
THE MATLOCK PAPER
BY
ROBERT LUDLUM
Other books by the Author:
THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE
THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND
\*THE RHINEMANN EXCHANGE
\*THE GEMINI CONTENDERS
THE CHANCELLOR MANUSCRIPT
THE HOLCROFT COVENANT
THE MATARESE CIRCLE
THE BOURNE IDENTITY
THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC
THE ROAD TO GANDOLFO
THE AQUITAINE PRGRESSION
THE BOURNE SUPREMACY
\*Available in Dell Editions
A DELL BOOK
Published by
Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
I Dag Harnmarskjold Plaza
New York, New York 10017
For Pat and Bi#As the ancient Bagdhivi proverb says: When giants cast shadows, hope for the shade. 71te "Due Macellis "are giants!
Copyright 0 1973 by Robert Ludium
All rights reserved. For information address Doubleday & Company, Inc., New York, New York.
Dell 0 TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
ISBN: 0440-15538-X
Reprinted by arrangement with Doubleday & Company, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
One Previous Dell Edition
New Dell Edition
March 1986
10 9 8 7 6 5 4
1
Loring walked out the side entrance of the justice Department and looked for a taxi. It was nearly five thirty~ a spring Friday, and the congestion in the Washington streets was awful. Loring stood by the curb and held up his left hand, hoping for the best. He was about to abandon the effort when a cab that had picked up a fare thirty feet down the block stopped in front of him.
Going east, mister? It's O.K. This gentleman said he wouldiYt mind."
Loring was always embarrassed when these incidents occurred. He unconsciously drew back his right forearm, allowing his sleeve to cover as much of his hand as possible-to conceal the thin black chain looped around his wrist, locked to the briefcase handle.
"rhanks, anyway. rm heading south at the next comer."
He waited until the taxi reentered the flow of traffic and then resumed his futile signaling.
Usually, under such conditions, his mind was alert, his feelings competitive. He would normally dart his eyes in both directions, ferreting out cabs about to disgorge passengers, watching the comers for those dimly lit roof signs that meant this particular vehicle was for hire if you ran fast enough.
Today, however, Ralph Loring did not feel like running. On this particular Friday, his mind was obsessed with a terrible reality. He had just borne witness to a man's being sentenced to death. A man be!d never met but knew a great deal about An unknowing man of thirty-three who lived and worked in a small New England town four hundred miles away and who had no idea of Loring's existence, much less of the justice Department's interest in him.
Lorines memory kept returning to the large conference room with the huge rectangular table around which sat the men who'd pronounced the sentence.
He had objected strenuously. It was the least he could do for the man he'd never met, the man who was being maneuvered with such precision into such an untenable position.
"May I remind you, Mr. Lorin&" said an assistant attorney general who'd once been a judge advocate in the navy, "that in any combat situation basic risks are assumed. A percentage of casualties is anticipate&"
"The circumstances are different. This man isn7t trained. He won't know who or where the enemy is. How could he? We doet know ourselves."
"Just the point." The speaker then had been another assistant AG, this one a recruit from some corporation law office, fond of committee meetings, and, Loring suspected, incapable of decisions without them. "Our subject is highly mobile. Look at the psychological profile, 'flawed but mobile in the extreme: That's exactly what it says. He's a logical choice."
"'Flawed but mobile'l What in heaven's name does that mean? May I remind this committee that I've worked in the field for fifteen years.
Psychological profiles are only screening guidelines, hit-and-miss judgments. I would no more send a man into an infiltra- THE MATLOCK PAPER 7
tion problem without knowing him thoroughly than I would assume the responsibility for NASA mathematics.'
The chairman of the committee, a career profession4 had answered Loring.
"I understand your reservations; normally, rd agree. However, these areet normal conditions. We have barely three weeks. The time factor overrides the usual precautions."
"It's the risk we have to assume," said the former judge advocate pontifically.
'You're not assuming it,' Loring replied.
'Do you wish to be relieved of the contact?' The chairman made the offer in complete sincerity.
"No, sir. III make it. Reluctantly. I want that on the record.'
"One thing before we adjourn." The corporation lawyer leaned forward on the table. "And this comes right from the top. We've all agreed that our subject is motivated. The profile makes that clear. What must also be made clear is that any assistance given this comn-Attee by the subject is given freely and on a voluntary basis. We!re vulnerable here. We cannot, repeat cannot, be responsible. If ies possible, wed like the record to indicate that the subject came to us."
Ralph Loring had tamed away from the man in disgust.
If anything, the traffic was heavier now. Loring had about made up his mind to start walking the twentyodd blocks to his apartment when a white Volvo pulled up in front of him.
"Get inI You look silly with your hand up like that."
"Oh, it's you. Thanks very much." Loring opened the door and slid into the small front seat, holding his briefcase on his lap. There was no need to hide the
thin black chain around his wrist Cranston was a field man, too; an overseas route specialist. Cranston had done most of the background work on the assignment which was now Loring's responsibility.
"That was a long meeting. Accomplish anything?"
"Ibe green lighe
"Ies about time."
'Two assistant AGs and a concerned message from the White House were responsible."
"Good. Geo division got the latest reports from Force-Mediterranean this morning. It's a regular mass conversion of source routes. Ies confinned.
The fields in Ankara and Konya in the north, the projects in Sidi Barrani and Rashid, even the Algerian contingents are systematically cutting production. It!s going to make things very difficult"
"What the hell do you want? I thought the objective was to rip them out You people are never satisfied."
"Neither would you be. We can exert controls over routes we know about; what in Gods name do we know about places like. . . Porto Belocruz, Pilcomayo, a half dozen unpronounceable nsmes in Paraguay, Brazil, Guiana?
It's a whole goddamn new ballgame, Ralph.-
"Bring in the SA specialists. CIAs crawling with them."
"No way. W6re not even allowed to ask for maps~'
'.rhat!s asinine."
"That!s espionage. We stay clean. We're strictly according to Interpol-Hoyle; no funny business. I thought you knew that."
"I do' " replied Uring wearily. "It's still asinine."
'You worry about New England, USA. We'll handle the pampas, or whatever they are.-it is."
TBE MATIAXX PAPER 9
'New England, USA, is a goddamn microcosm. Tbaes what's frightening. What happened to all those poetic descriptions of rustic fences and Yankee spirit and ivied brick walls?"
"New poetry. Get with it."
'Your sympathy is overwhelming. Thanks."
'You sound discouraged."
"There isnI enough time. . .
'Mere never is." Cranston steered the small car into a faster lane only to find it bottlenecked at Nebraska and Eighteenth. With a sigh, he shoved the gearshift into neutral and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Lorin& who was staring blankly at the windshield. "At least you got the green light.
Thaes something.'
'Sure. With the wrong personnel."
"Oh ... I see. Is that him?" Cranston gestured his head toward Loring's briefcase.
"That's him. From the day he was bom\*
"What's his name?"
"Matlock James B. Matlock II. The B is for Barbour, very old family-two very old families. James Matlock, B.A., M.A., Ph.D. A leading authority in the field of social and political influences on Elizabethan literature. How about that?"
"Jesusl Are those his qualifications? Where does he start asking questions?
At faculty teas for retired professorsr
"No. That part of ies all right; he's young enough. His qualifications are included in what Security calls 'flawed but mobile in the extreme.' Isn't that a lovely phrase?"
'Inspiring. What does it mean?"
"Ies supposed to describe a man who isn't very nice. Probably because of a loused-up, army record, or a
io Robert Ludlum
divorce-rm sure ies the army thing-but In spite of that insurmountable handicap, is very well liked."
I like him already~-
"Maes my problem. I do, too.\*
The two men fell into silence. It was clear that Cianston had been in the field long enough to realize when a fellow professional had to think by himself. Reach certain conclusions--or rational=tions-by himself. Most of the time, it was easy.
Mph Loring thought about the man whose life was detailed so completely in his briefcase, culled from a score of data-bank sources. James Barbour Matlock was the name, but the person behind the name refused to oome into focus. And that bothered Loring; Matlock's life had been shaped by disturbing, even violent, Inoonsistencies.
He was the surviving son of two elderly, Immensely wealthy parents who lived in handsome retirement in Scarsdale, New York. His education had been properly Eastern Establishment: Andover and Amherst, with the proper expectations of a Manhattan-based profession--banking, brokerage, advertising. There was nothing in his precollege or undergraduate record to indicate a deviation from this pattern. Indeed, marriage to a socially prominent girl from Greenwich seemed to confirm it And then things happened to James Barbour Matlock, and Loring wished he understood. First came the army.
It was the early sixties, and by the simple expedient of agreeing to a six-month extension of service, Matlock could have sat comfortably behind a desk as a supply of8cer somewhere-most likely, with his famiys connections, in Washington or New York. Instead, his saMce Me read like a hoodlunds: a series of in- TEE MAIIX= PAPM 11
fractions and Insubordinations that guaranteed him the least desirable of assignments-Vietnam and its escalating hostilities. While in the Mekong Delta, his military behavior also guaranteed him two summary courts-martial.
Yet there appeared to be no Ideological motivation behind his actions, merely poor, if any, adjustment
His return to civilian life was marked by continuing difficulties, first with his parents and then with his wife. Inexplicably, James Barbour Matlock, whose academic record had been gentlemanly but hardly superior, took a small apartment in Morningside Heights and attended Columbia University's graduate school.
The wife lasted three and a half months, opting for a quiet divorce and a rapid exit from Matlock's life.
The following several years were monotonous Intelligence material. Matlock, the incorrigible, was in the process of becoming Matlock, the scholar. He worked around the calendar, receiving his mastees degree in fourteen months, his doctorate two years later. There was a reconciliation of sorts with his parents, and a position with the English department at Carlyle University in Connecticut. Since then Matlock had published a number of books and articles and acquired an enviable reputation in the academic community. He was obviously popular-"mobile in the extreme" (silly goddamn expression); he was moderately well off and apparently possessed none of the antagonistic traits he'd displayed during the hostile years. Of course, there was damn little reason for him to be discontented, thought Loring.
James Barbour Matlock If had his life nicely routined; he was covered on all flanks, thank you, including a girl. He was currently, with discretion, involved with a graduate student named Patricia Ballantyne. They kept separate resi- = Robert Ludium
dences, but according to the data, were lovers. As near as could be determined, however, there was no marriage in sight The girl was completing her dootDral studies in archeology, and a dozen foundation grants awaited her. Grants that led to distant lands and unfamiliar facts. Patricia Ballantyne was not for marriage; not according to the data banks.
But what of Matlock? wondered Ralph Loring. What did the facts tell bun?
How could they possibly Justify the choice?
They didnI. They couldi& Only a trained professional could carry out the demands of the current situation. The problems were far too complex, too filled with traps for an amateur.
The terrible irony was that if this Matlock made errors, fell into traps, he might accomplish far more far quicker than any professional.
And lose his life doing so.
'What makes you all think hell accept?" Cranston was nearing Loring's apartment and his curiosity was piqued-
"What? rm sorry, what did you say?"
'Whaes the motive for the subjeces acceptance? Why would he agree?"
"A younger brother. Ten years younger, as a matter of fact. The parents are quite old. Very rich, very detached. Tins Matlock holds himself responsible"
"For whatr
The brother. He killed himself three years ago with an overdose of heroin."
Ralph Loring drove his rented car slowly down the wide, tree-lined street past the large old houses set back beyond manicured lawns. Some were fraternity houses. but there were far fewer than had existed a THE MATL(= P"EM 13
decade ago. The social exclusivity of the fifties and early sixties was being replaced. A few of the huge structures had other identifications now.
The House, Aquarius (naturally), Afro-Commom, Waru\*k, Lumumba Hall.
Connecticues Carlyle University was one of those medium-sized "prestige"
campuses that dot the New England landscape. An administration, under the guidance of its brilliant president, Dr. Adrian Sealfont, was restructuring the college, "g to bring it into the second half of the twentieth century.
There were inevitable protests, proliferation of beards, and African studies balanced against the quiet wealth, club blazers, and alumni-sponsored regattas. Hard rock and faculty tea dances were groping for ways to coexist.
Loring reflected, as he looked at the peaceful campus in the bright spring sunlight, that it seemed inconceivable that such a community harbored any real problems.
Certainly not the problem that had brought him there.
Yet it did.
Carlyle was a time bomb which, when detonated, would claim extraordinary victims in its fallout. That it would explode, Loring knew, was inevitable.
What happened before then was unpredictable. It was up to him to engineer the best possible probabilities. The key was James Barbour Matlock, B.A., M.A., Ph.D.
Loring drove past the attractive two-story faculty residence that held four apartrnents, each with a separate entrance. It was considered one of the better faculty houses and was usually occupied by bright young families before they'd reached the tenure necessary for outlying homes of their own.
Matlock's quarters were on the first floor, west section.
Loring drove around the block and parked diagonally across the street from Matlock's door. Ile couliWt stay long; he kept turning in the seat, scanning the cars and Sunday morning pedestrians, satir.fled that he himself wasn't being observed. That was vital. On Sunday, according to Matlocks surveillance file, the young professor usually read the papers till around noon and then drove to the north end of Carlyle where Patricia Ballantyne lived in one of the efficiency apartinents reserved for graduate students.
That is, he drove over if she hadiYt spent the night with him. Then the two generally went out into the country for lunch and returned to Matlocies apartment or went south into Hartford or New Haven. There were variations, of course. Often the Ballantyne girl and Matlock took weekends together, registering as man and wife. Not this weekend, however. Surveillance had confirmed that.
Loring looked at his watch. It was twelve forty, but Matlock was still in his apartment. Time'was runnmg short. In a few minutes, Loring was expected to be at Crescent Street. 217 Crescent. It was where he would make cover-contact for his second vehicle transfer.
He knew it wasn't necessary for him to physically watch Matlock. After all, he~d read the file thoroughly, looked at scores of photographs, and even talked briefly with Dr. Sealfont, Carlyle's president Nevertheless, each agent had his own working methods, and his included watching subjects for a period of hourr before making contact. Several colleagues at justice claimed it gave him a sense of power. Loring knew only that it gave him a sense of confidence.
Matlock's front door opened and a tall man walked out into the sunlight. He was dressed in khald trousers, loafers, and a tan turtleneck sweater.
Loring saw
THE MATW= P"ER 15
that he was modestly good looking with sharp features and fairly long blond hair. He checked the lock on his door, put on a pair of sunglasses, and walked around the sidewalk to what Loring presumed was a small parking area.
Several minutes later, James Matlock drove out of the driveway in a Triumph sportscar.
The government man reflected that his subject seemed to have the best of a pleasant life. Sufficient income, no responsibilities, work he enjoyed, even a convenient relationship with an attractive girl.
Loring wondered if it would all be the same for James Barbour Matlock three weeks from then. For Matlocles world was about to be plunged into an abyss.
2
Matlock pressed the TriumpYs accelerator to the floor and the low-slung automobile vibrated as the speedometer reached sixty-two miles per hour. It wasn1 that he was in a hurry~-Pat Ballantyne waset going anywhere-just that he was angry. Well, not angry, really, just irritated. He was usually irritated after a phone call from home. Time would never elimmate that Nor money, ff ever he made any to speak ofamounts his father considered respectable. What caused his irritation was the infuriating condescension.
it grew worse as his mother and father advanced in years. Instead of making peace with the situation, they dwelled on it. They insisted that he spend the spring midterm vacation in Scarsdale so that he and his father could make daily trips into the city. To the banks, to the attorneys. To make ready for the inevitable, when and if it ever happened.
a. . . Theres a lot you'll have to digest, son," his father had said sepulchrally. "Yoifre not exactly prepared, you know. . . ."
.. Yoere all thafs left, darlin&" his mother had said with obvious pain.
Matlock knew they enjoyed their anticipated, martyred leave-taking of this world. They'd made their mark\_or at least his father had. The amusing part Tm mATLOcK PAFm 17
was that his parents were as strong as pack mules, as healthy as wild horses. They'd no doubt outlast him by decades.
The truth was that they wanted him with them far more than he wished to be there. It had been that way for the past three years, since David's death at the Cape. Perhaps, thought Matlock, as he drew up in front of Pat's apartment the roots of his irritation were in his own guilt. He'd never quite made peace with himself about David. He never would.
And he didn't want to be in Scarsdale during the midterm holidays. Ile didet want the memories. He had someone now who was helping him forget the awful years--of death, no love, and indecision. Hied promised to take Pat to St. Thomas.
The name of the country inn was the Cheshire Cat, and, as its title implied, it was Englishy and pubbish. The food was decent, the drinks generous, and those factors made it a favorite spot of Connecticut!s exur-bia. They'd finished their second Bloody Mary and had ordered roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. There were perhaps a dozen couples and several families in the spacious dining area. In the comer sat a single man reading The New York Tinws with the pages folded vertically, commuter fashion.
'Hes probably an irate father waiting for a son whes about to splash out.
I know the type. They take the Scarsdale train every mornin&"
"He's too relaxed."
'They learn to hide tension. Only their druggists 'know. All that GelusiL"
'01bere are always signs, and he haset any. He looks positively self-satisfied. You~re wrong."
'You just don!t know Scarsdale. Self-satisfaction is a 3L8 Robert Ludlum
registered trademark. You cant buy a house without it"
'Speaking of such things, what are you going to do? I really think we should cancel St Thomas."
"I doet Ies been a rough winter, we deserve a little sun. Anyway, theyre being unreasonable. Therels nothing I want to learn about the Matlock manipulations; Ws a waste of time. In the unlikely event that they ever do go, others'll be in charge."
"I thought we agreed that was only an excuse. They want you around for a while. I think it's touching they do it this way."
"Ies not touching, ies my fathees transparent attempt at bribery. . . .
Look. Our commuter~s given up." The single man with the newspaper finished his drink and was explaining to the waitress that he waset ordering lunch.
"Five'll get you ten he pictured his son's hair and leather jacket-maybe bare feetand just panicked."
'I think you~re wishing it on the poor mae "No, I'm not. I'm too sympathetic. I can't stand the aggravation that goes with rebellion. Makes me selfconscious."
"You're a very funny man, Private Matlock," said Pat, alluding to Matlock's inglorious army career. "When we finish, lees go down to Hartford. There's a good movie."
"Oh, rm sorry, I forgot to tell you. We can't today. ... Sealfont called me this morning for an early evening conference. Said it was important."
"About what?"
"I'm not sure. The African studies may be in trouble. That 'rom' I recruited from Howard turned out to be a beaut. I think Vs a little to the right of Louis XIV."
TBE MAnA>CK PAPER 19
She smiled. "Really, you're terrible
Matlock took her hand.
The residence of Dr. Adrian Sealfont was imposingly appropriate. It was a large white colonial mansion with wide marble steps leading up to thick double doors carved in relief. Along the front were Ionic pillars spanning the width of the building. Floodlights from the lawn were turned on at sundown.
Matlock walked up the stairs to the door and rang the bell. Thirty seconds later he was admitted by a maid, who ushered him through the hallway toward the rear of the house, into Dr. Sealfonfs huge library.
Adrian SeaIfont stood in the center of the room with two other men.
Matlock, as always, was struck by the presence of the man. A shade over six feet, thin, with aquiline features, he radiated a warmth that touched all who were near him. There was about him a genuine humility which concealed his brilliance from those who did not know him. Matlock liked him immensely.
"Hello, James." Sealfont extended his hand to Matlock. "Mr. Loring, may I present Dr. Matlock?"
"How do you do? Hi, Sam." Matlock addressed this last to the third man, Samuel Kressel, dean of colleges at Carlyle.
Hello, Jim.-
'We've met before, haven't we?" asked Matlock, looking at Loring. "I'm trying to remember."
"Irm going to be very embarrassed if you do."
`11 bet you willl" laughed Kressel with his sardonic., slightly offensive humor. Matlock also liked Sam Kressel, more because he knew the pain of Kressers job-what he had to contend with-than for the mign himself.
2o Robert Ludlum
'What do you mean, Sam?"
"III answer you," interrupted Adrian Sealfont. 'Mr. Loring is with the federal government, the justice Department. I agreed to arrange a meeting between the three of you, but I did not agree to what Sam and Mr. Loring have just referred to. Apparently Mr. LorIng has seen fit to have you-what is the term-under surveillance. Ive registered my strong objections."
Sealfont looked directly at Loring.
"YotNe had me what?" asked Matlock quietly.
"I apologize," said Loring persuasively. "Ies a personal idiosyncrasy and has nothing to do with our business."
'You~re the commuter in the Cheshire Cat.-
"Ibe what?" asked Sam Kressel.
'Me man with the newspaper."
"Thaes right. I knew yotfd noticed me this afternoon. I thought you'd recognize me the minute you saw me again. I didn't know I looked like a commuter."
"It was the newspaper. We called you an irate father.\*
"Sometimes I am. Not often, though. My daughtees only seven."
"I think we should begin," Sealfont said. "Incidentally, James, I'm relieved your reaction is so understanding."
"My only reaction is curiosity. And a healthy degree of fear. To tell you the truth, Im scared to death." Matlock smiled haltingly. "What!s it all about?'
'Lees have a drink while we talk.' Adrian Sealfont smiled back and walked to his copper-topped dry bar in the comer of the room. '-fou~re a bourbon and water man, aren1 you, James? And Sam, a double Scotch over ice, correct? Whats yours, Mr. Loring?`
THE JUTLOCK PAPER 21
'Scotch'Il be fine. just water."
OHere, James, give me a hand." Matlock crossed to Sealfont and helped him.
'You amaze me, Adrian, . said Kressel, sitting down in a leather armchair.
"What in heaven~s name prompts you to remember your subordinates' choice of liquor?-
Seaffont laughed. 'Me most logical reason of all. And it certainly iset confined to my ... colleagues. I've raised more money for this institution with alcohol than with hundreds of reports prepared by the best analytic minds in fund-raising circles." Here Adrian Sealfont paused and chuckled-as much to himself as to those in the room. "I once gave a speech to the Organization of University Presidents. In the question and answer period, I was asked to what I attributed Carlyle's endowment. . . . I'm afraid I replied, To those ancient peoples who developed the art of fermenting the vineyards.' . . . My late wife roared but told me later I'd set the fund back a decade."
The three men laughed; Matlock distributed the drinks.
"Your health," said the president of Carlyle, raising his glass modestly.
The toast, however, was brief. '11is is a bit awkward, James ... Sam.
Several weeks ago I was contacted by Mr. Loring's superior. He asked me to come to Washington on a matter of utmost importance, relative to Carlyle.
I did so and was briefed on a situation I still refuse to accept. Certain information which Mr. Loring will impart to you seems incontrovertible on the surface. But that is the surface: rumor; out-of-context statements, written and verbal; constructed evidence which may be meaningless. On the other hand, there might well be a degree of substance. It is on that possibility that Ive agreed
to this meeting. I must make it clear, however, that I cannot be a party to it. Carlyle wiU not be a party to it Whatever may take place in this room has my unacknowledged approval but not my official sanction. You act as individuals, not as members of the faculty or staff of Carlyle. If, indeed, you decide to act at all. ... Now, James, if that doesn't 'scare you,' I don1 know what will." Sealfont smiled again, but his message was clear.
"It scares me, . said Matlock without emphasis.
Kxessel put down his glass and leaned forward on the chair. "Are we to assume from what you've said that you don't endorse Loring~s presence here?
Or whatever it is he wants?"
"It's a gray area. If there's substance to his charges, I certainly cannot turn my back. On the other hand, no university president these days will openly collaborate with a government agency on speculation. Youll forgive me, Mr. Loring, but too many people in Washington have taken advantage of the academic communities. I refer specifically to Michigan, Columbia, Berkeley ... among others. Simple police matters are one thing, infiltration ... well, that's something else again."
"Infiltration? That's a pretty strong word," said Matlock.
"Perhaps too strong. I'll leave the terms to Mr. Loring."
Kressel picked up his glass. "May I ask why weMatlock and I-have been chosen?"
"That, again, will be covered in Mr. Loring's discussion. However, since I'm responsible for your being here, Sam, I'll tell you my reasons. As dean, yoere more closely attuned to campus affairs than anyone else.... You will also be aware of it if Mr. Loring or THE MATLOCK PAPM 23
his associates overstep their bounds.... I think thafs all I have to say.
I'm going over to the assembly. That filmmaker, Strauss, is speaking tonight and Ive got to put in an appearance." Seaffont walked back to the bar and put his glass on the tray. The three other men rose.
"One thing before you go," said Kressel, his brow wrinkled. "Suppose one or both of us decide we want no part of Mr. Lorines ... business?"
"Then refuse." Adrian Sealfont crossed to the library door. "You are under no obligation whatsoever; I want that perfectly -ulear. Mr. Loring understands. Cood evening, gentlemen." Sealfont walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
3
The three men remained silent, standing motionless. They could hear the front entrance open and close. Kressel turned and looked at Loring.
"It seems to me you've been put on the spot.\*
"I usually am in these situations. Let me clarify my position; it will partly explain this meeting. The first thing you should know is that Fm with the justice Department, Narcotics Bureau."
Kressel sat down and sipped at his drink "You haveet traveled up here to tell us forty percent of the student body is on pot and a few other items, have you? Because if so, ifs nothing we don't know."
"No, I haven't. I assume you do know about such things. Everyone does. I'm not sure about the percentage, though. It could be a low estimate."
Matlock finished his bourbon and decided to have another. He spoke as he crossed to the copper bar table. "It may be low or high, but comparatively speaking-in relation to other campuses-were not in a panic.\*
"Mere's no reason for you to be. Not about that.'
'Mere's something else?"
"Very much so." Loring walked to Sealfones desk and bent down to pick up his briefcase from the floor. It was apparent that the government man and Car- TBE MATLOCK PAPER 25
IyWs president had talked before Matlock and Kressel arrived. Loring put the briefcase on the desk and opened it. Matlock walked back to his chair and sat down.
"I'd like to show you something." Loring reached into the briefcase and withdrew a thick page of silvercolored stationery, cut diagonally as if with pinking shears. The silver coating was now filthy with repeated handling and blotches of grease or dirt. He approached Matlocks chair and handed it to him Kressel got up and came over.
"It's some kind of letter. Or announcement. With numbers," said Matlock.
"It's in French; no, Italian, I think. I can't make it out.'
"Very good, professor," said Loring. "A lot of both and not a predominance of either. Actually, ies a Corsican dialect, written out. les called the 01tremontan strain, used in the southern hill country. Like Etruscan, ies not entirely translatable. But what codes are used are simple to the point of not being codes at all. I don~t think they were meant to be; there arenI too many of these. So there's enough here to tell us what we need to know."
"Which is?" asked Kressel, taking the strange-lookIng paper from Matlock.
"First I'd like to explain how we got it Without that explanation, the information is meaningless."
"Go ahead." Kressel handed the filthy silver paper back to the government agent, who carried it to the desk and carefully returned it to his briefcase.
"A narcotics courier-that is, a man who goes into a specific source territory carrying instructions, money, messages-left the country six weeks ago. He was more than a courier, actually; he was quite powerful in the dwtribution hierarchy; you might say he was
on a busman~s holiday, Mediterranean style. Or perhaps he was checking investments.... At any rate, he was killed by some mountain people in the Toros Daglari-that's Turkey, a growing district. The story is, he canceled operations there and the violence followed. We accept that; the Mediterranean fields are closing down right and left, moving into South America... The paper was found on his body, in a skin belt As you saw, ifs been handed around a bit. It brought a succession of prices from Ankara to Marrakesh. An Interpol undercover man finally made the purchase and it was tamed over to us."
'From Toros Dag-whatever-it-is to Washington. That paper's had quite a journey," said Matlock.
"And an expensive one," added Loring. "Only it's not in Washington now, it's here. From Toros Daglari to Carlyle, Connecticut."
"I assume that means something." Sam Kressel sat down, apprehensively watching the government man.
"It means the information in that paper concerns Carlyle." Loring leaned back against the desk and spoke calmly, with no sense of urgency at all. He could have been an instructor in front of a class explaining a dry but necessary mathematics theorem. "The paper says there'll be a conference on the tenth of May, three weeks from tomorrow. The numbers are the map coordinates of the Carlyle area-precision decimals of longitude and latitude in Greenwich units. The paper itself identifies the holder to be one of those summoned. Each paper has either a matching half or is cut from a pattern that can be matched-simple additional security. Whaes missing is the precise location.22
-Wait a mintrte~" Kressers voice was controlled but sharp; he was upseL
"AreZt you ahead of yourself,
TM MATWCK P"ER 27
Loring? You're giving us inforination---obviously restricted-before you state your request. This university administration isn1 interested in being an investigative arm of the government. Before you go into facts, yoiYd better say what you want."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kressel. You said I was on the spot and I am. I'm handling it badly."
"Like bell. You're an expert."
"Hold it~ Sam." Matlock raised his hand off the arm of the chair. Kressel's sudden antagonism seemed uncalled for. "Sealfont said we had the option to refuse whatever he wants. If we exercise that optionand we probably will-I'd like to think we did so out of judgment not blind reaction."
"Don1 be naYve, Jim. You receive restricted or classified information and instantly, post facto, you're involved. You can~t deny receiving it; you can't say it didn't happen."
Matlock looked up at Loring. "Is that true?"
"To a degree, yes. I won't lie about it."
"Then why should we listen to you?'
"Because Carlyle University is involved; has been for years. And the situation is critical. So critical that there are only three weeks left to act on the information we have."
Kxessel got out of his chair, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
"Create the crisis-without proofand force the involvement. The crisis fades but the records show the university was a silent participant in a federal investigation. That was the pattern at the University of Wisconsin."
Kressel turned to Matlock. "Do you remember that one, Jim? Six days of riots on campus. Half a semester lost on teach-ins."
'That was Pentagon oriented," said Loring. "The circumstances were entirely different."
'You think the justice Department makes it more palatable? Read a few campus newspapers."
"For Chrisfs sake, Sam, let the man talk. If you doi\* want to listen, go home. I want to hear what he has to say."
Kressel looked down at Matlock. "All right. I think I understand. Go ahead, Loring. just remember, no obligations. And we're not bound to respect any conditions of confidenm"
"I'll gamble on your common sense.'
'That may be a mistake." Kressel walked to the bar and replenished his drink.
Loring sat on the edge of the desk. "III start by askthg both of you if yoeve ever heard of the word nimrod.\*
"Nimrod is a Hebrew name," Matlock answered. "Old Testament. A descendant of Noah, ruler of Babylon and Nineveh. Legendary prowess as a hunter, which obscures the more important fact that he founded, or built, the great cities in Assyria and Mesopotamia."
Loring smiled. "Very good again, professor. A hunter and a builder. rm speaking in more contemporary terms, however.'
'Ilen, no, I haven't. Have you, Sam?'
Kressel walked back to his chair, carrying his glass. 'I didn1 even know what you just said. I thought a nimrod was a casting fly. Very good for trout."
'Then III fill in some background.... I don't mean to bore you with narcotics statistics; rm sure yoere bombarded with them constantly~-
"Constantly," said Kressel.
"But there's an isolated geographical statistic you may not be aware of.
The concentration of drug traffic in the New England states is growing at a rate ex- THE MATLOCK PAPER 29
ceeding that of any other section of the country. It!s a startling pattern.
Since 1968, there's been a systematic erosion of enforcement procedures....
Let me put it into perspective, geographically. In California, Ilhnois, Louisiana, narcotics controls have improved to the point of at least curtailing the growth curves. It!s really the best we can hope for until the international agreements have teeth. But not in the New England area.
Throughout this section, the expansion has gone wild. Ies hit the colleges hard."
"How do you know that?' asked Matlock.
"Dozens of ways and always too late to prevent distribution. Informers, marked inventories from Mediterranean, Asian, and Latin American sources, traceable Swiss deposits; that is restricted data." Loring looked at Kressel and smiled.
"Now I know you people are crazy." Kxessel spoke disagreeably. "It seems to me that if you can substantiate those charges, you should do so publicly.
And loud."
'We have our reasons."
"Also restricted, I assume," said Kressel with faint disgust.
"There's a side issue," continued the govermnent man, disregarding him.
"The eastern prestige earnpuses-large and small, Princeton, Amherst, Harvard, Vassar, Williams, Carlyle-a good percentage of their enrollments include VIP kids. Sons and daughters of very important people, especially in government and industry. There's a blackmail potential, and we think it's been used. Such people are painfully sensitive to drug scandals."
Kressel interrupted. "Granting what you say is true, and I don1, we've had less trouble here than most other colleges in the northeast area."
3o Robert Ludlum
"We're aware of that. We even think we know why.'
'That's esoteric, Mr. Loring. Say what you want to say." Matlock didn't like the games some people played-
'Any distribution network which is capable of systernatically servicing, expanding, and controlling an entire section of the country has got to have a base of operations. A clearing house-you might say, a command post.
Believe me when I tell you that this base of operations, the command post for the narcotics traffie throughout the New England states, is Carlyle University."
Samuel Kressel, dean of the colleges, dropped his glass on Adrian Sealfones parquet floor.
Ralph Loring continued his incredible story. Matlock and Kressel remained in their cbairs. Several times during his calm, methodical explanation, KXessel began to interrupt, to object, but Loring's persuasive narrative out him short. There was nothing to argue.
The investigation of Carlyle University had begun eighteen months ago. It had been triggered by an accounts ledger uncovered by the French Suret6
during one of its frequent narcotics investigations in the port of Marseilles. Once the ledgees American origins were established, it was sent to Washington under Interpol agreement Throughout the ledger\*s entries were references to "C-22\*-591" consistently followed by the name Nftnrod. The numbered degree marks were found to be map coordinates of northern Connecticut, but not decimally definitive. After tracing hundreds of possible trucking routes from Atlantic seaboard piers and airports relative to the Marseilles operation, the vicinity of Carlyle was placed under maximum surveillance.
THE MAnOX PAPER 31
As part of the surveillance, telephone taps were ordered on persons known to be involved with narcotics distribution from such points as New York, Hartford, Boston, and New Haven. Tapes were made of conversations of underworld figures. All calls regarding narcotics to and from the Carlyle area were placed to and from public telephone booths. It made the intercepts difficult, but not impossible. Again, restricted methods.
As the information files grew, a startling fact became apparent. The Carlyle group was independent It had no formal ties with structured organized crime; it was beholden to no one. It used known crin-Anal elements, was not used by them. It was a tightly knit unit, reaching into the majority of New England universities. And it did not-apparently-stop at drugs.
There was evidence of the Carlyle unies infiltration into gambling, prostitution, even postgraduate employment placement. Too, there seemed to be a purpose, an objective beyond the inherent profits of the illegal activities. The Carlyle unit could have made far greater profit with less complications by dealing outright with known criminals, acknowledged suppliers in all areas. Instead, it spent its own money to set up its organization. It was its own master, controlling its own sources, its own distribution. But what its ultimate objectives were was unclear.
It had become so powerful that it threatened the leadership of organized crime in the Northeast. For this reason, leading figures of the underworld had demanded a conference with those in charge of the Carlyle operation.
The key here was a group, or an individual, referred to as Nimrod.
The purpose of the conference, as far as could be determined, was for an accommodation to be reached
between Nimrod and the overlords of crime who felt threatened by Nimrod's extraordinary growth. The conference would be attended by dozens of known and unknown criminals throughout the New England states.
"Mr. Kressel." Loring turned to CarlyWs dean and seemed to hesitate. "I suppose you have lisu-students, faculty, staff-people you know or have reason to suspect are into the drug scene. I caet assume it because I don't know, but most colleges do have."
"I woet answer that question."
'Which, of course, gives me my answer," said Loring quietly, even sympathetically.
"Not for a minutel You people have a habit of assuming exactly what you want to assume."
"All right, I stand rebuked. But even if you'd said yes, it wasn't my purpose to ask for them. It was merely by way of telling you that we do have such a list. I wanted you to know that."
Sam Kressel realized bed been trapped; Loring's ingenuousness only annoyed him further. Tm sure you do."
"Needless to say, we'd have no objection to giving you a copy."
"That won7t be necessary."
"Yoere pretty obstinate, Sam," said Matlock. "You burying your head?"
Before Kressel could reply, Loring spoke. 'The dean knows he can change his mind. And we've -agreed, theres no crisis here. You~d be surprised how many people wait for the roof to cave in before asking for help. Or accepting it."
"But there aren't many surprises in your organization~s proclivity for turning difficult situations into
THE MATLOCK PAPER 33
disasters, are thereP' countered Sam Kressel antagonistically.
"Wve made mistakes."
'Since you have names," continued Sam, "why don7t you go after them? Leave us out of it; do your own dirty work. Make arrests, press charges. Don~t try to deputize us."
"We doet want to do that Besides, most of our evidence is inadmissible."
"Ilat occurred to me," interjected Kressel.
'And what do we gain? What do you gain?" Loring leaned forward, returning Sam's stare. 'We pick up a couple of hundred potheads, a few dozen speedfreaks; users and low-level pushers. Don't you understand, that doesn't solve anything."
"Mich brings us to what you really want, doesn't it?' Matlock sank back into the chair; he watched the persuasive agent closely.
'Yes," answered Loring softly. -We want Nimrod. We want to know the location of that conference on May 3Lo. It could be anywhere within a radius of fifty to a hundred miles. We want to be prepared for it. We want to break the back of the Nimrod operation, for reasons that go way beyond Carlyle University. As well as narcotics."
"How?" asked James Matlock.
"Dr. Sealfont said it. Infiltration.... Professor Matlocl; you are whats known in intelligence circles as a highly mobile person within your environment. You're widely accepted by diverse, even conflicting factions -within both the faculty and the student body. We have the names, you have the mobility." Loring reached into his briefcase and withdrew the scissored page of filthy stationery. "Somewhere out there is the
information we need. Somewhere theWs someone who has a paper like this; someone who knows what we have to know."
James Barbour Matlock remained motionless in his chair, staring at the govermnent mwL Neither Loring nor Kressel could be sure what he was thinking but both had an idea. If thoughts were audible, there would have been full agreement in that room at that moment James Matlock's mind had wandered back three, almost four years ago. He was remembering a blond-baired boy of nineteen. Immature for his ag% perhaps, but good, kind.
A boy with problems.
They'd found him as they'd found thousands like him in thousands of cities and towns across the country. Other times, other Nimrods.
James Matlocles brother, David, had inserted a needle in his right arm and had shot up thirty mg. of white fluid. He had performed the act in a catboat in the calm waters of a Cape Cod inlet The small sailboat had drifted into the reeds near shore. When they found it, James Matlock's brother was dead.
Matlock made his decision.
"Can you get me the namesr
"I have them with me."
"Just hold it." Kressel stood up, and when he spoke, it wasn't in the tone of an angry man-it was with fear. "Do you realize what you~re asking him to do? He has no experience in this kind of work. He's not trained. Use one of your own men."
"There isn7t time. There's no time for one of our men. H&II be protected; you can help."
"I can stop youl"
"No, you can't, Sam," said Matlock from the chair.
"Jim, for Christ:s sake, do you know what he's ask- THE MATLOCK PAPM 35
ing? If therd's any truth to what he!s said, he's placing you in the worst position a man can be in. An informer.'
"You don't have to stay. My decision doesn't have to be your decision. Why doet you go home?" Matlock rose and walked slowly to the bar, carrying his glass.
nafs impossible now," said Kressel, turning toward the government agent.
"And he knows it~"
Loring felt a touch of sadness. This Matlock was a good man; be was doing what he was doing because he felt be owed a debt. And it was coldly, professionally projected that by accepting the assignment, James Matlock was very possibly going to his death. It was a terrible price, that possibility. But the objective was worth it. The conference was worth it.
Nimrod was worth it.
That was Loring's conclusion.
It made his assignment bearable.
4
Nothing could be written down; the briefing was slow, repetition constant But Loring was a professional and knew the value of taking breaks from the pressures of trying to absorb too much Wo rapidly. During these periods, he attempted to draw Matlock out, learn more about this man whose life was so easily expendable. It was nearly midnight; Sam Kressel had left before eight o'clock. It was neither necessary nor advisable that the dean be present during the detailing of the specifics. He was a liaison, not an activist.
Kressel was not averse to the decision.
Ralph Loring learned quickly that Matlock was a private man. His answers to innocuously phrased questions were brief, thrown-away replies constituting no more than self-denigrating explanations. After a while, Loring gave up.
Matlock had agreed to do a job, not make public his thoughts or his motives. It wasn't necessary; Loring understood the latter. That was all that mattered. He was just as happy not to know the man too well.
Matlock, in turn-while memorizing the complicated information-was, on another level, reflecting on his own life, wondering in his own way why he'd been selected. He was intrigued by an evaluation that THE MATLOCK PAPM 37
could describe him as being nwbile, what an awful word to have appliedl Yet he knew he was precisely what the term signified. He was mobile. The professional researchers, or psychologists, or whatever they were, were accurate. But he doubted they understood the reasons behind his . . .
mobility.a
The academic world had been a refuge, a sanctuary. Not an objective of long-standing ambition. He had fled into it in order to buy time, to organize a life that was falling apart, to understand. To get his head straight, as the kids said these days.
He had tried to explain it to his wife, his lovely, quick, bright, ultimately hollow wife, who thought he!d lost his senses. What was there to understand but an awfully good job, an awfully nice house, an awfully pleasant club, and a good life within an awfully rewarding social and financial world? For her, there was nothing more to understand. And he understood that
I But for him that world had lost its meaning. He had begun to drift away from its core in his early twenties, during his last year at Amherst. The separation became complete with his army experience.
It was no one single thing that had triggered his rejection. And the rejection itself was not a violent act, although violence played its role in the early days of the Saigon mess. It had begun at home, where most .life-styles are accepted or rejected, during a series of disagreeable confrontations with his father. The old gentleman-too old, too gentlemanly-felt justified in demanding a better performance from his first son. A direction, a sense of purpose not at all in evidence. The senior Matlock belonged to another era-if not
another century-and believed the gap between father and son a desirable thing, the lower element being dismissible until it had proved itself in the marketplace. Dismissible but, of course, malleable. In ways, the father was like a benign ruler who, after generations of power, was loath to have the throne abandoned by his rightful issue. It was inconceivable to the elder Matlock that his son would not assume the leadership of the family business.
Businesses.
But for the younger Matlock, it was all too conceivable. And preferable. He was not only uncomfortable thinking about a future in his father's nw-rketplace, he was also afraid. For him there was no joy in the regimented pressures of the financial world; instead, there was an awesome fear of inadequacy, emphasized by his father's strong--overpoweringcompetence. The closer he came to entering that world, the more pronounced was his fear.
And it occurred to him that along with the delights of extravagant shelter and unnecessary creature comforts had to come the justification for doing what was expected in order to possess these things. He could not find that justification. Better the shelter should be less extravagant, the creature comforts somewhat limited, than face the prospects of continuing fear and discomfort
He had tried to explain that to his father. Whereas his wife had claimed hed lost his senses, the old gentleman pronounced him a misfit Which didn7t exactly refute the army's judgment of him.
The army.
A disaster. Made worse by the knowledge that it was of his own making. He found that blind physical discipline and unquestioned authority were abhorrent
THE MATLOCK PAPM 39
to him And he was large enough and strong enough and had a sufficient vocabulary to make his unadJustable, immature objections known-to his own disadvantage.
Discreet manipulations by an uncle resulted in a discharge before his tour of service was officially completed; for that he was grateful to an influential family.
And at this juncture of his life, Jaynes Barbour Matlock III was a mess.
Separated from the service less than gloriously, divorced by his wife, dispossessedsymbolically if not actually~by his family, he felt the panic of belonging nowhere, of being without motive or purpose.
So hed fled into the secure confines of graduate school, hoping to find an answer. And as in a love affair begun on a sexual basis but growing into psychological dependence, he had married that world; he'd found what had eluded him for nearly five vital years. It was the first real commitment he'd ever experienced.
He was free.
Free to enjoy the excitement of a meaningffil challenge-, free to revel in the confidence that he was equal to it He plunged into his new world with the enthusiasm of a convert but without the blindness. He chose a period of history and literature that teemed with energy and conflict and contradictory evaluations. The apprentice years passed swiftly; he was consumed and pleasantly surprised by his own talents. When he emerged on the professional plateau, he brought fresh air into the musty archives. He made startling innovations in long-unquestioned methods of research. His doctoral thesis on court interference with English Renaissance hterature--news manage- 4o Robert Ludluin
ment-blew into the historical ashcan several holy theories about one benefactress named Elizabeth.
He was the new breed of scholar: restless, skeptical, unsatisfied, always searching while imparting what he'd learned to others. Two and a half years after receiving his doctorate, he was elevated to the tenured position of associate professor, the youngest instructor at Carlyle to be so contracted.
James Barbour Matlock U made up for the lost years, the awful years.
Perhaps best of all was. the knowledge that he could communicate his excitement to others. He was young enough to enjoy sharing his enthusiasm, old enough to direct the inquiries.
Yes, he was mobile; God, was hel He couldiA, wouldfet turn anyone off, shut anyone out because of disagreement--even dislike. The depth of his own gratitude, the profoundness of his relief was such that he unconsciously promised himself never to discount the concerns of another human being.
'Any surprises?" Loring had completed a section of the material that dealt with narcotics purchases as they'd been traced.
"More a clarification, rd say," replied Matlock. Me old-line fraternities or clubs-mostly white, mostly rich-get their stuff from Hartford. The black units like Lumumba Hall go to New Haven. Different sources."
'Exactly; that's student orientation. The point being that none buy from the Carlyle suppliers. From Nimroc1L"
"You explained that. The Nimrod people don't want to be advertised."
"But they're here. They're used."
By whom?- TBE mATLOcK PAM 41
'Faculty and staff," answered Loring calmly, flipping over a page. This nwy be a surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Archer Beeson . . ."
Matlock immediately pictured the young history instructor and his wife.
They were Ivy League conformity itself-falsely arrogant, aesthetically precious. Archer Beeson was a young man in an academic hurry; his wife, the perfect faculty ingenue, carelessly sexy, always in awe.
"They"re with LSD and the methedrines. Acid and speed."
"Good Lordl They fooled the hell out of me. How do you know?"
"Ies too complicated to go into, also restricted. To oversimplify: they, he, used to purchase heavily from a distributor in Bridgeport. The contact was terminated and he didn1 show up on any other lists. But he!s not off.
We think he made the Carlyle conneotion. No proof, though ... Here's another."
It was the coach of varsity soccer, a lock who worked in physical education. His items were marijuana and amphetamines; his previous source, Hartford. He was considered a pusher on campus, not a user. Although the Hartford source was no longer employed, the man's varied and dumn-ded bank accounts continued to grow. Assumption: Nimrod.
And another. This one frightening to Matlock. The assistant dean of admissions. An alumnus of Carlyle who returned to the campus after a brief career as a salesman. He was a flamboyant, open-handed man; a proselytizer for the cause of Carlyle. A popular enthusiast in these days of cynicism.
He, too, was considered a distributor, not a user. He covered himself well through second-and third-level pushers.
"We think he came back here through the Nimrod organization. Good positioning on Nimrod's part."
"Goddamn scarey. That son of a bitch makes parents think he's a combination of astronaut and chaplain."
"Good positioning, as I said. Remember? I told you and Kressel: the Nimrod people have interests that go beyond drugs."
"But you don't know what they are."
'We'd better find out-Here~s the breakdown of the kids."
The names of the students seemed endless to Matlock. There were 563 out of a total enrollment of i2oo plus. The government man admitted that many were included not because of confirmation of individual use, but due to their campus affiliations. Clubs and fraternities were known to Pool resources for the purchase of narcotics.
"We haven7t the time to ascertain the validity of every name. Were looking for relationships; any, no matter how remote. You've got to have all kinds of avenues; we caet restrict them.... And there~s one aspect to this list; I don7t know whether you see it or not."
"I certainly do. At least, I think I do. Twenty or thirty names here ring loud bells in several high Places. Some very influential parents. Industry, government. Here." Matlock pointed. "The presidenes cabinet, if I'm not mistaken. And I'm not.\*
"You see." Loring smiled.
"Has any of this had any effect?"
"We doet know. Could have, could be. The Nimrod tentacles are spreading out fast. That's why the alarms are sounding; louder than your bells. Speaking TBE MATLOCK PAPER 43
unofficially, there could be repercussions no one's dreamed of. . . .
Defense overruns, union contracts, forced installations. You name it. It could be related.\*
'Jesus Christ," said Matlock softly.
"Exactly."
The two men heard the front door of SeaIfont7s mansion open and shut. As if by reflex, Loring calmly took the papers from Matlock's band and quickly replaced them in his briefcase. He closed the case and then did an unexpected thing. He silently, almost unobtrusively, whipped back his jacket and curled his fingers around the handle of a revolver in a small holster strapped to his chest. The action startled Matlock. He stared at the hidden hand.
The library door opened and Adrian Sealfont walked in. Loring casually removed his hand from inside his coat Sealfont spoke kindly.
"I do try. I honestly do. I understand the words and the pictures and take no offense whatsoever at the braided hair. What confuses me is the hostility. Anyone past thirty is the natural enemy of these fellows."
"That was Strauss, wasn't it?" asked Matlock.
'Yes. Someone inquired about the New Wave influence. He replied that the New Wave was ancient history. Prehistoric, was his word.... I won't interrupt you gentlemen. I would, however, like to know Kressers status, Mr.
Loring. Obviously, James has accepted.-
"So has Mr. Kressel, sir. He'll act as liaison between US,
q see." Sealfont looked at Matlock. There was a sense of relief in his eyes. "James, I can tell you now. I'm extremely grateful you've decided to help."
"I don1 think theres an alternative."
'There iset. What!s frightening is the possibility of such total involvement. Mr. Loring, I'll want to be advised the n-dnute you have anything concrete. At that point I shall do whatever you wish, follow any mstructions. All I ask is that you supply me with proof and youll have my complete, my official cooperation."
"I understand, sir. Yoeve been very helpful. More than we had a right to expect. We appreciate it."
'As James said, there is no alternative. But I must impose limits; my first obligation is to this institution. The campuses these days might appear dormant; I think thafs a surface evaluation.... You have work to do and I have some reading to finish. Good night, Mr. Loring. James."
Matlock and the government man nodded their goodnights as Adrian Sealfont closed the library door.
By one o!clock, Matlock could absorb no more. The main elements-names, sources, conjectures-were locked in; he would never forget them. Not that he could recite everything by rote; that wasn't expected. But the sight of any particular individual on the lists would trigger a memory response. He knew Loring was right about that. It was why the agent insisted that he say the names out loud, repeating them several times each. It would be enough.
What he needed now was a nights sleep, if sleep would come. Let everything fall into some kind of perspective. Then in the morning he could begin to make initial decisions, determine which individuals should be approached, selecting those least likely to come in contact with one another. And this meant familiarizing himself with immediate friends, faculty or student body status-dozens of isolated fragments
THE MATLOCK PAPER 45
of information beyond the data supplied by Loring. Kressers files-the ones he disclaimed having-would help.
Once in conversations he'd have to make his way carefully-thrusting, parrying, watching for signs, looks, betrayals.
Somewhere, with someone, it would happen.
"I'd like to go back to something," said Loring. "Background material.-
"We've covered an awful lot. Maybe I should digest what I've got"
~I7his won't take a minute. It's important." The agent reached into his briefcase and withdrew the filthy, scissored paper. "Here, this is yours."
'rhanks for I-don't-know-what" Matlock took the once-shining silver paper and looked at the strange script
"I told you it was written in Oltremontan-Corsican and, except for two words, that's correct At the bottom, on a single line, you'll see the phrase Venerare Omerta. That's not Corsican, Ws Sicilian. Or a Sicilian contraction, to be precise."
"I've seen it before."
"I'm sure you have. Ies been given wide distribution in newspapers, movies, fiction. But that doesdt lessen its impact on those concerned by it It's very real."
"What does it mean?"
"Roughly translated: Respect the law of Omerta. Omerta is an oath of allegiance and silence. To betray either is asking to be killed."
"Mafia?"
"Ies involved. You might say it's the party of the second part. Bear in mind that this little announce- 46 Robert Ludlum
ment was issued jointly by two factions trying to reach an accommodation.
'Omerta' goes across the board; it's understood by both."
I'll bear it in mind, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."
"Just know about ie
OO.K."
'One last item. Everything weve covered here tonight is related to narcotics. But if our information is correct, the Nimrod people are involved in other fields. Sharldng, prostitution, gambling ... perhaps, and it's only perhaps, municipal controls, state legislatures, even the federal government... Experience tens us that narcotics is the weakest action, the highest rate of collapse among these activities, and that!s why w6've centered on it. In other words, concentrate on the drug situation but be aware that other avenues
'Ies no secret~"
'Maybe not to you. Let's call it a night~"
"Shouldet you give me a number where I can reach you?"
"Negative. Use Kressel. Well check with him several times a day. Once you start asking questions, you may be put under a microscope. Doet call Washington. And-doWt lose our Corsican invitation. Ifs your ultimate clout.
just find another one."
I'll try.-
Matlock watched as Loring closed his briefcase, looped the thin black chain around his wrist, and snapped the built-in lock.
