"Okay," Duran said, strangely anxious. "Let's forget the riddles and get down to business. What happened to Mel Skinner's hacienda?"
The Attorney General stared at his guest for a moment, before remarking harshly:
"It got blown up."
"A bomb, you mean?" Duran asked.
"Oh, no, no—nothing so crude as that. This was a guided missile. With a warhead."
The senator was thinking fast now, but still the pattern eluded him.
"Not an act of war, surely?" he remarked.
"More like an act of revolution," Loeffler told him. "Because the agents behind it were kids. Kids from our state, our city. Kids from decent homes, educated families. Bright kids. Happy kids. Kids with every opportunity. Kids who ought to know better—"
"Hold it, Loeffler!" Duran interrupted, rising from the chair to place both hands on the edge of the desk. "Just one question—was anyone killed or injured?"
The other man hesitated melodramatically, then looked down at his cigar.