She stared at it, absorbed it silently. Then reached into the bag at her side, producing a manilla folder, laying it in front of him.
Inside were a number of documents, obviously printed from the computer. A birth certificate, made out for James Buchanan Barnes, with the names of his parents. A registration into the military. A small assortment of photographs, from boy to young man . . . one of them a quick, faintly blurry photo of two young men, grinning, one small and blond in comparison to the other's darkness.
Military records. And a death certificate.
"It explains nothing." Her voice stayed the same quiet, remarkably even tone. "Even if I am to believe it. So I have to ask you again: Who are you, to be so important to keep?"
no subject
Inside were a number of documents, obviously printed from the computer. A birth certificate, made out for James Buchanan Barnes, with the names of his parents. A registration into the military. A small assortment of photographs, from boy to young man . . . one of them a quick, faintly blurry photo of two young men, grinning, one small and blond in comparison to the other's darkness.
Military records. And a death certificate.
"It explains nothing." Her voice stayed the same quiet, remarkably even tone. "Even if I am to believe it. So I have to ask you again: Who are you, to be so important to keep?"