"Looks very cloak-and-daggerish, doeset it?" LorInglaughed.
"I'm impressed."
"Doet be. The custom began with diplomatic cou- THE MATLOCK PAPM 47
riers who'd take their pouches to hell with them, but today ies simply a protection against purse-snatching. ... So help me, thaes what they think of us."
"I don1 believe a word you say. Thaes one of those cases that make smoke screens, send out radio signals, and trigger bombs."
'You~re right It does all those things and more. les got secret compartments for sandwiches, laundry, and God knows what else." Loring swung the briefcase off the desk. "I think Wd be a good idea if we left separately. Preferably one from the front, one from the rear. Ten minutes apart.
"You think that's necessary?"
'Frankly, no, but thafs the way my superiors want it"
"O.K. I know the house. I'll leave ten minutes after you do, from the kitchen."
"Fine." Loring extended his right hand by steady~-ing the bottom of his case with his left. "I don't have to tell you how much we appreciate what you~re doing.0
"I think you know why Im doing it.-
"Yes, we do. Frankly, we counted on it."
Loring let himself out of the library and Matlock waited until he heard the outer door open and close. He looked at his watch. He'd have one more drink before he left.
By one twenty Matlock was several blocks away from the house. He walked slowly west toward his apartment, debating whether to detour around the campus. It often helped him to walk out a problem; he knew sleep would come fitfully. He passed a number of students and several faculty members, exchanging low-keyed, end of the weekend greetings with
those he recognized. Wd about made up his mind to tum north on High Street~
away from the direction of his apartment, when he heard the footsteps behind him. Fwt the footsteps, then the harshly whispered voice.
"MatlockI DonI turn around. It's Loring. just keep walking and listen to me "What is it?"
OSomeone knows rm here. My car was searched...
'Ch&fl How do you Imow?"
OField threads, preset markings. All over the car. F~ont, back, trunIL A very thorough, very professional job.-
"'You're sure?'
'So goddamn sure rm not going to start that enginel"
"Jesust" Matlock nearly stoppect
'%eep walkingl If anyone was watching me-and YOU can be damned sure someone was-I made it clear rd lost my ignition key. Asked several people who passed by where a pay phone was and waited till I saw you far enough aw\*"
what do you want me to do? Theres a phone booth on the next comer .... \*
&I know I doet think youll have to do anything, and for both our sakes, I hope rm right rm going to josde you as I pass-pretty hard. Lose your balance, III shout my apologies. Pretend you twisted an ankle, a wdst, anything you like; but buy tinw/ Keep me in sight until a car comes for me and I nod that it's o.k. Do you have all that? rU get to the booth in a hurry.0
"Suppose you!re still phoning when I get there?"
Meep walking but keep checking The caes cruising.7
Whaes the point?- TBE MATLOCK PAMM 49
'This briefcase. Thaes the point. Ther6s only one thing Nimrod-if it is Nimrod-would like more than this briefcase. And thafs the paper in your coat pockeL So be carefull"
Without warning, he rushed up beside Matlock and pushed him off the sidewalk
'Sorry, fellal rin in an awful hurryl"
Matlock looked up from the grourd, reflecting that hed had no reason to pretend to fall. The force of Loring's push eliminated that necessity. He swore and rose awkwardly. Once on his feet, he limped slowly toward the phone booth several hundred yards away. He wasted nearly a minute lighting a cigarette. LorIng was inside the booth now, sitting on. the plastic seat, hunched over the phone
Any second, Matlock expected Loring's car to drive up the sbreet.
Yet none came.
Instead, there was the tiniest break in the spring noises. A rush of air through the new leaves. Or was it the crush of a stone beneath a foot, or a small twig unable to take the weight of the new growth in the trees? Or was it Matlocles imagination? He coulddt be sure.
He approached the booth and remembered Loring's orders. Walk by and pay no attention. Loring was still huddled over the phone, his briefcase resting on the floor, its chain visible. But Matlock could hear no conversation, could see no movement from the man within. Instead, again, there was a sound: now, the sound of a dial tone.
Despite his instructions, Matlock approached the booth and opened the door.
There was nothing else he could do. The government man had not even begun his call.
5o Robert Ludlum
And in an instant, he understood why.
Loring had fallen into the gleammg gray metal of the telephone. He was dead. His eyes wide, blood trickling out of his forehead. A small circular hole no larger than a shirt button, surrounded by a spray of cracked glass, was wnple evidence of what had hap. pened.
Matlock stared at the man who had briefed him for hours and left him minutes ago. The dead man who had flmnked him, joked with him, then finally warned him. He was petrified, unsure of what he should do, could do.
He backed away from the booth toward the steps of the nearest house. Instin told him to stay away but not to rtm away. Someone was out there in the street. Someone with a rifle.
When the words came, he realized they were his, but he didn't know when hed decided to shout them. They just emerged involuntarily.
"Help ... HeIpI There's a man out herel He!s been Shod"
Matlock raced up the steps of the comer house and began pounding on the door with all his strength. Several fights went on in several different homes. Matlock continued shouting.
"For Go&s sake, someone call the policel There's a dead nwn out herel"
Suddenly, from the shadows underneath the full trees in the middle of the block, Matlock heard the roar of an automobile engine, then the sound of swerving tires as the vehicle pulled out into the n-dddle of the street and started forward. He rushed to the edge of the porch. The long black automobile plunged out of the darkness and sped to the comer. Matlock TM MATWCK P"ER 51
tried to see the license plates and, realizing that was impossible, took a step down to identify the make of the car. Suddenly he was blinded. The beam of a searchlight pierced the dimly lit spring night and focused itself on him. He pulled his hands up to shield his eyes and then heard the quiet slap, the instant rush of air he had heard minutes ago.
A rifle was being fired at him. A rifle with a silencer.
He dove off the porch into the shrubbery. The black car sped away.
5
He waited alone. The room was small, the window glass meshed with wire. The Carlyle Police Station was filled with officers and plainclothesmen called back on duty; no one could be sure what the killing signified. And none discounted the possibility that others might follow.
Alert. It'was the particular syndrome of midcentury America, thought Matlock.
The gun.
He'd had the presence of mind after reaching the police to call Sam Kressel. Kressel, in shock, told him he would somehow contact the appropriate men in Washington and then drive down to the station house.
Until further instructions, they both agreed Matlock would restrict himself to a simple statement on finding the body and seeing the automobile. He had been out for a late night walk that was aIL
Nothing more.
His statement was typed out; questions as to time, his reasons for being in the vicinity, descriptions of the "alleged perpetratoes vehicle,"
direction, estimated speed-all were asked routinely and accepted without comment.
Matlock was bothered by his unequivocal negative to one question.
THE MATLOM PAPER 53
"Did you ever see the deceased before?'
"No.
That hurt. Loring deserved more than a considered, deliberate lie. Matlock recalled that the agent said he had a seven-year-old daughter. A wife and a child; the husband and father killed and be could not admit be knew his name.
He wasn~t sure why it bothered him, but it did. Perhaps, he thought, because he knew it was ihe beginning of a great many hes.
He signed the short deposition and was about to be released when he heard a telephone ring inside an office beyond the desk. Not on the desk beyond it. Seconds later, a uniformed policeman emerged and said his name in a loud voice, as if to make sure he had not left the building.
Yes, officer?"
'We'll have to ask you to wait. If you'll follow me~ please."
Matlock had been in the small room for nearly an hour; it was 2:45 A.m. and he had run out of cigarettes. It was no time to run out of cigarettes.
The door opened and a tall, thin man with large, serious eyes walked in. He was carrying Loring's briefcase. "Sorry to detain you, Dr. Matlock. It is 'Doctor,, iset itr
" Wisterl is fine."
"My identification. Name~s Greenberg, Jason Greenberg. Federal Bureau of Investigation. I had to confirm your situation.... It's a bell of a note, isn1 it?"
"'A bell of a note? Is that all you can say?"
Ile agent looked at Matlock quizzically. "It's all I care to share," he said quietly. "If Ralph Loring had completed his call, he would have reached me."
"I'm sorry."
Forget it I'm out-briefed-that is, I know something but not much about the Nimrod situation; I'll get filled in before morning. Incidentally, this fellow Kressel is on his way over. He knows I'm here."
-Does this change anything? ... That sounds Stupid, doesn't it? A man is killed and I ask you if it changes anything. I apologize again."
"No need to; yoxfve had a terrible experience.... Any change is up to you.
We accept the fact that Ralpys death could alter tonights decision. We ask only that you keep your own counsel in what was revealed to you."
"Yoxere offering me a chance to renege?'
"Of course. You're under no obligation to us.0
Matlock walked to \* the small, rectangular window with the wire-enclosed glass. The police station was at the south end of the town of Carlyle, about a half a mile from the campus, the section of town considered industrialized. Still, there were trees along the streets. Carlyle was a very clean town, a neat town. The trees by the station house were pruned and shaped.
And Carlyle was also something else.
"Let me ask you a question," he said. "Does the fact that I found Loring's body associate me with him? I mean, would I be considered a part of whatever he was doing?"
we don~t think so. The way you behaved tends to remove you from any association."
-What do you mean?" Matlock turned to face the agent.
"Frankly, you panicked. You didn't run, you didn't take yourself out of the area; you flipped out and started shouting your head off. Someone who's progirammed for an assignment wouldn't react like that."
THE MATLOCX PAPER 55
"I wasn't programmed for this."
"Same results. You just found him and lost your head. If this Nimrod even wspects we're involved..."
"Suspectsl" interrupted Matlock. "They killed himl"
'Sonwone killed him. 16 unlikely that it's any part of Nimrod. Other factions, maybe. No covees absolutely foolproof, even Loring's. But his was the closest"
"I doet understand you.~'
Greenberg leaned against the wall and folded his arms, his large, sad eyes reflective. "RalpYs field cover was the best at justice. For damn near fifteen years." The agent looked down at the floor. His voice was deep, with faint bitterness. "The kind of goddamn cover that works best when it doesn't matter to a man anymore. When its finally used, it throws everyone off balance. And insults his fm-dly.-
Greenberg looked up and tried to smile, but no smile would come.
"I still don~t understand you.'
"It's not necessary. The main point is that you simply stumbled on the scene, went into panic, and had the scare of your life. You're dismissible, Mr. Matlock.
I So?"
Before Matlock could respond, the door swung open and Sam Kressel entered, his expression nervous and frightened.
~Oh, Christl This is terriblef Simply terrible. Yolere Greenberg?'
"And you're Mr. Kressel."
"Yes. What!s going to happen?" Kressel turned to Matlock, speaking in the same breath. "Are you all right, Jim?-
"Sure."
"Well, Greenberg, whaes happeningl? They told
me in Washington that you!d let us know."
"I've been talking to Mr. Matlock and ... 7
'Listen to me," interrupted Kressel suddenly. \*1 called Sealfont and were of the same opinion. What happened was terrible ... tragic. We express our sympathies to the man's family, but were most anxious that any use of the Carlyle name be cleared with us. We assume this puts everything in a different light and, therefore, we insist we be kept out of it I think thaes understandable."
Greenberes face betrayed his distaste. "You race in here, ask me whaes happening, and before you give me a chance to answer, you tell me what must happen. Now, how do you want it? Do I can Washington and let them have your version or do you want to listen first? Doeset make a particle of difference, to me.
'Theres no reason for antagonism. We never asked to be involved."
"Nobody does." Greenberg smiled. "Just please let me finish. rve offered Matlock his out He hasn't given me his answer, so I can't give you mine, However, if he says what I think hes going to say, Lorines cover will be activated immediately. Iell be activated anyway, but if the professor's in, we'll blow it up a bit."
"What the hell are you talking about?' Kressel stared at the agent "For years Ralph was a partner in just about the most disreputable law firm in Washington. Its clients read like a cross section of a Mafia index....
Early this morning, there was the first of two vehicle transfers. It took place in a Hartford suburb, Elmwood. Loring's car with the D.C. plates was left near the home of a well-advertised capo. A rented automobile TBE MATLOCK PAPER 57
was waiting for him a couple of blocks away. He used that to drive to Carlyle and parked it in front of 217 Crescent Street, five blocks from Sealfont's place. 217 Crescent is the residence of a Dr. Ralston. . . "
"I've met him6" interjected Matlock. 'Tve heard he's ... "
.. an abortioni< completed Greenberg.
'He's in no way associated with this universityl" said Kressel emphatically.
'Yoeve had worse," countered Greenberg quietly. "And the doctor is still a Mafia referral. At any rate, Ralph positioned the car and walked into town for the second transfer. I covered him; this briefcase is prime material.
He was picked up by a Bell Telephone truck which made routine stops-including one at a restaurant called the Cheshire Cat-and finally delivered him to Sealfont's. No one could have known he was there. If they had, they would have intercepted him outside; they were watching the car on Crescent."
'Jrhat!s what he told me," said Matlock.
"He knew it was possible; the trace to Crescent was intentionally left open. When he confirmed it, to his satistaction, he acted fast. I don!t know what he did, but he probably used whatever stragglers he could find until he spotted yoe
OThales what he did."
"He wasn't fast enough."
"What in Go&s name does this have to do with us? What possible bearing can it have?' Kressel was close to shouting.
"If Mr. Matlock wants to go on, Lorines death will be publicized as an underworld killing. Disreputable lawyer, maybe a bag man; undesirable clients. The capo and the doctor will be hauled in; they're
expendable. The smoke screen7s so thick everyone's off balance. Even the killers. Matlocks forgotten. ItIl. work; ies worked before."
Kressel seemed astonished at Greenberg's assured glibness, his confidence, his calm professionalism "You talk awfully fast, don~t you?"
"I'm very bright."
Matlock coul(&t help but smile. He liked Greenberg; even in-perhaps because of-the sadly disagreeable circumstances. The agent used the language well; his mind was fast. He was, indeed, bright.
'And if Jim says he washes his hands of it?"
Greenberg shrugged. "I don't like to waste words. Lees hear him say it."
Both the men looked at Matlock
Tm afraid I'm not going to, Sam. Im still in.'
'You can~t be serioust That man was killedl'
'I know. I found him."
Kressel put his hand on Matlock's arm. It was the gesture of a friend. "I'm not an hysterical shepherd watching over a flock. Im concerned. I'm Mghtened. I see a man being manipulated into a situation he's not qualified to handle."
'Ibales subjective," broke in Greenberg quietly. 'We!re concerned, too. If we didet think be was capable, we never would have approached him."
"I think you would," said Kressel. "I don't for a minute believe such a consideration would stop you. You use the word expendable too easily, Mr.
Greenberg.
Tm sorry you think so. Because I don't. We don't. ... I haven't gotten the detailed briefing, Kressel, but areet you supposed to act as liaison?
Because if thaes true, I suggest you remove yourself. Well have someone else assigned to the job."
TIM MATLOCK PAPM 59
"And give you a clear fleld? Let you run roughshod over this campus? Not on your life."
"Then we work together. As disagreeable as that may be for both of us . .
. You're hostile; perhaps that's good. Youll keep me on my toes. You protest too much."
Matlock was startled by Greenberg's statement. It was one thing to form an antagonistic coalition, quite another to make veiled accusations; insulting to use a fiterary clich6.
"That remark requires an explanation," said Kressel, his face flushed with anger.
When Greenberg replied, his voice was soft and reasonable, belying the words he spoke. "Pound sand, mister. I lost a very good friend tonight.
Twenty minutes ago I spoke with his wife. I don't give explanations under those conditions. That's where my employers and me part company. Now, shut up and III write out the hours of contact and give you the emergency telephone numbers. If you don1 want them, get the hell out of here."
Greenberg lifted the briefcase onto a small table and opened it. Sam Kressel, stunned, approached the agent silently.
Matlock stared at the worn leather briefcase, only hours ago chained to the wrist of a dead man. He knew the deadly pavanne had begun. The first steps of the dance had been taken violently.
There were decisions to make, people to confront.
6
The implausible name below the doorbell on the twofamily faculty house read: Mr. and Mrs. Archer Beeson. Matlock had elicited the dinner invitation easily. History instructor Beeson had been flattered by his interest in coordinating a seminar between two of their courses. Beeson would have been flattered if a faculty member of Matlocles attainments had asked him how his wife was in bed (and most wondered). And since Matlock was very clearly male, Archer Beeson felt that "drinks and din" with his wife wriggling around in a short skirt might help cement a relationship with the highly regarded professor of English literature.
Matlock heard the breathless shout from the secondfloor landing. "Just a seel"
It was Beeson~s wife, and her broad accent, overcultivated at Miss Portees and Finch, sounded caricatured. Matlock pictured the girl racing around checking the plates of cheese and dip-very unusual cheese and dip, conversation pieces, really~while her husband put the final touches on the visual aspects of his bookcases-perhaps several obscure tomes carelessly, carefully, placed on tables, impossible for a visitor to miss.
THE mATLocK PAPEM &L
Matlock wondered if these two were also secreting small tablets of lysergic acid or capsules of methedrine.
The door opened and Beeson's petite wife, dressed in the expected short skirt and translucent silk blouse that loosely covered her large breasts, smiled ingenuously.
"Hil I'm Ginny Beeson. We met at several, mad cocktail parties. I'm so glad you could come. Archies justfinishing a paper. Come on up." She preceded Matlock up the stairs, hardly giving him a chance to acknowledge. "These stairs are horrendoust Oh, well, the price of starting at the bottom."
Tm sure it won~t be for long," said Matlock.
"Mat's what Archie keeps saying. He'd better be right or III have muscles all over my legst"
"I'm sure he is," said Matlock, looking at the soft, unmuscular, large expanse of legs in front of him.
Inside the Beeson apartment, the cheese and dip were prominently displayed on an odd-shaped coffee table, and the anticipated showcase volume was one of Matlocles own. It was titled Interpolations in Richard II and it resided on a table underneath a fringed lamp. Impossible for a visitor to miss.
The minute Ginny closed the door, Archie burst into the small living room from what Matlock presumed was Beesor~s study-also small. He carried a sheaf of papers in his left hand; his right was extended.
"Good-ohl Glad you could make it, old mant ... Sit, sit. Drinks are due and overduel Godl I'm flaked out for onel ... just spent three bours reading twenty versions of the Thirty Years' Warl"
"It happens. Yesterday I got a theme on Volpone with the strangest ending I ever heard of. Turned out
62 Robert Ludlum,
the kid never read it but saw the film in Hartford.7
'With a new ending?"
Totally.-
'Godl Thafs marvyl" injected Ginny sernihysterically. "What's your drink preference, Jim? I may call you Jim, mayn1 1, Doctor?"
"Bourbon and a touch of water, and you certainly better, Ginny. I've never gotten used to the 'doctor.' My father calls it fraud. Doctors carry stethoscopes, not books." Matlock sat in an easy chair covered with an Indian serape.
"Speaking of doctors, Im working on my dissertation now. That and two more hectic surnmers'll do the trick." Beeson took the ice bucket from his wife and walked to a long table underneath a window where bottles and glasses were carelessly arranged.
"It's worth it," said Ginny Beeson emphatically. 'Isn~t it worth it, Jim?-
"Almost essential. It'll pay offi"
"Ilat and publishing." Ginny Beeson picked up the cheese and crackers and carried them to Matlock. "rhis is an interesting little Irish fromage.
Would you believe, it's called 'Blarney? Found it in a little shop in New York two weeks ago."
"Looks great. Never heard of it."
"Speaking of publishing. I picked up your Interpolations book the other day. Damned fascinatingf Reallyl"
"Lord, I've almost forgotten it. Wrote it four years ago."
"It should be a required textl That7s what Archie said, isn~t it, Archie?"
"Damned rightl Heres the poison, old man," said Beeson, bringing Matlock his drink. "Do you work
THE mATLo(x PAmm 63
through an agent, Jim? Not that I'm nosy. rm years from writing anything."
"That!s not true, and you know it," Ginny pouted vocally.
'Yes, I do. Irving Block in Boston. If you're workIng on something, perhaps I could show it to him."
"Oh, no, I wouldn't. . . thatd be awfully presump-tuous of me Beeson retreated with feigned humility to the couch with his drink. He sat next to his wife and they--4nvoluntarily, thought Matlock-ex changed satisfied looks.
"Come on, Archie. You're a bright fellow. A real comer on this campus. Why do you think I asked you about the seminar? You could be doing me the favor. I might be bringing Block a winner. That rubs off, you know."
Beeson~s expression had the honesty of gratitude. It embarrassed Matlock to return the instructor's gaze until he saw something else in Beeson's eyes.
He couldn't define it, but it was there. A slight wildness, a trace of panic.
The look of a man whose mind and body knew drugs.
"That's damned good-oh of you, Jim. I'm touched, reaUy."
The cheese, drinks, and dinner somehow passed. There were moments when Matlock had the feeling he was outside himself, watching three characters in a scene from some old movie. Perhaps on board ship or in a sloppily elegant New York apartment with the three of them wearing tightly fitted formal clothes. He wondered why he visualized the scene in such fashion--and then he knew. The Beesons had a thir- 64 Robert Ludlum
ties quality about them. The thirties that he had observed on the late night television films. They were somehow an anachronism, of this time but not of the time. It was either more than camp or less than puton; he couldiYt be sure. They were not artificial in themselves, but there was a falseness in their emphatic small talk their dated expressions. Yet the truth was that they were the now of the present generation.
Lysergic acid and methedrine.
Acid heads. Pill poppers.
The Beesons: were somehow forcing themselves to show themselves as part of a past and carefree era. Perhaps to deny the times and conditions in which they found themselves.
Archie Beeson and his wife were frightening.
By eleven, after considerable wine with the "interesting-httle-veal-dish-from-a-recipe-in-an-old-Italian cookbook" the three of them sat down in the living room. The last of the proposed seminar problems was ironed out. Matlock knew it was time to begin; the awful, awkward moment. He wasn1 sure how, the best he could do was to trust his amateur instincts.
'Look, you two.... I hope to hell this woZt come as too great a shock, but I've been a long time without a stick." He withdrew a thin cigarette case from his pocket and opened it He felt foolish, uncomfortably clumsy. But he knew he could not show those feelings. "Before you make any judgments, I should tell you I doZt go along with the pot laws and I never have~"
Matlock selected a cigarette from the dozen in the ewe and left the case open on the table. Was that the proper thing to do? He waset sure; he didn1
know. Archie and his wife looked at each other. Through the flame in front of his face, Matlock watched their
TnE mATLocK PAPEn 65
reaction. It was cautious yet positive. Perhaps it was the alcohol in Ginny, but she smiled hesitantly, as if she was relieved to find a friend. Her husband wasn1 quite so responsive.
"Go right ahead, old man," said the young instructDr with a trace of condescension. 'Were hardly on the attorney general's payroll."
'Hardlyl" giggled the wife.
Me laws are archaic," continued Matlock, inhaltng deeply. "In all areas.
Control and an abiding sense of discretion--self-discretion-are all that matter. To deny experience is the real crime. To prohibit any intelligent individuars right to fulfillment is .
goddamn it, ies repressive."
'Well, I think the key word is intelligent, Jim. Indiscriminate use among the unintelligent leads to cham"
"Socratically, you're only half right. The other half is 'control.'
Effective control among the 'iron' and 'bronze! then frees the 'gol&--to borrow from The Republic. If the intellectually superior were continually kept from thinking, experimenting, because their thought processes were beyond the comprehension of their fellow citizens, there'd be no great works-artistically, technically, politically. We'd still be in the Dark Ages-"
Matlock inhaled his cigarette and closed his eyes. Had he been too strong, too positive? Had he sounded too much the false proselytizer? He waited, and the wait was not long. Archie spoke quietly, but urgently nevertheless.
"Progress is being made every day, old man. Believe that. Ifs the truth.'
Matlock half opened his eyes in relief and looked at Beeson through the cigarette smoke. He held his
gaze steady without blinking and then shifted his stare to Beeson~s wife. He spoke only two words.
"You're children."
'flaes a relative supposition under the circum. stances," answered Beeson, still keeping his voice low, his speech precise.
"And that's talk"
"Oh, don't be so sure about thatt" Ginny Beeson had had enough alcohol in her to be careless. Her husband reached for her arm and held it. It was a warning. He spoke again, taking his eyes off Matlock, looking at nothing.
"I'm not at all sure we're on the same wavelength ... "
"No, probably not. Forget it... III finish this and shove off. Be in touch with you about the seminar." Matlock made sure his reference to the seminar was offfianded, almost disinterested.
Archie Beeson, the young man in an academic hur. ry, could not stand that disinterest.
'Would you mind if I had one of those?"
'If ies your first, yes, I would.... DoA try to impress me. It doesn't really matter."
"My first? . . . Of what?" Beeson rose from the couch and walked to the table where the cigarette case lay open. He reached down, picked it up, and held it to his nostrils. "That's passable grass. I might add, just passable. I'll try one. . . for openers."
"For openers?"
"You seem to be very sincere but, if you'll forgive me, you!re a bit out of touch."
"From what?"
"From where ies at." Beeson withdrew two ciga. rettes and lit them in Now, Voyager fashion. He inhaled deeply, nodding and shrugging a reserved ap.
TER MATLOCK PAPER 67 proval, and handed one to his wife.
\*Iees call this an hors croeuvre. An appetizer."
He went into his study and returned with a Chinese lacquered box, then showed Matlock the tiny peg which, when pushed, enabled the holder to flip up a thin layer of wood on the floor of the box, revealing a false bottom.
Beneath were two dozen or so white tablets wrapped in transparent plastic.
'This is the main course ... the entr6e, if you!re up to %0
Matlock was grateful for what knowledge he possessed and the intensive homework hed undertaken during the past forty-eight hours. He smiled but his tone of voice was firm.
'I only take white trips under two conditions. Ile first Is at my home with very good, very old friends. The second is with very good, very old friends at their homes. I don't know you well enough, Archie. Selfdiscretion.... rm not averse to a small red journey, however. Only I didn't come prepare&'
'Say no more. I just may be." Beeson took the Chinese box back into his study and returned with a small leather pouch, the sort pipe smokers use for tobaoco, and approached Matlock's chair. Ginny BeesoiYs eyes grew wide; she undid a button on her halfunbuttoned blouse and stretched her legs.
'Dunhill!s best." Beeson opened the top flap and bald the pouch down for Matlock to see inside. Again there was the clear plastic wrapped around tablets. However, these were deep red and slightly larger than the white pa in the Chinese box. There were at least fifty to sixty doses of Seconal.
Ginny jumped out of the chair and squealed. "I love it! lies the pinky-groovyl"
"Beats the hell out of brandy," added Matlock- 68 Robert Ludlum
'Well trip. Not too much, old man. Limit's five. That's the house rules for new old friends."
The next two hours were blurred for James Matlock, but not as blurred as they were for the Beesons. The history instructor and his wife quickly reached their "highs" with the five pflls--,as would have Matlock had he, not been able to pocket the final three while pretending to have swallowed them. Once on the first plateau, it waset too hard for Matlock to imitate his companions and then convince Beeson to go for another dosage.
"Where's the almighty discretion, Doctor?' chuckled Beeson, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, reaching occasionally for one of his wifes legs.
"You're better friends than I thought you were."
just the beginning of a beautiful, beautiftd friendship." The young wife slowly reclined on the couch and giggled. She seemed to writhe and put her right hand on her husban&s head, pushing his hair forward.
Beeson laughed with less control than he had shown earlier and rose from the floor. T11 get the magic then."
When Beeson walked into his study, Matlock watched his wife. There was no mistaking her action. She looked at Matlock, opened her mouth slowly, and pushed her tongue out at him. Matlock realized that one of Seconars side effects was showing. As was most of Virginia Beeson.
The second dosage was agreed to be three, and Matlock was now easily able to fake it. Beeson turned on his stereo and played a recording of "Carmina Burana." In fifteen minutes Ginny Beeson was sitting on Matlocles lap, intermittently rubbing herself
TBx mATLocK PAPEa 69
against his groin. Her husband was spread out in front of the stereo speakers, which were on either side of the turntable-Matlock spoke as though exhaling, Just loud enough to be heard over the music.
Mese are some of the best rve had, Archie... Where? Wheres the supply fromr 'Probably the same as yours, old man.- Beeson tUrDed over and looked at Matlock and his wife. He laughed. 'Now, I don't know what you mean. The magic or the girl on your lap. Watch her, Doctor. Shes a minx."
'No kidding. Your pills are a better grade than mme and my grass barely passed mspection-Where? Be a good friend.-
'Yotere funny, man. You keep asking. Do I ask you? No.... les not polite.... Play with Ginny. Let me listen.' Beeson rolled back over face down on the floor.
The girl on Matlocks lap suddenly put her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest She put her head to the side of his face and began kissing his ears. Matlock wondered what would happen if he lifted her out of the chair and carried her Into the bedroom. He wondered, but he didn't want to find out. Not then. Ralph Loring had not been murdered to increase his, Matlock's, sex life.
\*IA me try one of your joints. Let me see just how advanced your taste is.
You may be a phony, Archie."
Suddenly Beeson sat up and stared at Matlock. He waat concerned with his wife. Something in Matlock's voice seemed to trigger an instinctive doubt.
Or was it the words? Or was it the too normal pattern of speech Matlock used? The English professor thought of all these things as he returned Beesoes look over the girrs shoulder. Archie Beeson was suddenly a 7o Robert Ludkm
man warned, and Matlock wasn't sure why. Beeson spoke haltingly.
"Certainly, old Ginny, doet annoy Jim.0
He began to rise.
"Pinky groovy ... 7
Orve got several in the kitchen. rm not sure where but rU look Ginny, I told you not to tense Jim. . . Be nice to him, be good to him.- Beeson kept staring at Matlock, his eyes wide firom the Seconat his lips parted, the muscles of his face beyond relaxation. He backed away toward the kitchen door, which was open. Once inside, Archie Beeson did a stnmge thing. Or so it appeared to James Matlock---
He slowly dosed the swing-hinged door and held ft shut Matlock quickly eased the drugged girl off hig lap and she quietly stretched out on the floor. She smiled angelically and reached her arms up for him. He smiled down, stepping over her.
'Be right back,\* he whispered. "I want to ask Archie something.' The girl rolled over on her stomach as Matlock walked cautiously toward the Idtchen door. He ruffled his hair and purposely, silently, lurched, holding onto the dining room table as he neared the entrance. If Beeson suddenly came out, he wanted to appear irrational, drugged. The stereo was a little louder now, but through it Matlock could hear the sound of ArchWs voice talking quietly, excitedly on the kitchen telephone.
He leaned against the wall next to the kitchen door and tried to analyze the disjointed moments that caused Archie Beeson to panic, to find it so imperative to reach someone on the telephone.
Why? What?
THE MATLOM PAP= 71
Had the grand impersonation been so obvious? Had he blown his first encounter?
If he had, the least he could do was try to find out who was on de other end of the line., who it was that Beason ran to in his disjointed state of anxiety.
One fact seemed clear: whoever it was had to be more important than Archer Beeson. A man-even a dmg addict-did not panic and contact a lesser figure on his own particular totenL
Perhaps the evening wasn7t a failure; or his failure --conversely-a necessity. In Beeson7s desperation, he might let slip information he never would have revealed if he hadiet been desperate. It vva&t prepostewus to force it out of the frightened, drugged Instructor. On the other hand, that was the least demrable method. if he failed in that, too, he was finished before bed begun. Loring's meticulous briefing would have been for nothing; his death a rather macabre jok% ha terrible cover-so painful to his family, so inhumn somehow-made fruitless by a bumbling amateur.
There was no other way, thought Matlock, but to try. Try to find out who Beeson had reached and try to put the pieces of the evening back where Beeson might accept him again. For some insane reason, he pictured Lorings briefcase and the thin black chain dangling from the handle. For an even crazier reason, it gave him confidence; not much, but some.
He assumed a stance as close to the appearance of collapse as he could imagine, then moved his head to the door frame and slowly, quarter inch by quarter Inch, pushed it inward. He fully expected to be met by Beesods staring eyes. Instead, the instructor"s back was to him; he was hunched over hke a small boy
7!s Robert Ludluts
trying to control his bladder, the phone clutched to his thin scrunched neck, his head bent to the side. It was obvious that Beeson thought his voice was muffled, indistinguishable beneath the sporadic crescendos of the -Carmina Burana." But the Seconal had played one of its tricks. Beeson's ear and his speech were no longer synchronizedL His words were not Only clear.
They were emphasized by being spaced out and repeated.
. . . You do not understand me. I want you to un dmtand me. Please, understand. He keeps asking questions. Hes not with it He is not U\*h it. I swear to Christ hes a plant Get hold of Herron. Tell Her6
ron to reach him for Gods sake. Reach him, Pleavet I could lose everythingl ... No. No, I can tell! I am what I me, man/ When that bitch hums horny I have probImns I mean there are appearances, old man...
Get Lucas.... For Christ's sake get to him! rm in trouble and I can't ... 0
madock let the door swing slowly back IntD the frame. His shock was such that thought and feeling were suspended, he saw his hand still on the kitchen door, yet he felt no wood against his fingers. What he had just heard was no less horrible than the sight of Palph Lormes lifeless body in the telephone booth.
Herron. Lucas Herrwd
A seventy-year-old legend. A quiet scholar who was as much revered for his perceptions of the human condition as he was for his brilliance. A lovely man, an honored man. There had to be a mistake, an aiplanation-There was nD time to ponder the inexplicable.
Archer Beeson thought he was a "plant" And now, someone else thought so, too. He couldn!t allow that. He had W dikk force himself to act.
THE MATLOM PAPER 73
Suddenly he understood. Beeson himself had told him what to do.
No infornier-no one not narcodzect-would attempt it Matlock looked over at the girl lying face down on the living room floor He crossed rapidly around the dining table and ran to her side, unbuckling his beft as he did so. In swift movements, he took off his trousers; and reached down, rolling her over on her back. He lay down beside her and undid the remaining two buttons on her blouse, pulling her brassiere until the hasp broke She moaned and giggled, and when he touched her exposed breasts, she moaned again and lifted one leg over Matlock's -hip.
Tinky groovy, pinky groovy. . ~\* She began breathIng through her mouth, pushing her pelvis into Matlock's groin, her eyes half open, her hands reaching down, stroking his le& her fingers clutching at his skhL
Matlock kept his eyes toward the kitchen door~ praying it would open.
And then it did, and he shut his eyes.
Archie Beeson stood in the dining area looking down at his wife and guest.
Matlock, at the sound of Beesoes footsteps, snapped his head back and feigned terrified confusion. He rose from the floor and immediately fell back down agam. He grabbed his trousers and held them in front of his shorts, rising once more unsteadily and finally falling onto the couch.
'Oh, jesusl Oh, sweet Jesus, Archief ChrK young fella! I didet think I was this fi-eaked outl ... rm far out, Archiel What the hell, what do I do? rin gone, nun, rm sorryl Christ, rm sorryl\*
Beeson approached the couch, his half-naked wife at his feet. From his expression it was impossible to
tell what he was thinking. Or the extent of his anger.
Or was it anger?
His audible reaction was totally unexpected: he Started to laugh. At first soffly, and then with gathering momentum, until he became nearly hystericaL
'Oh, God, old maul I said itt I said she was a minxf ... DonI worry. No tattle tales. No rapes, no dirty-old-man-on-the-faculty. But well have our seminar. Oh, Christ, yesf That'll be some senainwf And youll teU them aU
you picked mef Won't you? Ob, yesl That's what you'll tell them, isi\* it?"
Matlock looked into the wild eyes of the addict above him.
'Sure. Sure, Archie. Whatever you say."
'You better believe it, old manl And don't apologim No apologies are necessaryl The apologies are minel" Archer Beeson collapsed on the floor in laughter. He reached over and cupped his wifes left breast; she-moaned and giggled her maddening, high-pitched giggle-And Matlock kiiew he had won.
7
He was exhausted, both by the hour and by the tensions of the night It was ten minutes past three and the choral strains of the "Carnima Burana" were still hammering in his ears. The image of the bare. breasted wife and the jackal-sorunding husband-both writhing on the floor in front of him-added revulsion to the sickening taste in his mouth.
But what bothered him most was the knowledge that Lucas Herrons name was used within the context of such an evening.
It was inconceivable.
Lucas Herron. The "grand old bird," as he called. A reticent but obvious fixture of the Carlyle campus. The chairman of the Romance languages department and the embodiment of the quiet scholar with a deep and abiding compassion. There was always a glint in his eyes, a look of bemusement mixed with tolerance.
To associate him-regardless of how remotelywith the narcotics world was unbelievable. To have heard him sought after by an hysterical addict-4or essentially, Archer Beeson um an addict, psychologically if not chemically-as though Lucas were some sort of power under the circumstances was beyond rational comprehension.
The explanation had to he somewhere In Lucas HerroWs immense capacity for sympathy. He was a friend to many, a dependable refuge for the troubled, often the deeply troubled. And beneath his placid, aged, unruffied surface, Herron was a strong man, a leader. A quarter of a century ago, he had spent countless months of hell in the Solomon Islands as a middle-aged infantry officer. A lifetime ago, Lucas Herron had been an authentic hero in a vicious moment of time during a savage war in the Pacific. Now over seventy, Herron was an institution.
Matlock rounded the comer and saw his apartment half a block away. The campus was dark; aside from the street lamps, the only light came from one of his rooms. Had he left one on? He couldn't remember.
He walked up the path to his door and inserted his key. Simultaneously with the click of the lock, there was a loud crash from within. Although it startled him, his first reaction was amusement His clumsy, long-haired house cat had knocked over a stray Oass or one of those pottery creations Patricia Ballantyne had inflicted on him. Then he realized such a tbought was ridiculous, the product of an exhausted mtad. The crash was too loud for pottery, the shattesing of glass too violent He rushed into the small foyer, and what he saw pushed fatigue out of his brain. He stood immobile in disbelief.
Ilie entire room was in shambles. Tables were overturned; books pulled from the shelves, their pages torn from the bindings, scattered over the floor; his stereo turntable and speakers smashed. Cushions from his couch and armchairs were slashed, the stuffJug and foam rubber strewn everywhere; the rugs up- THE MATLOCK PAPER 77
ended, himped In folds; the curtains ripped from their rods, thrown over the upturned furnitum
He saw the reason for the crash. His large casement window, on the far right wall bordermg the street, was a mass of twisted lead and broken glass. The window consisted of two panels; he remembered clearly that he had opened both before leaving for the Beesons. He liked the spring breezes, and it was too early in the season for screens. So there was no reason for the window to be smashed; the ground was perhaps four or five feet below the casement, sufficient to dissuade an intruder, low enough for a panicked burglar to negotiate easily.
The smashing of the window, therefore, was not for escape. It was intended.
He had been watched, and a signal had been givem It was a warning.
And Matlock knew he could not acknowledge that warning. To do so was to acknowledge, more than a robbery; he was not prepared to do that He crossed rapidly to his bedroom door and looked Inside. If possible, his bedroom was in more of a mess than the living room. The mattress was thrown against the wall, ripped to shreds. Every drawer of his bureau was dislodged, lying on the floor, the contents seattered all around the room.
His close was like the rest -suits and jackets pulled from the clothes rod, shoes yanked from their recesses.
Even before he looked he knew his kitchen would be no better off than the rest of his apartment The foodstuffs in cans and boxes had not been thrown on the floor, simply moved around, but the soft items had been torn to pieces. Matlock understood again. One or two crashes from the other rooms were toler- 78 Robeq Ludlum
able noise levels; a continuation of the racket from his kitchen might arouse one of the other families in the building. As it was, he could hear the faint sounds of footsteps above him. The final crash of the window had gotten someone up.
The warning was explicit, but the act itself was a search.
He thought he knew the object of that search, and again he realized he could not acknowledge it Conclusions were being made as they had been made at Beeso,A; he had to ride them out with the most convincing denials he could manufacture. That much he knew instinctively.
But before he began that pretense, he had to find out if the search was successful.
He shook the stammering lethargy out of his mind and body. He looked once again at his living room; he studied it. All the windows were bare, and the light was sufficient for someone with a pair of powerful binoculars stationed in a nearby building or standing on the inclining lawn of the campus beyond the street to observe every move he made. If he turned off the lights, would such an unnatural action lend credence to the conclusions he wanted denied?
Without question. A man didn7t walk into a house in shambles and proceed to turn off lights.
Yet he had to reach his bathroom, at that moment the most important room in the apartment. He had to spend less than thirty seconds inside to determine the success or failure of the ransacking, and do so in such a way as to seem innocent of any abnormal concerns. If anyone was watching.
It was a question of appearance, of gesture, he thought He saw that the stereo turntable was the
TEE MATLOCK P"ER 79
nearest object to the bathroom door, no more then five feet away. He walked aver and bent down, picking up several pieces, including the metal arm. He looked at it, then suddenly dropped the arm and brought his finger to his mouth, feigning an imagined puncture on his skin. He walked into the bathroom rapidly.
Once inside, he quickly opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a tin of Band-Aids from the glass shelf. He then swiftly reached down to the left of the toilet bowl where the cats yellow plastic box was placed and picked up a comer of the newspaper m2demeath the granules of litter. Beneath the newspa, per he felt the coarse grain of the two layers of canvas he had inserted and lifted up an edge.
The scissored page was still intact The silver Corsican paper that ended in the deadly phrase Venerare Onwrft had not been found.
He replaced the newspaper, scattered the litter, and stood up. He saw that the frosted glass of the small window above the toilet was partially opened, and he swom
There was no time to think of that
He walked back into the living room, ripping the plastic off a Band-Aid.
The search had failed. Now the warning had to be ignored, the conclusions denied. He crossed to the telephone and called the police.
"Can you give me a list of whaes missing?" A uniformed patrolman stood in the middle of the debris. A second policeman wandered about the apartment making notes.
"I'm not sure yet. I havenI really checked."
'Thafs understandable. Ifs a mess. You'd better 8o Robert Ludlum
look, though. The quicker we get a list, the better."
"I don7t think anything is missing, officer. What I mean is, I doet have anything particularly valuable to anyone else. Except perhaps the stereo .
. . and thwes smashed. There's a television set in the bedroom, that's okay. Some of the books could bring a price, but look at them."
"No cash, jewelry, watches?"
"I keep money in the bank and cash in my wallet. I wear my watch and haven't any jewelry."
"How about exam papers? We've been getting a lot of that"
'In my office. In the English department.\*
The patrolman wrote in a small black notebook and called to his partner, who had gone into the bedroom. "Hey, Lou, did the station confirm the print man?"
'11ey're getting him up. He'll be over in a few minutes."
"Have you touched anything, Mr. Matlock?\*
"I don7t know. I may have. It was a shock."
'Particularly any of the broken items, like that record player? Ied be good if we could show the fingerprint man specific things you haveet touched."
"I picked up the arm, not the casing."
"Good. It's a place to starL"
The police stayed for an hour and a half. The fingerprints specialist arrived, did his work, and departed. Matlock thought of phoning Sam Kressel, but reasoned that there wasn't anything Kressel could do at that hour. And in the event someone outside was watching the building, Kressel shouldnt be seen. Various people from the other apartments had wakened and had come down offering sympathy, help, and coffee.
TBE mATLocK PAPm 83L
As the police were leaving, a large patrolman turned in the doorway. "Sorry to take so much time, Mr. Matlock. We doift usually lift prints in a break and entry unless there's injury or loss of property, but theriA been a lot of this sort of thing recently. Personally, I think it's those weirdos with the hair and the beads. Or the niggers. We never had trouble like this before the weirdos and the niggers got here."
Matlock looked at the uniformed officer, who was so confident of his analysis. There was no point in objecting; it would be useless, and Matlock was too tired. "Thanks for helping me straighten up."
"Sure thing." The patrolman started down the cement path, then turned again. "Oh, Mr. Matlock."
'Yes?" Matlock pulled the door back.
'It struck us that maybe someone was looking for something. What with all the slashing and books and everything ... you know what I mean?"
'You'd tell us if that was the case, wouldn't you?"
\*XX course."
&Yeah. It'd be stupid to withhold information like that~"
"I'm not stupid."
'No offense. just that sometimes you guys get all involved and forget things."
'Tm not absentminded. Very few of us are~"
Yeah." The patrolman laughed somewhat derisively. "I just wanted to bring it up. I mean, we caZt do our jobs unless we got all the facts, you know?'
"I understand."
'Yeah. Good."
-Good night.-
"Good night, Doctor."
He closed the door and walked into his living 8z Pwbert Ludluin
room. He wondered if his insurance would cover the disputable value of his rarer books and prints. He sat down on the nidned couch and surveyed the room. It was still a mess; the carnage had been thorough. It would take more than picking up debns and righting furniture, The warning had been clear, violent
The startling fact was that the warning adsted at all.
Why? From whom?
Archer Beeson~s hysterical telephone call? That was possible, even preferable, perhaps. It might encompass a motive unrelated to Nimrod. It could mean that Beeson~s circle of users and pushers wanted to frighten him enough to leave Archie alone. Leave them all alone; and Loring had specifically said there was no proof that the Beesons were involved with the Nimrod unit.
There was no proof that they weren't, either.
Nevertheless, if it was Beeson, the alarm would be called off in the morning. There was no mistaking the conclusion of the nighes engagement.
The "near-rape by a dirty, drugged "old man." He was Beesoes acaden-Ac ladder.
On the other hand, and far less preferable, there was the possibility that the warning and the search were centered on the Corsican paper. What had Loring whispered behind him on the sidewalk?
". . . There's only one thing they want more than this briefcase; that's the paper in your pocket."
It was then reasonable to assume that he!d been linked to Ralph Loring.
Washington's assessment that his panic at finding Loring dissociated him from the agent was in error, Jason Greenberg's confidence misplaced.
Still again, as Greenberg had suggested, they might THE MATL4(XX PAP= 83
test him. Press him before issumg a clean bill of health.
Might, couK possible, still agaim
Conjectures.
He had to keep his head; he couldn't allow himself to overreact. If he was to be of any value, he had to play the innocent Might have, could have, it was possible.
His body ached. His eyes were swollen and his mouth still bad the terrible aftertaste of the combined dosages of Seconal, wine, and marijuana. He was exhausted; the pressures of trying to reach unreachable conclusions were overtaldng him His memory wandered back to the early days in 'Nam and he recalled the best advice hed ever been given in those weeks of unexpected combat. That was to rest whenever he could, to sleep if it was at all possible. The advice had come from a line sergeant who, it had been rumored, had survived more assaults than any man In the Mekong Delta. Who, it was also rumored, had slept through an ambush which had taken most of his company.
Matlock stretched, out on the barely recognizable couch. There was no point in going into the bedroom -his mattress was destroyed. He unbucided his belt and ldcked off his shoes. He could sleep for a few hours; then he'd talk to Kressel. Ask Kressel and Greenberg to work out a story for him to use about the invasion of his apartment. A story approved by Washington and, perhaps, the Carlyle police.
The police.
Suddenly he sat up. It hadn't struck him at the time, but now be considered it The crass but imperiously polite patrolman whose primitive detection powers had centered on the "weirdos and niggee 84 Robert Lu&um
had addressed him as "Mister," throughout the nearly two hours of police investigation. Yet when he was leaving, when he insultingly referred to the possibility of Matlocles withholding information, he had called him "Doctor." The "mister," was normal. The "doctoe was most unusual. No one outside the campus community--and rarely ther&-ever called him "Doctor,"
ever called any Ph.D. 'Doctor." It struck most holders of such degrees as fatuous, and only the fatuous expected it Why had the patrolman used it? He didn't know him, he had never seen him to his knowledge. How would the patrolman know he was even entitled to the name "doctor"?
As he sat there, Matlock wondered if the combined efforts and pressures of the last hours were taking their toll. Was he now finding unreasonable meanIngs where no meanings existed? Was it not entirely plausible that the Carlyle police had a list of the Carlyle faculty and that a desk sergeant, or whoever took emergency calls, had checked his name against the list and casually stated his title? Was he not, perhaps, consigning the patrolman to a plateau of ignorance because he disliked the officer's prejudices?
A lot of things were possible.
And disturbing.
Matlock fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes-At first the noise reached him as a faint echo might from the far end of a long, narrow tunnel. Then the noise became identifiable as rapid, incessant tapping. Tapping which would not stop, tapping which b&came louder and louder.
Matlock opened his eyes and saw the blurred light THE MATLOM PAMM 85
coming from two table lamps across from the couch. His feet were drawn up under him, his neck perspiring against the rough surface of the sofds corduroy cover. Yet there was a cool breeze connng through the smashed, lead-framed window.
The tapping continued, the sound of flesh against wood. It came from the foyer, from his front door. He Rung his legs over the side onto the floor and found that they both were filled with pins and needles. He struggled to stand.
The tapping and the knocking became louder. Then the voice. "Jandel Jan-del"
He walked awkwardly toward the door
'Comingl\* He reached the door and opened it swiftly. Patricia Ballantyne, dressed in a raincoat, silk pajamas evident underneath, walked rapidly inside.
"Jamie, for Gods sake, I've been trying to call you.\*
'I've been here. The phone didn't ring."
'I know it didn't. I finally got an operator and she said it was out of order. I borrowed a car and drove over as fast as I could and . . ."
'Ies not out of order, Pat. The police-the police were here and a quick look around will explain why --they used it a dozen times."
"Oh, good Lordt" The girl walked past him into the still-disheveled room.
Matlock crossed to the telephone and picked it up from the table. He quickly held it away from his ear as the piercing tone of a disengaged instrument whistled out of the receiver.
'1rhe bedroom," he said, replacing the telephone and going to his bedroom door.
On his bed, on top of the slashed remains of his mattress, was his bedside phone. The receiver was off the hook, underneath the pillow, muffling the harsh
86 Robert Lua%tn
sound of the broken connection so ft would not be heard. Someone had not wanted it to ring.
Matlock tried to remember everyone wWd been diere. All told, more than a dozen people. Rve or six policemen-in and out of uniform; husbands and wives from other apartments; several late-night passersby who had seen the police cars and wandered up to the front door. it had been cumulatively blurre& He coul(Wt remember all the faces.
He put the telephone back on the bedside table and was aware that Pat stood in the doorway. He gambled that she hadiYt seen him remove the pillow.
"Someone must have knocked it over straightening out things," he said, pretending irritation. 'fhaes rotten; I mean your having to borrow a car...
Why did you? What's the matter?"
She didn't reply. Instead, she turned and looked back into the living room.
"What happened?'
Matlock remembered the patrolmaes language. 'T'hey call it 'break and entry.' A police phrase coverIng human tornadoes, as I understand it . . .
Robbery. I got myself robbed for the first time in my life. les quite an experience. I think the poor bastards were angry because there wasn't anything of any value so they ripped the place aparL Whyd you come over?"
She spoke softly, but the intensity of her voice made Matlock realize that she was close to panic. As always, she imposed a control on herself when she be. came emotional. It was an essential part of the girl.
"A couple of hours ago-at quarter to four to be exact-my phone rang. The man, it was a man, asked for you. I was asleep, and I suppose I didn't make much sense, but I pretended to be upset that THE MATLOCK PAPIM 87
anyone would think you were there... I diddt know what to do. I was confused. . . ~\*
'Okay, I understand that Sor
"He said he diddt believe me. I was a liar. I ... I was so surprised that anyone would phone thenat quarter to fcur--and can me a har ... I was confused..
"What did you say?\*
'Ifs not what I said. Ws what he said. He told me to tell you to ... not to stay 'behind the globe' or light the lower world! He said it twicel He said it was an awful joke but you~d understand. It was frighteningl ... Do you?
Do you understand?"
Matlock walked past her into the living room. He looked for his cigarettes and tried to remain calm She followed him. 'Vhat did he mean?"
Tm not sure~\*
OHas it anything to do with ... this?' She gestured her hand over the apartment.
'I dont think so." He lit his cigarette and wondered what he should tell her. The Nimrod people haddt wasted any time finding associations. If it was Nimrod.
'What did he mean by 'standing behind the globe'? It sounds like a riddle."
'Ifs a quote, I think." But Matlock did not have to think. He knew. He recalled Shakespeares words precisely: Knowest thou not that when the searching eye of heaven is hid behind the globe and lights the lower world ... then thieves and robbers range abroad unmen ... in murders and in outrage bloody here.
'What does it mean?"
"I dont knowl I can't remember it ... Somebody's confusing me with someone else. Thaes the only thing
I can Imagine, ... What did he sound like?-
"NormaL He was angry but he didnI shout or anything."
"No one you recognized? Not specifically, but did you ever hear the voice before?"
'Tm not sure. I don't think so. No one I could pick out but ... n 'Tut whatr
"Well, it was a ... cultivated voice. A little actorish, I &inL-O'A man used tD lecturing." Matlock made a statemenik he did not ask a question. His cigarette tasted sour so he crushed it ou:L
'Yes, I guess that would describe
mAnd probably not in a science lab.... That reduces the possibilities to roughly eighty people on canlpus-~\*
Yotere making assumptions I don't understandl That phone call did have something to do with what happened here.-
He limew he was talking too much. He didet want to involve Pat, he couWt involve her Yet someone else had-and that fact was a profound complication.
