably wondering why Al hadn’t mentioned his explosion.  ‘He really is oblivious to the rumor mills,’ Al realized.  Sighing, he laid the pictures aside and raised his head to face the Committee.  Eddison wasn’t ready to involve Al in the discussion yet.  But Al could tell the pictures had done their intended damage.  For some reason, Eddison had apparently withheld the photographic evidence from the other members, waiting for just the right moment to share it.  No doubt Eddison felt, perhaps correctly, that the pictures would lose their punch if the Committee had viewed them ahead of time, absorbed the impact of them, and then refocused their attentions on the hearing.  Now the photographs were shockingly fresh on all of their minds.

 

Garrett drew Bob’s attention back.  “Mr. Jansen, you mentioned some attempts to confront Captain Calavicci about his behavior.  How were these attempts received?”

 

“Not well at all.  The confrontation got ugly a couple of times.”

 

Al stared straight ahead, focusing on the folds of the tablecloth skirt and not at the actual Committee, as Bob went into explicit detail of their conversations and arguments over the last four months.  Bob skirted the very edge of privacy and propriety.  Things that he’d assured Al were just between friends were hinted at, the bare minimum of decency keeping Bob from laying it all out in the open.  Finally, mercifully, Bob ran out of things to say.

 

The Committee thanked him and allowed him to step down.  Breaking from the pattern Walter and Annalise had established, Bob returned to his seat next to Sam.  Another bout of whispering took place.  Finally, Eddison rapped his gavel.

 

“Before we move on to your questioning, Captain,” he looked askance at Sam, “and your testimony, Dr. Beckett, we’ve decided to break for lunch.  You are to return in an hour and a half.”  Eddison rapped his gavel again.  “We’re adjourned until 1:30.”

 

Al remained at the table, rooted into place, as the Committee filed down from the platform and congenially walked from the room.  Bob hesitated for a moment, and then followed them.  When the room was empty, Sam hurried to Al’s side.

 

“Devastating, wasn’t it?” Al asked, his eyes still fixed straight ahead.

 

“It was pretty bad,” Sam reluctantly admitted.

 

Al nodded.  “They haven’t even started questioning me yet.”  He lowered his head and rubbed his face.  “Oh, Sam, I knew it was going to be bad.  I knew Bob initiated all of this.  But I wasn’t expecting him to turn on me like he did.  I just wasn’t expecting that.”

 

Sam squeezed his friend’s shoulder.  “It’s not over, Al.  Not by a long shot.”

 

Al raised his head and sharply laughed.  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

Tightening his encouraging grip on Al’s shoulder, Sam said, “Come on, let’s go into town for lunch.”

 

Sighing, Al nodded and pushed his chair away from the table.  He grabbed his cap and trudged from the room after Sam.  Without having to put on an act for the Committee, Al’s facade of confidence was gone and every bit of insecurity and fear came out in his demeanor.  The strong front returned as soon as they entered a populated hallway, but Sam had already witnessed Al’s change in outlook, and his determination to change the Committee’s opinion of Al for the better tripled.

To Be Continued

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