jg.thepelicanbrief-第29部分

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　　〃That　means　no；　doesn't　it？〃
　　
　　〃Yes。　It　means　no。〃
　　
　　〃Okay；　listen　to　me。　Do　you　think　he　was　killed　because　of　the　brief？〃
　　
　　〃Probably。〃
　　
　　〃That　means　yes；　doesn't　it？〃
　　
　　〃Yes。〃
　　
　　〃Thanks。　If　Thomas　was　murdered　because　of　the　brief；　then　we　know　who　killed　him。　And　if　we　know　who　killed　Thomas；　then　we　know　who　killed　Rosenberg　and　Jensen。　Right？〃　
　　
　　Verheek　hesitated。
　　
　　〃Just　say　yes；　dammit！〃　Darby　snapped。
　　
　　〃I'll　say　probably。〃
　　
　　〃Fine。　Probably　means　yes　for　a　lawyer。　I　know　it's　the　best　you　can　do。　It's　a　very　strong　probably；　yet　you're　telling　me　the　FBI　is　backing　off　my　little　suspect。〃
　　
　　〃Settle　down；　Darby。　Let's　meet　tonight　and　talk　about　it。　I　could　save　your　life。〃　
　　
　　She　carefully　laid　the　receiver　under　a　pillow；　and　walked　to　the　bathroom。　She　brushed　her　teeth　and　what　was　left　of　her　hair；　then　threw　the　toiletries　and　change　of　clothes　into　a　new　canvas　bag。　She　put　on　the　parka；　cap；　and　sunglasses；　and　quietly　closed　the　door　behind　her。　The　hall　was　empty。　She　walked　up　two　flights　to　the　seventeenth；　then　took　the　elevator　to　the　tenth；　then　casually　walked　down　ten　flights　to　the　lobby。　The　door　from　the　stairway　opened　near　the　rest　rooms；　and　she　was　quickly　inside　the　women's。　The　lobby　appeared　to　be　deserted。　She　went　to　a　stall；　locked　the　door；　and　waited　for　a　while。　
　　
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　　FRIDAY　MORNING　in　the　Quarter。　The　air　was　cool　and　clean　without　the　lingering　smell　of　food　and　sin。　Eight　A。M。too　early　for　people。　She　walked　a　few　blocks　to　clear　her　head　and　plan　the　day。　On　Dumaine　near　Jackson　Square　she　found　a　coffee　shop　she'd　seen　before。　It　was　nearly　empty　and　had　a　pay　phone　in　the　back。　She　poured　her　own　thick　coffee；　and　set　it　on　a　table　near　the　phone。　She　could　talk　here。　
　　
　　Verheek　was　on　the　phone　in　less　than　a　minute。　〃I'm　listening；〃　he　said。
　　
　　〃Where　will　you　stay　tonight？〃　she　asked；　watching　the　front　door。
　　
　　〃Hilton；　by　the　river。〃
　　
　　〃I　know　where　it　is。　I'll　call　late　tonight　or　early　in　the　morning。　Don't　track　me　again。　I'm　into　cash　now。　No　plastic。〃
　　
　　〃That's　smart；　Darby。　Keep　moving。〃
　　
　　〃I　may　be　dead　by　the　time　you　get　here。〃
　　
　　〃No；　you　won't。　Can　you　find　a　Washington　Post　down　there？〃
　　
　　〃Maybe。　Why？〃
　　
　　〃Get　one　quick。　This　morning's。　Nice　little　story　about　Rosenberg　and　Jensen　and　perhaps　who　done　it。〃
　　
　　〃I　can't　wait。　I'll　call　later。〃　
　　
　　The　first　newsstand　did　not　have　the　Post。　She　zigzagged　toward　Canal；　covering　her　tracks；　watching　her　rear；　down　St。　Ann；　along　the　antique　shops　on　Royal；　through　the　seedy　bars　on　both　sides　of　Bienville；　and　finally　to　the　French　Market　along　Decatur　and　North　Peters。　She　was　quick　but　nonchalant。　She　walked　with　an　air　of　business；　her　eyes　darting　in　all　directions　behind　the　shades。　If　they　were　back　there　somewhere　in　the　shadows　watching　and　keeping　up；　they　were　good。　
　　