It might have. According tD the best sources-natarally I refer to television detectives-6ieves make sure people aren t home before they rob a place. They were probably checking me ouLw The girl held his wavering eyes with her gaze. 4NVereet you home then? At quarter to four? - . . IU question is not inquisitorial, my darling, simply a point of information.-
He swore at himself silently. It was the exhaustion, the Beeson episode, the shock of the apartment Of course the question waset inquisitoriaL He was a free
THE MATLOCK FAP= 89
agent And, of course, he w home at quarter to four.
"rm not sure. I wasn't that concerned with the time. It was one hell of a long evening.\* He laughed feebly. "I was at Archie Beesoes. Proposed seminars with young instructors promote a lot of booze,\*
She smiled. "I doet think you understand me. I really dont mind what Poppa Bear was doing . . . Well, of course, I do, but right now I doet understand why yoWre lying to me. . . . You were here two hours ago, and that phone call wasn't any dad checidng your whereabouts and you know it"
'Momma Beaes reaching. 11hat doeset go with the territory." Matlock was rude. It, too, like the lying, was obviously false. Whatever his past rebellions, whatever his toughness, he was a Idnd person and she ]mew that.
'All right I apologize. IT ask one more question and then Ill leave....
What does Omerta ineanr
Matlock froze 'What did you say?'
Me man on the phone. He used the word Omrte ME[owr
'Very casually. Just a remindej; he said.\*
8
Fleld Agent Jason Greenberg walked through the borderless door of the squash court. "You're working up quite a sweat there, Dr. Matlock."
\*Td hate to have it analyzed... Anyway, it your idea. I would have been just as happy at Kress&s office or even downtown somewhere."
"rhis is better. . . . Weve got to talk quickly~ though. The gym registry has me listed as an insurance, surveyor. I'm checking the extinguishers in the corridors."
`They probably need checking.' Matlock walked to a comer where a gray sweatshirt was wrapped in a towd He unwound it and shpped it over his head.
'What have you come up with? Last night was a httle hairy.-
"If you discount confusion, we haven't come up with a thing. At least nothing specific. A couple of theories, thafs alL . . . We think you handled yourself very we1V
"17hanks. I was confused. What are the theories? You sound academic, and Im not sure I hke that.0
Greenberg's head suddenly shifted. From the right waU there could be heard a dull thumpin& "Is that another court?'
'Yes. There are six of them on this side, They're TBE MATLOCK PAPER 91
practice courts, no balconies. But you know that\*
Greenberg picked up the ball and threw it hard against the fiont wan.
Matlock understood and caught it on the bounce. He threw it back, Greenberg re. tamed it They maintained a slow rhythm, neither man moving more than a foot or two, each taking his turn to throw Greenberg spoke softly, in a monotone.
-We think yoeze being tested. Thaes the most logical explanation. You did find Ralph. You made a state. ment about seeing the car Your reasons for being In the area were weak; so weak we thought they were plausible. They want to make sure, thaes why they brought in the girl. They~re being thorough.0
"Okay. Theory number one. Whafs number twop\*
01 said that was the most logical. ... les the only one, really."
"What about Beeson?'
"What about him? You were there.'
Matlock held the squash ball in his hand for a few seconds before lobbing it against the side walL The wall away from Greenberg7s stare "Could Beeson have been smarter than I thought and sent out an alarm?"
"He could have. We think fes doubtfiA ... The way you described the evening."
But Matlock had not described the entim evening. He had not told Greenberg or anyone of Beesoes telephone call. His reasons weren't rational, they were emotional. Lucas Herron was an old man a gentle man. His sympathy for troubled students was legendary; his concern for young, untried, often arrogant new instructors was a welcomed sedative in faculty crises. Matlock had convinced himself that the "grand old birir had befriended a desperate young man,
9s Robert LucUum
helping him in a desperate situation. He had no right to surface Herron!s name on the basis of a phone call made by a panicked drug user. There were too many possible explanations. Somehow he'd speak with Herron, perhaps over coffee at the Commons, or in the bleachers at a baseball game-Herron loved baseball --ftlk to him, tell him he should back away from Archer Beeson.
0--about Beesonr
OWhatr Matlock had not heard Greenberg.
'I asked you if you had second thoughts about Beeson.w -No. No, I haven't He's not important As a matter of fact~ hell probably throw away the grass and the pills-except for my benefit-if he thinks he can use nm.~
'I woet try to follow that"
\*Don!t I just had momentary doubts. ... I caet believe you arrived at only one theory Come on. What elser
'All right Two others and they're not even plausible-both from the same egg. The first is that there might be a leak in Washington. The second-a leak here at Carlyle."
'Why not plausible?"
'Washington first. There are fewer than a dozen men who know about this operation, and that includes justice, Treasury, and the VvUte House.
They're the caliber of men who exchange secret mesuges with the Kremlin.
Impossible
'And Carlyler
'You, Adrian Sealfont, Emd the obnoxious Samuel Kressei.... rd like nothing better than pointing at Kressel-he's a prick-but, again, impossible. I'd also take a certain ethnic delight in knocking a venerated THE MATIOX PAP= 93
WASP Eke Sealfmt off his pedestal, but there, toono sense. That leaves you.
Are you the one?"
"Your wit is staggering." Matlock had to run to catch the ball which Greenberg threw into a comer. He held it In his hand and looked at the agent 'Don't misunderstand me-I like Sam, or at least I think I do-but why is he 'impossibWP-
"Same as Sealfont ... In an operation like this we start at the beginning.
And I inean the beginning. We don't gtve a gDddamn about positions, stattxs, or reputation-good or bad. We use every trick in the books to prove someone guilty, not innocent. We try to find even the flimsiest reason not to clear him. Kressers as clean as John the Baptist. Still a prick but dean. Sealfonfs worse. Hes everything they say. A goddamn saint-Church of England, of course. So, again, that leaves you.\*
Matlock whipped the ball up in a spinning reverse shot into the rear left ceiling. Greenberg stopped back and slashed the ball in midair into the right wall. It bulleted back between Matlock's legs.
"I gather you!ve played the game," said Matlock with an embarrassed grin.
rhe bandit of Brandeis. What about the girl? Where is slier "In my apartment I made her promise not to leave till I got back. Outside of safety, ies one way to get the place cleaned up."
"I'm assigning a man to her. I dont think ies neoessary, but \*M make you feel better" Greenberg looked at his watch.
"It will and thanks."
'We'd better hurry.... Now, listen. Were letting everything take its normal course. Police blotter, newspapers, everything. No covers, no counter stories, noth- 94 Robert Ludlum
tag to obstruct normal curiosity or your perfectly normal reactions. Someone broke into your apartment and smashed up the place. That's all you know...
And theres something else. You may not like it~ but we think ifs best-and safest.\*
Owhaffo
"We think Mim Ballantyne should report the phone call she received to the police."
'Hey, come onf The caller expected to find me there at four o!c1ock in the morning. You doet spell that kind of thing out. Not if youre on a fellowship and expect to work for museum foundations. They still revere McKinley."
'The eye of the beholder, Dr. Matlock-She just received a phone call; some mian asked for you, quoted Shakespeare, and made an unintelligible reference to some foreign word or city. She was goddamn vad. It wouldn't rate five lines in a newspaper, but since your apartment was broken into, ifs logical she report te
Matlock was silent. He walked over to the comer of the squash court where the ball had settled and picked it up. "We're a couple of ciphers who got pushed around. We doet know what happened; just that we doet like ft."
nUfs the idea. Nothing is so convincing as someone wWs a bewildered injured party and lets everybody know it Make an insurance issue about those old books of yours.... I've got to go. There areet that many extinguishers in the building, Anything else? What are you doing next?"
Matlock bounced the ball on the floor. "A fortuitous invitation.
Fortuitously received over a number of beers at the Afro-Commons. I'm invited to a staged version of the original puberty rites of the Mau Mau THE MATLOCK PAPER 95
tribes. Tonight at ten eclock in the cellars of Lummnba Hall. . . . It used to be the Alpha Delt fraternity house. I can tell you there are a lot of white Episco---
palians spinning in hell over that one."
Again, rm not following, Doctor.
'You don't do your homework, either. Lumum ba Hall is very large on your list."
"Sorry. Youll phone me in the morning?'
"In the morning."
'IT call you Jim if you'll call me Jason.\*
'No kiss, but agreed."
'O.K. Practice some more in here. IM take you when this is over.~
"Yoxere on."
Greenberg let himself out. He looked up and down the narrow corridor, satisfied that no one was there; no one had seen him enter or leave the court Continuous thumping could be heard within the walls. All the courts were in use. Greenberg wondered, as he was about to turn the comer into the main hallway, why the Carlyle gymnasium was so heavily attended at eleven o'clock in the morning. It was never the case at Brandeis; not fifteen years ago. Eleven o'clock in the morning was a time for class.
He heard a strange noise that was not the sound of a hard ball against thick wood and turned quickly.
No one.
He entered the main hall and turned once again. No one. He left quickly.
The sound he heard was that of a stubborn latch. It came from the door next to Matlock's court. Out of that door a man emerged. He, too, as Greenberg had done less than a minute before, looked up and down the narrow corridor.
But instead of being satisfied that no one was there, he was annoyed. The obstinate
latch had caused him to n-Ass seeing the man who'd met with James Matlock.
Now the door of court four opened and Matlock himself stepped into the corridor. The man ten feet away was startled, pulled his towel up to his face, and walked away, coughing.
But the man wasnI quick enough. Matlock knew that face.
It was the patrolman from his apartment at four c~clock in the morning.
The patrolman who had called him "Doctor." The man in uniform who knew beyond a doubt that the campus troubles were caused by the "weirdos and the niggers."
Matlock stared at the retreating figure.
9
Over the large cathedral doors one could see.---if one looked closely, or the sun was shining at a certain angle---the faded imprint of the Greek letters Am). They had been there in bas-relief for decades, and no amount of sand blasting or student damage could eradicate them completely. The fraternity house of Alpha Delta Phi had gone the way of other such buildIngs at Carlyle. Its holy order of directors could not find it within themselves to accept the inevitable. The house had been sold-lock, stocl~, leaking roof, and bad mortgage-to the blacks.
The blacks had done well, even extremely well, with what they had to work with. The decrepit old house had been totally refurbished inside and out.
All past associations with its former owners were obliterated wherever possible. The scores of faded photographs of venerated alumni were replaced with wildly theatrical portraits of the new revolutionaries--Afiican, Latin American, Black Panther. Throughout the ancient halls were the new commands, screeched in posters and psychedelic art: Death to the Pigsl Up Whiteyl Malcolm Lives! Lumumba the Black Christ!
Between these screams for recognition were replicas of primitive African artifacts-fertility masks, spears,
shields, animal skins dipped in red paint shrunken heads suspended by hair with complexions unmIstAably white.
Lunrumba, Hall wasn't trying to fool anyone. It reflected anger. It reflected fury.
Matlock didn7t have to use the brass knocker set beside the grotesque iron mask at the edge of the doorfi-ame. The large door opened as he approached it and a student greeted him with a bright smile.
"I was hoping youd make it! Iles gonna be a groovel"
Thanks, Johnny. Wouldn't miss ft-Matlock walked in, struck by the proliferation of lighted candles throughout the hallway and adjouung rooms.
"Looks like a wake. Wheres the casket?"
'Males later. Wait11 you seel"
A black Matlock recognized as one of the campus extremists walked up to them. Adam Williams' hair was long-African style and clipped in a perfect semicircle above his head. His features were sharp; Matlock had the feeling that if they met in the veldt, W& hams would be assumed to be a tribal chief.
"Good evemng," Williams stud with an Infectious grin. "Welcome to the seat of revolution."
"Thanks very much." They shook hands. 'You doet look so revolutionary as you do funereal. I was asking Johnny where the casket was."
Williams laughed. His eyes were intelligent, his smile genuine, without guile or arrogance. In close quarters, the black radical had little of the firebrand quality he displayed on the podium in front of cheering supporters. Matlock wasn't surprised. Those of the faculty who had Williams in their courses often remarked on his subdued, good-humored approach. So different from the image he projected in campus- TEE MATLOCK PAPER 99
rapidly becoming national-politics.
"Oh, Lordl Were lousing up the picture thenl This U a happy occasion. A little gruesome, I suppose, but essentially joyfuV
Tin not sure I understand," Matlock smiled.
'A youngster from the tribe reaches the age of manhood, the brink of an active, responsible life. A jungle Bar Mitzvah. It's a time for rejoicing.
No caskets, no weeping shrouds.-
"rhaes rightl Thaes right, Adaml" said the boy named Johnny enthusiastically.
'Why don't you get Mr. Matlock a drink, brother." And then he turned to Matlock. "Ifs all the same drink until after the ceremony~its called Swaluh punch. Is that O.K.?"
"Of course."
Mght." Johnny disappeared into the crowd toward the dining room and the punch bowl. Adam smiled as he spoke.
"Ies a light nun drink with lemonade and cranberry fuice. Not bad, really.... Thank you for con-dng. I mean that."
'I was surprised to be invited. I thought this was a very& thing.
Restricted to the tribe.... That didn't come out the way I meant it."
Williams laughed. "No offense. I used the word. It's good to think in terms of tribes. Good for the brothers."
"Yes, I Imagine it is....
'The collective, protective social group. Possessing an Identity of its own."
"If that's the purpose-the constructive purpose-I endorse it."
"Oh, it is. Tribes in the bush don't always make war on each other, you know. Ifs not all stealing, looting,
ioo Robett Ludkm
carrying away women. 17haes a Robert Ruark hangup They trade, share hunting and farming lands together, coexist in the mam. probably better than nations or even political subdivisions."
It was Matlock's tam to laugh. "All right, professor. IT make notes aftm the lecture
Sorry. Avocational hazard.-
OAvocational or occupational?\*
rime will tell, woet it? ... One thing I should make clear, however We don7t need your endorsement"
Johnny returned with Matlock's cup of Swahili punch. 'Hey~ you know what?
Brother Davis, tws Bill Davis, says you told him you were going to flunk hum, then at midterm you gave him a ffigh Passl"
"Brother Davis got off his fat ass and did a We work.0 Madock looked at Adam Williams. OYou don't object to that kind of endorsement, do you?-
WML&ms smiled broadly and placed his hand on madodes arm. No, sir, bwana...
In that area you ran King Solornoes Mines. Brother Davis is here to work as hard as he can and gc) as far as his potential will let him. No argument there. Bear down on the brother.s
You!re positively fnghtenmg-Matlock spoke with a lightness he did not feel.
"Not at all. just pragmatic... rve got some lastminute preparations to look after. See you later." Wil. liams bailed a passing student and walked through the crowd toward the staircase.
Come on, Mr Matlock. rll show you the new alIterations.\* Johnny led Matlock into what used to be Alpha Deles common room.
In the see. of dark faces, Matlock saw a minimum of THE MATLOCK PAPER 202
guarded, hostile looks. There were, perhaps, less overt greetings than he might expect outside on the campus, but by and large, his presence was accepted. He thought fDr a moment that if the brothers knew why he had come, the inhabitants of Lumumba, Hall might turn on him angrily. He was the only white person
dMV6
Ile alterations in the common room were drastic. Gone were the wide moldings of dark wood, the thick oak window seats beneath the huge cathedral windows, the solid, heavy furniture with the dark red leather.
Instead, the room was transformed Into something else entirely. The arched windows were no longer. They were now squared at the top, bordered by jetblack dowels an inch or two in diameter, which loolred like long, rectangular slits. Spreading out from the windows into the walls was a textured pattern of tiny wooden bamboo strips shellacked to a high polish.
This same wall covering was duplicated on the ceilmg, thousands of highly glossed reeds converging towards the center. In the middle of the ceiling was a large circle~ perhaps three feet in width, in which there was placed a thick pane of rippled glass. Beyond the glass shone a bright yellowish white light, its flood diffused in ripples over the room. What furniture he could see through the mass of bodies was not really furniture at all. There were various low-cut slabs of thick wood in diffming shapes on short legs-these Matlock assumed were tables. Instead of chairs, there were dozens of pillows in vibrant colors scattered about the edge of the Walls.
it didet take Matlock long to realize the effect Alpha Delta Plifs common room had been transformed brilliantly into the replica of a large thatched
io2 Robert Ludlum
African hut Even to the point of the blazing eqt=tDrial sun streaming through the enclosures vent to the Ades.
"This is remarkablel Really remarkable. It must have taken months."
'Almost a year and a half," Johnny said. "lirs very comfortable, very relaxing. Did you know that lots of top designers are going in for this sort of thing now? I mean the back-to-nature look. Ifs very functional and easy to maintain."
"That sounds dangerously like an apology. You doi\* have to apologize. It's terrific."
'%, rm not apologizing" Johnny retreated from his explanation. "Adam says theres a certain majesty in the primitive. A very proud heritage "Adam's right Only hes not the first person to make that observation."
"Please doi\* put us down, Mr. Matlock. . .
Matlock looked at Johnny over the rim of his cup of Swahili punch. Oh, Christ, he thought, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
The high-ceflinged chapter room of Alpha Delta Phi had been carved out of the cellars at the farthest end of the fraternity house. It had been built shortly after the turn of the century when impressive alumm had poured impressive sums into such hobbies as secret societies and debutante cotillions. Such activities promulgated and propagandized a way of life, yet assuredly kept it selective.
Thousands of starched young men had been initiated in this chapel-like enclosure, whispering the secret pledges, exchanging the unfamiliar handshakes explained to them by stem-faced older children, vowing THE MATUXX PAPER 203
till death to keep the selected faith. And afterward, getting drunk and vomiting in comers.
Matlock thought these thoughts as he watched the Mau Mau ritual unfold before him,. It was no less childish, no less absurd than the preceding scenes in this rooni, he considered. Perhaps the physical aspects --the simulated physical aspects.-were more brutal in what they conveyed, but then the roots of the cereInOmy were not based in the delicate steps of a cotflfton~s pavanne but, instead, in harsh, animal-like pleas to primitive gods. Pleas for strength and survival. Not . ns for continued exclusivity.
The tribal rite itself was a series of unintelligible chants, each one growing in intensity, over the body of a black student--obviously the youngest brother in Lumumba Hall-stretched out on the concrete floor, naked except for a red loincloth strapped around his waist and legs, covering his genitals. ' At the finish of each chant, signifying the end of one canto and the commencement of the succeeding song, the boys body was raised above the crowd by four extremely tall Students, themselves naked to the waist, wearing jetblack dance belts, their legs encased in spirals of rawhide strips. The room was lighted by dozens of thick candles mounted on stands, causing shadows to dance across the upper walls and the ceding Adding to this theatrical effect was the fact that the five active participants in the ritual had their skins covered with oil, their faces streaked in diabolical patterns. As the singt[kg grew wilder, the young boys rigid body was thro" higher and higher until it left the hands of its four supporters, returning split seconds later into the outstretched arm. Each time the black body with the red loincloth was flung into the air, the crowd re- w4 Robed Ludium
spo.ded with growing volumes of gattural shouts.
And then Matlodic, who had been watching with a degree of detachment, suddenly found hunself frightened. Frightened for the small Negro whose stif~ oiled body was being flung into air with such abandon. For two additional blacks, dressed like the others, had joined the four in the center of the floor. However, instead of helping toss the now soaring figure, the two blaclm crouched between the rectangular foursomebeneath the body-and withdrew long-bladed knives, ti
one in each hand. Once in their squatting post ons, they sbetched out their arm so that the blades were held upright, as rigid, as stiff as the body above them Each time the small Negro descended, the four blades Inched closer to the falling flesh. One dip, one oily miscalculation on the part of Just one of the fim blacJm, and the ritual would end in death for the small student In murder.
Matlock, feeling that the ritual had gone as far as he could allow, began scanning the crowd for Adam Williams. He saw him in front, on the edge of the circle, and started pushing his way toward him He was stopped--quietly but firmly-by the blacks around him. He looked angrily at a Negro who held his arm. ne black didn't acknowledge Ins stam, he was hypnotized by the action now taking place in the center of the room.
Matlock saw why instantly For the body of the small boy was now being spun, alternately face up and face down with each elevation. The danger of error was increased tenfold. Matlock grabbed the hand on his arm, twisted it inward, and flung it off him. He looked once more in the direction of Adam Williams.
He wasn't there. He was nowhere in sightl Matlock stood still, undecided.
If he raised his voice between
T= MATLOCK PAP20K WS
the crowd's roaring crescendos, it was entirely possible that he might cause a break in the concentration of those handling the body. He couldnt risk that, and yet he couldnt allow the dangerous absurdity to continue.
Suddenly Matlock felt another hand, this one on his shoulder. He turned and saw the face of Adam Wil~ hams behind him. It startled him. Had some primitive tribal signal been transmitted to Williams? The black: radical gestured with his head for Matlock to follow him through the shouting crowd to the outer edge of the circle. William spoke between the roam OYou look worried. Doet be."
\*Lookl This craVs gone far enoughl That kid could be killedl'
'No chance. The brothers have rehearsed for months.... les really the most simplistic of the Mau Mau rites. The symbolism is fundamental. ... See? The chII&s eyes remain open. First to the sky, then facing the blades. He is constantly aware-every gecond-that his life is in the hands of his brother warnom. He cannot, he must not show fear To do so would betray his peers.
Betray the confidence he must place in their hands--as they will someday place their lives in his hands."
"Ies childish, dangerous dupidity, and you know itl" cut in MatlocIL 'Now, rm telling you, Williams, you put a stop to it or I willl"
"Of course,\* continued the black radical, as if Mat.
lock had not spoken, -there are anthropologists who insist that the ceremony is essentially one of fertility.
The unsheathed knives representing erections, the four protectors guarding the child through its formative years. Frankly, I think that's reaching. Also, it sb\*w me as contradictory even for the primitive mind ... 0
io6 Robert Ludlum
-Goddamn youl-Matlock grabbed Williams by the front of his shirL
Immediately other blacks closed in on lifin.
Suddenly there was total silence in the eerily lit room. The silence lasted only a moment. It was followed by a series of mind-shattering screams from the mouths of the four Negroes in the center of the crowd In whose hands the life of the young student depended. Matlock whipped around and saw the shinIng black body descending downward from an incredIble height above the outst:retched hands.
It couldet be truel It waset happening! Yet it wasl The four blacks suddenly, in unison, crouched into kneeling positions away from the center, their arms dashed to their sides. The young student came crashing down, face touwrd the blades. Two further smeams followed. In a fraction of a second, the students holding the huge knives swung their weapons across one another and in an unbelievable display of wrist strength, caught the body on the flat of the blades.
The crowd of blacks went wild.
The ceremony was over.
'Do you believe me now?" Williams asked, speaking in a comer with Matlock.
'Whether I do or not doesn7t change what I said. You caiet do this sort of thmgl Ifs too goddamn dangaxnw"
'You exaggerate.... Here, let me introduce another guest." Williams raised his hand and a tall thin black with close-mopped hair and glasses, dressed in an expensively cut tan suit~ joined them. "Ilds is Ju- TBE MAnAXX PAPER 107
lian Dunois, Mr. Matlock. Brother Julian is our experL, Our choreographer, if you like."
A pleasum-Dunois extended his hand, speaking with a slight accent Brother Julian is from Haiti. ... Harvard Law out of Haiti. A most unusual progression, I think youll agree.0
"It certainly is....
'Many Haitians, even the Ton Ton Macoute, still get upset when they hear Ins name."
"You exaggerate, Adam~" said Julian Dunois with a smile.
"Thaes what I just said to Mr. Matlock He exaggerates. About the danger of the ceremony.\*
"Oh, there's danger-as theres danger if one crosses the Boston Commons wearing a blindfold. The petcock of safety, Mr. Matlock, is that those holding the knives watch closely. In the training there is as much emphasis on being able to drop the knives Instantly as there is in holding them up."
"That may be so,\* Matlock acitnowledged. "But the margin for error terrifies me."
"Ies not as narrow as you think." The lilt in the Haitian~s voice was as reassuring as it was attractive. 'Incidentally, rm a fan of yours. rve enjoyed your works on the Elizabethans. May I add, yoere not exactly what I expected. I mean, yo&re far, for youngen"
'You flatter me. I diddt think I was known In law schools.\*
"My undergraduate major was English literatum\*
Adam interrupted politely. "You two enjoy yourselves. There'll be drinks upstairs in a few minutes; just follow the crowd. rve got things to do....
rm
glad you!ve met You!re both strangers, In a way. Strangers should meet in unfamiliar areas. Iles comkrtinto
He gave Dunois an enigmatic look and walked upidly away through the crowd.
\*Why does Adam feel he has to talk in what rin vire he considers are profound riddIes?' Matlock
"Rds very young. He strives constantly tD make emphasis. Very bright, but very young."
'Youll pardon me, but you!re not exactly ancient I doubt more than a year or two older than Adam."
The black in the expensively cut tan suit looked Into Matlocles eyes and laughed gently.
"Now you flatter nw," he sad. "If the truth were known-and why shouldn't it be?---and If my tropic color did not disguise the years so well, yoWd know that I was precisely one year, four months, and sixteen days okler than you."
Matlock stared at the Negro, speechless. It took him nearly a full minute to assimilate the lawyer's words and the meaning behind those words. The blacles eyes did not waver. He returned Matlock's stare in equal measure.
Finally, Matlock found his voice.
Tm not sure I like this game."
'Oh, come, we're both here for the same reason, are we not? You from your vantage point, I from mine . . . Lees go upstairs and have a drink- . . .
Bourbon and soda, isn't it? Sour mash, if ies available, I understancV
Dunois preceded Matlock through the crowd, and Matlock had no other course but to follow.
Dunois leaned against the brick wall.
'All right," Matlock said, "the amenities are over.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 109
Everyones acknowledged your show downstairs, and theres no one left for me to impress my white skin on. I think it's time you started explaining.\*
They were alone now, outside on the porch. Both held drinks.
"My, aren't we professional? Would you care for a cigar? I can assure you it!s Havana."
"No cigar. Just talk I came here tonight because these are my friends. I felt privileged to be invited. ... Now, yoeve attached something else and I doiYt ]like it.0
"Bravol Bravol" said Dunois, raising his glass. 'You do that very well....
Doet worry, they know nothing. Perhaps they suspect, but believe me, only in the vaguest terins."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Finish your drink and lees walk out on the lawn.7 Dunois drained his nun and, as if by reflex, Matlock drank the remainder of his bourbon. The two men walked down the steps of the Lumumba Hall, Matlock following the black to the base of a large elm tree, Dunois turned suddenly and grabbed Matlock by the shoulders.
"Take your goddamn hands off mel"
%isten to mel I want that paperl I must have that paperl And you must tell me where it W
Matlock flung his hands up to break Dunois's grip. But his arms did not respond. They were suddenly heavy, terribly heavy And there was a whistling A growing, piercing whistling in his hea& "What? What? ... What paper? I doet have any paper. . . .\*
"Met be difficultl Well get it, you knowl Now, just tell me where it isl"
Matlock realized that he was being lowered to the im Robert Ludlum
ground. The outline of the huge tree above him began tD spin, and the whistling in his brain became louder and louder. It was unendurable. He fought to find his mind again.
'What are you doing? What are you doing to mel?'
'Jrhe paper, Matlocki Wbere is the Corsican paper?"
'Get off met" Matlock tried to yell. But nothing came from his lips.
"The silver paper, goddamn you to heUr
'No paper ... no. Haven1 paperl Nol'
'Listen to mel You just had a drink, remember the drink? . . . You just finished that drink. Remember?
You can't be -alone nowl You don't dare be alonel"
'What?... What? Get off mel You~re crushing mel"
\*Tm not even touching you. The drink isf You just consumed three tabs of lysergic acidt Yoere in troub1% Doctorl ... Nowl You tell nw where that paper br
From his inner recesses he found an instant of clarity From the spinning, turning, whirling spirals of mind-blasting colors, he saw the form of the above him and he lashed out. He grabbed at the white shirt between the dark borders of the jacket and pulled it down with all the strength he could summon. He brought his fist up and hit the descending face as hard as he could.
Once the face was jarred, he began hammering at the throat beneath it mercilessly. He could feel the shattering of the glasses and he knew his fist had found the eyes and crushed the glass Into the rolling head.
It was over in a period of time he could never ascertain. Dunois's body was beside him, unconscious.
And he knew he had to ran. Run furiously awayl What had Dunois said? ...
Doet dare be alone. Don't
TM A"TLOCK PAM III
darel He had to find Patt Pat would know what to do. He had to find herl The chemical in his body was going to take full effect soon and he knew it! Run, for Chrises sakel
But where?l VVhich way?l He didn't know the wayl The goddamn fucking wayl The street was there, he raced along the street, but was it the right way?l Was it the right street?l
Then he heard a car. It was a car, and it was com,.ing close to the curb and the driver was looking at him. Looking at him, so he ran faster, tripping once over the curb and falling into the pavement and risIng again.
Running, for Christ Almighty's sake, nmning till the breath in his lungs was gone and he could no longer control the movement of his feet. He felt himself swerve, unable to stop himself, toward the wide gulf of the street, which suddenly became a river, a black putrid river in which he would drown.
He vaguely heard the screech of the brakes. The lights blinded him, and the figure of a man reached down and poked at his eyes. He didn't care any longer. Instead, he laughed. Laughed through the blood which flowed into his mouth and over his face.
He laughed hysterically as Jason Greenberg carried him to the car.
And then the earth, the world, the planet~ the galaxy, and the entire solar system went crazy.
10
The night was agony.
The morning brought a degree of reality, less so for Matlock than for the two people sitting beside him, one on either side of the bed. Jason Greenberg, his large, sad eyes drooping, his hands calmly crossed on his lap, leaned forward. Patricia Ballantyne, her arm stretched out, held a cool washcloth on Matlocles forehead.
'Me schvugs gave you one hell of a party, friend.'
'Shhl" whispered the girl. "Leave him alone."
Matlocles eyes wandered as best they could around the room. He was in Pats apartment, in her bedroom, her bed.
'Mey gave me acid."
'You!re telling us ... We bad a doctor--a real doctor-brought in from Litchfield. He's the nice fella you kept trying to take the eyeballs from.... Doet worry, he!s federal. No names.\*
Tat? How come . . ."
OYoere a very sweet acid head, Jamie. You kept yelling my name."
"It also made the best sense,' interrupted Greenberg. "No hospitals. No out-patient records. Nice and private; good thinking. Also, yoifre very persuasive when yoere violent. Yoifre a hell of a lot stronger than TBE MATLOCK PAPM 113
1 thought. Especially for such a lousy handball player.' "You shouldn~t have brought me here. Goddamn i4 Greenberg, you shouldn~t have brought me herel"
"Forgetting for the moment that it was your Idea . . ~\*
"I was druggedt"
'It was a good idea. What would you have preferred? The emergency clinic?
. . . VWs that on the
stretcher, Doctor? The one screan-Ang Oh, just Associate Professor Matlock, Nurse. Hes on an acid trip., "
'You know what I mearil You could have taken me home. Strapped me down."
Tin relieved to see you donI know much about acid," said Greenberg.
"What he means, Jamie Pat took his hand,
.. if it's bad, you should be with someone you know awfully well. The reassurance is necessary."
Matlock looked at the girl. And then at Greenberg. 'What have you told her?"
'nat you volunteered to help us; that w6re grateful. With your help we may be able to prevent a serious situation from getting worse." Greenberg spoke in a monotone; it was obvious that he didift wish to expand.
"It was a very cryptic explanation," Pat said. "He wouldnI have given me that if I hadnI threatened him."
"She was going to call the police." Greenberg sighed, his sad eyes sadder.
"She was going to have me locked up for dosing you. I had no choice."
Matlock smiled.
'Why are you doing this, Jamie?" Pat found nothing amusing.
'The man said it: the situations serious."
'But why youP"
"'Because I can.\*
aWhat? Turn in kids?"
'I tDId you,7 said Jason. "W6re not interested in students .... "
Whaes Lumumba Hall, then? A branch of General Motors?"
'Ies one contact point; there are others. Frankly, vWd rather not have gotten involved with that crowd-, it's ticklish. Unfortunately, we =1
choose.-
"That's offensive."
"I don't think theres much I could say that wouldet be offensive to you, Miss Ballantyne.\*
"Perhaps not Because I thought the FBI had more important work to do than harassing young blackL Obviously, you doet"
"Hey, come on." Matlock squeezed the girrs hand. She took it from him.
"No, I mean that, jamiel No games, no radical chic. There are drugs all over this place. Some of it's a bad scene, most of it's pretty standard. We both know that Why all of a sudden are the kids at Lumumba singled out?"
'We wouldn7t touch those kids. Except to help them." Greenberg was weary from the long night His irritation showed.
"I doet like the way you people help people and I doet like what happened to jamiel Why did you send him thereP"
"He didet send me. I maneuvered that myself."
"Why?'"
"It's too complicated and I'm too washed out to explain ft."
"Oh, Mr. Greenberg did that. He explained all right IWve given you a badge, haven1 they? They can7t
THE MATLOCK PAP= 115
do it themselves so they pick a nice, easygoing fellow to do it for them.
You take all the risks; and when ies over, youll never be truAed on this campus again. Jamie, for Gods sake, this is your home, your WOW"
Matlock held the girrs eyes with his own, doing his best to calm her. "I know that better than you do. My home needs to be helped-and thales no game either, Pat I think the risks are worth it"
"I won1 pretend to understand that"
'You can1 understand it, Miss Ballantyne, because we can't tell you enough to make it reasonable. Youll have to accept that"
"Do I?"
"rm asking you to,' said Matlock. "He saved my life.\*
"I woui&1 go that far, Professor." Greenberg shrugged as he spoke.
Pat stood up. "I think he threw you overboard and tossed you a rope as an afterthought ... Are you all right?-
"Yes,\* answered Matlock.
I have to go; I won~t if you don't want me to.'
"No, you go ahead. I'll call you later. Thanks for the ministrations."
The girl looked briefly at Greenberg-it was not a pleasant look-and crossed to her dresser. She picked up a brush and rapidly stroked her hair, slipping an orange headband into place. She watched Greenberg through the mirror. He returned the stare.
&7be man who's been following me, Mr. Greenberg. Is he one of your men?"
"Yes."
"I dont like it.0
'Tm sorry."
Pat turned. 'Will you remove him, please?'
01 c&t & that Ill tell him to be less obvious."
"I see." She took her purse from the dresser top and reached down to the floor, picking up her accordion briefcase. Without speaking further, the girl walked out of the bedroom. Several seconds later, the two men could hear the apartment door open and shut firmly.
'rhat is one very ng-willed young lady," said Jason.
'There!s a good reason."
'What do you mean?"
'I thought you fellows were so familiar with the people you had to deal with. . . ."
"I'm still getting briefed. I'm the back-up, rememberr 'Then IT save you time. In the late fifties her father got McCarthyized out of the State Department Of course, he was very dangerous. He was a language consultant. He was cleared for translating newspapers."
"Shit."
'Mes the word, brother. He never made It back. She's had scholarships all her life; the cupbow&s bare. Shes a little sensitive to your type.\*
"Boy, do you pick'eml"
'You picked vie, remember?'
Matlock opened the door to his apartment and walked into the foyer. Pat had done a good job putting the rooms in order-as he knew she would. Even the curtains were rehung. It was a little after threemost of the day wasted.
Greenberg had insisted that the two of them drive over to Litchfield for a reexamination by the doctor. Shaken but operable, was the verdict.
They stopped for lunch at the Cheshire Cat. During TBZ MAnDM PAMM 117
the meal, Matlock kept looking over at the small table where four days ago Ralph Loring had sat with his folded newspaper. The lunch was quiet. Not strained --the two men were comfortable in each others company-but quiet, as if each had too much to think abouL
On the road back to Carlyle, Greenberg told him to stay in his apartment until he contacted him. Washington hadn't issued any new instructions. They were evaluating the new information, and until they confirmed any further involvement, Matlock was to remain -OOS---a term the English professor found hard to equate with grownups: out of n1rategy.
It was just as well, he thought. He had his own strategy to think about-Lucas Herron. The "grand old bird,' the campus elder statesman. it was time to reach him, to warn him. The old man was out of his element and the quicker he retreated, the better for everyone-Carlyle included. Yet he didet want to telephone him, he didn't want to arrange a formal meeting-he had to be subtler than that He didn't want to alarm old Lucas, have him talking to the wrong people.
It occurred to Matlock that he was acting as some sort of protector for Herron. That presumed Lucas was innocent of any serious involvement He wondered if be had the right to make that assumption. On the other hand, by civilized standards, he had no right to make any other.
The telephone rang. It coul(Wt be Greenber& he thought Bed just left him at the curb. He hoped it wasiet Pat; he wasn't ready to talk to her yet Reluctantly he lifted the instrument to his ear. "Hellol"
"Jim] Where have you beenl? I've been calling since eight this mornmg1 I was so goddamn worried I
iL:L8 Robed Ludium
went over there twice. Got your key from mabiW nanm\* It was Sam Kressel. He sounded as though Carlyle had lost its accreditation.
"Ies too involved to go into now, Sam. Lees get together later. rU come over to your place after dinner~"
'I don!t know if it can wait that long. jesust What the hell got wo your "I don!t understane
At Lumumba, last nightl-
'What are you talking about? What have you heardr 'rhat black bastard, Adam Williams, handed in a report to my office accusing you of just about everything short of advocating slaveryl He clai the only reason Ws not filing police charges is that you were blind drunk!
Of course, the alcohol stripped you of your pretenses and showed clearly what a racist you arel"
"What?1"
'You broke up furniture, slapped around some Inds, smashed windows. . . ."
~You know damned well thaes bullshitl'p
'I figured as much." Kressel lowered his voice. He was calming down. 'But my knowing it doeset help, can't you see that? This is the kind of thing weve got to avokL Polarizationi The government walks Onto a campus, polarization follows.\*
"Listen to me. Williams' statement is a decayL.-If thaes the word. les camouflage. They drugged me last night. If it hadn't been for Greenberg, I doet know where rd be right now."
"Oh, Godl . . . LumumWs on your list, IsnI it? Thaes all we nee& The blacksll scream persecution. Christ knows what'll happen."
Matlock tried to speak calmly "I% come over THE MATU= PAP= 119
around seven. Don't do anythmig, dodt say anything rve got to get off the phone. Greenbergs supposed to cav
'Wait a minute, jiml One thing. This Greenberg . I don't trust him. I don't trust any of them. just remember. Your loyalt3es to Carlyle. . . ~- Kressel s"43ed, but he had not finished.
Matlock realized he was at a loss for words.
'11aes a strazige thing to say~'
'I think you know what I mean.\*
Tin not sure I do. I thought the idea was to work together ... 0
Not at the expense of ripping this oampus apardThe dean of colleges sounded nearly hysterical.
DonI worry,- Matlock said. -It won!t: tear. r1l see you later." Matlock hung up the phone before Kresad could speak agam. His mind needed a short rest, and Kressel never let anyone rest where his domain was concerned. Sam Kressel, in his own way, was as militant as any extremist and, perhaps, quicker to Cry Obw
These thoughts led Matlock to another consideraflon-two considerations.
Four days ago, he had told Pat that he didnI want to change their plans for St 7bomas. Carlyles midteim holiday, a short ten days at the end of April, would start after classes on Saturday, in three days. Under the circumstances, St Thomas was out-unless Washington decided to retire him, and he doubted that. Hed use his parents as the excuse. Pat would understand, even be sympathetic. The other thought was his own classes. He had fallen behind. His desk was piled with papers-mostly themes and essay exams. He had also missed his two classes earlier in the day. He was not so much concerned for his students.-his method was to accelerate iw Robert LUAM
In the fall and winter and relax in the spring-but be didn1 want to add any fuel to such fires as Williamd' false complaint An absentee associate professor was a target for gossip. His class load for the next three days was medium--~ two, and two. He'd organize the work later. Between now and seven o'clock, however, he had to find Lucas Herron. If Greenberg called while he was out, hed blame it on a forgotten gradaate conference.
He decided to shower, shave, and change clothes. Once in the bathroom, he checked the litter boiL The Corsican paper was there-he knew it would be.
The shave and shower completed, Madock walked into his bedroom, selecting clothes and a course of action. He didn't know Herroes daily schedule, although it would be a simple matter to find out If Lucas had any late afternoon classes or seminars. If he &W% Matlock knew HerroiYs house-, it would take about fifteen minutes to get there by car Herron lived eight miles from the campus, on a rarely traveled back road in a section once a part of the old Carlyle fiunfly estate. Herron7s home had been a carriage house. It was out of the way, but as Lucas kept sayin& "Once there, iesworth it"
The rapid tapping of the door knocker broke his concentration. It also frightened him--he felt himself gasping for breath; that was disturbing.
"Be right there," he yelled, slipping a white sport shut over his head. He walked barefoot to the hont door and opened it It was impossible for him to conceal his shock. In the doorframe stood Adgm Williams --alone.
"Afternooe
"Jesust ... I doet know whether to hit you in the THE MATL4DCK PAPER 222
mouth right now or first call the police! What the hell do you want?
Kressers ah-eady called me~ if thaes what you're checking on."
^Please let me talk to you. rU be quick." The black spoke with urgency, trying, thought Matlock, to conceal his fear.
"Come on in. And make it quick." Matlock slammed the door as Williams passed by hun into the foyer The black turned and tried to smile, but them was no humor in his eyes.
Tin sorry about that report. Truly sorry. It was an unpleasant necessity.-
"I don't buy that and you can't sell itl What did you want Kressel to do?
Bring me up before the board and bum me out of here? Did you think rd just sit down and play doormat? Yoere a goddamn maniacl'
"We didn't think anything would happen. Thaes precisely why we did it . .
. We couldn't be sure where you went You disappeared, you know You might say we had to take the offensive and then later agree that it was all a disagreeable misunderstandin\* ... les not a new tactic. rH send Kressel another report, backing off-but not entirely. In a couple of weeks, iell be forgotten.-
Matlock raged, as much against Williarris' attitude as his conscienceless pragmatism. But when he spoke he did not raise his voice. "Get out You disgust me."
"Oh, come off it, manI Haven7t we aluwjs disgwW you?l' Matlock had hit a nerve and William responded in kind. But just as suddenly, he took hold of himself. "Lees not argue theoretical practicalities. Let me get to the point and leave."
'By all means.
^A11 right Listen to me. Whatever Dunois wanted in Robert Ludlum
from you, give it to himi ... That is, give it to me and rlI send it on. No forked tongue; ifs last-extremity Janguager "roo pat a phrase. No sale. Why would I have anything Brother Julian wanted? Did he say so? Why doesn't he come over himselfr 'Brother Julian doesn't stay long in any one place. His talents are in great demand."
"Staging Mau Mau puberty rituals?"
'Ile really does that, you know. Its a hobW
\*SeDd him to me." Matlock crossed in front of WilHam and went to the coffee table. He reached down and picked up a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "Well oompm notes on associative body movements. rve a hell of a collection of sixteenth-century folk dances.\*
'Talk seriously. Theres no timer
Matlock lit a cigarette. "rve got all the time in the workL I just want to see Brother Julian again; I want W put him in jail.-
'No chancel No chance. rm. here for your benefid If I leave without it, I can't control itl"
"rwo pronouns signifying the same or different objects?-
"Oh, yot\*e too muchl You're really too muchl Do yorn know who Julian Dunois isr
"Part of the Borgia family? Ethiopian branch?"
'Stop it, Matlockf Do what he saysl People could be hurL Nobody wants thae 'I doWt know who Dunois is and I don7t much give a dilmn I just know he drugged me and assaulted me and is exercising a dangerous influence on a bunch of children. Beyond this, I suspect he had my apartment broken Into and many of my personal belongings destroyeclL I want hun put away. From you and from Ine
TEE MATLOCK PAPER IM
'Be reasonable, pleawr
Matlock walked swiftly to the curtains in front of his casement window and with a flourish, yanked them down, displaying the shattered glass and twisted lead.
"Is this one of Brother julian~s calling cards?"
Adam Williams stared, obviously shocked, at the mass of destruction. "No, man. Absolutely, no. Thafs not julian~s style.... That's not even my style.
That's someone else."
11
The road to Lucas Herron's house was dotted with the potholes of winter.
Matlock doubted that the town of Carlyle would fill them in; there were too many other commercially traveled streets still showing the effects of the New England fi-eeze. As he approached the old carriage house, he slowed his Triumph to barely ten miles an hour. The bumps were jazzing, and he wanted to reach Herron~s house with little nollse, Thinking that Jason Greenberg might have had him followed, Matlock took the long route to Herron~s, driving four miles north on a parallel road and then doubling back on Herron~s street. There was no one behind himL The nearest houses to lqerron~s were a hundred yards away on either side, none in front TheWd been talk of turning the area into a housing development just as there'd been talk of enlarging Carlyle University, but nothing came of either projecL Actu&Dy, the first depended upon the second, and there was strong alumni opposition to any substantial physical change at Carlyle.
The alumni were Adrian Sealfones personal cross.
Matlock was struck by the serenity of Herron!s home. He!d never really looked at the house before. A dozen times, more or less, he'd driven Lucas home
THE MATLOCK PAPER 125
after famltY meetings, but he'd always been in a hurry. He'd never accepted Lucas's invitations for a drink and, as a result, he had never been inside the house.
He got out of the car and approached the old brick shluture. It was tall and narrow; the faded stDne covered with thousands of strands of ivy heightened the feeling of isolation. In front, on the large expanse of lawn, were two Japanese willow trees In hill spring blOOD36 their purple flowers cascading toward &e earth in large arcs. The grass was cut, the shrubbery pruned, and the white gravel on the vanous paths was gleaming. It was a house and grounds which were loved and cared for, yet one had the feeling that they were not shared. It was the work of and for one per. son, not two or a family. And then Matlock remembered that Lucas Herron had never marned. There were the ineviftble stones of a lost love, a tragic death, even a runaway bride-to-be, but whenever Lucas Herron heard about such youthful romanticumg he count, ered with a chuckle and a statement about being "too damned selfish."
Matlock walked up the short steps to the door and rang the bell. He tried practicing an opening smile, but it was false; he wouldn't be able to carry it off. He was afraid.
The door swung back and the ba white-haned Lucas Herron, dressed in wrinkled trousers and a halfunbuttoned, oxford-blue shirt sftred at hum It was less than a second before Herron spoke, but in that brief instant, Matlock knew that hed been wrong. Lucas Herron knew why he had come.
"Well, Jiml Come in, come in, my boy. A pleasant surprise."
"Thank you, Lucas. I hope I'm not interrupting anythin&w
'Not a thing. Yoere just in time, as a matter of fact rm dabbling in alchemy. A fresh fruit gm, Collins. Now I won't have to dabble alone."
'Sounds good to me."
The inside of Herron!s house was precisely as Matlock thought it would be-as his own might be in thirty-odd years, if he lived that long alone. It was a mixed bag, an accumulated toW of nearly half a century of unrelated gatherings from a hundred unrelated sources. The only common theme was comfort; there was no concern for style or period or coordination. Several walls were lined with books, and those which were not were filled with enlarged photographs of places visited abroad-one suspected during sabbati-cob. The armchairs were thick and soft, the tables within arnfs reach-the sign of practiced bachelorbood, thought Matlock.
"I doet think yoeve ever been here-inside, I mean.~
No, I haven% It's very attractive. Very Comfortable."
"Yes, it's that. It's comfortable. Here, sit down, I'll finish the formula and bring us a drink." Herron started across the living room toward what Matlock presumed was the door to the kitchen and then stDpped and turned.
"I know perfectly well that you haveet come all the way out here to liven up an old mads cocktail hour. However, I have a house rule: at lead one drink-religion and strong principles permittint-before any serious discussion." He smiled and the myriad lines around his eyes and temples became more pronounced. He was an old, old man. "Besides, you look terribly serious. The Collinsll lessen the degree, I prondse you."
THE MATLOCK PAM 127
Before Matlock could answer, Herron walked rapidly through the door.
Instead of sittin& Matlock walked to the wall nearest him, against which was a small writing desk above it a half-dozen photographs that hung in no discernible pattern. Several were of Stonehenge taken from the same position, the setting sun at dramatically different angles. Another was of a rock-bound coast, mountains in the distance, fishing boats moored offshore. It looked Mediterranean, possibly Greece or the Thracian Islands.
Then there was a surprise. On the lower right side of the wall, only inches above the desk, was a small photograph of a tall, slender army officer standing by the trunk of a tree. Behind him the foliage was profuse, junglelike; to the sides were the shadows of other figures. The officer was helmetless, his shirt drenched with sweat, his large right hand holding the stock of a submachine gun. in his left hand the officer held a folded piece of paper-it looked like a map-and the man had obviously just made a decision. He was looking upward, as though toward some high terrain. The face was taut but not excited. It was a good face, a strong face. It was a dark-haired, middle-aged Lucas Herron.
"I keep that old photograph to remind me that time was not always so devastating."
Matlock snapped up, startled. Lucas had reentered and had taken him off guard. "Ifs a good picture. Now I know who really won that war. "
No doubt about it. Unfortunately, I never heard of that particular island either before or since. Someone said it was one of the Solomons. I think they blew it up in the fifties. Wouldn1 take much. Couple of fin crackers'd do it. Here." Herron crossed to Matlock, handing him his drink.
"nanks. You're too modest. I've heard the stories.\*
"So have I. Impressed the hell out of me. They grow better as I grow older.... What do you say we sit in the back yard. Too nice to stay indoors." Without waiting for a reply, Herron started out and Matlock followed.
Like the front of the house, the back was precisely manicured. On a flagstone patio, there were comfortable-looking, rubber-stranded beach chairs, each with a small table by its side. A large wrought-iron table with a sun umbrella was centered in the middle of the flagstones. Beyond, the lawn was close cropped and fulL Dogwood trees were dotted about, each spaded around its trunk, and two lines of flowers-mostly roses--stretched lengthwise to the end of the lawn, about a hundred feet away. At the end of the lawn, however, the pastoral effect abruptly stopped. Suddenly there were huge trees, the underbrush thick~ mangled, growing within itself. The side borders were the same. Around the perimeters of the sculptured back lawn was an undisciplined, overgrown forest.
Lucas Herron was surrounded by a forbidding green wall.
"It is a good drink, yoij!ll admit." The two men were seated.
"It certainly is. You'll convert me to gin."
'Only in spring and summer. Gies not for the rest of the year... All right, young fellow, the house rule's been observed. What bringsyou to Herron's Nest?"
"I think you have an idea."
"Do I?"
"Archie Beeson." Matlock watched the old man, but Herroes concentration was on his glass. He showed no reaction.
"The young history man?"
THE MATLOCK PAPER 129
"Yes."
"He'll make a fine teacher one day. Nice little filly of a wife, too."
"Nice.. . and promiscuous, I think."
'Appearances, jim." Herron chuckled. "Never thought of you as Victorian....
One grows infinitely more tolerant of the appetites as one gets older. And the innocent whetting of them. You'll see."
"Is that the key? The tolerance of appetites?'
"Key to what?"
'Come on. He wanted to reach you the other night."
'Yes, he did. And you were there.... I understand your behavior left something to be desired."
"My behavior was calculated to leave that impression." For the first time Herron betrayed a trace of concern. It was a small reaction, the blinking of his eyes in rapid succession.
"That was reprehensible." Herron spoke softly and looked up at his imposing green wall. The sun was going below the line of tall trees; long shadows were cast across the lawn and patio.
"It was necessary." Matlock saw the old man~s face wince in pain. And then he recalled his own reaction to Adam Williams' description of the "unpleasant necessity" of sending Sam Kressel the false report of his actions at Lumumba Hall. The parallel hurt.
"The boy's in trouble. He's sick. It's a disease and he!s trying to cure himself. That takes courage. . . . This is no time for campus Gestapo tactics." Herron took a long drink from his glass while his free hand gripped the arm of the chair.
"How did you know about it?"
"That might be privileged information. Let's say I heard from a respected co-worker of ours-in the medical line--who ran across the symptoms and be- 130 Robert Ludlum
came concerned. What difference does it make? I tried to help the boy and I'd do it again."
"I'd like to believe that. It's what I wanted to believe."
"Why is that difficult for you?"
"I don1 know.... Something at the front door a few minutes ago. Perhaps this house. I canI put my finger on ft. . . . I'm being completely honest with you."
Herron laughed but still avoided Matlock's eyes. 'You~re too wound up in the Elizabethans. The plots and counterplots of The Spanish Tragedy. . . .
You young faculty crusaders should stop trying to be an amateur Scotland Yard. Not too long ago it was fashionable around here to have Red Dogs for breakfast. You7re just magnifying the situation out of proportion."
"That!s not true. I'm not a faculty crusader. Im no part of that growd, and I think you know ft."
"What was it then? Personal interest? In the boy. Or his wife? ... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that"
"I'm glad you did. I have no interest in Virginia Beeson-sexual or otherwise. Although I cadt imagine what else there would be.~
"Then you put on quite an act,"
"I certainly did. I took extreme measures to keep Beeson from knowing why I was there. It was that important.-
"To whom?" Herron slowly put his glass down with his right hand, his left still gripped the arm of the chair.
"To people beyond this campus. Washington people. The federal authorities.
Lucas Herron took a sudden, sustained intake of breath through his nostrils.
In front of Matlock's eyes,
THE MATLOCK PAPER 131
Herron's face began to drain itself of color. When he spoke, he did so barely above a whisper.
"What are you saying?"
'That I was approached by a man from the justice Department The information he showed me was frightening. Nothing was trumped up, nothing over-dramatized. It was straight data. I was given a free choice whether to cooperate or not"
'And you accepted?" Herroes words were uttered softly in disbelief.
"I didn't feel there was an alternative. My younger brother. . ."
'You di(&t feel there was an alternative?' Herron rose from his chair, his hands began to shake, his voice grew in intensity. "You didnt feel there was an altertwtiveF"
"No, I didn!t," Matlock remained calm. "Thaes why I came out here. To warn you, old friend. Ies much deeper-far more dangerous . . ."
"You came out here to warn me?f What have you &mP What in the name of everything sacred have you doneP ... Now, you listen to met You listen to what I sayl" Herron backed off, bumping into the small side table. In one whip of his left arm, he sent it crushing onto the flagstones. "You let it go, do you hear met You go back and tell them nothing/ Nothing existd It's all ... all in their imaginationsl Doet touch itl Let it gor I cant do that,- said Matlock gently, suddenly afraid for the old man. "Even Sealfont will have to agree. He caiYt fight it any longer. Ies there, Lu cas .... 7
"Adrianf AdriaZs been told? ... Oh, my God, do you know what you're doing?
Yotell destroy so much.
So many, many ... Get out of herel Get oud I don!t know youl Oh, Jeswl lesusl"
Lucas, what is it?- Matlock got up and took several steps toward the old man. Herron continued backing away, an old man in panic.
'Don1 come near mel Don't you touch nwl\*
Herron turned and started running as well as his ancient legs could carry him across the lawn. He stumbled, falling to the ground, and picked himself up. He didn't look back. Instead he ran with all his might toward the rear of the yard, toward the overgrown woods. And then he disappeared through his huge green wall.
'Lucasl For Chrises sakel" Matlock raced after the old man, reaching the edge of the woods only seconds behind him. Yet he was nowhere in sight Matlock whipped at the overgrowth in front of him and stepped into the tangled mass of foliage. Branches slashed back at him, and the intricate webbings of giant weeds ensnared his feet as he kicked his way into the dense woods.
Herron was gone.
"Lucasl Where are you?1"
There was no answer, only the rustling of the dis~-turbed growth behind him. Matlock went farther into the forest, ducking, crouching, sidling by the green barriers in front of him. Th~re was no sign of Lucas Herron, no sound.
"Lucasl For God's sake, Lucas, answer mel"
Still no reply, no hint of presence.
Matlock tried to look around him, tried to spot a break in the patterns of foliage, a route to follow. He could see none. It was as if Lucas were matter one momen% vapor the next.
THE MAnAXX P"ER 133
And then he heard it. Indistinct, from all sides of him, echoing softly from some unknown place. It was a deep-throated moan, a wail. Near, yet far in the dense distance. And then the wail diminished and became a plaintive sob. A single sob, punctuated by a single word-clear, and spoken in hatred.
Ile word was
ONimrod . - "
12
"Goddamn it, Matlockl I told you to stay put until I contacted youl"
"Goddamn it~ Greenbergl How did you get into my apartment?1-You didn't get your window fixed."
"You haveet offered to pay for it."
"We're even. Where have you been?"
Matlock threw his car keys on the coffee table and looked at his broken stereo set in the comer. "It's an involved story and I suspect ...
pathetic. III tell you all about it after I've had a drink. My last one was interrupted."
"Get me one, too. Ive also got a story and mines definitely pathetic.\*
"What do you drink?"
'Very little, so whatever you're having is fine.\*
Matlock looked out his front window. The curtains were strewn on the floor where he had tc)m them in front of Adam Williams. The sun was almost down now. The spring day was over. "I'm going to squeeze some lemons and have a fresh fruit Tom Collins.\*
"Your Me says you drink bourbon. Sour mash."
Matlock looked at the federal agent "Does it?"
Greenberg followed Matlock into the kitchen and watched In silence as he fixed their drinks. Matlock
THE MAU4XX PAPM 135
handed the federal man his glass.
-Looks fancy.-
"Ifs not ... Whose pathetic story gets first telling?'
"IT want to hear yours, of course, but under the circumstances, mine has priority."
"You sound ominous.\*
"No. just pathetic. . . . rU start by asking you if you'd care to know where I've been since I dropped you off." Greenberg leaned against the counter.
"Not particularly, but you'll tell me anyway."
'Yes, I will. It's part of the pathos. I was out at your local airport-Bradley Field-waiting for a jet dispatched by justice a few hours ago from Dulles. There was a man on the plane who brought me two sealed envelopes which T had to sign for. Here they are.\* Greenberg reached into his jacket pocket and took out two long business envelopes. He put one on the counter and began to open the second.
"They look very official," said Matlock, edging himself up so that he sat next to the sink, his long legs dangling over the side in front of the cabinets.
"Ibey couldn't be more official.... This envelope contains the summary of our conclusions based on information you gave us-gave me. it ends with a specific recommendation. I'm allowed to convey this information in my own words as long as I cover all the facts .... 0
'Jason Greenberg gets two points."
OHowever," continued the federal man without ac knowledging Matlock's interruption, "the contents of the second envelope must be delivered verbatim. You are to read it thoroughly --- should it be necessary and if ifs acceptable, you've got to acknowledge that by your signature-"
'11& gets better and better. Am I running for the Senate?"
"No, yoere just running.... I'll start as instructect" Greenberg glanced at the unfolded paper and then looked across at Matlock "The man at Lumumba Hall named Julian Dunois-alias Jacques Devereaux, j6sus Dambert, and probably several others we doet know about-is a legal strategist for the Black Left militants. The term legal strategist covers everything from court manipulations to agent provocateur. When involved with the former, he uses the name of Dunois, the latter-any number of aliases. He operates out of unusual places geographically. Algiers, Marseilles, the Caribbean-including Cuba-and, we suspect, Hanoi and probably Moscow.
Perhaps even Peking. In the States he has a regular, bona fide law office in upper Harlem and a West Coast affiliate in San M-ancisco. ... He!s generally in the background, but wherever hes in evidence, bad news usually follows. Needless to say, hes on the attorney general's list of undesirables, and these days that's not respectable any longer. . . .\*
'Mese days," broke in Matlock "that Includes almost everyone to the left of AT&T."
"No comment To continue. The surfacing of Dunots in this operation adds a dimension not anticipated-a new aspect not considered before. It goes beyond domestic lawbreakers and enters the area of international crime and/or subversion. Or a combination of both, In light of the fact that drugs were used on you, your apartment broken into and ripped apart, your friend, Miss BaHantyne, indirectly threatened -and doet kid yourself, thaes what it was-4n light of all this, the recommendation is as follow& You THE MATLOCK PAPER 237
withdraw from any further participation in this investigation. Your involvement is beyond the realm of reasonable xisIL" Greenberg dropped the paper on the counter and took several swallows of his drink. Matlock swung his legs slowly back and forth in front of the cabinet beneath him. "What say you, in the docket?- asked Greenberg
"I'm not sure. It seems to me yoxere not finishe(V
"I'd like to be. Right here. The summarys accurate, and I think you should agree with the recommendation. Pull out, Jim."
"Finish first What's the other letter? The one rm supposed to read verbatim?"
"Ies only necessary if you reject the recommendation. Don't reject it I'm not instructed to lean that way, so that's off the record."
"You know damned well rm going to reject it, so why waste time?"
"I doet know that I don't want to believe thae `There's no way out"
"There are counter explanations I can activate in an hour. Get you off the hook, out of the picture
'Not any longer." What? Why?-
"That's my pathetic story. So you'd better continue Greenberg searched Matlock's eyes for an explanation, found none, and so picked up the second envelope and opened it In the unlikely and ill-advised event that you reject our recommendation to cease and desist, you must understand that you do so against the express wishes of the justice Department Although we will offer whatever protection we can--as we would any citizen -you act under your own responsibility. We cannot
be held liable for any injuries or inconveniences of any nature."
"Is that what it says?"
\*No, thaes not what it says, but thafs what it means," said Greenberg, unfolding the paper. "les much simpler and even more inclusive. Here." The federal agent handed Matlock the letter.
It was a statement signed by an assistant attorney general with a separate line on the left for Matlocles signature-
An investigative office of the Department of justice accepted the offer of James B. Matlock to make inquiries of a minor nature with regard to certain illegal acts alleged to have occurred within the vicinity of Carlyle University. However, the Department of justice now considers the situation to be a professional matter, and any further participation on the part of Professor Matlock is deemed unwarranted and against the policies of the Department. Therefore, the Department of justice hereby informs James B.
Matlock that it appreciates his previous cooperation but requests him to remove himself from any further involvement in the interest of safety and investigatory progress. It is the opinion of the Departinent that further actions on the part of Professor Matlock might tend to interfere with the aims of the Investigation in the Carlyle area. Mr. Matlock has received the original of this letter and so signifies by his signature below.
'What the hell are you talking about? This says that I agree to pull out."
THE MATUYX P"ER M
'Yoied make a lousy lawyer. DonI buy a bicycle on time before talking to me."
'%Vhat?"
'Nowherel Nowhere does your signing this little stinkpot say you agree to retire from the scene. Only that justice requested you to."
'Men why in hell should I sign it?"
"Excellent question. You may buy a bicycle. . . . You sign it if, as you say, you reject the recommendation to pull out."
"Oh, for Chrises sakel" Matlock slipped down from the edge of the sink and threw the paper across the counter next to Greenberg. "I may not know law but I know language. You're talking in contradictionsl"
"Only on the surface.... Let me ask you a question. Say you continue playing undercover agent. Is it conceivable that you may want to ask for help? An emergency, perhaps?"
"Of course. Inevitable."
"You get no help whatsoever without that letter going back signed.... Don~t look at rnel I'll be replaced in a matter of days. I've been in the area too long already."
"Kind of hypocritical, isn't it? The only way I can count on any assistance-any protection-is to sign a statement that says I won't need it."
"Ies enough to send me into private practice., There's a new term for this sort of thing these a;\* It's called 'hazardless progress.' Use whatever-whoever-you can. But don't take the blame if a gavie plan gets fucked up. Don't be responsible."
"And I jump without a parachute if I don't sign.\*
"I told you. Take some free advice--rm a good lawyer. Quit. Forget it. But forget it.'
io Robert Ludlum
'And I told You-I canV
Greenberg reached for his drink and spoke softly. "No matter what you do, its not going to bring your brother out of his grave."
"I know that." Matlock was touched, but he answered firmly.
'You might prevent other younger brothers but you probably vion't. In either case, someone else can be recruited from professional ranks. I hate like bell to admit it, but Kressel was right. And if we don~t get this conference-this convocation of peddlers in a couple of weeks-therell be others."
"I agree with everything you say~'
'Ilen why hesitate? Pull out."
'Why? ... I haven't told you iny pathetic little story, that's why.
Remember? You had priority~ but I've still gort my turn."
"So tell."
And Matlock told him. Everything he knew about Lucas Herron-legend, giant, the "grand old bird" of Carlyle. The terror-stricken skeleton who had run into his personal forest. The wail of the single word: "Nimrod." Greenberg listened, and the longer Matlock talked, the sadder Jason Greenberg's eyes became. When Matlock finished, the federal agent drank the last of his drink and morosely nodded his head in slow motion.
"You spelled out everything for him, didnt you? You couldift come to nw, you had to go to him. Your campus saint with a bucket of blood in his hands. . . . Loring was right. We had to reach a conscience-stricken amateur.... Amateurs in front of us and amateurs behind us. At least IT say this for you. You got a conscience. That's more than I can say for the rear flank."
"What should I do?"
TBE MATLA= PAPOt 10
'Sign the stinkpot." Greenberg picked up the justice Department letter f3rom the counter and handed it to Matlock. "Yoxfre going to need help."
Patricia Ballantyne preceded Matlock to the small side table at the far end of the Cheshire Cat The drive out had been strainedL The girl had hammered away-quietly, acidly-at Matlocies cooperating with the government, in particular and specifically the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She claimed not to be reacting to a programmed liberal response; there was simply too much overwhelming evidence that such organizations had brought the country ten steps, from its own particular police state.
She knew firsthand. Shed witnessed the anguished aftermath of one FBI exercise and knew it wasn't isolated.
Matlock held her chair as she sat down, touching her shoulders as she did so. Touching, reaffirming, lessening the imagined hurt. The table was small, next to a window, several feet from a terrace that soon-4n late May-would be in use for outside dining. He sat across from her and took her hand.
"I'm not going to apologize for what Im doing. I think it has to be done.
I'm not a hero and I'm not a Fhk-Im not asked to be heroic, and the information they want ultimately will help a lot of people. People who need help--desperately."
"Will those people get help? Or Will they simply be prosecuted? Instead of hospitals and clinics ... will they find themselves in jail?"
"They're not interested in sick kids. They want the ones who make them sick. So do V
"But in the process, the kids get hurt.- A statement "Some may be. As few as possible."
1P Robert Ludium
'Thafs contemptible." The girl took her hand away from Matlock's. "Ies so condescending. Who makes those decisions? You?"
'You~re beginning to sound like a one-truck tape Vve been there. It's not pleasant"
\*This is entirely different. Ive met just two men; one ... left. The othees Greenberg. They're not your nightmares from the fifties. Take my word for that."
"I'd like to."
The manager of the Cheshire Cat approached the table. "There's a telephone can for you, Mr. Matlock."
Matlock felt a twinge of pain in his stomach. It was the nerves of fear.
Only one person knew where he was-Jason Greenberg.
nanks, Harry~"
"You can take it by the reservations desk. The phon6's off the hook."
Matlock got out of his chair and looked briefly at Pat In the months and months of their going out together, from restaurants to parties to dinners, he had never received a telephone call, had never been interrupted that way. He saw that realization in her eyes. He walked rapidly away from the table to the reservations desk.
"Hello?\*
'Jim?" It was Greenberg, of course.
'Jason?'
'Sorry to bother you. I wouldn't if I didn7t have to~'
'What is it, for heaven's sake?"
"Lucas Herron's dead. He conindtted suicide about an hour ago~"
The pain in Matlock's stomach suddenly returned. It wasn7t a twinge this time, but instead a sharp blow that left him unable to breathe. All he could see in front of his eyes was the picture of the staggering, THE MATLOCK PAPM 34
panicked old man running across the manicured lawn and disappearing into the dense foliage bordering his property. And then the wailing sound of a sob and the name of Nh-nrod whispered in hatred.
"Are you all right?"
'Yes. Yes, I'm all right" For reasons he could not fathon:4 Matlock's memory focused on a small, blackframed photograph. It was an enlarged snapshot of a dark-haired, middle-aged infantry officer with a weapon in one hand, a map in the other, the face lean and strong, looking up toward the high ground.
A quarter of a century ago.
"Yoiid better get back to your apartment.
Greenberg was issuing an order, but he had the sense to be gentle about it "Who found him?"
"My man. No one else knows yet."
"Your man?"
"After our tak I put Herron under surveillance. You get to spot the signs.
He broke in and found him."
"How?"
"Cut his wrists in the shower."
"Oh, Christl What have I done?"
"Cut that outl Get back here. We!ve got people to reach.... Come on, Jim."
"What can I tell Pat?" Matlock tried to find his mind but it kept wandering back to a helpless, frightened old man.
"As little as possible. But hurry."
Matlock replaced the receiver and took several deep breaths. He searched his pockets for cigarettes and remembered that he'd left them at the table.
The table. Pat. He had to go back to the table and think of something to say. -
The truth. Goddanin it, the truth.
io Robert Ludlum
He made his way around two antique pillars toward the far end of the room and the small side table by the window. In spite of his panic, he felt a degree of rehef and knew it was because he had decided to be honest with Pat God knew he had to have someone other than Greenberg and Kressel to talk to.
Kressell He was supposed to have gone to Kressers house at seven. He'd forgotten all about itl
But in an instant Sam Kressel went out of his thoughts. He saw the small side table by the window and there was no one there.
Pat was gone.
13
'No one saw her leave?" Greenberg followed a frustrated Matlock into the living room from the foyer. Sam Kressel's voice could be heard from the bedroom, shouting excitedly into a telephone. Matlock took notice of it, his attention split in too many areas.
'That's Sam in there, isrft it?" he asked. "Does he know about Herron?"
"Yes. I called him after I talked to you. ... What about the waitresses?
Did you ask them?"
"Of course, I did. None of them were sure. It was busy. One said she thought she might have gone to the ladies' room. Another hinted, shelp me, hinted, that she might have been the girl who left with a couple from another table."
'Wouldn't they have had to pass you on the way out? Wouldn't you have seen her?"
"Not necessarily. We were in the back. There are two or three doors which lead to a terrace. In summer, especially when ifs crowded, they put tables on the terrace."
"You drove out in your car?"
"Naturally."
"And you didn't see her outside, walking on the road, on the grounds?"
jL46 Robert Ludlum
"No."
"Did you recognize any of the other people there?"
"I didn7t really look. I was . . . preoccupied." Matlock lit a cigarette.
His hand shook as he held the match.
"If you want my opinion, I think she spotted-someone she knew and asked for a lift home. A girl like that doesn't go anywhere she doesn1 want to go without a fight."
"I know. That!s occurred to me.-
"Have a fight?"
"You might say it was diminishing but not over. The phone call probably set her off again. Old English teachers rarely get calls while out at restaurants.\*
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I told you, she's uptight. She keeps thinking about her father. I'll try her apartment when Sam gets off the phone."
"He's a funny man. I tell him about Herron-naturally he goes off the deep end. He says he7s got to talk privately with Sealfont so he goes into the bedroom and shouts so loud they can hear him in Poughkeepsie."
Matlocles thoughts shifted quickly to Herron. 'His death-his suicide-is going to be the biggest shock this campus has had in twenty years. Men like Lucas simply don't die. They certainly doet die like this. .
Does Sam know I saw him?"
"He does. I couldn~t withhold that. I told him pretty much what you told me-shorter version, of course. He refuses to believe it. The implications, I mean."
"I don't blame him. Theyre not easy to believe. What do we do now?"
"We wait. I've made a report. Two lab men from THE MATLOCK PAPM 147
the Hartford Bureau are out there now. The local pohoe have been called in."
At the mention of the police, Matlock suddenly remembered the patrolman out of uniform in the squash court corridor, who had walked rapidly away at the moment of recognition. He'd told Gzleenberg and Greenberg had never given him an explanation-if there was one. He asked again.
'What about the cop in the gym?"
"Me story's reasonable. At least so far. The Carlyle police are assigned three mornings a week for limited use of the facilities. Town-gown relations. Coincidenoe."
"You're settling for that?"
"I said, 'so far.' We're running a check on the Nothing's turned up but an excellent record."
'He!s a bigot, a nasty bastard."
"This may surprise you, but that's no crime. Ies guaranteed in the Bill of Rights."
Sam Kressel walked through the bedroom door quickly, emphatically. Matlock saw that he was as close to pure fear as hed ever seen a man. There was an uncomfortable similarity between SanYs face and the bloodless expression of Lucas Herron before the old man had raced into the woods.
"I heard you come in," Kressel said. "What are we going to do? What in bell are we going to do? ... Adrian doesn't believe that absurd story any more than I dol Lucas HerronI It's insaner
"Maybe. But it's true."
"Because you say so? How can you be sure? You're no professional in these matters. As I understand it, Lucas admitted he was helping a student through a drug problem."
"He ... they aren't students.-
"I see." Kressel stopped briefly and looked back and forth between Matlock and Greenberg. "Under the circumstances, I demand to know the identities."
"You% get them," said Greenberg quietly. "Go on. I want to hear why Matlock's so wron& the story so absurd."
"Because Lucas Herron Isn't . . . waset the only member of the faculty concerned with these problems. There are dozens of us giving aid, helping wherever we can]"
"I doet follow you." Greenberg stared at Kressel. "So you help. You don't go and kill yourself when a fellow member of the faculty finds out about it"
Sam Kressel removed his glasses and looked momentarily reflective, sad.
"There's something else neither of you know about I've been aware of it for some time but not so knowledgeably as Sealfont ... Lucas Herron was a very sick man. One kidney was removed last summer. The other was also cancerous and he knew it. The pain must have been unbearable for him. He hadn't long."
Greenberg watched closely as Kressel returned his glasses to his face.
Matlock bent down and crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table. Finally, Greenberg spoke.
"Are you suggesting that theres no relationship be. tween Herron's suicide and Matlock's seeing him this afternoon?"
"I'm not suggesting any such thing. Im sure theres a relationship.... But you didn't know Lucas. His whole life for nearly half a century, except for the war years, was Carlyle University. les been his total, complete existence. He loved this place more than any TEE MATLOCK P"ER 149
man could love a woman, more than any parent a child. I'm sure Jim's told you. If he thought for a moment that his world here was going to be defaced, torn apart-that would be a greater pain than the physical torture his body gave him. What better time to take his own lifer "Goddamn yoW" roared Matlock 'You!re saying I killed hi?nl"
"Perhaps I am," KresseI said quietly. "I hadn7t thought of it in those terms. I'm sure Adrian didet eithm\*
"But that's what you're sayingl Yotere saying I went off half-cocked and killed him as much as if I'd slashed his wristsl ... Well, you weren't there. I wasF
Kressel spoke gently. "I didn~t say you went off half-cocked. I said you were an amateur. A very wellintentioned amateur. I think Greenberg knows what I mean.
Jason Greenberg looked at Maflock. "There's an -old Slovak proverb: Vhen the old men kill themselves, the cities are dying.'"
The telephone bell suddenly pierced the air; its sound acted as a jolt to the three men. Matlock answered it, then turned to Greenberg. "Its for you."
"Thanks." The federal agent took the phone from Matlock. "Greenberg.... OX
I understand. When will you know? ... I'll probably be on the road by then.
I'll call you back. Talk later." He replaced the telephone and stood by the desk, his back to Matlock and Kressel. The dean of colleges couldn!t contain himself.
'What was it? What happened?'
Greenberg turned and faced them. Matlock thought his eyes seemed sadder than usual, which Matlock
3LSo Robert La&um
had learned was a sign of trouble in Greenberg.
We're making a request of the pohce-ffie courts -for an autopsy."
'Why?/" KresseI shouted as he approached the agent. "For God's sake, why?f The man killed himself] He was in paird ... Jesus Christ, you oan1 do thisl If news of it gets out. .
"Well handle it quietly."
'Mat caet be done and you know itl ItT leak out and all hell7U break loose around herel I woet pertwt iti"
"You can't stop it. Even I couldn1 stop it There!s sufficient evidence to indicate that Herron didn't take his own life. That he was killed."
Greenberg smiled wryly at Matlock. "And not by words."
Kressel argued, threatened, made another call to Sealfont, and finally, when it was obvious that all were to no avail, he left Matlock's apartment in fury.
No sooner had Kressel slammed the door than the telephone rang again.
Greenberg saw that the sound disturbed Matlock-not merely annoyed him, but disturbed him; perhaps frightened him.
"I'm sorry.... I'm afraid this place has to be a kind of patrol base for a while. Not long.... Maybe it's the girl-0
Matlock picked up the phone, listened, but did not say anything into it.
Instead, he turned to Greenberg. He said only one word.
"You."
Greenberg took the telephone, uttered his name softly, and then spent the next minute staring straight ahead. Matlock watched Greenberg for half the time and then wandered into his kitchen. He didnt wish to TBE MATLOCK PAPM 151
stand awkwardly to one side while the agent listened to a superioes instructions. ,
The voice at the other end of the line had initially identified itself by saying, "Washington calling."
On the counter lay the empty envelope in which the brutally hypocritical statement had come from the Department of justice. It had been one more sign that his worst fantasies were gradually becoming real. From that infinitesimal portion of the mind which concerns itself with the unthinkable, Matlock had begun to perceive that the land he had grown up in was changing into something ugly and destructive. It was far more than a political manifestation, it was a slow, all-embracing sense of morality by strategy. A corruption of intentions. Strong feelings were being replaced with surface anger, convictions and compromise. The land was becoming something other than its promise, its commitment The grails were empty vessels of flat wine, impressive solely because they were possessed.
"I'm off the phone now. Would you like to try reaching Miss Ballantyne?"
Matlock looked up at Greenberg, standing in the frame of the kitchen door.
Greenberg, the walking contradiction, the proverb-quoting agent deeply suspicious of the system for which he worked.
'Yes. Yes, I'd like to." He started into the living room as Greenberg stepped aside to let him pass. Matlock reached the center of the room and stopped. Mat's one hell of a quotation. What was it? 'When the old men kill themselves, the cities are dying.'" He turned and looked at the agent "I think that's the saddest proverb I've ever heard."
"Yoere not Hassidic. Of course, neither am 1, but the Hassidim wouldn1
think it sad... Come to think
of it, no true philosopher would."
"Why not? It is sad."
"Ies truth. Truth is neither joyful nor sad, neither good nor bad. It is simply truth."
"Someday lees debate that, Jason." Matlock picked up the telephone, dialed Pat's number, and let it ring a dozen times. There was no answer. Matlock thought of several of Pat's friends and wondered whether to call them or not When angry or upset, Pat usually did one of two things. She either went off by herself for an hour or so, or, conversely, sought out one or two friends and drove off to a film in Hartford or an out-of-the-way bar. It was just over an hour. He'd give her another fifteen minutes before phoning around. It had, of course, occurred to him that she might have been taken involuntarily-that had been his first thought. But it wasn7t logical. The Cheshire Cat had been filled with people, the tables close together.
Greenberg was right Wherever she went, she went because she wanted to go.
Greenberg stood by the kitchen door. He ha(&t moved. Hed been watching Matlock.
"I'll try in a quarter of an hour. Then, if theres no answer, III call some friends of hers. As you said, shes one strong-willed young lady."
"I hope you're not from the same cloth."
\*What does that mean?"
Greenberg took several steps into the living room When he spoke, he looked directly into Matlocles eyes.
Yoere out. Finished. Forget the letter, forget LorIng, forget me.... Thaes the way ies got to be. We understand you have reservations for St Thomas on Pan Am for Saturday. Enjoy it, because that's where yoxfre going. Much better this way.\*
TEE MAnDM PAPER 153
Matlock returned the government man's look "Any decision like that will be made by me. I've got a gentle old man on my conscience; and you've got that stinkpot in your pocket I signed it, remember?"
"The stinkpot doeset count anymore. D.C. wants you out. You go."
"Why?"
"Because of the gentle old man. If he um killed, you could be, too. If that happened, certain records might be subpoenaed, certain dien who had reservations about recruiting you might voice those reservations to the press. You were maneuvered. I donI have to tell you that"
"SO?,
'The directors at justice have no wish to be called executioners."
"I see." Matlock took his eyes off Greenberg and wandered toward the coffee table. "Suppose I refuse?'
"Then I remove you from the scene."
'How?"
"I have you arrested on suspicion of murder one OWhat?"
'You were the last person of record to see Lucas Herron alive. By. your own admission, you went out to his house to threaten him."
'ro wam himl"
'That's subject to interpretation, isn't it?"
When the thunderous crash came, it was so ear-shat. tering both men threw themselves to the floor. It was as if the whole side of the building had collapsed in rubble. Dust was everywhere, furniture toppled, glass shattered, splinters of wood and plaster flew through the air, and the terrible stench of burning sulfur settled over the room. Matlock knew the smell of that
Idnd of bomb, and his reflexes knew how to operate. He clung to the base of his couch waiting, waiting for a second explosion--a delayed detonator which would kill any who rose in panic. Through the mist, be saw Greenberg shut to get up, and he leaped forward, tackling the agent at his knees.
"Get downl Stay. . . ."
The second explosion came. Parts of the ceiling blackened. But Matlock knew it was not a killer explosive. It was something else, and be could not figare ft out at the moment. It was an eyegrabber, a camouflage-not meant to kill, but to deflect all concentration. A huge firecracker.
Screams of panic could now be heard mounting from all parts of the building. The sounds of rushing feet pounded on the floor above his apartment
And then a single screech of terror from outside Matlocles front door. It would not stop. The horror of ft caused Matlock and Greenberg to struggle to their feet and race to the source. Matlock pulled the door open and looked down upon a sight no human being should ever see more than once in a lifetime, if his life must continue beyond that instant On his front step was Patricia Ballantyne wrapped in a bloodsoaked sheet.
Holes were cut in the areas of her naked breasts, blood flowing from gashes beneath the nipples. The front of her head was shaved; blood poured out of lacerations where once had been the soft brown hair. Blood, too, came from the half-open mouth, her lips bruised and split. The eyes were blackened into deep crevasses of sore flesh-but they movedl The eyes movedl Saliva began forming at the comers of her lips. The half-dead corpse was trying to speaL
TEE MATLOCK PAPER 155
'Jamie was the only word she managed and then her head slipped to one side.
Greenberg threw his whole weight against Matlock, sending him sprawling into the gathering crowd. He roared orders of "Policel' and "Ambulancel"
until he saw enough people running to execute his commands. He put his mouth to the girls mouth, to force air into the collapsing lungs, but he knew it wasnI really necessary. Patricia Ballantyne wasnI dead; shed been tortured by experts, and the experts knew their business well. Every slash, every crack, every bruise meant utmost pain but did not mean death.
He started to pick the girl up but Matlock stopped him. The English professoes eyes were swollen with tears of hate. He gently removed Greenberg's hands and lifted Pat into his arms. He carried her inside and stretched her out on the half-destroyed sofa. Greenberg went into the bedroom and returned with a blanket. Then he brought a bowl of warm water from the kitchen and several towels. He lifted the blanket and held a towel beneath the bleeding breasts. Matlock, staring in horror at the brutally beaten face, then took the edge of another towel and began wiping away the blood around the shaven head and the mouth.
"Shell be all right, Jim. rve seen this before. Shell be all right."
And as Greenberg heard the sounds of the sirens in the near distance, he wondered, really, if this girl would ever be right again.
Matlock, helpless, continued to wipe the girrs face, his tears now streaming down his cheeks, his eyes unblinking. He spoke through his controlled sobs.
"You know what this means, don t you? No one
pulls me out now. They try, III kill them."
"I won't let them," said Greenberg simply.
The screeching of brakes could be heard outside and the flashing lights of the police cars and the ambulances whipped in circles through the windows.
Matlocles face fell into the cushion beside the unconscious girl and he wept.
14
Matlock awoke in the antiseptic whiteness of a hospital room. The shade was up, and the sun reflected harshly on the three walls he could see. At his feet a nurse was writing efficiently, emphatically, on top of a clipboard attached to the base of the bed by a thin keychain. He stretched his arms, then quickly brought his left back, aware of a sharp pain in his forearm.
"You feel those the next morning, Mr. MatlocV droned the nurse without looking up from the clipboard. "Heavy intravenous sedations are murder, I can tell you. Not that I've ever had one, but Lord knows, I've seen enough who have."
"Is Pat ... Miss Ballantyne here?"
Mlell, not lu the same roond Lord, you campus type 'St.
"She's here?\*
"Of course. Next room. Which I intend to keep lockedl Lord, you people from the hill] . . . Therel You're all accounted for." The nurse let the clip.
board crash down and vibrate back and forth. "Now. You've got special privileges. You're allowed breakfast even though it's past breakfast time-way pastl That's probably because they want you to pay your bill. ...
You can be discharged any time after twelve."
'What time is it? Someone took my watch.~
'Ifs eight minutes to nine," said the nurse, glancIng at her wrist "And no one took your watch. 16 with any other valuables you had when you were admitted.0
"How is Miss Ballantyner
'We don't discuss other patients, Mr. Matlock.!
OWheWs her doctor?"
"Hes the same as yours, I understand. Not one of ours." The nurse made sure the statement was hardly complimentary. "According to your chart, hell be here at nine thirty unless we phone for an emergency."
"Call him. I want him here as soon as possible."
'Now, really. There's no emergency....'
ar,oddamn it, get him herel"
As Matlock raised his voice the door of his room opened. Jason Greenberg came in quickly. "I could hear you in the corridor. Thats a good sign."
"Hov/s Pat?1"
'Just a minute, sir. We have regulations. . .
Greenberg took out his identification and showed ft to the nurse. "This man is in my custody, Miss. Check the front desk if you like, but leave us alone."
The nurse, ever professional, scrutinized the identification and walked rapidly out the door.
"How's Pat?"
'A mess, but with it. She had a bad night; sbes going to have a worse morning when she asks for a mirror."
'Me hell with thatl Is she all rightr
"Twenty-seven stitches-body, head, mouth, and, for variety, one on her left foot. But she's going to be fine. X-rays show only bone bruises. No fractures, no raptures, no internal bleeding. The bastards did their usual professional job."
THE MATLOCK PAP= JL59
O'Sas she able to talk?"
Not really. And the doctor didnt advise it She needs sleep more than anything else. . . . You need a little rest, too. That!s why we put you here last night.\*
"Anyone hurt at the apartment?"
"Nope. It was a crazy bombing. We doet think it was intended to kill anyone. The first was a short twoinch stick taped below the window exterior; the seeond-activated by the first-wasn't much more than a July Fourth rocket. You expected the second blast, didn't you?"
"Yes. I guess I did.... Terror tactics, waset itr "That's what we figure."
"Can I see Pat?"
'Rather you waited. The doctor thinks she'll sleep into the afternoon.
There's a nurse in there with ice packs and stuff if localized pain bothers her. Let her rest."
Matlock cautiously sat up on the edge of the bed. He began flexing his legs, arms, neck, and hands, and found that be waset much below par. "I feel sort of like a hangover without the headache."
"The doctor gave you a heavy dose. You were ... understandably ... very emotional."
"I remember everything. I'm calmer, but I don't retract one goddamned word.
. . . I have two classes today. One at ten and the other at two. I want to make them."
"You don't have to. Sealfont wants to see you."
"I'll talk to him after my last class. . . . Then IM see Pat." Matlock stood on his feet and walked slowly to the large hospital window. It was a bright, sunlit morning; Connecticut had had a string of beautiful days. As he stared outside, Matlock remembered that he!d looked out another window five days ago
3L6o Robert Ludlum
when he'd first met Jason Greenberg. Wd made a decision then as he was making one now. "Last night you said you wouldnt let them pull me out. I hope you haven't changed your mind. I'm not going to be on that Pan Am flight tomorrow."
'You won't be arrested. I promised you that"
'Can you prevent it? You also said you were going to be replace&-
"I can prevent it. I can morally object, an enigmatic phrase which is translated to mean I can embarrass people. However, I don't want to mislead you. If you create problems, you could be taken into protective custody.'
"They can if they can find me."
'That's a condition I don't like."
'Forget you heard it. Where are my clothes?" Matlock walked to the single closet door and opened it. His slac3m, jacket, and shirt were hung on hangers; his loafers were on the floor with his socks carefully inserted.
The lone bureau held his undershorts and a hospital-furnished toothbrush.
'Vill you go down and see whoever you~ve got to see to get me out of here?
Also, IT need my wallet, cash, and watch. Will you do that, please?"
'What do you mean-if they could find You? What are you going to do?"
Greenberg made no move to leave.
"Nothing earth-shattering. Merely continue making those inquiries . . . of a minor nature. That's the way the statement from your employers phrased it, wasn't it? Loring said it. Somewhere out there is the other half of that paper. I'm going to find it."
'You listen to me firstl I doet deny you have a right . . ."
"You don't denyt" Matlock turned on the federal TnE mATLocK PAPER Ai agent His voice was controlled but vicious. 'rlat's not good enough. That's negative approvall I've got several big rightsi They include a kid brother in a sailboat, a black son of a bitch named Dunois or whatever you call him, a man by the name of Lucas Herron, and that girl in therel I suspect you and the doctor know the rest of what happened to her last night, and I can guessf Don~t talk to me about a right!"
'In principle, we agree. I just don't want your 'rights' to land you next to your brother. This is a job for professionals. Not an amateurl If you work at alL I want you to work with whoever takes my place. That's important. I want your word on it."
Matlock took off the top of his pajamas and gave Greenberg a short, embarrassed smile. "You have it. I doet really see myself as a one-man ranger team. Do you know who's taking your place?"
"Not yet. Probably someone from D.C. They won't take a chance on using a Hartford or a New Haven man. . . . The truth is . . . they doet know who's been bought. He'll be in touch. I'll have to brief him myself. No one else can. I'll instruct him to identify himself with ... what would you like?"
"Tell him to use your proverb. Vhen the old men 10 themselves, the cities are dying.'"
'You like that, don't you?"
'I don1 like it or dislike it It's simply the truth. Isn't that the way it should be?"
"And very applicable. I see what you mean.\*
"Very. "
'Jim, before I go this afternoon, I'm going to write out a telephone number for you. It's a Bronx number -my parents. They won't know where I am, but I'll check with them every day. Use it if you have to."
"Thanks, I will.- 3L62 Robert Ludlum
"I want your word on it.\*
'You have it." Matlock laughed a short laugh of gratitude.
"Of course, under the circumstances, I may just be on the other end of the line if you do call.'
"Back in private practice?"
"Ibe possibility is less remote than you think."
15
Between his two classes, Matlock drove to the small brokerage office in the town of Carlyle and emerged with a check for $7,312. It represented his total investment in the market, mostly from royalties. The broker had tried to dissuade him; it was no time to sell, especially at current prices. But Matlock had made up his mind. The cashier reluctantly issued the check.
From there Matlock went to his bank and transferred his entire savings into his checking account. He added the $7,312 to the slip and looked at the sum total of his immediate cash value.
It came to $ljL,5o3..72.
Matlock stared at the figure for several minutes. He had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it proved solvency; on the other, it was a little frightening to think that after thirty-three years of living he was able to pinpoint so accurately his net financial worth. There was no house, no land, no hidden investments anywhere. Only an automobile, a few possessions of minor value, and some published words of such a specialized nature that there would be no significant commercial rewards.
Yet by many standards, it was a great deal of money.
Only nowhere near enough. He knew that. It was why Scarsdale, New York, was on the da3es schedule~
The meeting with Sealfont had been unnerving, and Matlock wasn7t sure how much more his shattered nerves could talm The cold fury of CarlyWs president was matched only by the depth of his anguish.
The bewildering shadow world of violence and corruption was a world he could never come to gdps with because it was not within the realm of his comprehension. Matlock had been startled to hear Sealfont say, as he sat in his chair staring out the bay window overlooking the most beautiful lawn on the Carlyle campus, that he might well resign.
"If this whole sordid, unbelievable business Is true --and who can doubt It-I have no right to sit in this chair.\*
"rhaes not so," Matlock had ailtwered. "If ifs true, this place a going to need you more than ever befbm"
"A blind man? No one needs a blind man. Not in this offic&\*
Not blind. Unexposed.-
And then Sealfont had swung around in his chair and pounded on the top of his desk in an enormous display of strength.
Why here?l Why herePI---
As he sat in front of Sealfonies desk, Matlock looked at the pained face of Carlyle's president. And for a second he thought the man might weep.
The trip down the Merritt Parkway was made at high speed. He had to race; it was necessary for him It helped take his mind off the sight of Pat Ballantyne as he had seen her a few mmutes before leaving. He had gone from Sealfones to the hospital; still he haddt been able to talk with her. No one had yeL
TnE mATLocK rApm 3.65
She had awakened at noon, hed been told. She'd gone into severe hysterics.
The doctor from Litchfield had administered further sedatives. The doctor was worried, and Matlock knew it was Pat's mind he was worried about The nightmare of terror inflicted upon her body had to touch her brain.
The first minutes with his parents at the huge Scarsdale house were awkward. His father, Jonathan Munro Matlock had spent decades in the highest spheres of his marketplace and knew instinctively when a man came to him without strength.
Without strength but with need.
Matlock told his father as simply and unemotionally as he could that he wanted to borrow a large sum of money; he could not guarantee its repayment. It would be used to help-udtimately help-young people like his dead brother.
The dead son.
"How?" asked Jonathan Matlock softly.
'I can't tell you that." He looked into his fathe?s eyes and the irrevocable truth of the son~s statement was accepted by the father.
'Very well. Are you qualified for this undertaking?-
'Yes. I am."
"Are there others involved?'
"By necessity, yes."
"Do you trust them?"
"I do."
"Have they asked for this money?"
'No. They doet know about it."
'Will it be at their disposal?'
'No. Not that I can foresee.... III go further than that. It would be wrong for them to learn of it."
"I'm not restricting you, I'm asking."
'Thaes my answer.'
"And you believe that what yoere doing will help, in some way, boys like David? Practical help, not theoretical, not dream stuff, not charity~"
"Yes. It has to."
"How much do you want?"
Matlock took a deep breath silently. 'Fifteen thousand dollars."
'Wait here."
Several minutes later, the father came out of his study and gave the son an envelope.
The son knew better than to open it.
Ten minutes after the exchang&--and Matlock knew it was an exchange-he left, feeling the eyes of his parents as they stood on the enormous porch and watched him drive out through the gates.
Matlock pulled into the apartment driveway, shut off the lights and the engine, and wearily climbed out. As he approached the old Tudor house, he saw that every light he owned was tamed on. Jason Greenberg wasn't taking chances, and Matlock assumed that some part of Greenberg's silent, unseen army was watching his place from varying distances-none too far away.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was no one there. At least, not in sight. Not even his cat.
"Hello? Jason? ... Anybody here? les Matlock.'
There was no answer and Matlock was relieved. He wanted only to crawl into bed and sleep. He'd stopped at the hospital to see Pat, and the request had been denied. At least hed learned that ". . . she is resting and her condition is deemed satisfactory." That was a step up. That afternoon she'd still been on the
THE MATLOCK PAMM 3.67
critical list. He would see her at nine in the morning.
Now was the time for him to sleep-peaceably if possible. Sleep at all costs. There was a great deal to do in the morning.
He went into his bedroom, passing the still unrepaired sections of wall and window as he did so. Carpentees and plasterer's tools were neatly stacked in comers. He removed his jacket and his shirt and then thought, with a degree of self-ridicule, that he was becoming far too confident. He walked rapidly out of the bedroom and into his bathroom. Once the door was shut, he reached down to the litter box and lifted up the newspaper to the layer of canvas. The Corsican paper was there, the tarnished silver coating reflecting the light.
Back in the bedroom, Matlock removed his wallet~ cash, and car keys, placing them on top of his bureau. As he did so, he remembered the envelope.
He hadn't been fooled. He knew his father, perhaps better than his father realized. He presumed there was a short note with the check stating clearly that the money was a gift, not a loan, and that no repayment was anticipated.
The note was there, folded inside the envelope, but the written words were not what Matlock expected.
I believe in you. I always have.
Love,
Dad
On top of the note, clipped to the paper on the reverse side, was the check. Matlock slipped it off and read the figure.
It was for fifty thousand dollars.
is
Much of the swelling on her face and around her eyes had subsided. He took her hand and held it tightly., putting his face once more next to hers.
"You're going to be fine," were the innocuous words he summoned. He had to hold himself in check to stop himself from screaming out his anger and his guilt. That this could be done to a human being by other human beings was beyond his endurance. And he was responsible.
When she spoke, her voice was hardly audible, like a small chil&s, the words only partialy formed through the immobile lips.
"Jamie... Jamie?"
\*Shh . . . Don't talk if it hurts."
OWhyP\*
"I don't know. But well find out"
"Nol ... No, dontl They're ... they're ... \* The girl had to swallow; it was nearly impossible for her. She pointed to a glass of water on the bedside table. Matlock quickly reached for it and held it to her lips, supporting her by the shoulders.
"How did it happen? Can you tell me?"
\*Told ... Greenberg. Man and woman ... came to the table. Said you were ...
waiting ... outside
"Never mind, III talk to Jason."
TM MAnDCK PAPER jL69
01 . . . feel better. I hurt but . . . feel better, I . really do.... Am I going to be all right?"
"Of course you are. I spoke with the doctor. Yoere bruised, but nothing broken, nothing serious. He says you'll be out of bed in a few days, thafs all"
Patricia Ballantyne's eyes brightened, and Matlock saw the terrible attempt of a smile on her sutured lips.."I fought... I fought and I fought . . .
until I ... couldet remember any more."
It took all of Matlock's strength not to burst Into tears. "I know you did.
Now, no more talking. You rest, take it easy. I'll just sit here and well talk with our eyes. Remember? You said we always communicate around other people with our eyes. . . . r1l tell you a dirty joke."
When the smile came, it was from her eyes.
He stayed until a nurse forbade him to stay longer. Then he kissed her softly on the lips and left the room. He was a relieved man; he was an angry
"Mr. Matlock?" The young doctor with the freshly scrubbed face of an intern approached him by the elevator.
"Yes?"
'Theres a telephone call for you. You can take it at the second floor reception, if yo&U follow me."
The callers voice was unknown. "Mr. Matlock, my names Houston. I'm a friend of Jason Greenberes. I'm to get in touch with you.-
'Oh? How's Jason?"
'Fine. rd like to get together with you as soon as possible."
Matlock was about to name a place, any place, after his first class. And then he stopped. "Did Jason leave any message ... where he is now, or anything?"
No sir. just that I was to make contact prontw- jL7o Robert Ludlum
"I see." Why didet the man say it? Why didn't Houston identify himself?
-Greenberg definitely told me he'd leave word ... a message ... where he'd be. I'm sure he said that."
Against department regulations, Mr. Matlock He wouldn't be allowed to."
"Oh? ... Then he didn't leave any message at all?"
The voice on the other end of the line hesitated slightly, perceptively.
"He may have forgotten. . . . As a matter of fact, I didet speak to him myself. I received my orders directly from Washington. Where shall we meet?"
Matlock heard the anidety in the maes voice. When he referred to Washington, his tone bad risen in a small burst of nervous energy. "Let me call you later. What's your number?"
"Now listen, Matlock. I'm in a telephone booth and we have to meet. I've got my ordersl"
'Yes, I'll bet you do. . .
"What?"
'Never mind. Are you downtown? In Carlyle?'
The man hesitated again. "I'm in the area."
'Tell me, Mr. Houston.... Is the city dying?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
Tin going to be late for my class. Try me again. rm sure you'll be able to reach me." Matlock bung up the phone. His left hand shook and perspiration had formed on his brow.
Mr. Houston was the enemy.
The enemy was closing in.
His first Saturday class was at eleven, which gave him just about an hour to make what he felt were the most logical arrangements for the money. He didet want to think that he had to physimlly be in 7im mATLocK PAPEFt III
the town of Carlyle-at the Carlyle Bank--on Monday morning. He waset sure it would be possible. He waset sure where he would be on Monday.
Since, on the surface, Carlyle was a typical New England college town, it had a particular way of life common to such places. One knew, generally on a first-name basis, all the people whose jobs made dayo to-day living the effortless, unhurried existence that it was. The garage mechanic was "Joe7
or "Mae," the manager at J. Press was "Al," the dentist "John" or 'Warren,"
the girl at the dry cleaners "Edith." in Matlock's case, the banker was "Alex." Alex Anderson, a Carlyle graduate of forty, a local boy who'd made the jump from town to gown and then coordinated both. Matlock called hftn at home and explained his problem. He was carrying around a large check from his father. He was making some private family investments in his own name, and they were confidential. Since the robbery at his apartment he wanted to divest himself of the check immbdiately. Could Alex suggest anything? Should he put it in the mail? How best to get it into his account, since he wasn't sure he would be in Carlyle on Monday, and he needed it cleared, the money available. Alex Anderson suggested the obvious. Matlock should endorse the check, put it in an envelope marked for Andersoes attention, and drop it in the night deposit box at the bank Alex would take care of the rest first thing Monday morning.
And then Alex Andersonasked him the denomination and Matlock told him.
The account problem solved, Matlock concentrated on what he began to think of as his point of departure. There was no other phrase he could find, and he needed a Phrase-he needed the discipline of a 3L72 Robert Ludlum
definition. He had to start precisely right, knowing that what might follow could be totally undisciplined -completely without plan or orthodoxy. For he had made up his mind.
He was going to enter the world of Nimrod. Ile builder of Babylon and Nineveh, the hunter of wild animal , the killer of children and old men, the beater of women.
He was going to find Nimrod.
As were most adults not wedded to the precept that all things enjoyable were immoral, Matlock was aware that the state of Connecticu% like its sister states to the north, the south, and the west, was inhabited by a network of men only too eager to supply those divertissements frowned upon by the pulpits and the courts. What Hartford insurance executive in the upper brackets never heard of that string of "Antique Shoppes" on New Britain Avenue where a lithe young girrs body could be had for a reasonable amount of petty cash? What commuter from Old Greenwich was oblivious to the large estates north of Green Farms where the gambling often rivaled the Vegas stakes? How many tired businessmees wives from New Haven or Westport were really ignorant of the Various "escorr services operating out of Hamden and Fairfield? And over in the "old country," the Norfolks? Where the rambling mansions were fading apotheoses to the real money, the blooded first famiRes who migrated just a little west to avoid the new rich? The "old country" had the strangest diversions, it was rumored. Houses in shadows, lighted by candies, where the bored could become aroused by observation. Voyeurs of the sickest scenes. Female, maleanimal-an types, all combinations.
THE MATLOCK PAP= 173
Matlock knew that in this world Nimrod could be found. It had to be. For although narcotics were but one aspect of the services rendered within this network, they were available-as was everythmg else.
And of all these games of indulgence, none had the fire and ice, none had the magnetism, of the gambling houses. For those thousands who coul(Wt find time for the junkets to San Juan, London, or Paradise Island, there were the temporary excursions into the manic moments where daily boredom could be forgotten--a stones throw from home. Reputations were made quickly over the green felt tables-with the roll of the dice or a turn of a card. It was here that Matlock would find his point of departure. It was in these places where a young man of thirty-three years was prepared to lose thousands-until someone asked who he was.
At twelve thirty Matlock walked across the quadrangle toward his apartment.
The time had come to initiate his first move. The vague outline of a plan was coming into focus.
He should have heard the footsteps, but he didet. He only heard the cough, a smoker's cough, the cough of a man who'd been running.
"Mr. Matlock?"
Matlock turned and saw a man in his middle thirties, like himself, perhaps a bit older and, indeed, out of breath.
"Yes?"
"Sorry, I keep missing you. I got to the hospital just as yoied left, then waited in the wrong damn building for you, after your class. Theros a very confused biology teacher with a name similar to yours. Even looks a little like you. Same height, build, hair.. :'
3L74 Robert Ludium
'Mes Murdock. Elliott Murdock Whafs the matter?"
"He couldnt understand why I kept insisting that when 'old men kill themselves, the cities are dyingl'
"Yoere from Greenbergl"
'lUes it Morbid code, if you don't mind my saying so. Keep walking. Well separate at the end of the path. Meet me in twenty minutes at Bills Bar & Grill by the freight depot It7s six blocks south of the railroad station.
O.K.?"
"Never heard of it~'
'I was going to suggest you remove your necktie. IM be in a leather jacket'
'You pick classy spots."
\*Old habit. I cheat on the expense account'
'Greenberg said I was to work with you."
'You better believe itl He's up to his Kosher ass in boiling oil for you.
I think the)ere shipping him out to a job in Cairo. . . . He's one bell of a guy. We field men like him. Don't louse him up."
"All I wanted to ask was your name. I didn't expect a sermon."
"It's Houston. Fred Houston. See you in twenty minutes. Get rid of the tie."
17
Bill's Bar & Grill was a part of Carlyle Matlock had never seen before.
Railroad laborers and freight-yard drifters were its predominant clientele.
He scanned the filthy room; Houston sat in a back booth.
"ies cocktail hour, Matlock. A little early by campus standards, but the effects aredt much different. Not even the clothes these days."
"ies quite a place."
"It serves the purpose. Go up to the bar and get yourself a drink. The bunnies don1 come on till sundown.
Matlock did as Houston instructed and brought back the best bourbon he could find. It was a brand he had given up when he reached a living wage.
"I think I should tell you right away. Someone using your name telephoned me at the hospital."
It was as if Houston had been hit in the stomach. "My God," he said quietly. "What did he say? How did you handle it?"
"I waited for him to identify himself ... with Greenberes proverb. I gave him a couple of chances but he didxA. . . . So I told him to call me later and hung up."
"He used my name?l Houston. Yoxfre sure?"
-Absolutely.
"nat doesnt make sense. He couldr~tr
'Believe me. He did."
"No one knew I was the replacementI didn7t know it until three this mornin&"
"Someone found out"
Houston took several swallows of his beer. "If what you say is true, I'll be out of here within a couple of hours. Incidentally, that was good thinking.... Let me give you an extra hint, though. Never accept a contact made by telephone."
'Why not?"
"If that had been me calling-how would I know ft was you I was talking to?"
"I see what you mean. . . ."
'Common sense. Most everything we do is common sense.... We'll keep the same code. The 'old men' and 'the cities.' Your next contact will be made to---
nighto
"You're sure youT be leaving?'
\*Tve been spotted. I'm not about to stick around. Maybe you forgot Ralph Loring. . . . We gave big at the office."