　　She　bought　a　Post　and　a　Times…Picayune　from　a　sidewalk　vendor；　and　found　a　table　in　a　deserted　corner　of　Cafe　du　Monde。　
　　
　　Front　page。　Citing　a　confidential　source；　the　story　dwelt　on　the　legend　of　Khamel　and　his　sudden　involvement　in　the　killings。　In　his　younger　days；　it　said；　he　had　killed　for　his　beliefs；　but　now　he　just　did　it　for　money。　Lots　of　money；　speculated　a　retired　intelligence　expert　who　allowed　himself　to　be　quoted　but　certainly　not　identified。　The　photos　were　blurred　and　indistinct；　but　ominous　beside　each　other。　They　could　not　be　of　the　same　person。　But　then；　said　the　expert；　he　was　unidentifiable　and　had　not　been　photographed　in　over　a　decade。　
　　
　　A　waiter　finally　made　it　by；　and　she　ordered　coffee　and　a　plain　bagel。　The　expert　said　many　thought　he　was　dead。　Interpol　believed　he　had　killed　as　recently　as　six　months　ago。　The　expert　doubted　he　would　travel　by　mercial　air。　The　FBI　had　him　at　the　top　of　their　list。　
　　
　　She　opened　the　New　Orleans　paper　slowly。　Thomas　did　not　make　page　one；　but　his　picture　was　on　page　two　with　a　long　story。　The　cops　were　treating　it　as　a　homicide；　but　there　wasn't　much　to　go　on。　A　white　female　had　been　seen　in　the　area　shortly　before　the　explosion。　The　law　school　was　in　shock；　according　to　the　dean。　The　cops　said　little。　Services　were　tomorrow　on　campus。　A　horrible　mistake　had　been　made；　the　dean　said。　If　it　was　murder；　then　someone　had　obviously　killed　the　wrong　person。　
　　
　　Her　eyes　were　wet；　and　suddenly　she　was　afraid　again。　Maybe　it　was　simply　a　mistake。　It　was　a　violent　city　with　crazy　people；　and　maybe　someone　got　their　wires　crossed　and　the　wrong　car　was　chosen。　Maybe　there　was　no　one　out　there　stalking　her。　
　　
　　She　put　the　sunglasses　on　and　looked　at　his　photo。　They　had　pulled　it　from　the　law　school　annual；　and　there　was　that　smirk　he　habitually　wore　when　he　was　the　professor。　He　was　clean　shaven；　and　so　handsome。　
　　
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　　GRANTHAM'S　KHAMEL　STORY　electrified　Washington　Friday　morning。　It　mentioned　neither　the　memo　nor　the　White　House；　so　the　hottest　game　in　town　was　speculating　about　the　source。　
　　
　　The　game　was　especially　hot　in　the　Hoover　Building。　In　the　office　of　the　Director；　Eric　East　and　K。　O。　Lewis　paced　nervously　about　while　Voyles　talked　to　the　President　for　the　third　time　in　two　hours。　Voyles　was　cussing；　not　directly　at　the　President；　but　all　around　him。　He　cussed　Coal；　and　when　the　President　cussed　back；　Voyles　suggested　they　set　up　the　polygraph；　strap　in　everyone　on　his　staff；　beginning　with　Coal；　and　just　see　where　the　damned　leaks　were　ing　from。　Yes；　hell　yes；　he；　Voyles；　would　take　the　test；　and　so　would　everyone　who　worked　in　the　Hoover　Building。　And　they　cussed　back　and　forth。　Voyles　was　red　and　sweating；　and　the　fact　that　he　was　yelling　into　the　telephone　and　the　President　was　on　the　other　end　receiving　all　this　mattered　not　a　bit。　He　knew　Coal　was　listening　somewhere。　
　　