'All right Have you talked to Jason? Did he brief you?'
'For two hours. From four till six this morning. My wife said he drank thirteen cups of coffee."
'What can you tell me about Pat? Patricia Ballantyne. What happened?"
'You know the medical facts .... 7
'Not all of them."
'I don't know all of them, either.'
"You're lying."
Houston looked at Matlock without offense. When he replied, he did so compassionately. "All right.
TBE MAnDM P"ER 177
There was evidence of rape. Thafs what you want to know, isn't it?"
Matlock gripped his glass. 'Yes," he said softly.
"However, you should know this, too. The girl doeset know it. Not at this stage of her recovery. I understand the mind plays tricks. It rejects things until it thinks-or something tells it-that the remembering can be handled."
"Thanks for the lesson in psychology. Animals. Filthy animals . . ."
Matlock pushed his glass away. The liquor was intolerable to him now. The thought of dulling his senses even slightly was abhorrent.
"I'm supposed to play this by ear, so if I read you wrong, all I can do is apologize.... Be around when the puzzle gets put together for her. Shes going to need YOU.
Matlock looked up from the table, from the sight of his tensed hands. "It was that bad?" be asked almost inaudibly.
"Preliminary lab tests-fingernails, hair, what have you-indicate that the assault was carried out by more than one person."
Matlock's hatred could find only one expression. He closed his eyes and lashed out at the glass, sending it across the floor, where it smashed in front of the bar. The bartender dropped his soiled rag and started toward his latch, looking over at the man who threw the glass. Then he stopped.
Houston held up a bill quickly, gesturing the man to stay away.
"Get hold of yourselfl" Houston said. 'You~re not going to do anyone any good like that. You're just calling attention to us.... Now, listen. YoiYre cleared to make further inquiries, but there are two stipulations. The first is to check with our man--it was supposed to be me-before approaching anyone. The
iL78 Robert LucUum
second--keep your subjects to students and only students. No faculty, no staff, no one outside-just students. . . . Make your reports every night between ten and eleven. Your contact will reach you daily as to where. Have you got that?"
Matlock stared at the agent in disbelief. He understood what the man was saying-even why he said it -but he couldn1 believe that anyone who'd been briefed by Jason Greenberg would think he could deliver such instructions.
"Are you seriousP"
'Me orders are explicit. No deviations. That's holy writ."
It was there again for Matlock. Another sign, another compromise. Another plastic order from the unseen plastic leaders.
"I'm there but I'm not there, is that the idea? Im consigned to the outer limits and that fulfills the bargain?"
"Frig that."
Matlock's eyes wandered upward, at nothing. He was trying to buy a few seconds of sweet reason. "Frigga is the Norse goddess of the sky. She shares the heavens with Odin. Doet insult the lady, Houston."
"You're a nutl" said the agent. Tnt not sorry Im getting out of here....
Look, ies for the best, take my word for it And one last thing. I've got to take back the paper Loring gave you. Thats a must do."
"Is it, really?" Matlock slid across the filthy leatherette seat and started to get up. "I don't see it that way. You go back to Washington and tell them I see it as a must doi\*. Take care of yourself, holy writ."
"You're playing around with preventive custodyl-
'Well see who's playing," said Matlock as he pushed himself away from the table, angling it to
TEE MAIIA= P"ER 179
block the agenes exit, and started for the door. He could hear the screech of the table's legs as Houston moved it out of his way. He heard Houston Call his name softly, intensely, as if be were confused, wanting to make Matlock come back yet afraid of identifying him. Matlock reached the door, tamed right on the sidewalk, and started running as fast as he could. He found a narrow alley and realized.that it was, at least, in the right direction. He raced into it and stopped, pressing himself into a doorway. At the base of the alley, on the freight-yard thoroughfare, he saw Houston walking rapidly past the phlegmatic noonday laborers on their lunch breaks.
Houston looked panicked; Matlock knew he couldn't return to his apartment.
It was a funny thing to do, he considered, as he sat In the booth of Bill's Bar & Grill. Returning to the place he couldn't wait to get out of twenty minutes ago. But it made vague sense to him.-as much as anything made sense at the moment. He had to be by himself and think. He couldn1 take the chance of wandering the streets where some part of the Greenberg-Houston unseen army might spot him. Ironically, the bar seemed safest.
He'd made his apologies to a wary bartender, offering to pay for the broken glass. He implied that the mnn he'd had words with before was a deadbeat-into him for a lot of money with no ability to pay. This explanation, given by the now-relaxed customer, was not only accepted by the bartender, it elevated him to a status not often seen in Bill's Bar & Grill.
He had to marshal his thoughts. There were checkpoints he'd mentally outlined which were to be passed before he began his journey to Nimrod.
Now, there
3L8o Robert Ludlum
was another checkpoint. Houston had supplied it, although he'd never know.
Pat had to be totally safe. He couldiYt have that worry on his mind. All other items on his list were subservient to tins. The clothes, the ready cash, the unfamiliar automobile, all would have to wait. He might have to alter his strategy now, Matlock thought Nunrod's associates would be watched, his apartment would be watched, every name and location on the Justice list would be under surveillance.
But first, Pat. Hed have her guarded night and day, around the clock, every minute. Guarded openly, with no pretense of secrecy. Guarded in such a way as to be a signal to both the unseen armies, a warning that she was out of the game. Money was no problem now, none at all. And there were men in Hartford whose professions would fit his requirements. He knew that. The huge insurance companies used them incessantly. He remembered an ex-faculty member from the math department who'd left Carlyle for the lucrative field of insurance actuaries. He worked for Aetna. He looked for a telephone inside the dingy bar.
Eleven minutes later, Matlock returned to the booth. The business was concluded with-Blackstone Security, Incorporated, Bond Street, Hartford.
There would be three men daily on eight-bour shifts, three hundred dollars for each twenty-four-hour period the subject was covered by Blackstone, Inc. There would, of course, be the additional charges for any expenses incurred and a fee attached for the use of a "TelelectronO if it was required. The Telelectronic was a small device which signaled the bearer with short beeps if the telephone number designated was called. Blackstone, of course, suggested a different telephone number from a resident phone--which, of course, they
THE MATLOCK PAPER 181
would have activated within twelve hours and for which, of course, there was an additional charge.
Matlock agreed to everything, was grateful for everything, and said he'd be in Hartford to sign the papers later in the afternoon. He wanted to meet Mr. Blackstone-for another reason now. Blackstone, however, made it clear that since the head of Aetna's actuarial department had personally contacted him regarding Mr. Matlock, the formalities were not pressIng.
He'd dispatch his team to the Carlyle Hospital within the hour. And by any chance, was Mr. Matlock related to Jonathan Munro Matlock ... ? The head of Aetna's actuarial department had mentioned ...
Matlock was relieved. Blackstone could be useful. The ex-faculty member at Aetna had assured him that there was none better than Blackstone.
Expensive, but the best. Blackstone's personnel for the most part were former officers of the Special Forces and Marine Intelligence team. It was more than a business gimmick. They were smart, resourceful, and tough. They were also licensed and respected by the state and local police.
The next item on his list was clothes. He had planned to go to his apartrnent and pack a suit, several pairs of slacks, and a jacket or two.
Now that was out. At least for the time being. He would buy clothes -what he needed-as he went along. The ready cash could prove more of a problem, considering the amount he wanted. It was Saturdayw--he wasn~t going to waste a Saturday night The banks were closed, the large money sources unavailable.
Alex Anderson would have to solve the problem. He'd he to Alex Anderson, tell him Jonathan Munro Matlock would look kindly-financially kindly-on
Anderson if the banker would made available a large sum of cash on a Saturday afternoon. It would be confidential on both sides, of course. There would be a gratuity rendered for a coveted favor on a Saturday afternoon.
Nothing which could be construed remotely indelicate. And, of course, again, confidential.
Matlock rose from the ripped, stained, dirty leatherette seat and returned to the telephone.
Anderson had only fleeting doubts about accommodating Jonathan Munro Matlocles son, and they concerned not the act but the confidence of the act. Once that concern was allayed, the fact that he was giving aid in the best traditions of banking became clear. It was important for any bank to accommodate the better client If a particular client wished to show gratitude ... well, that was up to the client Alex Anderson would secure James Matlock five thousand dollars in cash on a Saturday afternoon. He would deliver it to him at three outside the Plaza Movie Theatre, which was showing a revival of A Knife in the Water-with subtitles.
An automobile would be the least of his problems. There were two rent-a-car offices in the town, a Budget-National and a Luxor-Ehte. The first for students, the second for affluent parents. He would rent a Luxor Cadillac or Lincoln and drive into Hartford to another Luxor lot and change cars.
From Hartford he'd go to a Luxor branch in New Haven and do the same. With money, there would be the minimum of questions; with decent tips, there might even be cooperation.
He'd moved to his point of departure.
"Hey, mister. Your name Matlock?" The hairy bartender leaned over the table~ the soiled bar rag squeezed in.his right hand TBE MATLOCK PAPER 183
'Yes," answered the startled Matlock with a short, violent intake of breath.
"Guy just came up 1! me. Said for me to tell you you forgot something outside. On the curb, he said. You should hurry, he said."
Matlock stared at the man. The pain in his stomach was the fear again, the panic. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills. Separating a five, he held it up to the bartender. "Come to the door with me. just to the window. Tell me if he's outside."
"Sure. . . . To the window." The hairy bartender switched the soiled rag to his left hand and took the bill. Matlock got out of the booth and walked beside the man to the half-curtained, filthy glass looking out on the street. "No, he's not there. There's no one there.... just a dead . . ."
"I see," said Matlock, cutting the man off. He didn't have to go outside, it wasn't necessary.
Lying on the edge of the curb, its body draping down into the gutter, was Matlo&s cat.
Its head was severed, held to the rest of its body by a small piece of flesh. The blood poured out, staining the sidewalk is
The killing preyed on Matlocks mind as he approached the West Hartford town line. Was it another warning or had they found the paper? If they had found the paper, it didn1 vitiate the warning, only reinforced It He wondered whether to have a member of the Blackstone team check his apartment, check the litter box. He wasn1 even sure why he hesitated. Why not have a Blackstone man find out? For three hundred dollars a day, plus charges, such an errand was hardly too much to ask. He was going to ask far more of Blackstone, Incorporated, but they didnI know it Yet he kept balking. If the paper um secure, sending a man to check it might reveal its location.
He~d almost made up his mind to take the chance when he noticed the tan sedan in his rearview Mirror. It was there again. It had been there, off and on, since Vd entered Highway 72 a half hour ago Whereas other cars turned off, passed hmrA, or fell behind, this tan sedan was never really out of sight Weaving. in and around the traffic, it always managed to stay three or four cars behind him. There was one way to find out if it was coincidence. Off the next exit into West Hartford was a narrow street which waset a street at all but a cobblestone alley used almost exclusively for deliveries. He and Pat thought
TnE mATLocx PAPER 185
it was a shortcut one hectic afternoon and had been hemmed in for five minutes.
He swung off the exit and down the main street toward the alley. He made a sharp left and entered the narrow cobblestone lane. Since it was Saturday afternoon, there were no delivery trucks, and the alley was clear. He raced through, emerging in a crowded A & P parking lot, which in turn led. to a parallel main road. Matlock drove to an empty parking space, shut off his motor, and lowered himself on the seat He angled his side-view iniffor so that it reflected the entrance of the alley. In roughly thirty seconds, the tan sedan came into view.
The driver was obviously confused. He slowed down, looking at the dozens of automobiles. Suddenly, behind the tan sedan, another car began blowing its horn. The driver was impatient, the tan sedan was blocking his progress.
Reluctantly, the driver of the tan sedan started up; but before he did, he turned his face, craning his neck over his right shoulder in such a way that Matlock, now looking directly at the automobile, recognized him.
It was the patrolman. The police officer who'd been in his demolished apartment after the Beeson episode, the man who had covered his face with a towel and ramd down the corridor of squash alley two days ago.
Greenberg7s "coincidence.'
Matlock was perplexed. He was also frightened.
The patrolman in mufti drove the tan sedan haltingly toward a parking lot exit, still obviously searching. Matlock saw the car turn into the flow of traffic and drive away.
The offices of Blackstone Security, Incorporated, Bond Street, Hartford, looked more like a wealthy,
M Robert Ludlum
sedate insurance company than an Investigatory agency. The furniture was heavy colonial, the wallpaper a subdued, masculine stripe. Expensive hunting prints above the glow of brass table ]amps. The effect was immediately one of strength, virility, and financial solidity. Why not? thought Matlock, as he sat in the Early American two-seater in the outer office. At three hundred dollars a day, Blackstone Security, Incorporated, probably rivaled Prudential in ratio of investment to profits.
When he was at last ushered into the office, Michael Blackstone rose from his chair and walked around the cherrywood desk to greet him. Blackstone was a short, compact man, neatly dressed. He was in his early fifties, obviously a physical person, very active, probably very tough.
'r,ood afternoon," he said. "I hope you didn1 drive down here just for the papers. They could have waited. just because we work seven days a week, doesift mean we expect the rest of the world to do so~'
"I bad to be in Hartford, anyway. No problere "Sit down, sit down. Can I offer you anything? A drink? Coffee?"
"No thanks." Matlock sat in a huge black leather chair, the kind of chair usually found in the oldest, most venerated men~s clubs. Blackstone returned to his desk. -Actually, I'm in somewhat of a hurry. I'd like to sign our agreement, pay you, and leave."
'Certainly. The Me's right here." Blackstone picked up a folder on his desk and smiled. "As I mentioned on the phone, there are questions wed like answered, of course. Beyond what you've instructed us to do. It would help us carry out your orders. Take just a few minutes.0
TIM MATLOCK PAPER 287
Matlock aqxcted the request. It was part of his plan, why he wanted tc) see Blackstone. His assumption--once Blackstone entered the picture-was that Blackstone might be able to offer him shortcuts. Perhaps not willingly, but if it was a question of 'an additional charge~" . . . It was for this reason that he had to meet Blackstone face to face. If Blackstone could be bought, a great deal of time could be saved.
"I'll answer what I can. As I'm sure you!ve checked out, the girl was beaten severely."
"We know that. What puzzles us is the reluctance of anyone to say why. No ones given that sort of beating for kicks. Oh, ies possible, but that kind of case is generally handled quickly and efficiently by the police. Theres no need for us. . . . Obviously you have information the police dodt have."
"Thaes true. I do."
'May I ask why you haven't given it to them? Why you hired us? . . . The local police will gladly furnish protection if there's sufficient cause, and far less expensively."
"You sound like youre turnmg away business 'We often do." Blackstone smiled. "It's never done happily, I can tell you that."
"Then why..."
'You're a highly recommended client~" interrupted Blackstone, "the son of a very prominent man. We want you to know your alternatives. Thafs our reasoning. Whaes yours?"
"Yoere plainspoken. I appreciate it. I assume what yoxere saying is that you don7t want your reputation tarnished."
'rhat!s good enough~\*
'Good. Thaes my reasoning, too. Only ies not ffW reputation. les the girrs.
Miss Ballantynes.... The
simplest way to put it is that she showed bad judgment in her choice of friends. Shes a brilliant girl with an exciting future, but unfortunately that intelligence didn!t carry over into other areas. . Matlock purposely stopped and took out a pack of cigarettes. Unhurriedly, he removed one and lit it. The Pause had its effect. Blackstone spoke.
"Did she profit financially from these associations?\*
"Not at all. As I see it, she was used. But I can un derstand why you asked. Theres a lot of money to be made on campuses these days, isn~t there?'
v our field.7
muldn7t know. Campuses aren't Blackstone smiled again, and Matlock knew he was lying. Professionally, of course.
"I guess not."
OAR right, Mr. Matlock. Why was she beaten? And what do you intend to do about it?"
an's my opinion she was beaten to frighten her from revealing information she doesi\* have. I intend to find the parties involved and tell them that. Tell them to leave her alone."
-And if you go to the police, her associations-past &%ociations, I assume-become a matter of record and jeopardize this brilliant future of hers."
"Exactly~"
,rhat's a tight story... Who are these parties involved?"
"I donI know them by name. . . . However, I know their occupations. The main line of work seems to be gambling. I thought you might be able to help me here. Naturally, I would expect an additional charge for the service."
-1 see." Blackstone got up and walked around his chair. For no particular reason, he fingered the dials
Tim mATLom PAPzR 3L89
on his inoperative air conditioner. "I think you presume too much."
"I woulddt expect names. I'd like them, of course, and I'd pay well for them.... But Id settle for locations. I can find them myself, and you know I cam Ybied be saving me time, though.-
I gather yodre interested in ... private clubs. Pri. vate social organizations where members may meet to pursue activities of their choice."
Outside the eye of the law. Where private citizens can follow their perfectly natural inclinations to place bets. Thats where I'd like to start."
"Could I dissuade you? Is it possible I could convince you to go to the police, instead?"
"No."
Blackstone walked to a Me cabinet on the left walL took out a key, and opened it "As I said, a tight story. Very plausible. And I don't believe a word of it ... However, you seem determined, that concerns me." He took a thin metal case from the file cabinet and carried it back to the desk.
Selecting another key from his chain, he unlocked it and withdrew a single sheet of paper. "Mere's a Xerox machine over there,7 he said, pointing to a large gray copier in the corner. "To use it one places a page face down under the metal flap and dials the required duplicates. Records are kept of the numbers automatically. Theres rarely a reason for more than one.... If you1l excuse me for approximately two minutes, Mr. Matlock, I must make a Phone call in another office."
Blackstone held up the single sheet of paper, then placed it face down on top of Matlock's file folder. He stood erect, and, with the fingers of both hands, tugged at the base of his jacket in the manner of a i9o Robert Ludlum
man used to displaying expensive suits. He smiled and walked around his desk toward the office door. He opened it and turned bac1L
"It may be what you~re looking for, and then again, it may not I wouldn1
know. I've simply left a confidential memorandum on my desk. The charge will be listed on your billing as ... additional surveillance.\*
He went out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Matlock rose from the black leather chair and crossed behind the desk. He turned the paper over and read the typed heading.
FOR SURVEn.LANCE: HJUn70RD--NFW HAVEN AXIS
pRrvATE CLUBS: LOCATIONS AND CONTACTS (M&NACERS) As OF 3-15. NOT TO BE
REMOVED FROM OFFICE
Beneath the short, capitalized paragraph were twentyodd addresses and names.
Nimrod was closer now.
19
The Luxor-Elite Rental Agency on Asylum Street, Hartford, had been cooperative. Matlock now drove a Cadillac convertible. The manager had accepted the explanation that the Lincoln was too funereal, and since the registration papers were in order, the switch was perfectly acceptable.
So was the twenty-dollar tip.
Matlock had analyzed Blackstone's list carefully. He decided to concentrate on the clubs northwest of Hartford for the simple reason that they were nearer the Carlyle area. They werenI the nearest, however. Two locations were within five and seven miles of Carlyle respectively-in opposite directions-but Matlock decided to hold them off for a day or so. By the time he reached them-if he did so-he wanted the managements to know he was a heavy plunger.
Not a mark, just heavy. The network gossip would take care of that-if he handled himself properly.
He checked off his first location. It was a private swimming club west of Avon. The contact was a man named Jacopo Bartolozzi.
At nine thirty Matlock drove up the winding drive. way to a canopy extending from the entrance of the Avon Swim Club. A uniformed doorman signaled a parking attendant, who appeared out of nowhere and
slid into the driver's seat the moment Matlock stepped onto the pavement Obviously no parking ticket was to be givem As he walked toward the entrance, he looked at the exterior of the club.
The main building was a sprawling, one-story white brick structure with a tall stockade fence extending from both ends into the darkness. On the right, quite far behind the fence, was the iridescent glow of greenish blue light and the sound of water splashing. On the left was a huge tentlike canopy under which could be seen the shimmering light of dozens of patio torches. The former was obviously an enormous pool, the latter some kind of dining area. Soft music could be heard.
The Avon Swim Club appeared to be a very luxurious complex.
The interior did nothing to dispel this observation. The foyer was thickly carpeted and the various ebairs and odd tables against the damask walls seemed genuine antiques. On the left was a large checkroom, and further down on the right was a white marble counter not unlike a hotel information desk. At the end of the narrow lobby was the only incongruous structure. It was a black, ornate wrought-iron gate, and it was closed, obviously locked.
Beyond the grilled enclosure could be seen an open-air corridor, subtly lit with an extended covering supported by a series of thin Ionic pillars. A large man in a tuxedo was standing at attention behind the iron gate.
Matlock approached him.
'Your membership card, sir?'
Tm afraid I don't have one.\*
&Sorry, sir, this is a private swimming club. Members onlp"
TBE MATLOCK PAPER 193
47 was told to ask for Mr. Bartolozzi."
Ile man behind the grill stared at Matlock, frisking him with his eyes.
"You'd better check the front desk sir. Right over there."
Matlock walked back to the counter, to be greeted by a middle-aged, slightly paunchy desk clerk who had not been there when he first came in.
"May I help you?"
~You may. I'm fairly new in the area. rd like tD become a member."
'We're sorry. Membership's full right now. However, if youll fill out an application, well be glad to can you if there's an opening.... Would that be a family application or individual, sir?" The clerk very professionally, reached below the counter and brought up two application forms.
"Individual. I'm not married.... I was told to ask for Mr. Bartolozzi. I was told specifically to ask for him. Jacopo Bartolozzi."
The clerk gave the name only the slightest indication of recognition.
"Here, fill out an application and IT put it on Mr. Bartolozzi's desk.
He'll see it in the morning. Perhaps he'll call you, but I don~t know what he can do. Membership's full and theres a waiting list"
"Iset he here now? On such a busy night?" Matlock said the words with a degree of incredulity.
"I doubt it, sir."
'Why don't you find out? Tell him we have mutual friends in San Juan."
Matlock withdrew his money clip and removed a fiftydollar bill. He placed it in front of the clerk, who looked at him sharply and slowly picked up the money.
'San Juan?"
San Juan.-
Matlock leaned against the white marble counter and saw the man behind the wrought-iron gate watching him. If the San Juan story worked and he got through the gate, he realized that he would have to part with another large-sized bill. The San Juan story should work thought Matlock. It was logical to the point of innocence. He had spent a winter vacation In Puerto Rico two years ago, and although no gambler, he'd traveled with a crowd--and a girl-who made the nightly rounds of the casinos. Hed met a number of people from the Hartford vicinity, although he couldWt for the life of hini remember a single name.
A foursome emerged from inside the grilled entrance, the girls giggling, the men laughing resignedly. The women had probably won twenty or thirty dollars, thought Matlock, while the men had probably lost several hundred.
Fair exchange for the evening. The gate closed behind them; Matlock could hear the electric click of the latch. It was a very welllocked iron gate.
'Excuse me, sir?" It was the paunchy desk clerk, and Matlock turned around.
"Yes?"
'If youT step inside, Mr. Bartolozzi will see you.'
'Where? How?' There was no door except the wrought-iron gate and the clerk had gestured with his left hand, away from the gate.
\*~Over here, sir."
Suddenly a knobless, frameless panel to the right of the counter swung open. The outline was barely discermble when the panel was Rush against the damask wall, when shu4 no border was in evidence. Mat- THE MATLOCK PAPER 195
lock walked In and was taken by the clerk to the office of Jacopo Bartolozzi.
'We got mutual friends?" The obese Italian spoke hoarsely as he leaned back in his chair behind the desk. He made no attempt to rise, gave no gesture of welcome. Jacopo Bartolozz! was a short; squat caricature of himself.
Matlock couldn't be sure, but he had the feeling that Bartolozzfs feet wereet touching the floor beneath his chair.
"It amounts to the same thing, Mr. BartolozZi."
"What amounts? Who's in San Juan?"
'Several people. One fellow's a dentist in West Hartford. Anothees got an accounting firm in Constitution Plaza."
"Yeah.... Yeah?" Bartolozzi was trying to associate people with the professions and locations Matlock described. "Whats the names? They members here?"
"I guess they are. They gave me your name."
"This is a swim club. Private membership.... Who are they?"
"Look Mr. Bartolozzi, it was a crazy night at the Condado casino. We all had a lot to drink and..."
ney don7t drink in the Puerto Rican casinos. les a lawl" The Italian spoke sharply, proud of his incisive knowledge. He was pointing his fat finger at Matlock.
"More honored in the breach, believe me."
"What?"
'We dmr& Take my word for it. rm just telling you I don't remember their names.... Look, I can go downtown on Monday and stand all day outside the Plaza and IT find the CPA. I could also go out to West Hartford and ring every dentises doorbell. What difference does it make? I like to play and I've got the money."
3L96 Robert Ludlum
Bartolozzi smiled. 'niis is a swim club. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"O.K.." said Matlock with a disgruntled edge to his voice. "Ilis place happened to be convenient, but if you want to show three lemons, there are others. My San Juan friends also told me about Jinuny Lacata's down in Middletown, and Sammy Sharpes in Windsor Shoals.... Keep your chips, fink."
He turned to the door.
'Hold itl Wait a minutel"
Matlock watched the fat Italian get, out of the chair and stand up. He'd been right. Bartolozzrs feet couldiYt have been touching the floor.
"What for? Maybe your limit's too small here 'You know Lacata? Sharpe?"
'Know of them, I told you. . . . Look, forget it. Yoxeve got to be careful.
IT find my CPA on Monday and we'll both come back some other time-I just felt like playing tonight.w
"0.3L O.K. Like you said, we gotta be careful." Bartolozzi opened his top drawer and pulled out some papers. "Cmere. Sign 'em. You got an itch. Maybe I'll take your money. Maybe youll take mine."
Matlock approached the desk "What am I signing?-
'Just a couple of forms. Initiation's five hundred. Cash. You got it? No checks, no crediL"
Tve got it What are the forms?"
Me first is a statement that you understand that this is a nonprofit corporation and that any games of chance are for charitable purposes....
What are you 1atighing at? I built the Church of the Blessed Virgin down in Hamden."
"Whaes this other? It's a long one."
'Mes for our files. A certificate of general partner- TEE MATLOCK PAPM 297
ship. For the five hundred you get a classy title. Yo&e a parbier.
Everybodys a partner. just in case."
"In caser
"In case anything good happens to us, it happens just as good to you.
Especially in the newspapers."
The Avon Swim Club was certainly a place for swimming, no doubt about it.
The enormous Pool curved back nearly two hundred feet, and scores of small, elegant cabanas bordered the far side, Beach chairs and tables were dotted about the grassy edges beyond the tiled deck of the pool, and the underwa-ter floodlights made the setting inviting. All this was on the right of the open-air corridor. On the left, Matlock could see fully what was only hinted at from the outside. A huge green-and-white-striped tent rose above dozens of tables. Each table had a candled lantern in the center, and patio torches were safely placed about the whole enclosure. At the far end was a long table filled with roasts, salads, and buffet food. A bar was adjacent to the long table; scores of couples were milling about.
The Avon Swim Club was a lovely place to bring the family.
The corridor led to the rear of the complex, where there was another sprawling, white-bricked structure similar to the main building. Above the large, blackenameled double doors was a wooden sign, in old English scroll:
The Avon Spa
This part of the Avon Swim Club was not a lovely place to bring the family.
Matlock thought he was back In a San Juan casino -his only experience in gambling rooms. The wallto-wall carpet was sufficiently thick to muffie sound almost completely. Only the click of the chips and the low-keyed but intense mutterings of the players and the board men were heard. The craps tables were lined along the walls, the blackjack counters in the center. In between, in staggered positions to allow for the flow of traffic, were the roulette wheels. In the middle of the large room, raised on a platform, was the cashier's nest. All of the Avon Spa's employees were in tuxedos, neatly groomed and subservient The players were less formal.
The gate man, pleased with Matlock's crisp fiftydollar bill, led him to the half-circle counter in front of the cashiers platform. He spoke to a man counting out slips of paper.
"This is Mr. Matlock. Treat him good, Vs a personal friend."
"No other way," said the man with a smile.
Tm sorry, Mr. Matlock," muttered the gate man quietly. "No markers the first time around."
"Naturally. Look I'm going to wander about. . . ."
"Sure. Get the feel of the action. ... I tell you, it a&t Vegas. Between you and me, it's Mickey Mouse most of the time. I mean for a guy like you, you know what I mean?"
Matlock knew exactly what the gate man meant A ffty-dollar bill was not the ordinary gratuity in Avon, Connecticut.
it took him three hours and twelve minutes to lose $4,175. The only time he felt panic was when he had
THE MAnDM PAPER 199
a streak at the craps table and had built up his reserves to nearly $5,ooo.
He had begun the evening properly-4or his purposes. He went to the cashier often enough to realize that the average purchase of chips was $2oo to $3oo.
Hardly "Mickey Mouse" in his book. So his first purchase was $1,5oo. The second was $jL,ooo; the third, $2,000.
By one in the morning, he was laughing with Jacopo Bartolozzi at the bar underneath the green-andwhite-striped tent.
"You're a game one. Lotsa creeps would be screaming 'ice picle if they went for a bundle like you did. Right now rd be showing them a few papers in my office."
"Don't you worry, I'll get it back. I always do.... You said it before. My itch was too much. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow."
"Make it Monday. Tomorrow it's only swimming."
'How come?"
Sunday. Holy day.-
"Shitl I've got a friend coming in from London. He won't be here Monday.
He's a big player."
"Tell you what. I'll call Sharpe over in Windsor Shoals. He's a Jew. Holy days don't mean a fucking thing to him."
"I'd appreciate that"
"I may even drop over myself. The wife!s got a Mothers of Madonna meeting, anyway."
Matlock looked at his watch. The evening-his point of departure-had gone well. He wondered if he should press his luck. "Only real problem coming into a territory is the time it takes to find the sources.~
"Whaes your problem?"
"I've got a girl over in the motel. Shes sleeping, we 2oo Robert Ludlum
traveled most of the day. She ran out of grass-no hard stuff-just grass. I told her rd pick some up for her~"
"C=1 help you, Matlock. I don't keep none here, what with the kids around during the day. Ifs not good for the image, see? A few pins, I got. No needle crap, though. You want some pills?"
"No, just grass. Thafs all I let her use.'
'Very smart of you. . . . Which way you headed?'
"Back into Hartford."
Bartolozzi snapped his fingers. A large bartender sprang into position instantly. Matlock thought there was something grotesque about the squat little Italian commandeering in such fashion. Bartolozzi asked the man for paper and pencil.
'Here. Here~s an address. Ill make a phone call. Ifs an afterhours place right off the main drag. Down the street from G. Fox. Second floor. Ask for Rocco. What you couldift use, he's got."
'Yoiere a prince." And as Matlock took the paper, he meant it "For four grand the first night, you got privileges.
. Hey, y1mow what? You never filled out an applicationl Thaes a gas, huh?"
'You don't need credit references. I play with cash~'
'Where the hell do you keep it?"
'In thirty-seven banks from here to Los Angeles." Matlock put down his glass and held out his hand to Bartoloz2i. "Ifs been fun. See you tomorrow?"
"Sure, sure. III walk you to the door. Doet forget now. Doet give Sammy all the action. Come on back hem"
"My word on it."
The two men walked back to the open-afr corridor, TM X"TLOCK PAPM 201
the short Italian placing his fat hand in the middle of Matlock's back, the gesture of a new friend. What neither man realized as they stepped onto the narrow causeway was that one well-dressed gentleman at a nearby table who kept punching at a fluidless lighter was watching them. As the two men passed his table, he put his lighter back into his pocket while the woman across from him fit Ins cigarette with a match. The woman spoke quietly through a smile.
"Did you get them?"
The man laughed softly. "Karsh couldn't have done better. Even got close-ups."
20
If the Avon Swim Club was an advantageous point of departure, the Hartford Hunt Club-under the careful management of Rocco Aiello-was an enviable fast lap. For Matlock now thought of his journey to Nimrod as a race, one which had to end within two weeks and one day. It would end with the convocation of the Nimrod forces and the Mafiosi somewhere in the Carlyle vicinity. It would be finished for him when someone, somewhere produced another silver Corsican paper.
Bartolozzi's telephone call was effective. Matlock entered the old red stone building-at first he thought he had the wrong address, for no light shone through the windows, and there was no sign of activity within -and found a freight elevator at the end of the hallway with a lone Negro operator sitting in a chair in front of the door. No sooner had he come in than the black rose to his feet and indicated the elevator tD Matlock.
In an upstairs hallway a nun greeted him. 'Very nice to make your acquaintance. Name's Rocco. Rocco Aiello." The man held out his hand and Matlock took it.
"Thanks.... I was puzzled. I didn't hear anything. I thought maybe I was in the wrong place."
TnE MATLOCK PAPM 203
"If you had heard, the construction boys would have taken me. The walls are eighteen inches thick, sound-proofed both sides.: the windows are blinds.
Very secure."
"rhat's really something."
Rocco reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wooden cigarette case.
"I got a box of joints for you. No charge. I'd like to show you around, but Jock-0 said you might be in a hurry."
"Jock-Us wrong. Id like to have a dhnk.\*
"Goodl Come on in... Only one thing, Mr. Matlock I got a nice clientele, you know what I mean? Very rich, very cube. Some of them know about Jock-Us operation, most of them don't You know what I meanr "I understand. I was never much for swimming ,anyway.
'Good, good. . . . Welcome to Hartford7s finest" He opened the thick steel door. "I hear you went for a bundle tonight"
Matlock laughed as he walked into the complex of dimly lit rooms crowded with tables and customers. "Is that what it's called?"
"In Connecticut, that's what it's called.... See? I got two floors-a duplex, like. Each floor's got five big rooms, a bar in each room. Very private, no bad behavior. Nice place to bring the wife, or somebody else, you know what I mean?"
"I think I do. It's quite something."
'Me waiters are mostly college boys. I like to help them make a few dollars for their education. I got niggers, spics, kikes-I got no discrimination.
just the hair, I don't go for the long hair, you know what I mean?"
"College kidsl Iset that dangerous? Kids talk.7
-Hey, what dyou think?l This place was originally started by a Joe College.
It's like a fraternity home. Everybody's a bona fide, dues-paying member of a private organization. They can't getcha for that."
"I see. What about the other part?\*
"What other part?"
'What I came for."
'What? A little grass? Try the corner newsstand."
Matlock laughed. He didn't want to overdo it. "Two points, Rocco. . . .
Still, if I knew you better, maybe I'd like to make a purchase. Bartolozzi said what I couldn't use, yoteve got ... Forget it, though. I'm bushed.
I'll just get a drink and shove off. The girrs going to wonder where I've been."
"Sometimes Bartolozzi talks too much."
"I think you're right. By the way, he's joining me tomorrow night at Sharpe's over in Windsor Shoals. I've got a friend flying in from London.
Care to join us?"
Aiello was obviously impressed. The players from London were beginning to take precedence over the Vegas and Caribbean boys. Sammy Sharpe's wasn!t that well known, either.
"Maybe I'll do that... Look, you need something, you feel free to ask, right?"
"I'll do that. Only I doet mind telling you, the kids make me nervous."
Aiello took Matlocles elbow with his left hand and walked him toward the bar. "You got it wrong. These kids-theyre not kids, you know what I mean?"
"No, I doet Kids are kids. I like my action a little more subdued. No sweat Im not curious." Matlock looked up at the bartender and withdrew what was left of his bankroll. He removed a twenty-dollar bill and placed it on the bar. "Old Fitz and water, please
TM MATLOCK PAPM 205
&put your money away," Rocco said.
"Mr. Aiello?" A young man in a waitel~s jacket aPproached them. He was perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, Matlock thought.
Yeahr
-If you'll sign this tab. Table eleven. Ws the Johnsons. From Canton.
They're O.K-"
Aiello took the waiter's pad and scribbled his initials. The young man walked back toward the tables---
wSee that kid? That's what I mean-He!s a Yalie' He got back from Nam six months ago.-
"So?'
OHe was a lieutenant. An officer. Now hies studying business administration. . . . He fills in here maybe twice a week. Mostly for contacts. By the time he gets out, hell have a real nest egg. Start his I business.
"What?"
Heos a supplier.... These kids, thaes what I meanYou should hear their stories. Saigon, Da Nang. Hong Kong, even. Real peddling. Hey, these kids today, they're greatl They know whafs up. Smart, too. No worries, believe mel"
"I believe you." Matlock took his drink and swallowed quicidy. It wasn't that he was thirsty, he was trying to conceal his shock at Aiello's revelation. The graduates of Indochina were not the pink-cheeked, earnest, young-old veterans of Armenti6res, Anzio, or even Panmunjom. They were something else, something faster, sadder, infinitely more knowing. A hero in Indochina was the soldier who had contacts on the docks and in the warehouses. That man in Indochina was the giant among his peers. And such young-old men were almost all back.
matiock drank the remainder of his bourbon and 2o6 Robert Ludlum
let Rocco show him the other rooms on the third floor. He displayed the controlled appreciation Aiello expected and promised he'd return. He said no more about Sammy Sharpe's in Windsor Shoals. He knew it wasn1 necessary.
Aiello's appetite had been whetted.
As he drove away, two thoughts occupied his mind. Two objectives had to be accomplished before Sunday afternoon was over. The fast was that he had to produce an Englishman; the second was that he had to produce another large sum of money. It was imperative that he have both. He had to be at Sharpes in Windsor Shoals the next evening.
The Englishman he had in mind lived in Webster, an associate professor of mathematics at a small parochial campus, Madison University. He had been in the country less than two years; Matlock had met him--quite unprofessionally.-at a boat show in Say.. brook. The Britisher had lived on the Cornwall coast most of his life and was a sailing enthusiast Matlock and Pat had liked him immediately. Now Matlock hoped to God that John Holden knew something about gambling.
The money was a more serious problem. Alex Anderson would have to be tapped again, and it was quite possible that he'd find enough excuses to put him off. Anderson was a cautious man, easily frightened. On the other hand, he had a nose for rewards. That instinct would have to be played upon.
Holden had seemed startled but not at all annoyed by Matlock's telephone call. If he was anything other than kind, it was curious. He repeated the directions to his apartment twice and Matlock thanked him, assuring him that he remembered the way.
TEE MATLOCK PAPER 207
TH be perfectly frank Jim," said Holden, admitting Matlock into his neat three-room apartment 'I'm simply bursting. Is anything the matter? Is Patricia all right?-
"The answers are yes and no. I'll tell you everything I can, which won't be a hell of a lot . . . I want to ask you a favor, though. Two favors, actually. The first, can I stay here tonight?"
"Of course--you needn't ask. You look peaked. Come, sit down. Can I get you a drink?'
"No, no thanks." Matlock sat on Holden~s sofa. lie remembered that it was one of those hide-a-beds and that it was comfortable. He and Pat had slept in it one happy, alcoholic night several months ago. It seemed ages ago.
"Whaes the second favor? The first is my pleasure. If les cash, I've something over a thousand. Yoxere entirely welcome to it"
'No, not money, thanks just the same... I'd like you to impersonate an Englishman for me.'
Holden laughed. He was a small-boned man of forty, but he laughed the way older, fatter men laughed.
'That shouldn't be too demanding, now should it? I suspect there's still a trace of Cornwall in my speech. Hardly noticeable, of course."
"Hardly. With a little practice you may even lose the Yankee twang...
Theres something else, though, and it may not be so easy. Have you ever gambled?"
"Gambled? You mean horses, football matches?"
'Cards, dice, roulette?'
\*Not substantially, no. Of course, as any reasonably imaginative mathematician, I went through a phase when I thought that by applying arithmetical princi- 2o8 Robert Ludium
ples-logaridm-de averages--one could beat the gambling odds.'
Did they work?-
"I said I went through the phase, I didn't stay there. If theriA a mathematical system, it eluded me. Still doee "But you've played? You know the games."
'Rather well, when you come right down to it Laboratory research, you might say. Why?"
Matlock repeated the story he had told Blackstone. However, he minimized Pat's injuries and lightened the motives of those who assaulted her. When he finished, the Englishman, who'd lit his pipe, knocked the ashes out of the bowl into a large glass ashtray.
"Ies right out of the cinema, isn1 it? ... You say Patricids not seriously hurt. Frightened but nothing much more than thatr "Right If I went to the police it might louse up her scholarship money."
"I see... Well, I don't really, but well let it go. And you~d rather I lost tomorrow night."
'rhat doesn't matter. just that you bet a great deaV
'But yoxere prepared for heavy losses."
'I am."
Holden stood up. Tm perfectly willing to go through with this performance.
It should prove rather a lark However, there's a great deal you're not telling me and I wish you would. But I shan1 insist upon it I will tell you that your story is boggled with a large mathematical inconsistency~-
"What!s that?"
"As I understand it, the money you are prepared to lose tomorrow evening is far in excess of any amount Patricia might realize in scholarshLip aid. The logical
THE MATLOCK PAPER 209
assumption, therefore, is that you do not wish to go to the police. Or perhaps, you can7t"
Matlock looked up at the Englishman and wondered at his own stupidity. He felt embarrassed and very inadequate. "I'm sorry.... I haven't consciously lied to you. You don't have to go through with it; maybe I shouldn7t have asked."
"I never implied that you lied-not that it matters. Only that there was much you haven7t told me. Of course, I'll do it. I just want you to know I'm a willing audience when and if you decide to tell me everything thaes happened... Now, ies late and yoxere tired. Why doet you take my room."
No, thanks. I'll sack out here. It has pleasant memories. A blanket's all.
I need. Also I have to make a phone call."
"Anything you say. A blanket you'll get, and you know where the phone is."
When Holden left, Matlock went to the phone. The Telelectronic device he'd agreed to lease would not be ready until Monday morning.
"Blackstone."
'This is James Matlock. I was told to caU this num. ber for any messages."
"Yes, Mr. Matlock There is a message, if youll hold on while I get the card... Here it is. From the Carlyle team. Everything is secure. The subject is responding nicely to medical treatment. The subject had three visitors. A Mr. Samuel Kressel, a Mr. Adrian Sealfont, and a Miss Lois Meyers. The subject received two telephone calls, neither of which the physician allowed to be taken. They were from the same individual, a Mr. Jason Greenberg. The calls were from Wheeling, West Virginia. At no time was the 2io Robert Ludlum
subject separated from the Carlyle teain. ... You can relax."
"Thank you. I will. You're very thorough. Good night" Matlock breathed deeply in relief and exhaustion. Lois Meyers lived across the hall from Pat in the graduate apartment house. The fact that Greenberg had called was comforting. He missed Greenberg.
He reached up and turned off the table lamp by the sofa. The bright April moon shone through the windows. The man from Blackstones service was right -he could relax.
What he couldet allow to relax were his thoughts about tomorrow-and after tomorrow Everything had to remain accelerated; one productive day had to lead into another. There could be no letup, no sense of momentary satisfaction which might slow his thrust.
And after tomorrow. After Sammy Sharpe!s in Windsor Shoals. If all went according to his calculations, it would be the time to head into the Carlyle area. Matlock closed his eyes and saw Blackstone's printed page in front of his mind.
CARMOUNT COUNTRY CLUB---CONTACr: HOWAM
STOCKTON
WEST CARLYLE SAII AND SKI RESORT--CONTACr: ALA14
CANTOR
Carmount was east of Carlyle near the border of Mount Holly. Ile Sail and Ski was west, on Lake Derron-a summer and winter resort area.
He'd find some reason to have Bartolozzi or Aiello, or, perhaps, Sammy Sharpe., make the proper intro- TBE MATLc= PApm 2u
ductions. And once In the Carlyle area, he would drop the hints. Perhaps more than hints-commands, requirements, necessities. This was the boldness he needed to use, this was the way of Nimrod.
His eyes remained closed, the muscles in his body sagged, and the pitch darkness of exhausted sleep came over him. But before sleeping he remembered the paper. The Corsican paper. He bad to get the paper now. He would need the silver paper. He would need the invitation to Nimrod.
His invitation now. His paper.
The Matlock paper.
21
If the elders at the Windsor Shoals Congregational Church had ever realized that Samuel Sharpe, attorney at law, the very bright Jewish lawyer who handled the churcYs finances, was referred to as Sammy the Runner by most of North Hartford and South Springfield, Massachusetts, vespers would have been canceled for a month. Fortunately, such a revelation had never been made to them and the Congregational Church looked favorably on him. He had done remarkable things for the churcYs portfolio and gave handsomely himself during fund drives. The Congregational Church of Windsor Shoals, as indeed most of the town, was nicely disposed toward Samuel Sharpe.
Matlock learned all of this in Sharpe's office inside the Windsor Valley Inn. The framed citations on the wall told half the story, and Jacopo Bartolozzi goodnaturedly supplied the rest. Jacopo was actually makIng sure that Matlock and his English friend were aware that Sharp6s operation, as well as Sharpe himself, lacked the fine traditions of the Avon Swim Club.
Holden surpassed Matlock's expectations. Several times he nearly laughed out loud as he watched Holden take hundred-dollar bills-rushed into Webster by a harassed, nervous Alex Anderson--and flick TBE AUTTAXX PAPER 213
them nonchalantly at a croupier, never bothering to count the chips but somehow letting everyone at whatever table he was at realize that he knew-to the dollar-the amount given him. Holden played intelligently, cautiously, and at one point was ahead of the house by nine thousand dollars. By the end of the evening, he had cut his winnings to several hundred and the operators of the Windsor Valley breathed grateful sighs of relief.
James Matlock cursed his second night of terrible luck and took his twelve-hundred-dollar loss for what it meant to him-nothing.
At four in the morning Matlock and Holden, flanked by Aiello, Bartolo=d, Sharpe, and two of their cronies, sat at a large oak table in the colonial dining room. They were alone. A waiter and two busboys were cleaning up; the gambling room on the third floor of the inn had closedL
The husky Aiello and the short, fat Bartolozzi kept up a running commentary about their respective eftentele, each hying to upstage the other with regard to their customers' status; each allowing that 'it might be nice for the other to become "acquainted7 with a Mr. and Mrs. Johnson of Canton or a certain Dr. Wadsworth. Sharpe, on the other hand, seemed more interested in Holden and the action in England. He -told-several- funny, --self-effacing -stories about his visits to London clubs and his insurmountable difficulty with British currency in the heat of betting.
Matlock thought~ as he watched Sammy Sharpe, that he was a very charming man. it wasnI hard to believe that Sharpe was considered a respectable asset to Windsor Shoals, Connecticut. He couldn~t help comparing Sharpe to Jason Greenberg. And in the comparison, he found an essential difference.
it was
told in the eyes. Greenberes were soft and compassionate, even in anger.
Sharpe!s were cold, hard, incessantly darting-6trangely in conflict with the rest of his relaxed face.
He, heard Bartolo2ml ask Holden where he was off tD nexL Holden7s offhand reply gave him the opportunity he was looking for. He waited for the right nioment
Tin afraid rm not at liberty to discuss my itinerary.\*
'He means where he!s going," injected Rocco Aiello.
BartDlozzi shot Aiello a withering glance. "I just thought you should drop over to Avon. I got a real nice place I think youd enjoy."
'Tin sure I would. Perhaps another time.'
Johnny'll be in touch with me next weeV Matlock sad. "We% get tDgether." He reached for an ashtray and crushed out his cigarette. "I have to be in ...
Carlyle, thaes the name of the place."
There was the slightest pause in the conversation. Sharpe, Aiello, and one of the other two men exchanged looks. BartolozzL however, seemed oblivious to any deep meaning.
Me college placer asked the short Italian.
OThafs right," answered Matlock. "I'll probably stay at carniount or the Sail and Ski. I guess you fellows know where they are."
"I guess we do." Aiello laughe&softly.
OWhafs your business in Carlyle?" The unidentified mmi-at least no one had bothered to introduce him by name-drew deeply on a cigar as he spoke.
amy business,- said Matlock pleasandir.
&just asking. No offense."
&No offense taken.... Hey, ies damned near four thirtyl You fellows are too hospitable Matlock
THE MATLOCK PAMM 215
pushed his chair back, prepared to stand.
The man with the cigar, however, had to ask another question.
"Is your friend going to Carlyle with you?"
Holden held up his hand playfully. "Sorry, no itineraries. I'm simply a visitor to your pleasant shores and filled with a tourisfs plans.... We really must 90.
Both men rose from the table. Sharpe stood, too. Before the others could move, Sharpe spoke.
"I'll see the boys to their car and show them the road out. You fellows wait here-we'll settle accounts. I owe you money, Rocco. Frank owes me.
Maybe III come out even."
The man with the cigar, whose name was obviously Frank, laughed. Aiello looked momentarily perplexed but within seconds grasped the meaning of Sharpe!s statement. The men at the table were to remain.
Matlock wasn't sure he'd handled the situation advantageously.
He had wanted to pursue the Carlyle discussion just enough to have someone offer to make the necessary calls to Carmount and the Sail and Ski.
Holden's refusal to speak about his itinerary precluded it, and Matlock was afraid that it also implied that he and Holden were so important that further introductions were unnecessary. In addition, Matlock realized that as his journey progressed, he banked more and more on the dead Loring's guarantee that none of those invited to the Carlyle conference would discuss delegates among themselves. The meaning of "OmertC was supposedly so powerful that silence was inviolate. Yet Sharpe had just commanded those at the table to remain.
He had the feeling that perhaps he had gone too far with too little experience. Perhaps it was time to reach Greenberg--.although he'd wanted to wait until he had more concrete knowledge before doing so. If he made contact with Greenberg now, the agent might force him-what was the idiotic phrase?--out of strategy. He waset prepared to face that problem.
Sharpe escorted them to the near-deserted parking lot The Windsor Vally Inn wasn't crowded with overnight guests.
'We don't encourage sleeping accommodations,7 Sharpe explained. "We're known primarily as a fine restaurant"
"I can understand that," said Matlock-
\*Gentlemen," began Sharpe haltingly. "May I make a request that might be considered impolite?"
Go right ahead.-
'May I have a word with you, Mr. Matlock? Privately."
"Oh, doet concern yourself," said Holden, moving off. "I understand fully.
III just walk around."
0116's a very nice fellow, your English friend,7 Sharpe said.
"Me nicest. What is it, Sammy?"
\*Several points of information, as we say In courL\*
'What are they?"
OTm a cautious man, but rm also very curious. I run a fine organization, as you can see."
'I can see."
\*Tm growing nicely---cautiously, but nicely.!
" accept that."
'I doet make mistakes. Ive a trained legal mind and Im proud that I don't make mistakee
"What are you driving at?"
1M MATLOCK PAPM 217
'It strikes me--and I must be honest with you, it has also occurred to my partner Frank and to Rocco Aiello-that you may have been sent into the territory to make certain observations."
"Why do you think that?"
'Why? ... From nowhere comes a player like you. You got powerful friends in San Juan. You know our places like the back of your hand. Then you have a very rich, very nice associate from the London scene. That all adds up....
But most important-and I think you know it-you mention this business in Carlyle. Lees be honest. That speaks a whole big book, doesnI Itr 'Does it?'
"I'm not foolhardy. I told you, rm. a cautious man. I understand the rules and I don't ask questions I'm not supposed to ask or talk about things I'm not privileged to know about.... Still, I want the generals to realize they have a few intelligent, even ambitious, lieutenants in the organization.
Anyone can tell you. I don't skim, I don~t hold back."
"Are you asking me to give you a good reportP"
'That about sizes it up. I have value. I'm a respected attorney. My partner's a very successful insurance broker. We're naturals."
'What about Aiello? It seems to me yoere friendly with him."
"Rocas a good boy. Maybe not the quickest, but solid. He's a kind person, too. However, I doZt believe hes in our league."
"And Bartolozzi?"
'I have nothing to say about Bartolozzi. YouT have to make up your own mind about him."
"By saying nothing, you~re saying a lot, aren7t you?'
PvL8 Robert Ludlum
"In my opinion, he talks too much. But that could be his personality. He rubs me the wrong way. Not Rocco, though.-
Matlock watched the methodical Sharpe in the pre. dawn light of the parking lot and began to understand what had happened. It was logical; he, himself, had planned it but now that it was taking place, he felt curiously objective. Observing himself; watching reacting puppets.
He had entered Nimrod's world a stranger; possibly suspect, certainly devious.
Yet suddenly, that suspicion, that deviousness, was not to be scorned but honored.
The suspect honored for his deviousness-because it had to come from a higher source. He was an emissary from the upper echelons now. He was feared.
What had Greenberg called it? The shadow world. Unseen armies positioning their troops in darkness, constantly on the alert for stray patrols, unfriendly scouts.
The thin line he had to tread was precarious. But it was his now.
"You7re a good man, Sharpe. Goddamn smart, too. .. What do you know about Carlyle?"
"Nothingl Absolutely nothing."
'Now you're lying, and that's not smart~w "It's true. I donI know anything. Rumors Ive heard. Knowledge and hearsay are two different kinds of testimony." Sharpe held up his right hand, his two fore. fingers separated.
"What rumors? Give it straight for your own sake.0
"Just rumors. A gathering of the clan, maybe. A meeting of very highly placed individuals. An agreement which has to be reached between certain peo. ple."
TBE MATLOCK PAPER 219
NftnrodPw
Sanuny Sharpe closed his eyes for precisely three seconds. During those moments he spoke.
"Now you talk language I dodt want to hear~\*
Men you diddt hear it, did you?"
"It's stricken from the record, I assure you."
'O.K. Yotere doing fine. And when you go back inside, I don't think it would be such a good idea to discuss the rumors you've heard. That would be acting like a stupid lieutenant, wouldn't it?"
"Not only stupid-insane."
'Why did you tell them to stay, then? Ies late."
"For real. I wanted to know what everybody thought of you and your English friend. I'll tell you now, though---since you have mentioned a certain name, no such discussion will take place. As I said, I understand the rules."
'Good. I believe you. You've got possibilities. You'd better go back in....
Oh, one last thing. I want you ... we want you to call Stockton at Carmount and Cantor at the Sail and Ski. just say I'm a personal friend and I'll be showing up. Nothing else. We don't want any guards up. Thaes important, Sammy. Nothing else."
"Ies my pleasure. And you won~t forget to convey my regards to the others?"
"I won't forget. You're a good man."
'I do my best. It's all a person can do .
just then, the quiet of the predawn was shattered by five loud reports.
Glass smashed. The sounds of people running and screaming and furniture crashing came from within the inn. Matlock threw himself tD the ground.
"Johni johnl"
"Over herel By the earl Are you all right?f"
22o Robert Ludlum
"Yes. Stay therel"
Sharpe had run into the darkness by the base of the building. He crouched into a comer, pressing himself against the brick. Matlock could barely see the outline of his form, but he could see enough to watch Sharpe withdraw a revolver from inside his jacket.
Again there was a volley of shots from the rear of the building, followed once more by screams of terror. A busboy crashed through the side door and crawled on his hands and knees toward the edge of the parking lot. He shouted hysterically in a language Matlock eould not understand.
Several seconds later, another of the inn~s employees in a white jacket ran through the door pulling a second man behind him, this one obviously wounded, blood pouring from his shoulder, his right arm dangling, in-anobile.
Another shot rang out of nowhere and the waiter who had been screaming fell over. The wounded man behind him went pummeling forward, crashing face down into the gravel. Within the building, men were shouting.
"Lees gol Get outl Get to the carr
He fully expected to see men come scrambling out of the side door into the parking lot, but no one came. Instead, from another section of the property, he heard the gunning of an engine and, moments later, the screeching of tires as an automobile made a sharp turn. And then, to his left, about fifty yards away, a black sedan came racing out of the north driveway tDward the main road. The car had to pass under a street light, and Matlock saw it clearly.
It was the same automobile that had plunged out of the darkness moments after Ralph Loring's murder.
TEE MATIOX PAPIER 222
Everything was still again. The grayish light of dawn was getting brighter.
"Jiml Jim, come herel I think they've goner It was Holden. He had left the sanctuary of the autDmobile and was crouching over the man in the white jacket.
'Comingr said Matlock, getting off the ground.
'M fellov/s dead. He was shot between the shoulders. . . . This one's still breathing. Better get an ambulance.\* Holden had walked over to the unconscious busboy with the bloodied, immobile right arm.
"I don't hear anything Wheres Sharpe?'
'He just went inside. That door. He had a gun.7
The two men walked carefully to the side entrance of the Inn. Matlock slowly opened the door and preceded Holden into the foyer. Furniture was overtamed, chairs and tables on their sides; blood was glistening on the wooden floor.
'Sharpe? Where are you?' Matlock raised his voice cautiously It was several seconds before the reply came. When it did, Sharpe could hardly be heard.
"In here. In the dining room."
Matlock and Holden walked through the oakframed arch. Nothing in either man s life had prepared him for what he saw.
The overpowering horror was the sight of the bodies literally covered with blood. What was left of Rocco Aiello was sprawled across the red-soaked tablecloth, most of his face blown off. Sbarpe~s partner, the unintroduced man named Frank was on his knees, his torso twisted back over the seat of a chair, blood fiow6 ing out of his neck, his eyes wide open in death. Jacopo Bartolozzi was on the floor, his obese body arched around the leg of a table, the front of his shirt ripped up to the collaj4 revealing his bulging stomach,
the flesh pierced with a score of bullet holes, blood still trickling out over the coarse black hair. Bartolozzi had tried to tear his shirt away from his battered chest, and a portion of cloth was clutched in his dead hand.
The fourth man lay behind Bartoloz4 his head resting on BartoIozzfs right foot, his arms and legs extended in a spread-eagle pattern, his entire back covered with a thick layer of blood, portions of his intestines pushed through the skin.
'Oh, my Godl" muttered Matlock, not fully believing what he saw. John Holden looked as though he might become sick. Sharpe spoke softly, rapidly, wearily-
"You'd better go. You and your English friend better leave quickly."
"Youll have to call the police," said Matlock, bewildered.
"There's a man outside, a boy. H6 still alive." Holden stuttered as he spoke.
Sharpe looked over at the two men, the revolver at his side, his eyes betraying only the slightest degree of suspicion. I have no doubt the lines have been cut The nearest houses are farms at least half a mile from here.... I'll take care of everything. You'd better get out of here."
"Do you think we should?" asked Holden, looking at Matlock Sharpe replied. "Listen, Englishman, personally I couldet care less what either of you do. rve got enough to think about, enough to figure out . .
. For your own good, get out of here. Less complications, less risk. lsn~t that right?-
'Yes, yoere right," Matlock said.
"In case you're picked up, you left here a half hour ago. You were friends of Bartolozz4 thae&all I know.'
TBE MATLOCK PAPER 223
'All right---
Sharpe had to tam away from the sight of the murdered men. Matlock thought for a moment that the Windsor Shoals attorney was going to weep. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke again.
'A trained legal mind, ML Matlock. rm valuable. You tell them that"
"I will."
'You also tell them I need protection, deserve protection. You tell them that, too."
'Of course."
'Now, get out." Suddenly Sharpe threw his revolver on the floor in disgust.
And then he screamed, as the tears came to his eyes, "Get out for Christs sakel Get
01dr
22
Matlock and Holden agreed to separate immediately. The English professor dropped off the mathematician at his apart3nent and then headed south to Fairfield. He wanted to register at a highway motel far enough away from Windsor Shoals to feel less panicked, yet near enough to Hartford so he could get to Blackstone's by two in the afternoon.
He was too exhausted, too frightened to think He found a third-rate motel just west of Stratford and surprised the early morning clerk by being alone.
During the registration, he mumbled unpleasant criticisms about a suspicious wife in Westport, and with a ten-dollar bill convinced the clerk to enter his arrival at2:00 A.M., single. He fell into bed by seven and left a call for twelve thirty. If he slept for five hours, he thought, things had to become clearer.
Matlock slept for five hours and twenty minutes and nothing much had changed. Very little had cleared up for him. If anything, the massacre at Windsor Shoals now appeared more extraordinary than ever. Was it possible that he was meant to be a victim? Or were the killers waiting outside, waiting silently for him to leave before committing their executions?
Mistake or warning?
By one fifteen he was on the Merritt Parkway. By THE MATLOCK PAPER 225
one thirty he entered the Berlin Turnpike, taking the back roads into Hartford. By five minutes past two he walked into Blackstone's office.
"Look," said Michael Blackstone, leaning over his desk, staring at Matlock, "we ask a minimum of questions, but donI for one minute think that means we give our clients blank checksl"
"It seems to me you like that process reversed."
"Then take your money and go somewhere else. Well survivel"
"Just hold itl You were hired to protect a girL thaes all] Thafs what rm paying, three hundred dollars a day fort Anything else is marginal, and rm paying
for that, too, I expect.-
"There'll be no extra charges. I donI know what you're talking about."
Suddenly Blackstone bent his elbows, crouching forward. He whispered hoarsely. "Christ, Matlock? Two menI Two men on that gDddamn list were murdered last nightl If you7re a hopped-up maniac, I doet want anything to do with
youl Thats no part of any deal herel I don7t care who your old man is or how much money you7ve goti"
"Now I doet know what you're talking about Except what I read in the papers. I was at a motel in Fairfield last night. I was registered there at two this morning. According to the papers, those killings tOOk Place around five."
Blackstone pushed himself off the desk and stood up. He looked at Matlock suspiciously. "You can verify that?"
.Do you want the name and number of the motel? Give me a phone book, Fll get it for you."
"Not ... No. I doet want to know a thing. You were in Fairfield?"
Get the phone booIL- 2a6 Robert Ludlum
-All right. All right, forget it. I think you!re lying, but you've covered yourself. As you say, were only hired to protect the girl."
"Any change from Sunday afternoon? Is everything all right?-
"Yes. . . . Yes." Blackstone seemed preoccupied. 'rve got your Telelectronic. It's operative. les an additional twenty dollars a day."
"I see. Wholesale price."
'We never implied we were cheap.'
'You couldn't"
"We dodt." Blackstone remained standing, pushed a button on his office intercom, and spoke into it. "Bring in Mr. Matlocles Telelectronic, please."
Seconds later an attractive girl came into the office carrying a metal device no larger than a pack of cigarettes. She put it on Blackstone's desk and placed an index card beside it. She left as rapidly as she had entered.
"Here you are," Blackstone said. "Your code is Charger Threezero.
Meamng-Carlyle area, threeman team. The telephone number you call is five, five, five, six, eight, six, eight. We keep a list of numbers on reserve which we feel are easy to commit. The Telelectronic will signal you by short beeps. You can shut it off by pushing this button here. When the signal is emitted, you are to call the number. A recording machine on that telephone will give you the message from the team. Often it will be to phone another nUm to make direct contact. Do you understand everything?
It's really very simple."
"I understand," said Matlock taking the small metal box. "What confuses me is why you don't just have the men call this office and then you contact me.
THE MATLOCK PAPM 227
Outside of whatever profit there is, woulWt it be easier?"
"No. Too much room for error. We handle a great many clients. We want our clients to be in direct contact with the men they're paying for."
"I see."
"Also, we respect the privacy of our clients. We doet think ies such a good idea for information to be transn-dtted through third and fourth parties.
Incidentally, you can reach the team by the same procedures. Each one has a machine. just phone the number and record the message for the="
"Commendable~"
"Prefessional." And then Blackstone, for the Brst time since Matlock had entered the office, sat in his chair and leaned back. "Now I'm going to tell you something, and if you want to take it as a threat, you'd be justified. Also, if you want to cancel our servim on the strength of what I say, that's OX, too. . . . We know that yotfre being actively sought by agents of the justice Department. However, there are no charges leveled against you, no warrants for your arrest. You have certain rights which the federal men often overlook in their zealousness-ies one of the reasons were in business. However, again, we want you to know that should your status change, should there be charges or a warrant for your arrest, our services are terminated immediately, and we won't hesitate to cooperate with the authorities regarding your whereabouts. Whatever information we possess will be held for your attorneys-ies privileged-but not your whereabouts.
Capicher
"I do. That's fair."
"We're more than fair. Thaes why Im going to de- 228 Robert Ludlum
mand ten days' advance payment from you-unused portion returnable. . . . In the event the situation changes and the federal men get a court order for you, you will receive-only once-the following message on the telephone recorder. just these words.'
Blackstone paused for emphasis.
'What are they?"
"Charger Threezero is cancele&`
Out on Bond Street Matlock felt a sensation he knew wouldn't leave him until his journey, his race was over. He thought people were staring at him. He began to think strangers were watching him. He found himself involuntarily turning around, trying to find the unseen, observing eyes.
Yet there were none.
None that he could distinguish.
The Corsican paper now had to be gotten out of his apartment And considering Blackstone's statements, there was no point in his attempting to get it himself. His apartment would be under surveillance-from both camps, the seekers and the quarry.
He would use the Blackstone tearn, one of thern, putting to the test the sartorial Blackstone's guarantee of privileged information. He would reach them-him soon as he placed one prior telephone call. A call that would make it clear whether the silver Corsican invitation was really necessary or not. A call to Samuel Sharpe, attorney at law, Windsor Shoals, Connecticut.
Matlock decided to show Sharpe a temporary, more compassionate side of his acquired personality. Sharpe himself had displayed a momentary lapse of control. Matlock thought it was the moment to indicate that even such men as himself-men who had influential friends in San Juan and London-had feelings beyond personal survival.
TnE MATLOCK PAPER 229
He walked into the lobby of the Americana Hotel and called him. Sharpe's secretary answered.
"Are you in an office where Mr. Sharpe can return your call momentarily?"
"No, Im in a telephone booth. rm also in a hurry.\*
There was silence, preceded by the click of a hold button. The wait was less than ten seconds.
"May I have the number you7re calling from, Mr. Matlock? Mr. Sharpe will get back to you within five minutes."
Matlock gave the girl the number and hung up.
As he sat in the plastic seat, his memory wandered back to another telephone booth and another plastic 16eat And a black sedan which raced past the dead man slouched in that booth, on that seat, with a bullet hole in his forehead.
The bell sounded, Matlock lifted the receiver.
"Matlock?"
-Sharpe?-
"You shouldnt call me at the office. You should know better. I had to go down to the lobby here, to a pay phone."
"I didnI think a respected attorney's telephone would be any risk. I'm sorry."
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Sharpe obviously never expected an apology. "I'm a cautious man, I told you. What is it?"
"I just wanted to know how you were. How every.. thing went It was a terrible thing, last night."
"I havenI had time for a reaction. Theres so much to do. Police, funeral arrangements, reporters.\*
"What are you saying? How are you handling it?\*
"There won1 be any major mistakes. In a nutshell-if it comes to that-I'm an innocent victim. Frank's a victim, top, only Vs dead. . . . I'm going to min
2m Robert Ludium
Frank. He was a verv zood fellow. IT close down the upstairs, of course.
11~e' state police have been paid. By you people, I assume. ItT be what the papers say it was. A bunch of Italian hoodlums shot up in a nice country restaurant."
'You~re a cool operator."
'I told you," replied Sharpe sadly, Tin a cautious man. rm prepared for contingencies.'
"Who did it?"
Sharpe did not answer the question. He did not speak at all.
"I asked you, who do you think did it?'
'I expect you people will find out before I do.... Bartolozz! had enemies; he was an unpleasant person. Rocco, too, I suppose.... But why Frank? You tell me~ "
"I dont know. I haven't been in touch with anyone 'Find out for me. Please. It wasn't right.\*
M try. Thaes a promise. . . . And, Sammy, make those calls to Stockton and Cantor, donI forget."
"I won't. I've got them fisted on my afternoon calendar. I told YOU. Fm a methodical man.-
"rhanks. My sympathies about Frank He seemed like a nice guy."
'He was a prince,"
Tm sure he was. IT be in touch, Sammy. I haven't forgotten what I said I'd do for you. You've really impressed me. III . . ."
The sound of coins dropping into the telephone receptacle at Windsor Shoals interrupted Matlock. The Ume limit was up, and there was no point in prolonging the conversation. He had found out what he needed to know. He had to have the Corsican paper now. The horror of the dawn massacre had not caused the methodical Sharpe to forget the telephone calls TBE MATLOCK PAFER 231
hed promised to make. Why it hadn~t was a miracle to Matlock, but there it was. The cautious man had not panicked. He was ice.
The telephone booth was stuffy, close, uncomfortable, filled with smoke. He opened the door and walked rapidly across the hotel lobby to the front exit.
He rounded the comer of Asylum Street looking for an appropriate restaurant. One in which he could have lunch while awaiting the return can from Charger Threezero. Blackstone had said that he should leave a number; what better than a restaurant?
He saw the sign: The Lobster House. The kind of Place frequented by business executives.
He was given a booth to himself, not a table. It was nearly three; the luncheon crowd had thinned. He sat down and ordered a bourbon on the rocks, asking the waitress the whereabouts of the nearest telephone. He was about to get out of the booth to make his can to 555-6868 when he heard the muted, sharp, terrifying sound of the Telelectronic from within his jacket. At first it paralyzed him. It was as if some part of his person, an hysterical organ perhaps, had gone mad and was trying to signal its distress. His hand shook as he reached inside his coat and withdrew the small metal device. He found the shut-off button and pressed it as hard as he could. He looked around, wondering if the sound had attracted attention.
It had not No one returned his looks. No one had heard a thing.
He got out of his seat and walked quickly toward the telephone. His only thought was Pat --- something had happened, something serious enough for Charger Threezero to activate the terrible, insidious machine which had panicked him.
Matlock pulled the door shut and dialed s55-M.
"Charger Threezero reporting.' The voice had the once-removed quality of a taped recording. "Please telephone five, five~ five; one, nine, five, one. There is no need for alarm, sir. Theres no emergency. We'll be at this number for the next hour. The number again Is five~ five, five; one, nine, five, one. Out"
Matlock realized that Charger Threezero took pains to allay his fears Immediately, perhaps because ft was his first experience with the Telelectronic. He had the feeling that even if the town of Carlyle had gone up in thermonuclear smoke Charger Three zero's words would have a palliative quality about them. The other reasoning, perhaps, was that a man thought more clearly when unafraid. Whatever, Matlock knew that the method worked. He was calmer now. He reached Into his pocket and took out some change, making a mental note as he did so to convert some dollar bills into coins for future use. The pay telephone had become an important part of his life.
"Is this five, five, five; nineteen fifty-one?"
'Ybs," said the same voice he had heard on the re. cording. "Mr. Matlock?"
Yes. Is Miss Ballantyne all right?-
'Doing very well, sir. Thaes a good doctor you've got She sat up this morning. A lot of the swelling's gone down. The doctoes quite pleased...
She's asked for you a number of times."
"What are you telling her?"
'Ile truth. That weve been hired by you to make sure she's not bothered.~
"I mean about where I am~"
'Weve simply said you had to be away for several days. It might be a good idea to telephone her. She
TBE MATLOCK PAPER 233
can take calls starting this afternoon. Well screen them, of course."
"Of course. Is that why you contacted me?'
"In parL The other reason is Greenberg. Jason Greenberg. He keeps calling for you. He insists that you get in touch with him."
"What did he say? Who talked to him?'
'I did. Incidentally, my name's Cliff.'
"O.K., Cliff, what did he say?"
"Ilat I should tell you to call him the minute I reached you. It was imperative, critical. Ive got a number. It's in Wheeling, West Virginie "Give it to me." Matlock withdrew his ballpoint pen and wrote -the number on the wooden shelf under the telephone.
"Mr. Matlock?"
'Whatr
"Greenberg also said-to tell you . that 'the cities weren~t dying, they were dead.' Those were his words. The cities were dead.- 23
Cliff agreed without comment to retrieve the Corsican paper from Matlock's apartment. A rendezvous would be arranged later by telephone. In the event the paper was missing, Charger Threezero would alert him immediately.
Matlock restricted himself to one drink. He picked at his lunch and left the Lobster House by three thirty. It was time to regroup his forces, resupply his ammunition. He had parked the Cadillac in a lot sev. eral blocks south of Blackstone's office on Bond Street. It was one of those municipal parking areas, each slot with its own meter. It occurred to Matlock as he approached it that he hadn't returned to insert additional coins since going to Blackstone's. The meters were only good for an hour; he'd been there for nearly two. He wondered what rental-car businesses did with the slew of traffic violations which had to mount up with transients.
He entered the lot and momentarily wondered if he was in the right aisle.
Then he realized he was not. The Cadillac was two lanes over, in the fourth aisle. He started to sidle past the closely parked vehicles toward his own and then he stopped.
In between the automobiles, he saw the blue and white stripes of a Hartford patrol car. It was parked
TjRE mATLocK PAPER 235
directly behind his Cadillac. One police officer was trying the Cadillac!s door handle, a second patrolman was leaning against the police vehicle talking into a radio phone.
They'd found the car. It frightened him, but somehow it didiA surprise him.
He backed away cautiously, prepared to run if he was spotted. His thoughts raced ahead to the problems to which this newest complication gave rise.
First and most immediate was an automobile. Second was the fact that they knew he was in the Hartford vicinity. That ruled out other means of transportation. The railroad stations, the bus tern-dnals, even the hack bureaus would be alerted. It came back to finding another car.
And yet he wondered. Blackstone made it clear there were no charges against him, no warrants. If there were, he would have received the message from 555-6868. He would have heard the words: "Charger Threezero is canceled."
He hadn't. There'd been no hint of it. For a mo. ment he considered going back to the patrol car, accepting a ticket for overtime.
He dismissed the thought. These police were not meter maids. There had been a previous parking lot beyond an alley, at the rear of an A&P. And another policeman-in civilian clothes-following him. A pattern was there, though it eluded definition.
Matlock walked swiftly up Bond Street away from the municipal lot He turned into the first side street and found himself beginning to break into a run.
Instantly he slowed down. There is nothing in a crowded street more noticeable than a man running-unless it is a woman. He resumed a pace equal to the after- 2,16 Robert Ludlum
V---
noon shoppers, doing his best to melt into the flow of human traffic. He even paused now and then to stare blankly into store-front windows, not really seeing the displays of merchandise. And then he began to reflect on what was happening to him. The primitive instincts of the hunted were suddenly working inside his brain. The protective antennae of the would-be trapped animal were thrusting, parrying with their surroundings and, chameleonlike, the body did its best to conform to the environment.
Yet he waset the huntedl He was the hunted Goddamn it, he was the hunter/
"Hello, Jiml How the hell are you? What are you doing in the big city?"
The shock of the greeting caused Matlock to lose his balance. To actually lose his balance and trip. He fell to the sidewalk and the man who had spoken tD him reached down and helped him up.
"Ohl Oh, hello, jeffl Christ, you startled me. Thanks." Matlock got up and brushed himself off. He looked around wondering who else besides Jeff Kramer was watching him.
"A long lunch, buddy?" Kramer laughed. He was a Carlyle alumnus with a graduate degree in psychology that had been impressive enough for an expensive public relations firm.
"Lord, nol just have something on my mind. My bumbling old professor bag."
And then Matlock looked at Jeff Kramer. Jeff Kramer was not only with an expensive firrn, but he also had an expensive wife and two very expensive kids in extremely expensive prep schools. Matlock felt he should reemphasize his previous point. "For a fact, I had one unfinished bourbon."
"Why don't we rectify that," said Kramer, pointing = MATMCK P"ER 237
at the Hogshead Tavern across the street. "I haven't seen you in months. I read in The Courant you got yourself robbed."
"Goddamn, did It The robbery I could take, but what they did to the apartmentl And the carr Matlock headed toward the Hogshead Tavern with Jeff Kramer. -Thaies why I'm in town. Got the Triumph in a garage here. Thaes my problem, as a matter of facL"
The hunted not only had antennae which served to wam the host of its enemies, but also the uncanny -if temporary-ability to turn disadvantage into adWmtage. Conceivable liabilities intD positive assets.
Madock sipped his bourbon and water while Kzamer went through half his Scotch in several swallows. 'Me idea of a bus down to Scarsdale, with changes at New Haven and Bridgeport, defeats ine.'
"Rent a car, for Christ's sake."
'Just tried two places. The first can't let me have one until tonight, the second not until tomorrow. Some kind of convention, I guess."
"So wait until tDnight."
"Caift do it. Family business. My father called his council of economic advisers. For dinner-and if you think rm going to Scarsdale without my own wheels, yoxere out of itl" Matlock laughed and ordered another round of drinks. He reached into his pocket and put a fiftydollar billon the bar.
The bill had to attract the attention of Jeff Kramer, who had such an expensive wife.
'Never thought you could balance a checkbook, say nothing of being an economic adviser."
"Ali, but rm the prince royal. CaiYt forget that, can we?"
'Lucky bastard, that's what I can~t forget. Lucky bastard."
"Heyt rve got One hell of an idea. Your car in town?"
"Hey, wait a minute, good buddy. . .
"NO, listen." Matlock took out his bills. 'The old mazAl pay for it . - .
Rent me your car. Four or five days.... Here. IT give you two, three hundred.\*
~You're nutsl---
No, I'm not He wants me down. He'll payl"
Matlock could sense Kramer's mind working. He was estimating the cost of a low-priced rent-a-car for a week-Seventy-nine fifty and ten cents a mile with an average daily mileage of, perhaps, fifteen or twenty. Tops, $io5, and maybe $iio, for the week.
Kramer had that expensive wife and those two very expensive kids in extremely expensive prep schools.
"I wouldn't want to take you like that.-
Not viel Christ no. HiiW-
'Well . . ."
"Here, let me write out a bill. III give it to him the minute I get there."
Matlock grabbed a cocktail napkin and turned it over to the unprinted side.
He took out his ballpoint pen and began writing. "Simple contract.... 1, James B. Matlock, agree to pay Jeffrey Kramer three hundre& . . . what the hell, ies his money . - . 'four hundred dollars for the rental of his -whaes the make?"
"Ford wagon. A white Squire. Last year's." Kramer's eyes alternately looked at the napkin and the roll of bills Matlock carelessly left next to Kramer's elbow on the bar.
"'Ford Wagon, for a period of lees say one week, O.K.?'
THE MATLOCK PAPM 239
'Fine.\* Kramer drank the remainder of his second Scotch.
"'One week.... Signed, James B. Matlockl' There you are, friend.
Countersign. And heres four hundred. Courtesy of Jonathan Munro. Where's the car?"
The hunte&s instincts were infallible, thought Mat. lock, as Kramer pocketed the bills and wiped his chin, which had begun to perspire. Kramer removed the two car keys and the parking lot ticket from his pocket. True to Matlock's anticipation. Jeff Kramer wanted to part company. With his four hundred dollars.
Matlock said he would phone Kramer in less than a week and return the automobile. Kramer insisted on paying for the drinks and rapidly left the Hogshead Tavern. Matlock, alone, finished his drink and thought out his next move.
The hunted and the hunter were n~w one.
24
He sped out Route 72 toward Mount Holly in Kramer's white station wagon. He knew that within the hour he would find another pay telephone and insert another coin and make another call. This time to one Howard Stockton, owner of the Carmount Country Club. He looked at his watch; it was nearly eight thirty. Samuel Sharpe, attorney at law, should have reached Stockton several hours ago.
He wondered how Stockton had reacted. He wondered about Howard Stockton.
The station wagon~s headlights caught the reflection of the road sign.
mouNT iaoLLT. nswom-,oRATED jL896
And just beyond it, a second reflection.
MOUNT HOLLY ROTARY
HARPER'S REST
TUESDAY NOON
ONE MILE
Why not? thought Matlock. There was nothing to lose. And possibly something to gain, even learn.
TuE mATLocK P"ER 241
The hunter.
The white stucco front and the red Narragansett neons in the windows said all there was to say about Harper's cuisine. Matlock parked next to a pickup truck, got out, and locked the car. His newly acquired suitcase with the newly acquired clothes lay on the back seat. He had spent several hundred dollars in Hartford; he wasn~t about to take a chance.
He walked across the cheap, large gravel and entered the bar area of Harpees Restaurant
"I'm on my way to Carmount," said Matlock, paying for his drink with a twenty-dollar bill. "Would you mind telling me where the hell it is?"
"About two and a half miles west. Take the right fork down the road. You got anything smaller than a twenty? I only got two fives and singles. I need my singles."
"Give me the fives and well flip for the rest. Heads you keep it, tails I have one more and you still keep it." Matlock took a coin from his pocket and threw it on the formica, bar, covering it with his hand. He lifted his palm and picked up the coin without showing it to the bartender. "It's your unlucky night You owe me a drink-the ten~s yours."
His conversation did not go unheeded by the other customers-three men drinking draft beer. That was fine, thought Matlock, as he looked around for a tele. phone.
"Men~s roones in the rear around the comer," said a rustic-looking drinker in a chino jacket, wearing a baseball cap.
"Thanks. Telephone around?"
"Next to the men~s room."
'Thanks again." Matlock took out a piece of paper
on which he had written: Howard Stockton, Carmount C.C., #2o3-421-lioo. He gestured for the bartender, who came toward him like a shot. Tm supposed to phone this guy," said Matlock quietly. "I think I got the name wrong. rm not sure whether Ws Stackton or Stockton. Do you know him?"
The bartender looked at the paper and Matlock saw the instant reflex of recognition. "Sure. You got it right. Ies Stockton. Mr. Stockton. Hes vicepresident of the Rotary. Last term he was president. Right, boys?" The bartender addressed this last to his other customers.
'Sure."
'OlUes it Stockton."
'Nice fella."
The man in the chino jacket and baseball cap felt the necessity of elaborating. "He runs the country club. That's a real nice place. Real nice."
"Country club?' Matlock implied the question with a trace of humor.
'Thales right Swimming pool, golf course, dancing on the weekends. Very nice." It was the bartender who elaborated now.
\*Tll say this, Ws highly recommended. This Stockton, I mean." Matlock drained his glass and looked toward the rear of the bar. "Telephone back there, you say?'"
'Thaes right, Mister. Around the comer.'
Matlock reached into his pocket for some change and walked to the narrow corridor where the rest rooms and telephone were located. The instant he rounded the comer, he stopped and pressed himself against the wall. He listened for the conversation he knew would be forthcoming.
"Big spender~ huh?" The bartender spoke.
I MATLOCK PAPEMM
'rhey all are. Did I tell you? My kid caddied there a couple of weeks ago-some guy got a birdie and give the kid a fiftydollar bill. Che-rystl Fifty dollarsl"
"My old woman says all them fancy dames there are whoores. Real whoores.
She works a few parties there, my old woman does. Real whoores. . . "
"I'd like to get my hands on some of them. jee. awl I swear to Christ most of 'em got no brazzieresl"
'Real whoores. . . "
'Who gives a shit? That Stocktods O.K. He's O.K. in my book-Know what he did? The Kings. You know, Artie King who had a heart attack--dropped dead doin~ the lawns up there. Old Stockton not only give the family a lotta dough-he set up a regular charge account for 'em at the A&P. No shit. Hes O.K\*
'Real whoores. They lay for money. . . ."
"Stockton put most of the cash up for the grammar school extension, don't forget that. You're fuckin7 right~ he's O.K. I got two kids in that schooll"
"Not only-y'know what? He give a pocketful to the Memorial Day picnic."
"Real, honest-to-Christ whoores. . .
Matlock silently sidestepped his way against the wall to the telephone booth. He closed the door slowly with a minimum of noise. The men at the bar were getting louder in their appreciation of Howard Stockton, proprietor of the Carmount Country Club. He was not concerned that they might hear his delayed entrance into the booth.
What concerned him in an odd way was himself. If the hunted had instincts-protective in naturethe hunter had them also-aggressive by involvement. He understood now the necessity of tracking the scent, following the spoor, building a fabric of
comprehensive habit It meant that the hunter had abstract tools to complement his weapons. Tools which could build a base of entrapment, a pit in which the hunted might fail.
He ticked them off in his mind.
Howard Stockton: former president, current vicepresident of the Mount Holly Rotary; a charitable man, a compassionate man. A man who took care of the family of a deceased employee named Artie King, who financed the extension of a grammar school. The proprietor of a luxurious country club in winch men gave fiftydollar tips to caddies and girls were available for members in good standing. Also a good American who made It possible for the town of Mount Holly to have a fine Memorial Day picnic.
It was enough to start with. Enough to shake up Howard Stockton if--as Sammy Sharpe had put it"It came-tD that" Howard Stockton was not the formless man he was fifteen minutes ago. Matlock still didnI know the maes features, but other aspects, other factors were defined for him. Howard Stockton had become a thing in Mount Holly, Connecticut.
Matlock inserted the dime and dialed the number of the Carmount Country Club.
"It suhtainly is a pleasure, Mr. Matlockt" exclaimed Howard Stockton, greeting Matlock on the marble steps of the Carmount Country Club. "The boyl take your car. Heahl Boyl Doet wrap it up, nowl"
A Negro parking attendant laughed at his southern gentlemaes command.
Stockton flipped a half-dollar in the air and the black caught it with a grin.
'Thank you, suhl"
"Treat 'em good, they'll treat you good. That right, boy? Do I treat you good?1"
TnE MATLOCK PAPER 245
"Real good, Mister Howardl"
Matlock thought for a moment that he was part of an odious television commercial until he saw that Howard Stockton was the real item. Right up to his gTayish blond hair, which topped a suntanned face, which, in hum, set off his white moustache and deep blue eyes surrounded by crov/s nests of wrinkles belonging to a man who lived well.
"Welcome to Carmount, Mr. Matlock. les not Richmond, but on the other hand, it ain't the Okefenokee."
rhank you. And the name is Jim-
"Jim? Like that name. les got a good, honest ring to itl My friends call me Howard. You call me Howard.n
110 Carmount Country Club, what he could see of it, reminded Matlock of all those pictures of anteo. bellum. architecture. And why not, considering the owner? It was rife with potted palms and delicate chandeliers and light blue toile wallpaper depicting rococo scenes in which cavorted prettified figures in powdered wigs. Howard Stockton was a proselytizer of a way of life which had collapsed in 1865, but he waset going to admit ft. Even the servants, mostly black, were in liveries-honest-to-god liveries, knickers and all. Soft, live music came from a large dining room, at the end of which was a string orchestra of perhaps eight instruments gracefully playing in -a fash. ion long since abandoned. There was a slowly winding staircase in the center of the main hall which would have done honor to Jefferson Davis--or David 0. Selznick. Attractive women were wandering around, linked with not-so-attractive men.
The effect was incredible, thought Matlock, as he walked by his host's side toward what his host mod.
estly claimed was his private library.
The southerner closed the thick paneled door and strode to a well-stocked mahogany bar. He poured without asking a preference.
'Sam Sharpe says you drink sour mash. You!re a man of taste, I tell you that. Thaes my drink." He carried two glasses to Matlock. "Take your pick.
A Virginian has to disarm a northerner with his complete lack of bias these days."
"Thank you," said Matlock taking a glass and sitting in the armchair indicated by Stockton.
711is Virginian," continued Howard Stockton, sitting opposite Matlock, "also has an unsouthern habit of getting to the point.... I don't even know if ies wise for you to be in my place. I'll be honest. That's why I ushered you right in here."
"I doet understand. You could have told me on the phone not to come. Why the game?"
"Maybe you can answer that better than I can. Sammy says yoere a real big man. You're what they call ... international. That's just dandy by me. I like a bright young fella who goes up the ladder of success. Very commendable, that's a fact.... But I pay my bills. I pay every month on the line. I got the best combined operation north of Atlanta. I don1 want trouble."
'Yoru won!t get it from me. Im a tired business mgking the rounds, thaes all I am."
"What happened at Sharpe's? The papers are full of itl I don!t want nothin~
like thatl"
Matlock watched the southerner. The capillaries in the suntanned face were bloodred, which was probably why the man courted a year-round sunburn. It covered a multitude of blemishes.
TnE MATLOCK PAMM 247
'I doift think you understand." Matlock measured his words as he lifted the glass to his lips. 'I've come a long way because I have to be here. I don1
want to be here. Personal reasons got me into the area early, so I'm doing some sightseeing. But ies only that. rm just looking around.... Until my appointmene
"What appointment?"
'An appointment in Carlyle, Connecticut'
Stockton squinted his eyes and pulled at his perfectly groomed white moustache. -Youve got. to be in Carlyle?'
'Yes. It's confidential, but I don7t have to tell you that, do P"
'You haven1 told me anything~" Stockton kept watching Matlocks face, and Matlock knew the southerner was looking for a false note, a wrong word, a hesitant glance which might contradict his information.
"Good.... By any chance, do you have an appointment in Carlyle, too?
Inabout a week and a half?"
Stockton sipped his drink, smacking his lips and putting the glass on a side table as though it were some precious objet tfart. "I'm just a southern cracker try& to make a dollar. Liv& the good life and makin' a dollar. Thaes alL I don1 know about any appointments in Carlyle."
"Sorry I brought it up. It's a ... major mistake on my part. For both our sakes, I hope you won1 mention it. Or me."
'Thaes the last thing Id do. Far as Im concerned, you7re a friend of Sammys lookin' for a little action ... and a little hospitality." Suddenly Stockton leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded. He looked like an earnest mini ter question.
ing a parishiones sins. "What in tarnation happened at Windsor Shoals? What in hell was it?"
"As far as I can see, it was a local vendetta. BartDIo2zd had enemies. Some said he talked too goddamn much. Aiello, too, I suppose. They were show-offs.... Frank was just there, I thinlr-"
"Goddamn Eyetaliansl Mess up everythingl That level, of course, you know what I mean?"
There it was again. The dangling interrogativebut in this southerners version, it wasnI really a question. It was a statement 'I know what you mean," said Matlock wearily.
'I'm afraid I got a little bad news for you, Jim. I closed the tables for a few days. just plum scared as a jackrabbit after what happened at the Shoals.-
'Mat's not bad news for me. Not the way my streak's been going "
"I heard. Sammy told me. But we got a couple of other diversions. You wont find Carmount lacking in hospitality, I promise you that"
The two men finished their drinks, and Stockton, relieved, escorted his guest into the crowded, elegant Carmount dining room. The food was extraordinary, sexved in a manner befitting the finest and wealthiest plantation of the antebellum South.
Although pleasant-even relaxing, In a way-the dinner was pointless to Matlock. Howard Stockton would not discuss his "operation" except in the vaguest terms and with the constant reminder that he catered to the "best class of Yankee." His speech was peppered with descriptive anachronisms, he was a walking contradiction in time. Halfway through the meal, Stockton excused himself to say good-bye to an important member.
THE MATLOCK P"EM 249
It was the first opportunity Matlock had to look at Stockton's "best class of Yankee clientele.
The term applied, thought Matlock~ if the word clan was interchangeable with money, which he wasdt willing to concede. Money screamed from every table. The first sign was the proliferation of suntans in the beginning of a Connecticut May. These were people who jetted to the sun-drenched .
islands at will. Another was the easy, deep-throated laughter echoing throughout the room; also the glittering reflection of Jewelry. And the clothes-softly elegant suits, raw silk jackets, Dior ties. And the bottles of sparkling vintage wines, standing majestically in sterling silver stands upheld by cherrywood tripods.
But something was wrong, thought Matlock. Something was missing or out of place, and for several minutes he couldn1 put his finger on what it was.
And then he did.
The suntans, the laughter, the wrist jewelry, the jackets, the Dior ties-the money, the elegance, the aura was predominantly male.
The contradiction was the women-the girls. Not that there weren't some who matched their partners, but in the main, they didn't They were younger.
Much, much younger. And different
He wasiret sure what the difference was at flrst. Then, abstractly, it came to him. For the most part, the girls-and they were girls-had a look about them he knew very well. Hed referred to it often in the past. It was the campus look--as differentiated from the office look the secretary look. A slightly more careless attitude in conversation. The look of girls not settling into routines, not welded to file cabinets or typewriters. It was definable because it was
25o Robert Ludlum
real. Matlock had been exposed to that look for over a decade-it was unmistakable.
Then he realized that within this contradiction there was another-minor-discrepancy. The clothes the girls wore. They weren't the clothes he expected to find on girls with the campus look. They were too precisely cut, too designed, if that was the word. In this day of unisex, simply too feminine.
They wore costumesl
Suddenly, in a single, hysterically spoken sentence from several tables away, he knew he was right
"Honest, I mean it-its too groovyl"
That voicel Christ, he knew that voicel
He wondered if he was meant to bear it.
He had his hand up to his face and slowly turned toward the direction of the giggling speaker. The girl was laughing and drinking champagne, while her es cort---a much older man --- stared with satisfaction at her enormous breasts.
The girl was Virginia Beeson. The "pinky groovy' perennial undergraduate wife of Archer Beeson, Carlyle Universitys history instructor.
The man in an academic hurry.
Matlock tipped the black who carried his suitcase up the winding staircase to the large, ornate room Stockton had offered him. The floor was covered with a thick wine-colored carpet, the bed canopied, the walls white with fluted moldings. He saw that on the bureau was an ice bucket, two bottles of Jack Daniels, and several glasses. He opened the suitcase, picked out his toilet articles, and put them on the bedside ta, ble. He then removed a suit, a lightweight jacket, and two pairs of slacks, and carried them to the closet. He
THE MATLOCK PAPER 251
returned to the suitcase, lifted it from the bed, and laid it across the two wooden arms of a chair.
There was a soft tapping on his door. His first thought was that the caller was Howard Stockton, but he was wrong.
A girl, dressed in a provocative deep-red sheath, stood in the frame and smiled. She was in her late teens or very early twenties and terribly attractive.
And her smile was false.
OYesr
'Compliments of Mr. Stockton." She spoke the words and walked into the room past Matlock.
Matlock closed the door and stared at the girl, not so much bewildered as surprised.
IUes very thoughtful of Mr. Stockt0n, Isn't it?-
Tm. glad you approve. Theres whisky, ice, and glasses on your bureau. Id like a short drink. Unless yoere in a hurry.', Matlock walked slowly to the bureau. 'rm in no hurry. What would you like?"
"It doesn't matter. Whatevees there. just ice, please."
"I see." Matlock poured the girl a drink and carried it over to her. "Won't you sit down?"
00n the bedr
The only other chair, besides the one on which the suitcase was placed, was across the room by a French window.
"rm sorry." He removed the suitcase and the girl sat down. Howard Stockton, he thought, had good taste. The girl was adorable. "Whaes your name?"
"Jeannie." She drank a great deal of her drink in several swallows. The girl may not have perfected a selection in liquor, but she knew how to drink. And
then, as the girl took the glass from her mouth, Matlock noticed the ring on her third right finger.
He knew that ring very well. It was sold in a campus bookstore several blocks from John Holden~s apartment in Webster, Connecticut. It was the ring of Madison University.
"What would you say if I told you I wasiA Interevted?- asked Matlock, leaning against the thick pole of the bed's anachronistic canopy.
"I'd be surprised. You don7t look like a fairy.'
'Tm not."
The girl looked up at Matlock. Her pale blue eyes were warm-but professionally wann-meaning, yet not meaning at all. Her lips were young.
And full; and taut.
"Maybe you just need a little encouragement."
"You can provide that?"
'I'm good." She made the statement with quiet arrogance.
She was so young, thought Matlock, yet there was age in her. And hate. The hate was camouflaged, but the cosmetic was inadequate. She was performing-the costume, the eyes, the lips. She may have detested the role, but she accepted it.
Professionally.
"Suppose I just want to talk?"
'Conversation~s something else. There are no rules about that. I've equal rights in that department. Quid pro, Mister No-name.\*
'You're facile with words. Should that tell me something?'
"I don't know why."
"'Quid pro quo! iset the language of your eight to three hooker.~
THE MATLOCK PAPER 253
"Ilis place--in case you missed it-isn't the Avenida de las Putas, either."
'Tennessee Williams?'
'Who knows?"
"I think you do."
Vine. All right. We can discuss Proust in bed. I mean, that is where you want me, isn1 it?"
"Perhaps I'd settle for the conversation."
The girl suddenly, in alarm, whispered hoarsely, 'Are you a cop?"
"I'm the finthest thing from a cop," laughed Matlock "You might say that some of the most important policemen in the area would like to find me.
Although I'm no criminal.... Or a nut, by the way."
"Now I'm not interested. May I have another drink?'
"Surely." Matlock got it for her. Neither spoke until he returned with her glass.
"Do you mind if I stay here awhile? just long enough for you to have balled me."
"You mean you don't want to lose the fee?"
"It's fifty dollars."
'Youll probably have to use part of it to bribe the dormitory bead. Madison University's a little oldfashioned. Some coed houses still have weekday checkins. Youll be late."
The shock on the girl's face was complete. "You are a copl You~re a lousy cop[" She started to get out of the chair, but Matlock quickly stood in front of her, holding her shoulders. He eased her back into the chair.
"I'm not a cop, I told you that. And you're not interested, remember? But rm interested. I'm very interested, and you're going to tell me what I want to
IMOW."
The girl started to get up and Matlock grabbed her arms. She struggled; he pushed her back violently. "Do you always get 'balled' with your ring on?
Is that to show whoever gets laid there's a little class to Of"
"Oh, my Godl Oh, Jesus]" She grabbed her ring and twisted her finger as if the pressure might make it disappear.
"Now, listen to mel You answer my questions or IT be down in Webster tomorrow morning and I'll start asking them down therel Would you like that better?"
"Pleasel Pleasel" Tears came to the girrs eyes. Her hands shook and she gasped for breath.
"How did you get here?l"
~Nol No..."
'How?"
"I was recruited.
'By whom?"
"Other ... Others. We recruit each other."
'How many are there?"
"Not many. Not very many.... Ifs quiet. We have to keep it quiet... Let me go, please. I want to go."
"Oh, no. Not yet I want to know how many and whyr "I told youl Only a few, maybe seven or eight girle "There must be thirty downstairsl"
"I don1 know them. Theyre from other places. We don1 ask each other's nanzesf"
"But you know where they're from, don~t you!"
"Some.... Yes."
'Other schools?"
wYes. . . ."
'Why, Jeannie? For Chrisfs sake, whyP"
'Why do you thinkP Moneyf"
The girrs dress had long sleeves. He grabbed her TBE MATLOCK PAPM 255
right arm and ripped the fabric up past the elbow. She fought him back but he overpowered her.
There were no marks. No signs.
She kicked at him and he slapped her face, hard enough to shock her into momentary immobility. He took her left arm and tore the sleeve.
There they were. Faded. Not recent. But there.
The small purple dots of a needle.
'Tm not on it nowl I haven't been in monthsl\*
"But you need the moneyl You need fifty or a hundred dollars every time you come over berel . . . What is it now? Yellows? Reds? Acid? Speed? What the hell is it nowP Grass isn't that expensivel"
The girl sobbed. Tears fell down her cheeks. She covered her face and spoke-moaned-through her sobs.
"There's so much troublel So much ... troublef Let me go, pleaser Matlock knelt down and cradled the girls head in his arms, against his chest
"What trouble? tell me, please. What trouble?"
"They nwke you do it.... You have to.... So many need help. They won't help anyone if you donI do it. Please, whatever your name is, let me alone. Let me go. Doet say anything. Let me gol ... Pleaser 'I will, but you~ve got to clear something up for me. Then you can go and I woet say anything. . . . Are you down here because they threatened you?
Threatened the other kids?"
The girl nodded her head, gasping quietly, breathing heavily. Matlock continued. "Threatened you with what? Turning you in? ... Exposing a habit?
Thaes not worth it.Not today. . . ."
'Oh, yoxere outta sightl" The girl spoke through her
tem. "ney can ruin you. For life. Ruin your family, your school, maybe later. Maybe.... Some rotten prison. Somewherel Habit, pushing, supplying ... a boy you know's in trouble and they can get him off. .
Some girrs in her third month, she needs a doctor they can get one. No noise."
'You don~t need thend Where~ve you beenP1 Ilere are agencies, counselingl"
"Oh, Jesus Christ, misterl Where have you been?l ... The drug courts, the doctors, the judgesl They run them alU ... Theres nothing you can do about it Nothing I can do about it So leave me alone, leave us alonel Too many people'll get hurd"
"And yoii~re just going to keep doing what they sayl Frightened, spoiled little bastards who keep on whiningi Afraid to wash your hands, or your mouths, or your arnwr He pulled at her left elbow and yanked it viciously.
The girl looked up at him6 half in fear, half in contempt rhaes right," she said in a strangely calm voice. "I don1 think you'd understand. You don1 know what it's all about.... We're different from you.
My friends are all I've got. All any of us have got We help each other....
I'm not interested in being a hero. rm only interested in my friends. I don~t have a flag decal in my car window and I don't like John Wayne. I think he's a shit I think you all are. All shits."
Matlock released the girl's arm. "Just how long do you think you can keep it up?"
"Oh, rm one of the lucky ones. In a month r1l have that scroll my parents paid for and I'm out of it. They hardly ever try to make contact with you later. 'Mey say they wilL but they rarely do.... Yotere just sup- TM MATWCK PAMM 257
posed to live with the possibility."
He understood the implications of her muted testimony and turned away. 'I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry."
"Don't be. Im one of the lucky ones. Two weelm after I pick up that piece of engraved crap my parents \*ant so badly, IT be on a plane. I'm leaving this goddamn country. And I'll never come backl"
25
He had not been able to sleep, nor had he expected tD. He had sent the girl away with money, for be bad nothing else he could give her, neither hope nor courage. What he advocated was rejected, for it involved the risk of danger and pain to untold children committed to the well-being of each other. He could not demand; there was no trust, no threat equal to the burdens they carried. Ultimately, it was the childrees own struggle. They wanted no help.
He remembered the Bagdhivi admonition: Look ye to the children; look and behold. They grow tall and strong and hunt the tiger with greater cunning and stronger sinews than you. They shall save the flocks better than you.
Ye are old and infirm Look to the children. Beware of the children.
Were the children hunting the tiger better? And even if they were, whose flocks would they saveP And who was the tiger?
Was it the "goddamn counh-)rP
Had it come to that?
The questions burned into his mind. How many Jearmies were there? How extensive was NimroXs recruiting?
He had to find out.
The girl adrnitted that Carmount was only one port THE MATLOM PAPEM 259
of call; there were others, but she didnI know where. Friends of hers had been sent to New Haven, others to Boston, some north to the outskirts of Hanover.
Yale. Harvard. Dartmouth.
The most frightening aspect was Nimro&s threat of a thousand futures. What had she said?
"They hardly ever make contact.... They say they will.... You live with the possibility.\*
If such was the case, Bagdhivi was wrong. The chfldren had far less cunning, possessed weaker sinews; there was no reason to beware. Only to pity.
Unless the children were subdivided, led by other, stronger children.
Matlock made up his mind to go down to New Haven. Maybe there were answers there. He had scores of friends at Yale University. It would be a side trip, an unconsidered excursion, but intrinsic to the journey itself. Part of the Nimrod odyssey.
Short, high-pitched sounds interrupted Matlock's concentration. He froze, his eyes swollen in shock, his body tense on top of the bed. It took him several seconds to focus his attention on the source of the frightening sound. It was the Telelectronic, still in his jacket pocket. But where had he put his jacket? it wasn't near his bed.
He turned on the bedside lamp and looked around, the unrelenting, unceasing sounds causing his pulse to hammer, his forehead to perspire. Then he saw his coat. He bad put it on top of the chair in front of the French window, halfway across the room. He looked at his watch: 4-35 A.m. He ran to the jacke% pulled out the terrible instrument, and shut it off.
The panic of the hunted returned. He picked up the telephone on the bedside table. It was a direct line, no switchboard.
The dial tone was like any other dial tone outside the major utility areas.
A little fuzzy, but steady. And If there was a tap, he wouldn't be able to recognize it anyway. He dialed M-6868 and waited for the call to be completed.
"Charger Threezero reporting," said the mechanized voice. "Sorry to disturb you. There is no change with the subject, everything is satisfactory. However, your friend from Wheeling, West Virginia, is very insistent He telephoned at four fifteen and said it was imperative you call him at once. Were concerned. Out"
Matlock hung up the telephone and forced his mind to go blank until he found a cigarette and ]it it He needed the precious moments to stop the hammering pulse.
He hated that goddamn machinel He hated what Its terrifying little beeps did to him.
He 6ew heavily on the smoke and knew there was no alternative. He had to get out of the Carmount Country Club and reach a telephone booth. Greenberg wouldn't have phoned at four in the morning unless it was an emergency. He couldet take the chance of calling Greenberg on the Carmount line.
He threw his clothes into the suitcase and dressed quieldy.
He assumed there'd be a night watchman, or a parkIng attendant asleep in a booth, and hed retrieve his, Kramer!s, automobile. If not, he'd wake up someone, even if it was Stockton himself. Stockton was still frightened of trouble, Windsor Shoals trouble-he woul(Wt try to detain him. Any story would do for the purveyor of young, adorable flesh. The suri. burned southern flower of the Connecticut Valley. The stench of Nimrod.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 261
Matlock closed the door quietly and walked down the silent corridor to the enormous staircase. Wall sconces were lighted, dimmed by rheostats to give a candlelight effect. Even in the dead of night, Howard Stocktow couldiA forget his heritage. The interior of the Carmount Country Club looked more than ever like a sleeping great hall of a plantation house.
He started for the front entrance, and by the time he reached the storm carpet, he knew it was as far as he would go. At least for the moment.
Howard Stockton, clad in a flowing velour, nineteenth-oentury dressing gown, emerged from a glass door next to the entrance. He was accompanied by a large~ Italian-looking man whose jet black eyes silently spoke generations of the Black Hand. Stocktoes companion was a killer.
"Why, Mr. Matlockl Are you leavinus?'
He decided to be aggressive.
"Since you tapped my goddamn phone, I assume you gather I've got problernsl Theyre my business, not yourd If you want to know, I resent your intru-sionl"
The ploy worked. Stockton was startled by Matlocles hostility.
'Mere's no reason to be angry.... I'm a businessman, like you. Any invasion of your privacy is for your protection. Goddamnl Thaes true, boyr "IT accept the lousy explanation. Are my keys In the carr "Well, not in your car. My friend Mario heWs got 'em. Hids a real high-class Eyetalian, let me tell you.'
'I can see the family crest on his pocket. May I have my keys?\*
Mario looked at Stockton, obviously confused.