　　Evidently；　the　President　gained　control　of　the　conversation　and　launched　into　a　long…winded　sermon　of　some　sort。　Voyles　wiped　his　forehead　with　a　handkerchief；　sat　in　his　ancient　leather　swivel；　and　began　controlled　breathing　to　lower　the　pressure　and　pulse。　He　had　survived　one　heart　attack　and　was　due　for　another；　and　had　told　K。　O。　Lewis　many　times　that　Fletcher　Coal　and　his　idiot　boss　would　eventually　kill　him。　But　he'd　said　that　about　the　last　three　Presidents。　He　pinched　the　fat　wrinkles　on　his　forehead　and　sunk　lower　into　the　chair。　〃We　can　do　that；　Mr。　President。〃　He　was　almost　pleasant　now。　He　was　a　man　of　swift　and　radical　mood　swings；　and　suddenly　before　their　eyes　he　was　courteous。　A　real　charmer。Thank　you；　Mr。　President。　I'll　be　there　tomorrow。〃　
　　
　　He　hung　up　gently；　and　spoke　with　his　eyes　closed。　〃He　wants　us　to　place　that　Post　reporter　under　surveillance。　Says　we've　done　it　before；　so　will　we　do　it　again？　I　told　him　we　would。〃
　　
　　〃What　type　of　surveillance？〃　asked　K。O。
　　
　　〃Let's　just　follow　him　in　the　city。　Around　the　clock　with　two　men。　See　where　he　goes　at　night；　who　he　sleeps　with。　He's　single；　isn't　he？〃
　　
　　〃Divorced　seven　years　ago；〃　Lewis　answered。
　　
　　〃Make　damned　sure　we　don't　get　caught。　Do　it　with　plain…clothes；　and　switch　'em　up　every　three　days。〃
　　
　　〃Does　he　really　believe　the　leaks　are　ing　from　us？〃
　　
　　〃No；　I　don't　think　so。　If　we　were　leaking；　why　would　he　want　us　to　trail　the　reporter？　I　think　he　knows　it's　his　own　people。　And　he　wants　to　catch　them。〃
　　
　　〃It's　a　small　favor；〃　Lewis　added　helpfully。
　　
　　〃Yeah。　Just　don't　get　caught；　okay？〃　
　　
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　　THE　OFFICE　of　L。　Matthew　Barr　was　tucked　away　on　the　third　floor　of　a　tacky　and　decaying　office　building　on　M　Street　in　Georgetown。　There　were　no　signs　on　the　doors。　An　armed　guard　in　a　coat　and　tie　turned　people　away　at　the　elevator。　The　carpet　was　worn　and　the　furniture　was　old。　Dust　covered　it；　and　it　was　apparent　the　Unit　spent　no　money　on　housekeeping。　Barr　ran　the　Unit；　which　was　an　unofficial；　hidden；　little　division　of　the　mittee　to　Reeled　the　President。　CRP　had　a　vast　suite　of　plush　offices　across　the　river　in　Rosslyn。　It　had　windows　that　opened　and　secretaries　who　smiled　and　maids　that　cleaned　every　night。　But　not　this　dump。　
　　
　　Fletcher　Coal　stepped　off　the　elevator　and　nodded　at　the　security　guard；　who　nodded　back　without　making　another　move。　They　were　old　acquaintances。　He　made　his　way　through　the　small　maze　of　dingy　offices　in　the　direction　of　Barr's。　Coal　took　pride　in　being　honest　with　himself；　and　he　honestly　did　not　fear　any　man　in　Washington；　maybe　with　the　possible　exception　of　Matthew　Barr。　Sometimes　he　feared　him；　sometimes　not；　but　he　always　admired　him。　
　　
　　Barr　was　an　ex…Marine；　ex…CIA；　ex…spy　with　two　felony　convictions　for　security　scams　from　which　he　earned　millions　and　buried　the　money。　He　had　served　a　few　months　in　one　of　the　country　clubs；　but　no　real　time。　Coal　had　personally　recruited　Barr　to　head　the　Unit；　which　officially　did　not　exist。　It　had　an　annual　budget　of　four　million；　all　cash　from　various　slush　funds；　and　Barr　supervised　a　small　band　of　highly　trained　thugs　who　quietly　di