"Now, just it minute," Stockton said. 'Wait a bit,
Mario. Lees not be impulsive... rm a reasonable umn-A very reasonable, rational person. rm merely a Virginia . . -
'Cracker, trying to make a dollarl" interrupted Matlock "IT buy thatl Now get the hell out of my way and give me the keyst-
"Good Lord, you aU are downright meant I mean, meanI Put yourself in my placel ... Some crazy code like 'Chargie Threezero' and an urgent call from Wheelie, West Virginial And instead of usie \*my perfectly good telephone, you gotta make space and get outta herel C'mon, jim. What would you do?1"
Matlock kept his voice chillingly precise. 'rd try to understand who I was dealing with.... Weve made a number of inquiries, Howard. My superiors are concerned about you."
'What-do-you-mean?' Stockton!s question was asked so swiftly the words had no separation.
They think ... we think you've called too much attention to yourself.
president and vicepresident of a Rawy Club/ jesusl A one-man fund-raiser for new school buildings; the big provider for widows and orphans--charge accounts included; Memorial Day picnicsf Then hiring locals to spread rumors about the girlsl Half the time the kids walk around half naked. You think the local citizens dojYt talk? Christ, How,krdIJV
-Who the hell are you?-
'Just a tired businessman who gets annoyed when he sees another businessman make an ass of himself. what the hell do you think you're running for?
Santa Claus? Have you any idea how prominent that cOstume isr -'Goddamn it, you got it in for mel rve got the finest combined operation north of Atlantal I dont
TEE MATLOCK PAM 263
know who you people been talkin' to, but I tell youthis ril old Mount Hollyd go to hell in a basket for mel Those things you people dug up-they're good thingsl Re4l goodi . . . You twist Pem, maw em sound badl That ain't rightr Stockton took out a handkerchief and patted his flushed, persphing face.
The southerner was so upset his sentences spilled over into one another, his voice strident Matlock tried to think swiftly, cautiously. Perhaps the time was now-with Stockton. It had to be sometime. He had to send out his own particular invitation. He had to start the last lap of his journey to Nimrod.
"Calm down, Stockton. Relax. You may be right... I havedt time to think about it now. Weve got a crisis. All of us. That phone call was serious.'
Matlock paused, looking hard at the nervous Stockton, and then put his suitcase on the marble floor. "Howard," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "Irm going to trust you with something and I hope to bell you're up to it. If you pull it off, no one'll bother your operation-ever."
"Whaes thatr
'Tell him to take a walk. just down the hall, if you like."
"You heard the man. Go smoke a cigan"
Mario looked both hostile and confused as he trudged slowly toward the staircase. Stockton spoke.
"What do you want me to do? I told you, I don!t want trouble.\*
"Were aU going to have trouble unless I reach a few delegates. That's what Wheeling was telling me.\*
"What do you mean. . . delegatesr
"The meeting over at Carlyle. The conference with our people and the Nunrod organization."
aRA Robelt LUCUUM
T
7f`hafs not my affairl" Stockton spat out the words. 01 doift know a thing about thatl"
\*Tm. sure you d&t, you weren't meant to. But now it concerns all of us....
Sometimes rules have to be broken; this is one of those times. Nimro&s gone too far, thaes all I can tell you."
'You tell im? I live with those preacherst I parlay with them, and when I complain, you know what our own people say? They say, That's the way it Is, old Howie, we all do businessl What ldnd of talk is that? Why do I have to do business with them?"
'Perhaps you won't much longer. Thars why I have to reach some of the others. The delegates."
Mey doet include me in those meetings. I don't ](now anyone-a "Of course you don!t. Again, you weredt meant to. The conference is heavy; very heavy and very quiet So quiet we may have screwed ourselves: we doet know who's in the area. From what organization; from what family? But I have my orders. Weve got tD get through to-one or two.'
'I caet help YOU."
Matlock looked harshly at the southerner. "I think you can-Listen to me.
In the morning, get on the phone and pass the word. Careftdlyl We don't want panic. Doet talk to anyone you doet know and don't use my namel just say you've met someone who has the Corsican paper, the silver Corsican paper. Hes got to meet quietly with someone else who has it, too. Well start with one person if we have to. Have you got that?"
"I got it but I doet like itl les none of my busi-WMr Would you rather close down? Would you rather lose this magnificent relic of yours and stare out of a
TIRE MATLOCK PAM 265
cell window for ten or twenty years? I understand prison funerals are very touching.\*
All rightl . . . All right. IT call my bag boy. Ill say I doet know nothin.1 I'm just passie along a message-0
\*Uood enough. If you make a contact, tell whoever It is that I'll be ~t the Sail and Ski tonight or tomormw. Tell him to bring the paper. I woet talk to anyone without the paperl"
'Without the paper ... "
"Now let me have my keys."
Stockton called Mario back. Matlock got his keys.
He swung south on Route 72 out of Mount Holly. He didn't remember precisely where, but he knew hed passed several highway telephone booths on his way up from Hartford. It was funny how he was begixining to notice pubhe telephones, his only connecting link with solidity. Everything else was transient, hit or miss, unfamiliar and frightening. He'd phone Greenberg as Charger Threezero requested, but before he did, he was going to reach one of Blackstones inen.
A rendezvous would have to be arranged immediately. He now had to have the Corsican paper. He'd put out the word; he'd have to keep his end of the bargain or he would learn nothing. rf Stockton's message got through and if someone did make contact that someone would kill or be killed before breaking the oath of -OmmW unless Matlock produced the paper.
Or was it all for nothing? Was he the amateur Kressel and Greenberg said be was? He didnt know. He tried so hard to think things through, look at all sides of every action, use the tools of his trained, aca- 2ffi Robert Ludluin
demic imagination. But was it enough? Or was ft possible that his sense of commitment, his violent feelings of vengeance and disgust were only turning him tnto a Quixote?
If that were so, hed live with it H6d do his goddamnedest and live with it He had good reasons-a brother named David; a girl named Pat, a gentle old man named Lucas; a nice fellow named Loring; a confused, terrified student from Madison named Jeannie. The sickening whole scenel Matlock found a booth on a deserted stretch of Route 72 and called the inanimate receiver at the other end of 555-6868. He gave the number of the telephone booth and waited for Charger Threezero to answer his call.
A milk track lumbered by. The driver was singing and waved to Matlock Several minutes later a huge Allied Van Lines sped past, and shortly after a produce truck. It was nearing five thirty, and the day was brightening Brightemng to a dull gray, for there were rain clouds in the sky.
The telephone rang.
"Hellolm
"What's the problem, sirP Did you reach your friend in West Virginia? He said he's not kidding anymore.\*
"I'll call him in a few minutes. Are you the fellow named Cliff?" Matlock knew it was not, the voice was different
.' No, sir. rm Jim. Same name as yours.\*
"All right, Jim. Tell me, did the other fellow do what I asked him to? Did he get the paper for me?'
"Yes, sir. If ifs the one on silver paper, written in Italian. I think ies Italian."
"That's the one. . . ."
Matlock arranged for the pickup in two hours. it TEZ MATLOCK PAP= 267
was agreed that the Blackstone man named Cliff meet him at an all-night diner on Scofield Avenue near the West Hartford town line. Charger Threezero inSisted that the delivery be made rapidly, in the parkIng IOL
Matlock described thq car he was driving andhung up the phone.
The next call would have to be Jason Greenberg in Vv%eeling. And Greenberg was furious.
'Schniuck! It 1=1 bad enough you break your word, you~ve got tDhire your own armyl What the hell do you think those clowns can do that the United States Government can't?"
"llose clowns are costing me three hundred dollars a day, Jason. They'd better be good.-
OYou ran outl Why did you do that? You gave me your word you wouldn't. You said you~d work with our manf"
"Your man gave me an ultimatum I couldn't live withl And if it was your idea, III tell you the same thing I told Houston."
"What does that mean? What ultimatumPo
'You know goddanin welll Don't play that game. And you listen to me. . . ."
Matlock took a break before plunging into the lie, giving it all the authority he could summon.
"There's a lwayer in Hartford who has a very precise letter signed by me.
Along the same lines as the letter I signed for you. Only the informatioes a bit different: ifs straight. it describes in detail the story of my recruitment, how you bastards sucked me in and then how you let me hang. How you forced me to sign a lie.... You try anything, hell release it and there'll be a lot of embarrassed manipulators at the justice Departrnent .
. . You gave me the idea, Jason. It was a damn good idea. It might even make a few militants decide to tear
up the Cadyle campus. Maybe launch a string of nots, with luck, right across the country. The academic scenes ready to be primed out of its dormancy., iset that what Seaffont sead? Only this time it woet be the war or the draft or drugs. They'll find a better 1": government infiltration, police state.
. . Gestapo tactics. Are you prepared for thatr "For Chrises sake, cut it outl It woet do you any good. Yoere not that important. . . . Now, what the hell are you talking about? I briefed hind There wereret any conditions except that you keep hun Informed of what you were doing."
OBullshid I waset to leave the campus; I wasn't to talk to anyone on the faculty or the staff. I was re. stricted to student inqumes, and I gathered tbose were to be cleared firsW Outside of those minor restrictions, I was free as a birdl Come onl You sav Patl You saw what they did to her. You know what else they did-the word is rape, Greenbergl Did you people expect me to thank Houston for being so wbderstandingr "Believe me6\* said Greenberg softly, in anger. "Ilose conditions were added after the briefing. They should have told me, that's true. But they were added for your own protection. You can see that, caZt you?\*
11jey weren!t part of our bargainf"
'N% they weren% And they should have told me....
"Also, I wonder whose protection they were concerned with. Mine or theirs."
"A good question. They should have told me. They caet delegate responsibility and always take away the authority. lies not logical.-
01fs not awraL Let me tell you something. This ht- T73E AUTLOCK PAM 269
tle odyssey of mine is bringing me closer and closer to the sublime question of morality."
Tin glad for you, but rm. afraid your odyssey's coming to an end."
Try itr
rheyre going to. Statements in lawyers' offices woadt mean a damn. I told them I'd try fint ... If you doet turn yourself over to protective Custody within forty-eight hours, theyl issue a warrant."
On what grounds?1-
'You're a menace. You're mentally unbalanced. YoVre a nut TheyT cite your army record--two courts-martial, brig time, continuous instability under combat conditions. Your use of drugs. And alcoholthey've got witnesses.
You're also a racist-the3eve got that Lumumba affidavit from Kressel. And now I understand, although I haven't the facts, yoxere consorting with known crimmals. They have photographsfrom a place In Avon. Turn yourself in, Jim 'M18y!1l i uin your life."
26
Forty-eight hoursl Why forty-eight hours? Why not twenty-four or twelve or immediately? It didn7t make sensel Then he understood and, alone in the booth, he started to laugh. He laughed out loud in a telephone booth at five thirty in the morning on a deserted stretch of highway in Mount Holly, Connecticut
The practical men were giving him just enough time to accomplish something-if he could accomplish something. If he couldn't, and anything happened, they were clean. It was on record that they considered him a mentally unbalanced addict with racist tendencies who consorted with known criminals, and they had given him warning. In deference to the delicate balance of dealing with such madmen, they allocated tinw in the hopes of reducing the danger. Oh, Christl The manipulatorsl
He reached the West Hartford diner at six fortyfive and ate a large breakfast, somehow believing that the food would take the place of sleep and give him the energy he needed. He kept glancing at his watch, knowing that he'd have to be in the parking lot by seven thirty.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 271
He wondered what his contact at Charger Threezero would look like The man was enormous, and Matlock had never considered himself small. Cliff of Charger Threezero reminded Matlock of those old pictures of Prinio Carnera. Except the face. The face was lean and hi~-telligent and smiled broadly.
'Don1 get out, Mr. Matlock." He reached in and shook Madocks hand. "Heres the paper; I put it in an envelope. By the way, we had Miss BaIlantyne laughing last night. She's feeling better. EncephalograpYs steady, inetabolism's coming back up to par, pupil dilatioes receding Thought you'd like to )mow.,,
"I imagine that's gc)ocL"
"It is. Widve made friends with the doctor. He levels.7
Mow's the hospital taking your guard duty?o 'Aft. Blackstone solves those problems in advance. We have rooms on either side of the subject."
"For which, Im sure, I'll be charged."
'You kiiow Mr. Blackstone."
Tm getting to. He goes first class."
OSo do his clients. I'd better get back. Nice to meet you." The Blackstone man walked rapidly away and got into a nondescript automobile several years old.
It was time for Matlock to drive to New Haven.
He had no set plan, no specific individuals in mind, he wasn't leading, he was being led. His information was, at best, nebulous, sketchy, far too incomplete to deal in absolutes. Yet perhaps there was enough for someone to make a connection. But whoever made it, or was capable of making it had to be someone with
an overall view of the university. Someone who dealt, as did Sam Kressel, with the general tensions of the campus.
However, Yale was five times the size of Carlyle; it was infinitely more diffuse, a section of the New Haven city, not really isolated from its surroundings as was Carlyle. There was a focal point, the Office of Student Affairs; but he didn7t know anyone there. And to arrive off the street with an improbable story of college girls forming-or being formed intD-a prostitution ring reaching, as so far determined, the states of Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, would create havoc if he was taken seriously. And he wasn't sure he would be taken seriously, in which case hed learn nothing.
There was one possibility; a poor substitute for Student Affairs, but with its own general view of the campus: the Departnient of Admissions. He knew a man, Peter Daniels, who worked in YaWs admissions office. He and Daniels had shared a number of lecterns during prep school recruitment programs. He knew Daniels well enough to spell out the facts as he understood them; Daniels wasn't the sort to doubt him or to panic. Hed restrict his story to the girt however.
He parked on Chappel Street near the intersection of York. On one side of the thoroughfare was an arch leading to the quadrangle of Silliman College, on the other a large expanse of lawn threaded with cement paths to the Admini tration Building. Daniels's office was on the second floor. Matlock got out of the car, locked it, and walked toward the old brick structure with the American flag masted next to the Yale banner.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 273
"That's preposterousl This is the age of Aquarius and then some. You donI pay for sex; its exchanged freely."
"I know what I saw. I know what the girl told me; she wasn!t lying."
"I repeat. You can7t be sure."
"Ies tied in with too many other things. rve seen them, too."
"May I ask the obvious question? Why dodt you go to the police?"
"Obvious answer. Colleges have been in enough trouble. What facts I have are isolated. I need more information. I donI want to be responsible for fndiscriminate name-calling, any widespread panic. Theres been enough of that"
"All right, III buy it. But I can~t help you."
"Give me several names. Students or faculty. People you know ... you're certain are messed up, seriously messed up. Near the center. You!ve got those kinds of names, I know you do; we do.... I swea4 they'll never know who gave them to me."
Daniels got out of his chair, lighting his pipe, "You're being awfully general. Messed up how? Academically, politically . . . narcotics, alcohol?
Yoi\*e covering a wide territory."
"Wait a minute." Daniels's words evoked a memory. Matlock recalled a dimly lit, smoke-filled room inside a seemingly deserted building in Hartford.
Rocco Aie]Ws Hunt Club. And a tall young man in a wait. er's jacket who had brought over a tab for Aiello to sign. The veteran of Nam and Da Nang. The Yalie who was making contacts, building up his nest egg ... the business administration major. "I know who I want to see."
"Whaes his name?"
"I don1 know.... But hes a veteran-Indochina, about twenty-two or three; he's pretty tall, light brown hair ... majoring in business administration."
"A description which might fit five hundred audents. Except for premed, law, and engineering, its all lumped under liberal arts. Wed have to go through every Me."
"Application photographs?"
'Not allowed anymore, you know that\*
Matlock stared out the window, his eyebrows wrinkled in thought He looked back at Daniels. "Pete, ifs May. . . ."
"So? It could be November, that wouldet change the Fair Practices law."
"Graduation's in a month... Senior class photographs. Yearbook portraits."
Daniels understood instantly. He took his pipe from his mouth and started for the door.
"Come with me."
His name was Alan Pace. He was a senior and his curriculum was not centered on business administration; he was a government major. He lived off campus on Church Street near the Hamden town line. According tx) his records, Alan Pace was an excellent student, consistent honors in all subjects, a fellowship in the offing at the Maxwell School of PoJitical Science at Syracuse. He had spent twenty-eight months in the army, four more than was required of him. As with most veterans, his university extracurricular activities were minimal.
While Pace was in service, be was an officer attached to inventory and supply. He had volunteered for a four-month extended tour of duty in the Saigon
THE MATLOCK PAPER 275
Corps-a fact noted with emphasis on his reapplication form. Alan-Pace had given four months of his life more than necessary to his country. Alan Pace was obviously an honorable man in these days of cynr icism.
He was a winner, thought Matlock.
The drive out Church Street toward Hamden gave Matlock the chance to clear his mind. He had to take one thing at a time; one item crossed off--on to the next. He couldn't allow his imagination to interpret isolated facts beyond their meaning. He couldn't lump everything together and total a sum larger than the parts.
It was entirely possible that this Alan Pace played a solo game.
Unattached, unencumbered.
But it wasn't logical.
Pace's apartment house was an undistinguished brown brick building, so common on the outskirts of cities. Once-forty or fifty years ago-it had been the proud symbol of a rising middle class extending themselves out beyond the cement confines toward the country, but not so courageous as to leave the city completely. It wasn't so much run down as it was . . . not spruced up. The most glaring aspect of the apartment house to Matlock, however, was that it seemed to be a most unlikely place for a student to reside.
But he was there now; Peter Daniels had ascertained that.
Pace had not wanted to unlatch the door. It was only Matlock's strong emphasis on two points that made the student relent. The first point was that he wasift from the police; the second, the name of Rocco Aiello.
"What do you want? I've got a lot of work to do;
I dodt have time to talk. I've got comprehensives tDmorrow.
-May I sit downP-
'What for? I told you, Im busy.' The tat brownhah-ed student crossed back to his desk, piled with books and papers. The apartment was neat-except for the desk-end quite large. There were doors and short corridors leading to other doors. It was the sort of apartment that usually was shared by four or five students. But Alan Pace had no roommates.
"I'll sit down anyway. You owe that much to Rocco."
"What does that mean?"
"Just that Rocco was my friend. I was the one with him the other night when you brought him a tab to sign. Remember? And he was good to you. ... Hes dead."
"I know. I read about it Im sorry. But I diddt owe him anything."
"But you bought from him."
"I dodt know what you're talking aboue
'Come on, Pace. You don't have the time and neither do 1. You~re not connected to Aiello's death, I know that. But I've got to have information, and yoere going to supply it"
"You!re talking to the wrong person. I don!t know you. I don't know anything."
"I know you. I've got a complete rundown on you. Aiello and I were considering going into business together. Now, that's none of your concern, I realize that, but we exchanged . . . personnel information. rm coming to you because, frankly, Rocco's gone and there are areas that need filling.
I'm really asking a favor, and I'll pay for it."
01 told you, rm not your man. I hardly knew A161- TBE MATLOCK PAP= r/7
Io. I picked up a few dollars waiting tables. Sure, I heard rumors, but thaes all. I don~t know what you want, but yoxed better go to someone else."
Pace was sharp, thought Matlock. He was disen. gaging himself but not foolishly claiming complete innocence. On the other hand, perhaps he was telling the truth. There was only one way to find out "I'll try again... Fifteen months in Vietnam. Saigon, Da Nang; excursions to Hong Kong, Japan. I&S officer, the dullest, most exasperating kind of work for a young man with the potential that earns him honors at a very tough university.'
"I&S was good duty; no combat, no sweat Everybody made the tourist hops.
Check the R&R routs sheets."
"Then," continued Matlock without acknowledging Pace~s interruption, "the dedicated officer rehirns to civilian life After a four-month voluntary extension in Saigon-rm surprised you weren~t caught up on that one--he comes back with enough money to make the proper investments, and certainly not from his army pay. He!s one of the biggest suppliers in New Haven. Do you want me to go on?"
Pace stood by the desk and seemed to stop breathIng. He stared at Matlock, his face white. When he spoke, it was the voice of a frightened young man.
"You can't prove anything. I haven't done anything. My army record, my record here-they're both good. The3ere very good.\*
Ile best Unblemished. They're records to be proud of; I mean that sincerely. And I wouldn't want to do anything to spoil them; I mean that, too."
"You couldn't. I'm cleanf"
"No, you're not. You're up to your fellowship neck. Aiello made that clear.
On paper,"
-sig Robed Ludluin
-Yotfre lyingf---
You re stupid. You &Ink Aiello would do business with anyone he didn't run a check on? Do you think Wd be allowed to? He kept very extensive books, Pace, and Ive got them I told you, we were going Into business tDgether.
You don1 form a partnership without audit disclosures, you should know that"
Pace spoke barely above a whisper. "Thore are no books like that There never are. Cities, towns, codes. No names. Never any names."
'Then why am I here?"
'You saw me in Hartford; you!re reaching for a comiection."
"You know better than that. Don't he foolish."
Matlock's quickly put implications were too much for the tall, shocked young man. "Why did you come to me? Im not that important You say you know about me; then you know rm not important~
"I told you. I need information. Im reluctant to go tD the high priests, anyone with real authority. I doet want to be at a disadvantage. Thats why I'm willing tD pay; why I'm prepared to tear up everything Ive gDt on YOU.
so
The prospect of being cut free of the stranger's grip was obviously all that was on Paas mind. He replied quickly.
'Suppose I can!t answer your questions? You'll think I'm lying."
"You can't be worse off. All you can do is try me 'Go ahead.\*
^I met a girl ... from a nearby college. I met her under circumstances that can only be described as professional prostitution. Professional in every sense of the word. Appointinents, set fees, no prior knowl- THE MATLOCK PAM 279
edge of clients, the works. . . . What do you know about itr Pace took several steps toward Matlock. "What do you mean, what do I know?
I know it!s there. What else is there to know?"
"How extensiver
"All over. Ies not new&"
"It is to me."
"You don't know the scene. Take a walk around a few college towns."
Matlock swallowed. Was he really that far out of touch? "Suppose I were to tell you I'm familiar with a lot of ... college townsr "rd say your circles were cubed. Also, rm no part of that action. What else?"
'I&es stick to this for a minute.... Why?" Why what?-
"Why do the girls do it?"
"Bread, man. Why does anyone do anything?"
"YoxiCre too intelligent to believe that ... Is it organized?"
"I guess so. I told you, I'm no part of it"
'Watch itl Ive got a lot of paper on you. . .
"All right Yes, ies organized. Everythines organized. If it's going to work."
"Where TecificaUy are the operations?"
"I told youl All over.\*
"Inside the colleges?"
"No, not inside. On the outskirts. A couple of miles usually, if the campuses are rural. Old houses, away from the suburbs. If they're in cities--downtown hotels, private clubs, apartment houses. But not here."
"Are we talking about ... Columbia, Harvard, Radcliffe, Smith, Holyoke? And points south?"
28o Robert LucUum
~Everyone always forgets PrinceW replied Pace with a wry smile. 'A lot of nice old estates in those back roads.... Yes, were talking about those piaces.w
I never would have believed it . . .- Matlock spoke as much to himself as to Pam "But, whyP Doet give me the 'bread! routine. . . ."
"Bread is fnwdom manI For these kids Ifs freedom. Theyre not psyched-up freaks; theyre not running around in black berets and field jacketL Very few of us am Weve Wmed. Get the money, fella, and the nice people will like you. ... Also, whether yoeve noticed it or not, the stritight moneys not as easy to come by as it once was. Most of these kids need e 'Jrhe girl I mentioned before; I gathered she was forced Into e 'Oh, Jesus, nobodys forcedl Thafs crap
'She was. She mentioned a few things.... Controls is as good a word as any.
Courts, doctors, even jobs ... 0
1 woul(Wt know anything about that.-
'And afterward. Malang contact later-perhaps a few years later. Plain oldfashioned blackmaA just as rm blackmailing you now."
'Men she was in trouble before; this girl, I mean. If fes a bummer, she doesn't have to make the trip. Unless shes into somebody and owes what she caet pay f=\*
'Who is Nimrod?' Matlock asked the question softly, without emphasis. But the question caused the young man to turn and walk away "I do@Yt know that I don't have that hiformatIon.'
Matlock got out of the chair and stood motionless. On ask you just once more, and if I dodt get an answer, rU walk out the door and you'll be finished.
THE MAnA= P"IM 281
A very promising life will be altered drastically--4f you have a life....
Who is Nimrod?"
The boy whipped around and Matlock saw the fear again. The fear he had seen on Lucas Herroes face, in Lucas Herron's eyes.
"So help me Chnst, I can't answer thatr
'r3an't or wontr
\*Can't I dDWt knowl"
"I think you do. But I said I'd only ask you once. Thaes it." Matlock started for the apart3nent door without looking at the student.
"Nol . . . Goddamn it, I dolet knowl . . . How could I know? You can~tl"
Pace ran to Matlock's side.
&Can't what?"
'Whatever you said you'd do. Listen tc) mel I doet know who they arel I doet have
They?-
Face looked puzzled. "Yeah.... I guess 'they.' I doiet know. I don't have any contact Others do; I doidt They haven't bothered me."
'But you're aware of them." A statement
"Aware.... Yes, I'm aware. But who, honest to God, not-Matlock turned and faced the student. 'Well compromise. For now. Tell me wbat you do know."
And the frightened young man did. And as the words came forth, the fear infected James Matlock.
Nimrod was an unseen master puppeteer. Faceless, formless, but with frightening, viable authority. It waset a he or a they-it was a force, according to Alan Pace. A complex abstraction that had its elusive tentacles in every major university in the Northeast, every municipality that served the academic landscape, all the financial pyrarnids that funded the complicated structures of New EnglancYs higher ed- 282 Robert Ludium
ucation. "And points south," if the rumors had foundation.
Narcotics was only one aspect, the craw In the throats of the criminal legions-the immediate reason for the May conference, the Corsican letter.
Beyond drugs and their profits, the Nimrod imprimatur was stamped on scores of college administrabons. Pace was convinced that curriculums were being shaped, university personnel hired and fired, degree and scholarship policies, all were expedited on the Nimrod organization~s instructions.
MatlodL's memory flashed back to Carlyle. To Carlyk~s assistant dean of admissions---a Nimrod appointee, according to the dead Loring. To Archer Beeson, rapidly rising in the history department; to a coach of vanity soccer; to a dozen other faculty and staff names on Lorines list How many more were there? How deep was the Infiltration?
Why?
The prostitution rings were subsidiary accommodations. Recruitments were made by the child-whores among themselves; addresses were provided, fees established. Young flesh with ability and attractiveness could find its way to Nimrod and make the pacL And there was 'freedom," there was "bread7 in the pact with Nimrod.
And "no one was hurt7; it was a victimless crime.
'No crime at all, just freedom, man. No pressures over the head. No screanung zonkers over scholarship points."
Alan Pace saw a great deal of good in the elusive, practical Nimrod. More than good.
"You think it's all so different from the outside.straight? Ybere wrong, mister. les mini-America: or- TIM MATLOCK PAPER 2ft
ganized, computerized, and very heavy with the corporate structure Hell, ifs patterned on the American syndrome, ies company policy, maul lirs GM, 17T, and Ma Bell-only someone was smart enough to organize the groovy groves of academe. And les growing fast. Don't fight it join it"
'Is that what youre going to do?" asked Matlock.
'It's the way, man. It's the faith. For all I know yotire with it now.
Could be, yoiYre a recruiter. You guys are everywhere; I've been expecting you.'
'Suppose Im not?"
"Ilen you7re out of your head. And over it, tm\*
27
If one watched the white station wagon and its driver heading back toward the center of New Haven, one would have thought-if he thought at all--that it was a rich car, suitable to a wealthy suburb, the man at the wheel appropriately featured for the vehicle.
Such an observer would not know that the driver was barely cognizant of the traffic, numbed by the revelations he!d learned within the hour; an exhausted man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, who had the feeling that he was holding onto a thin rope above an infinite chasm, expecting any instant that his lifeline would be severed, plunging him Into the infinite mist.
Matlock tried his best to suspend whatever thought processes he was capable of. The years, the specific months during which he'd run his academic race against self-imposed schedules had taught him that the mind-at least his mind---could not function properly when the forces of exhaustion and overexposure convergedL
Above A he had to function.
He was in uncharted waters. Seas where tiny Islands were peopled by grotesque inhabitants. Julian Dunoises, Lucas Herrons; the Bartolozzis, the Aiel- TEE MATLOCK PAPER 2B5
Ice, the Sharpes, the Stocktons, and the Paces. The poisoned and the poisoners.
Nimrod.
Uncharted waters?
No, they weren't uncharted, thought Matlock.
They were well traveled. And the travelers the cynics of the planeL
He drove to the Sheraton Hotel and took a room.
He sat on the edge of the bed and placed a telephone call to Howard Stockton at CarinourrL Stockton was out
In brusque, officious tones, he told the Carmount: switchboard that Stockton was to return his call-he looked at his watch, it was ton of two~
four houm At six eclock He gave the Sheraton number and hung up.
He needed at least four hours' sleep. He wasn't sure when he would sleep again.
He picked up the telephone once more and requested a wake-up call at five fortyfive.
As his head sank to the pillow, he brought his arm up to his eyes. Through the cloth of his shirt he felt the stubble of his beard. Hed have to go to a barbershop; bed left Ins suitcase in the white station wagon. Hed been too fired, too involved to remember to bring it to his room.
The short, sharp three rings of the telephone signified the Sheratoes adherence to his instructions. It was exactly quarter to six. Fifteen minutes later there was another ring, this one longer, more normal. It was precisely six, and the caller was Howard Stockton.
`Tll make this short, Matlock You got a contacL
2,86 Robert Ludlum
Only he doesn't want to meet insW the Sail and SkL You go to the East Gorge slope-they use it in spring and summer for tourists to look at the scenery-and take the lift up to the top. You be there at eight thirty this evenie. He'll have a man at the top. Thafs all I've got to say. Its none of nwh businessl"
Stockton slammed down the telephone and the echo rang in Matlocles ear.
But Vd made itl He'd nwde id He had made the contact with Nimrodl With the conference.
He walked up the dark trail toward the ski Ift Ten dollars made the attendant at the Sail and Sid parking lot understand his problem: the nice-looking fellow in the station wagon had an assignation. The husband wasn't expected till later-and, what the hell, tha.es life. The parking lot attendant was very cooperative.
When he reached the East Gorge slope, the rain, which had threatened all day, began to come down. In Connecticut, April showers were somehow always May thunderstorms, and Matlock was annoyed that he haddt thought to buy a raincoat
He looked around at the deserted lift, its high double lines silhouetted against the increasing rain, shining like thick strands of ship hemp in a fogged harbor. There was a tiny, almost invisible light in the shack which housed the complicated, hulking machines that made the lines ascend.
Matlock approached the door and knocked. A smalL wiry-looking man opened the door and peered at him.
You the fella goin' up?"
"I guess I am."
"What's your name?'
"Matlock."
T= MATLOCK PAP= 287
'Guess you am Know how to catch a crossbar?'
"rve skied. Arm looped, tail on the slat, feet on the pipe."
"Don!t need no help from me. rn start it you get le 071ne.\*
'Yoere gonna get weL'
11 know."
Matlock positioned himself to the right of the entrance pit as the lumbering machinery started up. The lines creaked slowly and then began their halting countermoves, and a crossbar approached. He slid himself onto the lift, pressed his feet against the footrall, and locked the bar in front of his waist He felt the swinging motion of the Imes lifting him off the ground.
He was on his way to the top of the East Gorge, on his way to his contact with Nimrod. As he swung upward, ten feet above the ground, the ram became, instead of annoying, exhilarating. He was coming to the end of his journey, his race. VVIioever met him at the top would be utterly confused. He counted on that hed planned it that way. If everything the murdered Loring and the very-much-alive Greenberg had told him was true, it couldn't be any other way. The total secrecy of the conference; the delegates, unknown to each other; the oath of "0merW the subcultaws violent insistence on codes and counteroodes to protect its inhabitants-it um all true. Hed seen it an in operation. And such complicated logisticswhen sharply Interrupted-Inevitably led to suspicion and fear and ultimately confusion.
It was the confusion Matlock counted on.
Lucas Herron had accused him of being influenced by plots and counterplots.
Well, he waset inAwnced
2M Robert Ludluin
by them-he merely understood them. That was different. It was this understanding which had led him one step away from Nimrod.
The rain came harder now, whipped by the wind which was stronger off the ground than on it Matlock's crossbar swayed land dipped, more so each time he reached a rung up the slope. The tiny light in the machine shack was now barely visible in the darkness and the rain. He judged that he was nearly halfway to the top.
There was a jolt; the machinery stopped. Matlock gripped the waist guard and peered above him through the rain hying to see what obstmetion had hit the wheel or the rung. There was none.
He turned awkwardly in the narrow perch and squinted his eyes down the slope toward the shack. There was no light now, not even the slightest illumination. He held his hand up in front of his forehead, keeping the rain away as best he could. He had to be mistaken, the downpour was blurring his vision, perhaps the pole was in his line of sight. He leaned first to the right, then to the left. But stLU there was no light from the bottom of the hill.
Perhaps the fuses had blown. If so, they would have taken the bulb in the shack with them. Or a shorL It was raining, and ski lifts did not ordinarily operate in the min.
He looked beneath him. The ground was perhaps fifteen feet away. If he suspended himself from the foobrail, the drop would only be eight or nine feet. He could handle that. He would walk the rest of the way up the slope.
He had to do it quickly, however. It might take as long as twenty minutes to climb to the top, there was no way of telling. He couldiA take TBE WATLCXX PAPER 289
the chance of his contaces panicking, deciding W leave before he got to him.
"Stay right where you arel Doet unlatch that harnessi"
The voice shot out of the darkness, cutting through the rain and wind. Its harsh command paralyzed Matlock as much from the shock of surprise as from fear. The man stood beneath him, to the right of the lines. He was dressed in a raincoat and some kind of cap. It was impossible to see his face or even determine his size.
"Who are you?f What do you want?1"
'Tm the man you came to meet. I want to see that paper in your pocket Throw it down.-
"I'll show you the paper when I see your copy. That!s the deall Thaes the deal I made."
"You doet understand, Matlock just throw the pa~ per down. That's all."
"What the hell are you talking about?1\*
The glare of a powerful flashlight blinded him. He reached for the guard rail latch.
"Doet touch thatl Keep your hands straight out or yoere deadl\*
The core of the high-intensity light shifted from his face to his chest, and for several seconds all Matlock saw were a thousand Elashing spots inside his eyes. As his sight returned, he could see that the man below him was moving closer to the lines, swinging the flashlight toward the ground for a path. In the glow of the beam, he also saw that the man held a large, ugly automatic in his right hand. The blinding light returned to his face, now shining directly be. neath him.
"Dodt threaten me, punkl" yelled Matlock, remem.
29o Robert LucUum
bering the effect his anger had on Stockton at four that morning. "Put that goddarnn gun away and help me downI We haven't much tune and I doet like gamesl"
The effect now was not the same. Instead, the man beneath him began to laugh, and the laugh was sickening. It was, more than anything else, utterly genuine. The man on the ground was enjoying himself.
"You're very funny. You look funny sitting there on your ass in midair. You know what you look like? You look like one of those bobbing monkey targets in a shooting galleryl You know what I nwan? Now, cut the bullshit and throw down the paperl"
He laughed again, and at the sound evexything was suddenly clear to Matlock.
He hadift made a contact. He hadn't cornered anyone. All his careful planning, all his thought-out ao. tions. All for nothing. He was no nearer Nimrod now than he was before he knew Nimrod eidsted.
Sed been trapped.
Still, he had to try. It was all that was left him now.
'Yoere making the mistake of your lifel"
"Oh, for Chrises sake, knock it off! Give me the paper! Weve been looking for that fucking thing for a weeld My orders are to get it nowr I can't give it to you.-
"I'll blow your head off!"
"I said I caWtl I didn't say I wouldWd"
"Doet shit me. You've got it on youl You wouldn!t have come here without itl"
"Ies in a packet strapped to the small of my bacV
"Get it outf"
"I told you, I cantt I'm sitting on a four-inch slat of wood with a footrail and rm damn near twenty feet in the airl"
THE MATLOCK PAPER 291
His words were half lost in the whipping rain. The man below was frustrated, impatient
"I said get it oud"
"M have to drop down. I caet reach the strapsl" Matlock yelled to be heard.
'I canI do anythingl I haveet got a gunl"
The man with the large, ugly automatic moved back several feet from the lines. He pointed both the powerful beam and his weapon at Matlock.
"O.IC, come on downt You cough wrong and your hea&s blown offl"
Matlock undid the latch, feeling like a small boy on top of a ferris wheel wondering what could happen if the wheel stopped permanently and the safety bar fell off.
He held onto the footrail and let the rest of him swing beneath it. He dangled in the air, the rain soaking him, the beam of light blinding him.
He had to think now, he had to create an instant strategy. His life was worth far less than the lives at Windsor Shoals to such men as the man on the ground.
"Shine the light downI I can't seel"
"Fuck thatl just dropl---
He dropped.
And the second he hit the earth, he let out a loud, painful scream and reached for his leg.
"Aaaabbhl My ankle, my footl I broke my goddamn anklel" He twisted and turned on the wet overgrowth, writhing in pain.
"Shut upl Get me that paperl Nowr
'Ienss Chrkd What do you want from me? My ankl&s turned aroundf lt!s brokeld"
"Toughl Give me the paperl"
Matlock lay prostrate on the ground, his head moving back and forth, his neck stranung to stand
2Aj2 Robert Ludium
the pain. He spoke between short gasps.
"StrWs here. Undo the strap." He tore at his shirt displaying part of the canvas belt
'Undo it yourself. Hurry upl"
But the man came closer. He wasn't sure. And closer. The beam of light was just above MatIodc now. Then it moved to his midsection and Matlock could see the large barrel of the ugly black automatic.
It was the second, the instant Vd waited for.
He whipped his right hand up toward the weapon, simultaneously springing his whole body against the legs of the man in the raincoat He held the automat:Ws barrel, forcing it with all his strength toward the ground. The gun fired twice, the impact of the explosions nearly shattering Matlocles hand, the sounds partially muted by wet earth and the slashing rain.
The man was beneath him now, twisting on his side, thrashing with his legs and free arm against the heavier MatlocIL Matlock flung himself on the pinned arm and sank his teeth into the wrist above the hand holding the weapon. He bit into the flesh until he could feel the blood spurting out, mingled with the cold rain.
The man released the automatic, screarrdng in anguish. Matlock grabbed for the gun, wrested it free, and smashed it repeatedly into the man7s face.
The powerful flashlight was in the tall grass, its beam directed at nothing but drenched foliage.
Matlock crouched over the half-conscious, bloody face of his former captor.
He was out of breath, and the sickening taste of the man's blood was still in his mouth. He spat a half dozen times trying to cleanse his teeth, his throat
THE MATLOCK PAPER 2W
'O.Y-I" He grabbed the man~s collar and yanked his head up. "Now you tell me what happenedl This was a trap, wasn't itr 'M paperl I gotta get the paper.\* The irnan was hardly audible.
"I was trappeck wasret 11 The whole last week was a tra00
'Yeah ... Yeah. The paper.\*
"rhat papees pretty important, Wt it?w
'fheyll kill you ... they'll kill you to get itl You stand no chance, mister... No chance ... \*
Who's they?/-
01 dodt know... doetknowl"
OWhd's Nimrodr
01 doet know. . . 'Ornertal ... e0mertdlo The man opened his eyes wide, and in the dim spill of the fallen flashlight, Matlock saw that something had happened to his victim Some thought, some concept overpowered his tortured imagination. It was painful to watch. It was too close to the sight of the panicked Lucas Herron, the terrified Alan Pace.
'Come on, Ill get you down the slope. . . "
It was as far as he got. From the depths of his lost control, the man with the bloodsoaked face lunged forward, making a last desperate attempt tx) reach the gun in Matlocles right hand. Matlock yanked back-, instinctively he fired the weapon. Blood and pieces of flesh flew everywhere. Half the maxYs neck was blown off.
Matlock stood up slowly. The smoke of the automatic lingered above the dead man, the ram forcing it downward toward the earth.
He reached into the grass for the fiashhght~ and as he bent over he began to vonut.
28
Ten minutes later he watched the parking lot below him from the tivnk of a huge maple tree fifty yards up the trail. The new leaves partLaUy protected him from the pouring ram, but his clothes were filthy, covered with wet dirt and blood. He saw the white station wagon near the front of the area, next to the stone gate entrance of the Sail and Ski. Then wasiA much activity now; no automobiles entmed, and those drivers inside would wait until the deluge stopped before venturing out on the roads. The parkIng lot attendant hed given the ten dollars to was talking with a uniformed doorman under the carport roof of the restaurant entrance. Matlock wanted to race to the station wagon and drive away as fast as he could, but he knew the sight of his clothes would alarm the two men, make them wonder what had happened on the East Gorge slope. There was nothing to do but wait, wait until someone came out and dmtracted them, or both went inside.
He hated the waiting. More than hating it, he was frightened by it. Thered been no one he could see or hear near the wheel shack, but that didn7t mean no one was there. Nimrod's dead contact probably had a partner somewhere, waiting as Matlock was waittag now. If the dead man was found, they'd stop him,
TFIS MATIA)CK PAPER 295
kill him-if not for revenge, for the Corsican paper.
He had no choice now. Hed gone beyond his depth, his abilities. Hed been manipulated by Nimrod as Vd been maneuvered by the men of the justice Department He would telephone Jason Greenberg and do whatever Greenberg told him to do.
In a way, he was glad his part of it was over, or soon would be. He still felt the impulse of commitment, but there was nothing more he could do. He had failed.
Down below the restaurant entrance opened and a waitress signaled the uniformed doorman. He and the attendant walked up the steps to speak with the girl---
Matlock ran down to the gravel and darted in front of the grills of the cars parked on the edge of the lot Between automobiles he kept Iooking toward the restaurant door. The waitress had given the doorman a container of coffee. All three were smoking cigarettes, all three were laughing.
He rounded the circle and crouched in front of the station wagon. He crept to the door window and saw to his relief that the keys were in the ignition. He took a deep breath, opened the door as quietly as possible, and leaped inside. Instead of slamming it, he pulled the door shut quickly, silently, so as to extinguish the interior light without calling attention to the sound. The two men and the waitress were still taEking, still laughin& oblivious.
He settled himself in the seat, switched on the ignition, threw the gears into reverse, and roared back. ward in front of the gate. He raced out between the stone posts and started down the long road to the highway-Back under the roof, on the steps by the front door,
the three employees were momentarily startled. Then, from being startled they became quickly bewildered --and even a little curious. For, from the rear of the parking lot, they could hear the deep-throated roar of a second, more powerful engine. Bright headlights filcked on, distorted by the downpour of rain, and a long black limousine rushed forward.
The wheels screeched as the orninous-lookirig antDinobile swerved toward the stone posts. The huge car went to full ffiwttle and raced after the station wagon.
There waset much traffic on the highway, but he still felt he'd make better time taking the back roads IntD Carlyle. He decided to go straight to Kressers house, despite SanYs proclivity toward hysteria. Together they could both call Greenberg He had just brutally, horribly killed another human being, and whether tt was justified or not, the shock was still with him. He suspected it would be with him for the remainder of his life. He wasn7t sure Kressel was the man to see.
But there was no one else Unless he returned to his apartment and stayed there until a federal agent picked him up. And then again, instead of an agent, there might well be an en-Assary from Nimrod.
There was a winding S-curve in the road. He remembered that it came before a long stretch through farmland where he could make up fame. The highway was straighter, but the back roads were shorter as long as there was no traffic to speak of. As he rounded th6 final half-circle, he realized that he was gripping the wheel so hard his forearms ached. It was the muscular defenses of his body taking over, con- THE MATUXZ PAPER 297
trolling his shaking limbs, steadying the car with show unfeeling strength.
The &a stretch appeared; the rain had let up. He pushed the SOMIMIftr to the floor and felt the station wagon surge forward in overdrive.
He looked twice, then three times, up at Ins rearview mirror, wary of patrol can. He saw headlights behind him coming closer. He looked down at his speedometer. It read eighty-seven miles per hour and still the lights in the mirror gained on him.
The instincts of the hunted came swiftly to the surface, he knew the automobile behind him was no police car There was no sh-en penetrating the wet stillness, no Hashing light heralding authority.
He pushed his right leg forward, pressing the socelerator beyond the point of achieving anything further from the erigme. His speedometer reached ninety-four miles per hour-the wagon was not capable of greater speed.
The headlights were directly behind him now. The unknown pursuer was feet, inches from Ins rear bumper. Suddenly the headlights veered to the left, and the car came alongside the white station wagon.
It was the same black liniousine he had seen after Lorings murderl The same huge automobile that had raced out of the darkened driveway minutes after the massacre at Windsor Shoalsl Matlock tried to keep part of his mind on the road ahead, part on the single driver of the car, which was crowding him to the far right of the road. The station wagon vibrated under the impact of the enormous speed; he found it more and more difficult to hold the wheel
And then he saw the barrel of the pistol pointed at hun through the window of the adjacent autDmo- -2aR Robeft L40um
bile. He saw the look of desperation in the darting eyes behind the outstretched arm, trying to steady itself for a clean line of fire.
He heard the shots and felt the glass shattering Ino. to his face and over the front seat. He slammed his foot into the brake and spun the steering wheel to the right, lumping the shoulder of the road, careening violently Into and through a barbed-wire fence and onto a rock-strewn field. The wagon lunged into the grass, perhaps fifty or sixty feet, and then slammed into a cluster of rocks, a property demarcation. The headlights smashed and went out, the grill buckled. He was thrown into the dashboard, only his upheld arms keeping his head from crashing into the windshield.
But he was conscious, and the instincts of the hunted would not leave him.
He heard a car door open and close, and he knew the killer was coming into the field after his quarry. After the Corsican paper. He felt a trickle of blood rolling down his forehead-whether it was the graze of a bullet or a laceration from the flying glass, he couldiet be sure-but he was grateful it was them He!d need it now, he needed the sight of blood on his forehead.
He remained slumped over the wheel, mimobil% silent And under his jacket he held the ugly automatic he had taken from the dead man in the raincoat on the slope of East Gorge. It was pointed under his left arm at the door.
He could hear the mushed crunch of footsteps on the soft earth outside the station wagon. He could literally feel-as a blind man feels-the face peering through the shattered glass looking at him. He heard the click of the door button as it was pushed in and
THE MATUXZ PAPER 299
the creaking of the hinges as the heavy panel was pulled open.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Matlock fired his weapon-The roar was deafening, the scream of the wounded man pierced the drenched darkness. Matlock leaped out of the seat and slammed the full weight of his body against the killer, who had grabbed his left arm in pain. Wildly, inaccurately, Matlock pistol-whipped the man about his face and neck until he fell to the ground. The man~s gun was nowhere to be seen, his hands were empty. Matlock put his foot on the man!s throat and pressed.
0 stop when you signal you~re going to talk tD me, you son of a bitchl Otherwise I doret stopf"
The man sputtered, his eyes bulged. He raised his right hand in supplication.
Matlock took his foot away and knelt on the ground over the man. He was heavy set, black-haired, with the blunt features of a brute killer.
"Who sent you after me? How did you know this car?"
The man raised his head slightly as though to answer. Instead, the killer whipped his right hand into his waK pulled out a knife, and rolled sharply to his left, yanking his gorilla-like knee up into MatlocJ6 groin. The knife slashed into Matlock's shirt, and he knew as he felt the steel point crease his flesh that Vd come as close as he would ever come to being Wed.
He crashed the barrel of the heavy automatic into the maes temple. It was enough. The killer's head snapped back, blood matted itself around the hairline. Matlock stood up and placed his foot on the hand with the knife.
3oo Robed LucUum
Soon the killees eyes opened.
And during the next five minutes, Matlock did what he never thought he would be capable of doing-he tortured another man. He tortured the killer with the kiWs own knife, penetrating the skin around and below the eyes, puncturing the Bps with the same steel point that had scraped his own flesh. And when the man sczeamed, Matlock smashed his mouth with the barrel of the automatic and broke pieces of ivory off the WWs teeth.
It was not Iong, rho paperf---
OWhat elser
The writhing killer moaned and spat blood, but would not speak. Matlock did; quietly, in total conviction, in complete sincerity.
'You'll answer me or I'll push this blade down through your eyes. I don1
care anymore. Believe m&"
'Me old ninni" The guttural words cum from deep inside the man's throat "He said he wrote it down... No one knows.... You talked to hini. . . ."
"What old . . ." Matlock stopped as a terrifying thought came into his minti- "Lucas HerronRf Is Mat who you mean?r 'He said he wrote it down. They think you know. Maybe he hed... For Chrisfs sake, he could have lied. ... 0
The killer fell into unconsciousness.
Matlock stood up slowly, his hands shaking, his whole body shivering. He looked up at the road, at the huge black limousine standing silently in the diminisbing rain. It would be his last gamble, his ultimate effDrL
But something was stirring in his brain, sonuthing TM MATLOCK PAPM 302
elusive but palpable. He had to bust that feeling, as he had come to trust the instincts of the hunter and the hunted.
The old maul
The answer lay somewhere In Lucas Herron s house.
29
He parked the limousine a quarter of a mile from Herron's Nest and walked toward the house on the side of the road, prepared to jump into the bordering woods should any cars approach.
None did.
He came upon one house, then another, and in each case he raced past, watching the lighted windows to see if anyone was looking out No one was.
He reached the edge of Herron7s property and crouched to the ground.
Slowly, cautiously, silently he made his way to the driveway. The house was dark; there were no cars, no people, no signs of life. Only death.
He walked up the flagstone path and his eye caught sight of an official-looking document barely visible in the darkness, tacked onto the front door. He approached it and lit a match. It was a sheriffs seal of closure.
One more crime, thought Matlock.
He went around to the back of the house, and as he stood in front of the patio door, he remembered vividly the sight of Herron racing across his manicured lawn into the forbidding green wall which he THE MATLOCK PAMM M
parted so deftly and into which he disappeared so completely.
There was another sherifTs seal on the back door. This one was glued to a pane of glass.
Matlock removed the automatic from his belt and as quietly as possible broke the small-paned window to the left of the seal. He opened the door and walked in.
The first thing that struck him was the darkness. Light and dark were relative, as he'd come to understand during the past week. The night had light which the eyes could adjust to; the daylight was often deceptive, filled with shadows and inisty blind spots. But inside Herron~s house the darkness was complete. He lit a match and understood why.
The windows in the small kitchen were covered with shades. Only they weren~t ordinary window shades, they were custom built. The cloth was heavy and attached to the frames with vertical runners, latched at the sills by large aluminum hasps. He approached the window over the sink and lit another match. Not only was the shade thicker than ordinary, but the runners and the stretch lock at the bottom insured that the shade would remain absolutely flat against the whole frame. It was doubtful that any light could go out or come in through the window.
Herron~s desire--or need-for privacy had been extraordinary. And if all the windows in all the rooms were sealed, it would make his task easier.
Striking a third match, he walked into Herron's livIng room. What he saw in the flickering light caused him to stop in his tracks, his breath cut short.
The entire room was a shambles. Books were strewn on the fioca~ furniture overturned and ripped apart,
3o4 Robert Ludlum
rugs: upended, even sections of the wall smashed. He could have been walking into his own apartment the night of the Beeson dinner. Herron~s living room had been thoroughly, desperately searched.
He went back to the kitchen to see if his preoccupation with the window shades and the darkness had played tricks on his eyes. They had. Every drawer was pulled open, every cabinet ransacked. And then he saw on the floor of a broom closet two flashlights. One was a casement, the other a long-stemmed Sportsman. The first wouldrA light, the second did.
He walked rapidly back into the living room and tried to orient hunself, checking the windows with the beam of the flashlight. Every window was covered, every shade latched at the sill.
Across the narrow hallway in front of the narrower stairs was an open door.
It led to Herron~s study, winch was, if possible, more of a mess than his living room. Two Me cabinets were lying on their sides, the backs torn off, the large leather-topped desk was pulled from the wall, splintered, smashed on every flat surface. Parts of the wall, as the living room, were broken into. Matlock assumed these were sections which had sounded hollow when tapped.
Upstairs, the two small bedrooms and the bath were equally dismantled, equally dissected.
He walked back down the stairs, even the steps had been pried loose from their treads.
Lucas Kerron~s home had been searched by professionals. What could he find that they hadet? He wandered back into the living room and sat down on what was left of an armchair. He had the sinking feeling that his last effort would end in failure also. He lit a cigarette and tried to organize his thoughts.
Moever had searched the house had not found Tim mATuxz PAPE:R 305
what they were looking for. Or had they? There was no way to tell, really.
Except that the brute killer in the field had screamed that the old man "bad written it down." As if the fact was almost as important as the desperately coveted Corsican document. Yet he had added: ". . . maybe he lied, he could have lied.! LiedP Why would a man in the last extremity of terror add that qualification to something so vital?
The assumption had to be that in the intricate delicacy of a mind foundering on the brink of madness, the worst evil was rejected. Had to be rejected so as to hold onto what was left of sanity.
No.... No, they had not found whatever it was they had to fin& And since they hadn~t found it after such exhaustive, extraordinary labors-it didnI exist.
But he knew it did.
Herron may have been involved with Nimro& world, but he was not bom of it.
His was not a comfortable relationship-it was a tortured one. Somewhere, someplace he had left an indictment He was too good a man not to. There had been a great decency in Lucas Herron. Somewhere . . . someplace.
But where?
He got out of the chair and paced in the darkness of the room, flicking the flashlight on and off, more as a nervous gesture than for illumination.
He reexamined minutely every word, every expression used by Lucas that early evening four days ago. He was the hunter again, tracking the spoor, testing the wind for the scent. And he was close; goddamn it, he was closel ... Herron had known from the seeond he!d opened his front door what Matlock was after. That instantaneous, fleeting moment of recognition had been in his eyes. It had been unmistakable to Madock. He!d even said as much to the old man,
3o6 Robert Ludlum
and the old man had laughed and accused him of being influenced by plots and counterplots.
But there'd been something else. Before the plots and counterplots....
Something inside. In this room. Before Herron suggested sitting outside....
Only he haMt suggested, he!d made a statement, given a command.
And just before h6d given the command to rearmarch toward the backyard patio, hed walked in silently, walked in silently, and startled Matlock. He had opened the swinging door, carrying two filled glasses, and Matlock hadiet heard him. Matlock pushed the button on the flashlight and shot the beam to the base of the kitchen door. There was no rug, nothing to muffle footsteps-it was a hardwood floor. He crossed to the open swing hmged door, walked through the frame, and shut it Then he pushed it swiftly open in the same direction Lucas Herron had pushed it carrying the two drinks. The hinges clicked as such hinges do if they are old and the door is pushed quickly-normally. He let the door swing shut and then he pressed against it slowly, inch by inch.
It was silent
Lucas Herron had made the drinks and then silently had eased himself back into the living room so he wouI4Wt be heard. So he could observe Matlock without Matlocks knowing it And then he!d given his firm command for the two of them to go outside.
Matlock forced his memory to recall precisely what Lucas Herron said and did at that precise moment
". . . well go out on the patio. It's too nice a day to stay inside. Lees go.w
Then, without waiting for an answer, even a mildly enthusiastic agreement, Herron had walked rapidly back &,ough the kitchen door No surface politeness,
THE mATLocK PAP= 307
none of the courtly manners one expected from Lucas.
He had given an order, the firm command of an officer and a gentleman.
By Act of Congress.
That was id Matlock swung the beam of light over the writing desk.
The photographl The photograph of the marine officer holding the map and the Thompson autDmatic in some tiny section of jungle on an insignificant island in the South Pacific.
"I keep that old photograph to remind myself that time uwret alivays so devastating."
At the precise moment Herron walked through the door, Matlock had been looking closely at the photographl The fact that he was doing so disturbed the old man, disturbed him enough for him to insist that they go outside instantly. In a curt, abrupt marmer so unlike him.
Matlock walked rapidly to the desk The small cellophane-topped photograph was still where it had been--on the lower right wall above the desk Several larger glass-framed pictures had been smashed, this one was intacL It was small, not at all imposing.
He grabbed the cardboard frame and pulled the photo off the single thumbtack which held it to the wall. He looked at it carefully, turning it over, in. specting the thin edges.
The dose, harsh glare of the flashlight revealed scratches at the upper comer of the cardboard. Fingernail scratches? Perhaps. He pointed the light down on the desk top. There were unsharpened penci\* scraps of note paper, and a pair of scissors. He took the scissors and inserted the point of one blade be. tween the thin layers of cardboard until he could rip the photograph out of the frame.
3o8 Robett Lu&um
And in that way he found it
On the back of the small photograph was a diagram drawn with a broad-tipped fountain pen. It was in the shape of a rectangle, the bottom and top lines Bed in with dots. On the top were two small lines with anxnvs, one straight, the other pointing to the right. Above each arrowhead was the numeral 30Two 3os.
Thirty.
On the sides, bordering the lines, wen childishly drawn trees.
on the top, above the numbers, was another sunplified sketch. Billowy half-circles connected to one another with a wavy line beneath. A cloud.
Under neath, more bves.
it was a map, and what it represented was all too apparw& It was Herron's back yard; the lines on &w sides represented Herroes forbidding green walL
The numerals, the 3os, were measurements--but they were also something else. They were contemporary symbols.
For Lucas Herron, chairman for decades of Romance Languages, had an insatiable love for words and their odd usages. What was more appropriate than the symbol "30" to indicate finality?
As any first year journalism student would confirm, the number 3o at the bottom of any news copy meant the story was finished. It was over.
There was no more to be said.
Matlock held the photograph upside down in his left hand, his right gripping the flashlight. He entered the woods at midsection-slightly to the left--as indWated on the diagram The figure 30 could be feek THE MATIDM PAPER 3D9
yards, meters, paces-certainly not inches.
He marked off thirty twelve-inch spaces. Thirty feet straight, thirty feet to the right.
Nothing.
Nothing but the drenched, full overgrowth and underbrush which clawed at his feet.
He returned to the green walrs entrance and decided to combine yards and paces, realizing that paces in such a dense, jungle like environment might vary considerably.
He marked off the spot thirty paces directly ahead and continued until he estimated the point of yardage. Then he returned to the bent branches where he had figured thirty paces to be and began the lateral trek Again nothing. An old rotted maple stood near one spot Matlock estimated was thirty steps. There was nothing else unusual. He went back to the bent branches and proceeded to his second mark.
Thirty yards straight out. Ninety feet, give or take a foot or two. Then the slow process of thirty yards through the soaldug wet foliage to his next mark. Another ninety feet. Altogether, one hundred and eighty feet Nearly two-thirds of a football field.
The going was slower now, the foliage thicker, or so it sftme& Matlock wished he had a machete or at least some kind of implement to force the wet branches out of his way. once he lost count and had to keep in mind the variation as he proceeded-was It twenty-one or twenty three large steps?
Did it ma. ter? Would the difference of three to six feet really matter?
He reached the spot. It was either twenty-eight or thirty. Close enough if there was anything to be seen. He pointed the flashlight to the ground and began
3io Robert LucUum
slowly moving it back and forth laterally.
Nothing. Only the sight of a thousand glistentag weeds and the deep-brown color of soaked earth. He kept swmgIng the beam of light, inching forward as he did so, straining his eyes, wondering every other second if he had just covered that particular section or not-everything looked so alike.
The chances of failure grew. He could go back and begin again, he thought.
Perhaps the 3os connoted some other form of measurement. Meters, perhaps, or multiples of another number buried somewhere in the diagram The dots?
Shou)d he count the dots on the bottom and top of the rectangle? Why were the dots there?
He had covered the six-foot variation and several feet beyond.
Nothing.
His mind returned to the dots, and he withdrew the photograph from his inside pocket. As he positioned himself to stand up straight, to stretch the muscles at the base of his spine-pained by crouchIng--Us foot touched a hard, unyie7lding surface. At first he thought it was a fallen limb, or perhaps a rock.
And then he knew it was neither.
He oDuldet see it-whatever it was, w underneath a clump of overgrown weeds.
But he could feel the outline of the object with his foot It was straight, precisely tooled. It was no part of a forest.
He held the light over the cluster of weeds and saw that they weredt weeds.
They were some kind of small-budded flower in partial bloom. A flower which did not need sunlight or space.
A jungle flower. Out of place, purchased, replanted.
TFIE X&TIAD(Z PAP= 311
He pushed them out of the way and bent down. Underneath was a thick, heavily varnished slab of wood about two feet wide and perhaps a foot and a half long. It had sunk an inch or two into the ground-, the surface had been sanded and varnished so often that the layers of protective coating reached a high gloss, reflecting the beam of the flashlight as though it were glass.
Matlock dug his fingers into the earth and lifted up the slab. Beneath it was a weathered metal plaque, bronze perhaps.
For Uafor Lucas N. Herron, USMCR
In Ciratitude from the Oficers and Men of
Bravo Company, Fourteenth Raider Battalion, First Marine Division
Solomon islands-South Pacific
May 1943
Seeing it set in the ground under the glare of ligh4 Matlock had the feeling he was looking at a grave.
He pushed away the surrounding mud and dug a tiny trench around the metal.
On his hands and knees, he slowly, awkwardly lifted the plaque up and carefully placed it to one side.
He had found it
Buried in earth was a metal container-the type used in library archives for valuable manuscripts. Airtight, weatherproofed, vacuumed, a receptacle for the ages.
A coffin, Matlock thought
He picked it up and inserted his cold, wet fingers under the lever of the coiled hasp. It took considerable strength to pull it up, but finally it was released.
an Robert Ludlum
There was the rush of air one bears upon opening a tin of coffee. The rubber edges parted. Inside Matlock could see an oilcloth packet in the shape of a notebook.
He knew he'd found the mdictmenL
30
The notebook was thick, over three hundred pages, and every word was handwritten in ink. It was in the form of a diary, but the lengthy entries varied enormously. There was no consistency regarding dates. Often days followed one another; at other times entries were separated by weeks, even months. The writing also varied. There were stretches of lucid narrative followed by incoherent, disjointed rambling. In the latter sections the hand had shaken, the words were often illegible.
Lucas Herroes diary was a cry of anguish, an outpouring of pain. A confessional of a man beyond hope.
As he sat on the cold wet ground, mesmerized by Herroes words, Matlock understood the motives behind Herroes Nest, the forbidding green wall, the window shades, the total isolation.
Lucas Herron had been a drug addict for a quarter of a century. Without the drugs, his pain was unendurable. And there was absolutely nothing anyone could do for him except confine him to a ward in a Veterans' Hospital for the remainder of his unnatural life.
It was the rejection of this living death that had plunged Lucas Herron into another
Major Lucas Nathaniel Herron, USMCR, attached to Amphibious Assault Troops, Raider Battalions, Fleet Marine Force, Pacific, had led numerous compardes of the Fourteenth Battalion, First Marine Division, in ranger assaults on various islands throughout the Japanese-held Solomons and Carolinas.
And Major Lucas Herron had been carried off the tiny island of Peleliu in the Carolinas on a stretcher, having brought two companies back to the beach through jungle fire. None thought he could survive.
Major Lucas Herron had a Japanese bullet im. bedded at the base of his neck, lodged in a section of his nervous system. He was not expected to live. The doctors, first in Brisbane, then San Diego, and finally at Bethesda, considered further operations unfeasible. The patient could not survive them, he would be reduced to a vegetable should even the slightest complication set in. No one wished to be re. sponsible for that.
They put the patient under heavy medication to relieve the discomfort of his wounds. And he lay there in the Maryland hospital for over two years.
The stages of healing-partial recovery-were slow and painful. First, there were the neck braces and the pills; then the braces and the metal frames for walk. ing, and still the pills. At last the crutches, along with the braces and always the pills. Lucas Herron came back to the land of the living-but not without the pills. And In moments of torment-the needle of mor. phine at night
There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, like Lucas Herron, but few had his extraordinary qualifications-for those who sought him out An authentic hero of the Pacific war, a brilliant scholar, a above reproach.
THE MATLOCK PAPIM 315
He was perfecL He could be used perfectly.
On the one hand, he could not live, could not endure, without the relief afforded him by the narcotics --the pills and the increasingly frequent needles. On the other hand, if the degree of his dependence was known medically, he would be returned to a hospital ward.
These alternatives were gradually subtly made clear to him Gradually in the sense that his sources of supply needed favors now and then-a contact to be made in Boston, men to be paid in New York. Subtly, in that when Herron questioned the involvement, he was told it was really quite harmless. Harmless but necestary.
As the years went by, he became enormously valuable to the men he needed so badly. The contact in Boston, the men to be paid in New York became more and more frequent, more and more necessary. Then Lucas was sent farther and farther afield. Whiter vacations, spring midterms, summers: Canada, Mexico, France ... the Mediterranean.
He became a courier.
And always the thought of the hospital ward on his tOrtured body and bram.
They had manipulated him brilliantly. He was never exposed to the results of his work, never specifically aware of the growing network of destruction he was helping to build. And when finally he learned Of it all, it was too late. The network had been built.
Nimrod had his power
April 22, iq5z. At midterm they're sending me back to Mexico. I'll stop at the U. of M---as usual-and on the way back at Baylor. A touch of frony: the bursar here called me in, saymg Car- 33L6 Robert Ludlum
lyle would be pleased to help defray my Oresearce expenses. I declined, and told him the disability allowance was sufficient Perhaps I should have accepted...
jurse z3, z956. To Lisbon for three weeks. A routing map, rm told, for a small ship. Touching the Azores, through Cuba (a messl), finally into Panama. Stops-for me--at the Sorbonne, U. of Toledo, U. of Madrid. I'm becoming an academic gamyi rm not happy about methodswho could be?-but neither am I responsible for the archaic laws. So many, many can be helped. They need helpl I've been in touch with scores on the telephone-they put me in tDUCh-men like myself who couldn't face another clay without help.... Still, I worry.... Still, what can I do? Others would do it, if not me - - -
February 24, z957. I'm alarmed but calm and reasonable (I hopel) about my concerns. rm told now that when they send me to make contacts I am the nsessenger from ONimrocrl The name is a code--a meaningless artifice, they say --and will be honored. les all so foolish--like the intelligence information we'd receive from MaoArthues HQ in So-Pac. They had all the codes and none of the facts.... The pain is worse, the medics said it would get worse. But ... ONimro&e considerate... As I am....
March io, z957 They were angry with mel They withheld my dosage for two days-1 thought I would kill myselfl I started out in my car for the VA hospital in Hartford, but they stopped me on the highway. They were in a Carlyle patrol c4r-I should have known they had the police herel . . . It was either comprondse or TM MATLOCK PAP= 317
the wardf ... They were rightl ... I'm off to Canada and the job is to bring in a man from North Africa.... I must do id The calls to me are constant.
This evening a man-Army, 27thNaha casualty-from East Orange, N.J., said that he and six others depended on mel There are so many like ourselvesl Why?
Why, for God's sake, are we despised? We need help and all that's offered to us are the wardst . . .
August zq, zg6o. I've made my position clearl They go too far . . .
"Nimrod" is not just a code name for a location, it's also a manl The geog-raphy doesn't change but the man does. They're not helping men like me any longer-wel], may~-be they are-but its more than usl They're reaching out-they're attracting people-for a great deal of moneyl ...
August 2o, zg6o. Now they're threatening me. They say IT have no more once my cabinees empty.... I don't carel I've enough for a week -with luck-a week and a half. . . . I wish I liked alcohol more, or that it didet make me sick. . . .
August 28, zg6o. I shook to my ankles but I went to the Carlyle Police Station. I wasn't thinking. I asked to speak with the highest man in authority and they said it was after five o'clockhe had gone home. So I said I had information about narcotics and within ten minutes the chief of police showed up.... By now I was obviousI couldn't control myself-I urinated through my trousers. The chief of police took me into a small room and opened his kit and administered a needle. He was from Nimrodl ...
October 7, z965. This Nimrod is displeased
with me. rve always gotten along with the Nrimrods-the two I've met, but this one is sterner, more concerned with my accomplishments. I refuse to touch students, he accepts that but he says I am getting silly in my classroom lectures, I'm not bearing down. He doesn1 care that I don't solicit-he doeset want me to--but he tells me that I should be-well, be more conservative in my outloolL ... les strange. His name is Matthew Orton and he!s an insignificant aide to the lieutenant governor in Hartford. But hes Nimrod. And rU obey....
November 14, z967. The back is intolerable now-the doctors said it would disintegrate-that was their word-but not like thist I can get through forty minutes of a lecture and then I must excuse myselfl ... I ask always-is it worth it? ... It must be or I wouldn't go on... Or am I simply too great an egoist---or too much a coward-to take my life? ...
Nimrod sees me tonight In a week its Thanksgiving-1 wonder where I will go....
January 27, zg7o. It has to be the end now. In C. Fry's beautiful words, the "seraphic strawberry, beaming in its bed7 must turn and show its nettles. There!s nothing more for me and Nimrod has infected too many, too completely. I will take my life.-as painlessly as possible-ther6's been so much pain....
January 28, zg7o. I've tried to kill myself! I caet do itl I bring the gun, then the knife to the point but it will not happen! Am I really so infused, so infected that I cannot accomplish that which is most to be desired? . . . Nimrod will lall me. I know that and he knows it better.
TJBE MATLOCK PAPM 329
January 29, zg7o. Nimrod-he!s now Arthur Latonal Unbelievablet The same Arthur Latona who built the middle-income housing projects In Mount Hollyl-At any rate, hes given me an unacceptable order. I've told him it's unacceptable. rm far too valuable to be discarded and rve told him that, too.... He wants me to carry a great deal of money to Toros Daglari in Turkeyl ... Why, oh why, caet my life be endedP ...
April z8, iq7i. les a wondrously strange world. To survive, to exist and breathe the air, one does so much one comes to loathe. The total is frightening ... the excuses and the rationalizations are worse .... Then something happens which suspends--or at least postpones-all necessity of judgment ... The pains shifted from the neck and spine to the lower sides.
I knew it had to be something else. Something more.... I went to Nimro&s doctoras I must-always. My weight has dropped, my reflexes are pathetic.
He!s worried and tomorrow I enter the private hospital in Southbury. He says for an exploratory. . . . I Imow they'll do their best for me. They have other trips-very important trips, Nimrod says. 1711 be traveling throughout most of the summer, he tells me. . . . If it waset me, it would be someone else. The pains are terrible.
May 22, 1971. The old, tired soldier is home. Herroes Nest is my salvationl I'm minus a Iddney. No telling yet about the other, the doctor says. But I Imow better. rm dying... Oh, God, I welcome itl There'll be no more trips, no more threats. Nimrod can do no more. . . . They'll keep me alive, too.
As long as they can. They have to notol ... I hinted to the doctor that rve 3w Robert Ludlum
kept a record over the years. He just stared at me speechless. Ive never seen a man so frightened....
May 23, 197z. Latona-Nimrod--dropped by this morning. Before he could discuss anything, I told him I knew I was dying. That nothing mattered to me now-the decision to end my life was made, not by me. I even told him that I was prepared-relieved; that I had tried to end it mys self but couldn7t. He asked about "what you told the doctor~" He wasn't able to say the wordst His fear blanketed the living room like a heavy mist. ... I answered calmly, with great author ity, I tbir& I told him that whatever records there were would be given to him --- if my last days or months were made easier for me. He was furious but he knew there wasn't anything he could do. What can a person do with an old -an in pain who knows he's going to die? What argu ments are left?
AugUst 24, 197-1. Nimrod is deadl Latona died of a coronaryl Before me, and there!s irony in thatt . . . Still the business continues without change. Still I'm brought my supplies every week and every week the frightened messengers ask the questions-where are they? Where are the records?-they come close to threatening me but I remind them that Nimrod had the word of a dying old man. Why would I change that? . . . They retreat into their fear.... A new Nimrod will be chosen soon.... I've said I didift want to know-and I don'd September 2o, 1971. A new year begins for Carlyle. My last year, I know that-what respon- THE MATLOCK PAPER 321
sibilities I can assume, that is.... Nimrod's death has given me courage. Or is it the knowledge of my own? God knows I can1 undo much but I can tryl ...
rm reaching out, I'm finding a few who've been hurt badly, and if nothing else I offer help. It may only be words, or advice, but just the knowledge that rve been there seems to be comforting. It!s always such a shock to those I speak withl Imaginel The "grand old bird"I The pains and the numbness are nearly intolerable. I may not be able to wait...
December 23, 197-1. Two days before my last Christmas. rve said to so many whove asked me to their homes that I was going into New York. Of course, Ws not so. I'll spend the days here at the Nest... A disturbing note. The messengers tell me that the new Nimrod is the sternes% strongest one of all. They say he's ruthless. He orders executions as easily as his predecessors issued simple requests. Or are they telling me these things to frighten me? That can't frighten mel
February z8, z972. The doctor told me that he'd prescribe heavier "medication7 but warned me not to overdose. He, too, spoke of the new Nimrod. Even hes worried-he implied that the man was mad. I told him I di(Wt want to know anything. I was out of it.
February .26, z972. I caet believe itt Nimrod is a monsterl He's got to be insanel He's demanded that all those who!ve been worldng here over three years be cut offsent out of the country-and if they,refuse-be killedl The doctojes leaving next week. Wife, family, practice. . . . Latonds widow was murdered in an "automo- 322 Robert Ludlum
bile accidenel One of the messengers.-Pollizzi -was shot to death in New Haven. AnotherCapalbo-OUd and the rumor is that the dose was administeredl April 5, 1972. From Nimrod to me-deliver to the messengers any and all records or hell shut off my supplies. My house will be watched around the clock. I'll be followed wherever I go. IT not be allowed to get any medical attention whatsoever. The combined effects of the cancer and the withdrawal will be beyond anything I can imagine. What Nimrod doeset know is that before he left the doctor gave me enough for several months. He frankly didn't believe I'd lost that long.... For the first time in this terrible, horrible life, I'm dealing from a position of strength. My life is firmer than ever because of death.
April zo, 1972. Nimrod is near the point of hysterics with me. Hes threatened to expose mewhich is meaningless. I've let him know that through the messengers. He's said that hell destroy the whole Carlyle campus, but if he does that hell destroy himself as well. The rumor Is that hes calling together a conference. An important meeting of powerful men.... My house is now watched-as Nimrod said it would bearound the clock. By the Carlyle police', of course. Nimrod's private armyl April 22, 1972. Nimrod has wonl Ws horrifying, but he!s wonl He sent me two newspaper clippings. In each a student was kiUed by an overdose. The first a girl in Cambridge, the second a boy from Trinity. He says that hell keep adding
THE MATLOCK PAPER 323
to the list for every week I withhold the records. . . . Hostages are executedl-Hes got to be stopped[ But how? What can I do? ... Ive got a plan but'l don't know if I can do it-Im going to try to nwnufacture records.
Leave them intact. It will be difficult-my hands shake so sometimesl Can I possibly get through it?I have to. I said I'd deliver a few at a time. For my own protection. I wonder if he!U agree to that?
April 24, z972. Nimrods unbelievably evil, but hes a realist. He knows he can do nothing elsel We both are racing against the time of my death.
Stalematel I'm alternating between a typewriter and different fountain pens and various types of paper. The killings are suspended but Im told they will resume if I miss one deliveryl Nimrod!s hostages are in my handsl Their executions can be prevented only by mel April 27, 1972. Something strange is happeningl The Beeson boy phoned our contact at Admissions. Jim Matlock was there and Beeson suspects him. He asked questions, made an ass of himself with Beeson!s wife.... Matlock isn't on any listl He's no part of Nimrod---on either side. He!s never purchased a thing, never sold. . . . The Carlyle patrol cars are always outside now. Nimro&s army is alerted. What is it?
April 27, z972--P.m. The messengers came-two of them-and what they led me to believe is so incredible I cannot write it here.... Ive never asked the identity of Nimrod, I never wanted to know. But panic's rampant now, something is happening beyond even Nimrod!s control. And
the messengers told me who Nimrod is.... They liel I cannot, will not believe it/ If it is true we are all in hdU
Matlock stared at the last entry helplessly. The handwriting was hardly readable; most of the words were connected with one another as if the writer could not stop the pencil from racing ahead.
April 28. Matlock was here. He knowsl Others knowl He says the government men are involved now.... Its overl But what they can1 understand is what will happen-a bloodbath, killings --executionsl Nimrod can do no lessf There will be so much pain. There will be mass killing and it will be provoked by an insignificant teacher of the Elizabethans.... A messenger called. Nimrod hi7welf is coming out It is a confrontation. Now I'll know the truth-who he really is.... If hes who rve been led to believe-somehow III get this record out-somehow. It's all that's left. It's my turn to threaten .... It!s over now. The pain will soon be over, too .... Tberes been so much pain ... IT make one final entry when Fm sure. . . .
Matlock closed the notebook. What had the girl named Jeannie said? They have the courts, the police, the doctors. And Alan Pace. He'd added the major university administrations-all over the Northeast Whole academic policies; employments, deployments, curriculums--sources of enormous financing. They have it all.
But Matlock had the indictment.
TBE MATLOCK PAMM 325
It was enough. Enough to stop Nimrod-whoever he was. Enough to stop the bloodbath, the executions. Now he had to reach Jason Greenberg. Alone.
31
Carrying the oilcloth packet, he began walking toward the town of Carlyle, traveling the back roads on which there was rarely any night traffic. He knew it would be too dangerous to drive. The man in the field had probably recovered sufficiently to reach someone -reach Nimrod. An alarm would be sent out for him. The unseen armies would be after him now. His only chance was to reach Greenberg. Jason Greenberg would tell him what to do.
There was blood on his shirt, mud caked on his trousers and jacket. His appearance brought to mind the outcasts of Bill's Bar & Grill by the railroad freight yards. It was nearly two thirty in the morning, but such places stayed open most of the night. The blue laws were only conveniences for them, not edicts. He reached College Parkway and descended the hill to the yards.
He brushed his damp clothes as best be could and covered the bloodstained shirt with his jacket. He walked into the filthy bar; the layers of cheap smoke were suspended above the disheveled customers. A jukebox was playing some Slovak music, men were yelling, a stand-up shuffleboard was being abused. Matlock knew he melted into the atmosphere. He would find a few precious moments of relief.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 327
He sat down at a back booth.
"What the hell happened to you?\*
It was the bartender, the same suspicious bartender whom he'd finally befriended several days ago. Years ... ages ago.
"Caught in the rainstorm. Fell a couple of times. Lousy whisky.... Have you got anything to eat?"
"Cheese sandwiches. The meat I wouldn7t give you. Bread7s not too fresh either."
"I doet care. Bring me a couple of sandwiches. And a glass of beer. Would you do that?"
'Sure. Sure, mister.... You sure you want to eat here?. I mean, I can tell, this aiet your kind of place, you know what I mean?"
There it was again. The incessant, irrelevant question; the dangling interrogative. You know what i I nwan ... P Not a question at all. Even in his few moments of relief he had to hear it once more.
"I know what you mean ... but I'm sure."
'It's your stomach." The bartender trudged back to his station.
Matlock found Greenberg's number and went to the foul-smelling pay phone on the wall. He inserted a coin and dialed.
"I'm sorry, sir," the operator said, "the telephone is disconnected. Do you have another number where the party can be reached?"
"Try it againl I'm sure you7re wrong."
She, did and she wasn't. The supervisor in Wheeling, West Virginia, finally informed the operator in Carlyle, Connecticut that any calls to a Mr.
Greenberg were to be routed to Washington, D.C. It was assumed that whoever was calling would know where in Washington.
But Mr. Greenberg isn't expected at the Washing- 328 Robert Ludlum
ton number until early A.M.." she said. "Please inform the party on the line."
He tried to think. Could he trust calling Washington, the Department of justice, Narcotics Division? Under the circumstances, might not Washington-for the sake of speed-alert someone in the Hartford vicinity to get to him? And Greenberg had made it clear -he didn~t trust the Hartford office, the Hartford agents.
He understood Greenberg's concern far better now. He had only to think of the Carlyle pohce-Nimro&s private army.
No, he wouldn't call Washington. He'd call Sealfont. His last hope was the university president. He dialed Sealfones number.
"Jamesl Good Lord, jamesl Are you all right?l Where in heaven's name have you been?F
"To places I never knew were there. Never knew existed."
"But you~re all right? Thats all that mattersl Are YOU all right?1"
. "Yes, sir. And Ive got everything. I've got it all. Herron wrote everything down. les a record of twenty-three years."
"Then he was part of 0'
"Very much so.'
"Poor, sick man... I don't understand. However, that's not important now.
That's for the authorities. Where are you? I'll send a car.... No, Ill come myself. We've all been so worried. Ive been in constant touch with the men at the justice Department"
"Stay where you are," Matlock said quickly. '111 get to you myself-everyone knows your car. It'll be less dangerous this way. I know theyre looking for TM MATLOCK P"ER 329
me. IT have a man here call me a taxi. I just wanted to make sure you were home."
"Whatever you say. I must tell you I'm relieved. IT call Kressel. Whatever you have to say, he should know about it. That's the way its to be."
"I agree, sir. See you shortly."
He went back to the booth and began to eat the unappetizing sandwiches. He bad swallowed half the beer when from inside his damp jacket, the short, hysterical beeps of Blackstone's Telelectronic seared into his ears. He pulled out the machine and pressed the button. Without thinking of anything but the number 555-6868 he jumped up from the seat and walked rapidly back to the telephone. His hand trembling, he awkwardly manipulated the coin and dialed.
The recorded words were like the lash of a whip across his face.
"Charger Threezero is canceled."
Then there was silence. As Blackstone had promised, there was nothing else but the single sentencestated but once. There was no one to speak to, no appeal. Nothing.
But there had to bel He would not, could not, be cut off like thisl If Blackstone was canceling him, he had a right to know whyl He had a right to know that Pat was safel
It took several minutes and a number of threats before he reached Blackstone himself.
"I doet have to talk to youl" The sleepy voice was belligerent. "I made that clearl ... But I doet mind because if I can put a trace on this call I'll tell them where to find you the second you hang upi"
"Don7t threaten mel You~ve got too much of my 33o Robert Ludlum
money to threaten me.... Why am I canceled? rve got a right to know that.-
'Because you stinki You stink like garbagel\*
"Thaes not good enoughl That doesn1 mean any~ thingf-
"I'll give you the rundown then. A warrant is out for you. Signed by the court and . . .-
"For what, goddamn it? Protective custody?l Preventive detention?/"
"For murder, Matlockl For conspiracy to distribute narcoticsI For aiding and abetting known narcotics distributors! . . . You sold outl Like I said, you smelU And I hate the business yoxfre in!"
Matlock was stunned. Murder? Conspiracyl What was Blackstone talking about?
"I don~t know what you've been told, but ifs not true. None of it7s truel I risked my life, my life, do you hear me[ To bring what I've got. . ."
"You~re a good talker," interrupted Blackstone, "but you~re carelessl You're also a ghoulish bastardl There's a guy in a field outside of Carlyle with his throat slit. It didn~t take the government boys ten minutes to trace that Ford wagon to its owned"
"I didn1 kiU that manl I swear to Christ I didt\* kill himl"
"No, of course notl And you didn't even see the fellow whose head you shot off at East Gorge, did you? Except that there's a parking lot attendant and a couple of others whove got you on the scenel . . . I forgot Yotfre also stupid. You left the parking ticket under your windshield wiperl"
"Now, wait a minutel Wait a minutel This is all crazyl The man at East Gorge asked to meet me therel He tried to murder mel"
'Tell that to your lawyer. We got the whole thing THE MATLOCK PAPER 333L
--straight-from the justice boysl I demanded that I've got a damned good reputation.... III say this. When you sell out, you sell hight Over sixty thousand dollars in a checking account. Like I said, you wwU, Matlockl"
He was so shocked he could not raise his voice. When he spoke, he was out of breath, hardly audible. "Listen to me. Yoeve got to listen to me.
Everything you say ... there are explanations. Except the man in the field.
I doet understand that. But I doet care if you believe me or not. It doesn't matter. I'm holding in my hand all the vindication I'll ever need.... What does matter is that you watch that girl/ Doet cancel me outl Watch herl"
"Apparently you don't understand English very well. You are canceledl Charger Threezero is canceledt"
"What about the girl?"
"We~re not irresponsible'. said Blackstone bitterly. "SVs perfectly safe.
She's under the protection of the Carlyle police."
There was a general commotion at the bar. The bartender was closing up and his customers resented it. Obscenities were shouted back and forth over the beer-soaked, filthy mahogany, while cooler or more drunken heads slowly weaved their way toward the front door.
Paralyzed, Matlock stood by the foul-smelling telephone. The roaring at the bar reached a crescendo but he heard nothing; the figures in front of his eyes were only blurs. He felt sick to his stomach, and so be held the front of his trousers, the oilcloth packet with Lucas Herroes notebook between his hands and his belt. He thought he was going to be sick as he had
been sick beside the corpse on the East Gorge slope.
But-there was no time. Pat was held by NunroTs private army. Me had to act now. And when he acted, the spring would be sprung. There would be no re-winding---
The horrible truth was that he diddt know where to begin.
Whaes the matter, mister? The sandwichesr "What?"
'Ya look like yoxere gonna throw up."
'Oh? ... No." Matlock saw for the first time that almost everyone had left the place.
The notebookl The notebook would be the ransoml There would be no tortured decision-not for the plastic men] Not for the nwnipulatorsl Nimrod could have the notebookl The indictmend
But then what? Would Nimrod let her live? Let him live? . . . What had Lucas Herron written: "The new Nimrod is a monster ... ruthless. He orders executions. . . "
Nimrod had murdered with far less motive than someoniA knowledge of Lucas Herron~s diahes.
"Look, mister. I'm sorry, but I gotta close up."
"Will you call a taxi for me, please?"
"A taxi? Its after three o'clock. Even if there was one, he wouldnt come down here at three o'clock in the morning."
"Have you got a car?"
"Now wait a minute, mister. I gotta clean up and ring out. I had some action tonight. The registeell, take me twenty minutes."
Matlock withdrew his bills. The smallest denomination was a hundred. "I've got to have a car-right away. How much do you want? I'll bring it back in an hour-maybe less."
= MATLOCK PAPER 333
The bartender looked at Matlock's money. It wasn't a normal sight. "It's a pretty old heap. You might have trouble driving it."
"I can drive anythingl Herel Heres a hundredl If I wreck it you can have the whole roll. Herel Take it, for Christ's sakel"
"Sure. Sure, mister." The bartender reached under his apron and took out his car keys. "The square ones the ignition. Ies parked in the rear.
Sixty-two Chevy. Go out the back door."
"Thanks." Matlock started for the door indicated by the bartender.
"Hey, misterl"
~What?"
-What's your name again? ... Something 'rock'? I forgot. I mean, for Christ's sake, I give you the car, I don't even know your namel"
Matlock thought for a second. "Rod. Nimrod. The name's Nimrod."
"That's no name, mister." The burly man started toward Matlock. "That's a spin fly for catchin' trout. Now, whats your name? You got my car, I gotta know your name."
Matlock still held the money in his band. He peeled off three additional hundreds and threw them on the floor. It seemed right. He had given Kramer four hundred dollars for his station wagon. There should be symmetry somewhere. Or, at least, meaningless logic.
"That's four hundred dollars. You couldn't get four hundred dollars for a '62 Chevy. I'll bring it backl" He ran for the door. The last words he heard were those of the grateful but confused manager of Bilrs Bar & Grill.
"Nimrod. Fuckid jokerl"
&-34 Robert Ludlum
The car was a heap, as its owner had said. But it moved, and that was all that mattered. Sealfont would help him analyze the facts, the alternatives.
Two opinions were better than one; he was afraid of assuming the total responsibility-he waset capable of it. And Sealfont would have people in high places he could contact Sam KresseI, the liaison, would listen and object and be terrified for his domain. No matter; he'd be dismissed. Pat's safety was uppermost. Sealfont would see that Perhaps it was fame to threaten-as Herron ultimately had threatened. Nimrod had Pat; he had Herroes indictment. The life of one human being for the protection of hundreds, perhaps thousands. Even Nimrod had to see their bargaining position. It was irrefutable, the odds were on their side.
He realized as he neared the railroad depot that this kind of thinking, by itself, made him a manipulator, too. Pat had been reduced to quantity X, Herron!s diaries, quantity Y. The equation would then be postulated and the mathematical observers would make their decisions based on the data presented. It was the ice-cold logic of survival; emotional factors were disregarded, consciously despised.
Frighteningl
He turned right at the station and started to chive up College Parkway.
Sealfont's mansion stood at the end. He went as fast as the '62 Chevy would go, which wasn't much above thirty miles an hour on the hill. The streets were deserted, washed clean by the storm. The store fronts, the houses, and finally the campus were dark and silent.
He remembered that Kressel's house was just a half block off College Parkway on High Street. The detour would take him no more than thirty second& It was
THE MATLOCK PAPM W
worth it, he thought. If Kressel hadn't left for Sealfonfs, he would pick him up and they could talk on the way over. Matlock had to talk, had to begin, He couldift stand the isolation any longer.
He swung the car to the left at the comer of High Street Kressers house was a laxge gray colonial set back from the street by a wide front lawn bordered by rhododendrons. There were lights on downstaim With luck, Kressel was still home. There were two cars, one in the driveway; Matlock slowed down.
His eyes were drawn to a dull reflection at the rear of the driveway.
Kressel's kitchen light was on; the spill from the window illuminated the hood of a third car, and the Kressels were a two-car family-He looked again at the car in front of the house. It was a Carlyle patrol car. The Carlyle police were in Kressers housel Nimro&s private army was with KresseV
Or was Nimrods private army with NinrodP
He swerved to the left, narrowly missing the patrol car, and sped down the street to the next comer. He turned right and pressed the accelerator to the floor. He was confused, frightened, bewildered. If Sealfont had called Kressel-which he had obviously doneand Kressel worked with Nimrod, or was Nimrod, there'd be other patrol cars, other soldiers of the private army waiting for him.
His mind went back to the Carlyle Police Station --a century ago, capsuled in little over a week-the night of Loring's murder. Kressel had disturbed him then. And even before that-with Loring and Greenberg-Kressers hostility to the federal agents had been outside the bounds of reason.
Oh, Christi It was so clear nowl His instincts had been right. The instincts which had served him as the
,n6
Robert Ludluin
hunted as well as the hunter had been truel Hd'd been watched too thoroughly, his every action antLcipated. Kressel, the liaison, was, in fact, Kressel the tracker, the seeker, the supreme killer.
Nothing was ever as it appeared to be-only what one sensed behind the appearance. Trust the senses.
Somehow he had to get to Sealfont Warn Sealfont that the Judas was Kressel.
Now they both had to protect themselves, establish some base from which they could strike back.
Otherwise the girl he loved was lost
There couldnI be a second wasted. Sealfont had certainly told Kressel that he, Matlock, had Lucas Herron~s dianes, and that was all Kressel would need to know. All Nimrod needed to know.
Nimrod had to get possession of both the Corsican paper and the diaries; now he knew where they were. His private army would be told that tins was its moment of triumph or disaster. They would be waiting for him at Sealfont!s; Sealfoufs mansion was the trap they expected him to enter.
Matlock swung west at the next comer. In his trouser pocket were his keys, and among them was the key to Pat's apartment To the best of his knowledge, no one knew he had such a key, certainly no one would expect him to go there. He had to chance it; he coulddt risk going to a public telephone, risk being seen under a street lamp. The patrol cars would be searching everywhere.
He heard the roar of an engine behind him and felt the sharp pain in his stomach. A car was following him-closing in on him. And the '62 Chevrolet was no match for it
His right leg tbrobbed from the pressure he exerted on the pedal. His hands gripped the steering wheel as
TEE MATLOCK PAPM 337
he turned wildly into a side street, the muscles in his arms tensed and aching. Another turn. He spun the wheel to the left, careerung off the edge of the curb back into the middle of the road. The car behind him maintamed a steady pace, never more than ten feet away, the headlights blinding in the rearview mirror.
His pursuer was not going to close the gap between theml Not then. Not at that moment. He could have done so a hundred, two hundred yards ago. He was waiting. Waiting for something. But what?
There was so much he couldn7t understandl So much he!d miscalculated, misread. Hed been outmaneuvered at every important juncture. He was what they said-an amateurl Hed been beyond his depth from the beginning. And now, at the last, his final assault was ending in ambush. They would kill hfm~ take the Corsican paper, the dianes of indictment. They would kill the girl he loved, the innocent child whose life hed thrown away so brutally.
Sealfont would be finished-he knew too much nowl God knew how many others would be destroyed.
So be It.
if it had to be this way, if hope really had been taken from him, he!d end it all with a gesture, at least. He reached into his belt for the automatic.
The streets they now traveled-the pursuer and the pursued-ran through the outskirts of the campus6 consisting mainly of the science buildings and a number of large parking lots. There were no houses to speak of.
He swerved the Chevrolet as far to the right as possible, thrusting his right arm across his chest, the barrel of the pistol outside the car window, pointed at the pursuing automobile.
He fired twice. The car behind him accelerated, he
felt the repeated jarring of contact, the metal against metal as the car behind hammered into the Chevrolet's left rear chassis. He pulled again at the trigger of the automatic. Instead of a loud report, he heard and felt only the single click of the firing pin against an unloaded chamber.
Even his last gesture was futile.
His pursuer crashed into him once more. He lost control; the wheel spun, tearing his arm, and the Chevrolet reeled off the road. Frantic, he reached for the door handle, desperately hying to steady the car, prepared to jump if need be.
He stopped all thought; all instincts of survival were arrested. Within those split seconds, time ceased. For the car behind him had drawn parallel and he saw the face of his pursuer.
There were bandages and gauze around the eyes, beneath the glasses, but they could not hide the face of the black revolutionary. Julian Dunois.
It was the last thing be remembered before the Chevrolet swerved to the right and skidded violently off the road's incline.
Blackness.
32
Pain roused him. It seemed to be all through his left side. He rolled his head, feeling the pillow beneath him.
The room was dimly lit; what light there was came from a table lamp on the other side. He shifted his head and tried to raise himself on his right shoulder. He pushed his elbow into the mattress, his immobile left arm following the turn of his body like a dead weight-He-stopped abruptly.
Across the room, directly in line with the foot of the bed, sat a man in a chair. At first Matlock couldi\* distinguish the features. The light was poor and his eyes were blurred with pain and exhaustion.
Then the man came into focus. He was black and his dark eyes stared at Matlock beneath the perfectly cut semicircle of an Afro haircut. It was Adam Wilhams, Carlyle Universitys firebrand of the Black Left.
When Williams spoke, he spoke softly and, unless Matlock nusunderstood-once again-there was coulpassion in the black's voice.
"I'll tell Brother Julian you~re awake. Hell come in to see you." Williams got out of the chair and went to the door. 'Yoifve banged up your left shoulder. Dodt try to get out of bed. There axe no windows in ,W Robert Ludlum
here. The hallway is guarded. Relax. You need rest"
"I doet have thne to rest, you goddamn fooll" Matlock tried to raise himself further but the pain was too great. He hadet adjusted to it You don't have a choice." Williams opened the door and walked rapidly out, closing it firmly behind him.
Matlock fell back on the pillow. . . . Brother Julian.
. He remembered now. The sight of Julian Dunoi!?s bandaged face watching him through the speeding car window, seemingly inches away from him. And his ears had picked up Dunois's words, his commands to his driver. They had been shouted in his Caribbean dialect.
"Hit bim, monI Hit him again] Drive him ofl, mon]"
And then everything had become dark and the darkness had been filled with violent noise, crashing metal, and he had felt his body twisting, turrung, spiraling into the black void.
Oh, Godl How long ago was it? He tried to lift up his left hand to look at his watch, but the arm barely moved; the pain was sharp and lingering. He reached over with his right hand to pull the stretch band off his wrist, but it wasn't there. His watch was gone.
He struggled to get up and finally managed to perch on the edge of the bed, his legs touching the floor. He pressed his feet against the wood, thankful that he could sit up.... He had to put the pieces together, to reconstruct what had happened, where he was going.
He'd been on his way to Paes. To find a secluded telephone on which to reach Adrian Sealfont. To warn him that Kressel was the enemy, Kressel was Nimrod. And he'd made up his mind that Herron7s THE m&TLOCK PAPER 341
diaries would be Paes ransom. Then the chase had begun, only it wasn!'t a chase. The car behind him, commanded by Julian Dkmols, had played a furious game of terror. It had toyed with him as a lethal mountam cat nught play with a wounded gDat. Finally it had attacked-steel against steel-and driven him to darkness.
Matlock knew he had to escape. But ftom where and to whona?
The door of the windowless room opened. Dunois entered, followed by Williams.
"Good morning,7 said the attorney. "I see yoteve managed to sit up. That's good. It augurs well for your very abused body."
"What time is it? Where am I?'
'Ifs nearly four thirty. You are In a room at Lumumba Hall. You see? I withhold nothing from you. ... Now, you must reciprocate. You must withhold nothing from me
,\*,Lbten to mel" Matlock kept his voice steady. \*1
have no fight with you, with any of youl rve got ... 7
"Oh, I disagree," Dunois smiled. "Look at my face. les only through enormous good fortune that I wasnI blinded by you. You tried to crush the lenses of my glasses into my eyes. Can you imagine how my work would suffer if I were blind?"
"Goddamn itl You filled me with acidl"
"And you provoked itl You were actively engaged in pursuits inimicable to our brothersl Pursuits you had no right to engage in ... But this is concentric debate. It will get us nowhere ... We do appreciate what yoeve brought us. Beyond our most optimistic ambitions.\*
"Yoxeve got the notebook. . .
"And the Corsican document. The Italian invitation
we knew existed. The notebook was only a rumor. A nunor which was fast being ascribed to fiction until tonight-this morning. You should feel proud.
Yoieve accomplished what scores of your more experienced betters failed to accomplish. You found the treasum The real treasure."
I've got to have it backl"
'Fat chancel" said Williams, leaning against the wall, watching.
"If I don!t get it back, a girl will diel Do whatever you goddamn well please with me, but let me use it to get her back. Christl Please, pleasel"
"You feel deeply, donI you? I see tears in your eyes. . . ."
"Oh, Jesusl Yoere an educated manI You cant do thisl ... ListenI Take whatever information you want out of itl Then give it to me and let me gol ... I swear to you III come back. Give her a chance. just give her a chancer
Dunois walked slowly to the chair by the wall, the chair in which Adam Williams sat when Matlock awoke. He pulled it forward, closer to the bed, and sat down, crossing his knees gracefully. "You feel helpless, don't you?
Perhaps ... even without hope."
"I've been through a great deall"
"I'm sure you have. And you appeal to my reason . as an educated nwn. You realize that it is within my scope to help you and therefore I am superior to -you. You would not make such an appeal if it were not so."
"Oh, Christl Cut that outl"
"Now you know what it's like. You are helpless. Without hope. You wonder if your appeal will be lost on a deaf ear. . . . Do you really, for one second, think that I care for the life of Miss Ballantyne? Do TM MATLOCK PAPM 343
you honestly believe she has any priority for me? Any more than the lives of our children, our loved ones mean anything to youl"
Matlock knew he had to answer Dunois. The black would offer nothing if he evaded him. It was another game-and he had to play, if only briefly.
"I don't deserve this and you know it I loathe the people who won't do anything for them. You know me-you've made that clear. So you must know thae
"Ahb, but I doWt know itl You're the one who made the choice, the decision to work for the superior monl The Washington monl For decades, two centuries, my people have appealed to the superior Washington nwnl 'Help us: they cry. Todt leave us without hopel' they scream. But nobody listens.
Now, you expect me to listen to you?"
"Yes, I dol Because Fin not your enemy. I may not be everything you want me to be, but Im not your enemy. If you turn me-and men like me-into objects of hatred, you~re finished. You're outnumbered, dodt forget that, Dunois.
We won't storm the barricades every time you yell 'foul,' but we hear you.
We're willing to help; we want to help."
Dunois looked coldly at Matlock. "Prove it"
Matlock returned the black's stare. "Use me as your bait, your hostage.
Kill me if you have to. But get the girl out"
"We can do that-the hostaging, the killing-without your consent. Brave but hardly proof."
Matlock refused to allow Dunois to disengage the stare between them. He spoke softly. "I'll give you a statement. Written, verbal-on tape; freely, without force or coercion. I'll spell it all out. How I was used, what I did. Everything. You'll have your Washington men as well as Nimrod."
Dunois folded his arms and matched Matlock's quiet voice. 'You realize you would put an end to your professional life; this life you love so much. No university administration worthy of its name would consider you for a position. You~d never be trusted again. By any factions. You'd become a pariah."
"You asked for proof. It!s all I can offer you."
Dunois sat immobile in the chair. Williams had straightened up from his slouching position against the wall. No one spoke for several moments.
Finally Dunois smiled gently. His eyes, surrounded by the gauze, were compassionate.
"Yoere a good man. Inept, perhaps, but perseverjug. You shall have the help you need. We won1 leave you without hope. Do you agree, Adami"
"Agreed."
Dunois got out of the chair and approached Matlock.
-Yo,eve heard the old clichk that politics make strange bedfellows.
Conversely, practical objectives often make for strange political alliances. History bears this out... We want this Ninuod as much as you do.
As well as the Mafiosi he tries to make peace with. it is they and their kind who prey upon the children. An example must be made. An example which will instill terror in other Nimrods, other Mafiosi.... You shall have help, but this is the condition we demand."
"What do you mean?'
'rhe disposition of Nimrod and the others will be left to us. We doet trust your judges and your juries. Your courts are corrupt, your legalistics no more than financial manipulations. . . . The barrio addict is thrown into jail. The rich gangsters appeal. ... No, the disposition must be left to us.- THE MATLOCK PAPER 345
"I don1 care about that You can do whatever you like."
'Your not caring is insufficient. We demand more than that. We must have our guarantee."
"How can I give a guarantee?"
"By your silence. By not acknowledging our presence. We will take the Corsican paper and somehow we will find the conference and be admitted. We will extract what we want from the diaries-that's being done now, incidentally. . . . But your silence is the paramount issue. We will help you now--on a bestefforts basis, of course-but you must never mention our involvement. Irrespective of what may happen, you must not, directly or indirectly, allude to our participation. Should you do so, we will take your life and the life of the girl. Is this understood?'
"it is."
"Then we are in agreement?"
We are."
"Thank you," said Dunois, smiling.
33
As Julian Dunois outlined their alternatives and began to formulate strategy, it became clearer to Matlock why the blacks had sought him out with such concentration-and why Dunois was willing to offer help. He, Matlock, had the basic information they needed. Who were his contacts? Both inside and without the university? Who and where were the government men?
How were communications expedited?
In other words-whom should Julian Dunois avoid in his march to Nimrod?
"I must say, you were extraordinarily unprepared for contingencies," Dunois said. 'Tery slipshod."
"That occurred to me, too. But I think I was only partially to blame."
"I dare say you werel" Dunois laughed, joined by Williams. The three men remained in the windowless room. A card table had been brought in along with several yellow pads. Dunois had begun writing down every bit of information Matlock supplied. He double-checked the spelling of names, the accuracy of addresses--a professional at work; Matlock once again experienced the feeling of inadequacy he had felt when talking with Greenberg.
Dunois stapled a number of pages together and THE MATLOCK PAPER 347 started on a fresh pacL "What are you doing?" asked Matlock.
"These will be duplicated by a copier downstairs. The information will be sent to my office in New York.... As will a photostat of every page in Professor Herron~s notebook.'
"You dodt fool around, do you?'
"In a word-no."
'Ifs all I've got to give you. Now, what do we do? What do I do? I'm frightened, I don~t have to tell you that I can't even let myself think what might happen to her."
"Nothing will happen. Believe me when I tell you that. At the moment, your Miss Ballantyne is as safe as if she were in her mother's arms. Or yours.
She's the bait, not you. The bait will be kept fresh and unspoiled. For you have what they want They can!t survive without it."
'Ilen let!s make the offer. The sooner the better~\*
"Dodt worry. It will be made. But we must decide carefully-aware of the nuances--how we do it. So far, we have two alternatives, we agreed upon that The first is Kressel, himself. The direct confrontation. The second, to use the police department, to let your message to Nimrod be delivered through it"
"Why do that? Use the police?"
'I'm only listing alternatives.... Why the police? rm not sure. Except that the Herron diaries state clearly that Nimrod was replaced in the past This current Nimrod is the third since the positiods inception, is that not correct?"
"Yes. The first was a man named Orton in the lieutenant governor's office.
The second, Angelo Latona, a builder. The third, obviously, Kressel. What!s your point?"
-2AR Robert LucUum
\*J-FTin speculating. Whoever assumes the position of Nimrod has authoritarian powers. Therefore, it is the position, not the man. The man can make whatever he can of the office."
But the offlce,7 interrupted Williams, -is given and taken away. Nimrod iset the last voic&-
"Exactly. Therefore, it might be to MatIodies advantage to let the word leak out very specifically that it Is he who possesses the weapon. That KresselNimrDd-must exercise great caution. For everyones sake "Wouldn!t that mean that more people would be after me?'
"Possibly. Conversely, it could mean that there!d be a legion of anxious criminals protecting you. Until the threat you impose is eliminated. No one will act rashly until that threat is taken away. No one will want Nun. rod to act rasbly.~
Matlock lit a cigarette, listening Intently. -What you!re trying to do then is to partially separate Nimrod from his own organization~"
Danois snapped the fingers of both hands, the sound of castanets, applause.
He smiled as he spoke.
"Yoifre a quick student. Xs the first lesson of insurgency. One of the prime objectives of infiltration. Divide. Dividel"
The door opened; an excited black entered. Without saying a word, he handed Dunois a note. Dunois read it and closed his eyes for several moments. It was his way of showing dismay. He thanked the black messenger calmly and dismissed him politely. He looked at Matlock but handed the note to Williams.
"Our stratagems may have historic precedence, but rm afraid for us they're empty words. Kressel and his
THE MATLOCK PAPER 349
wife are dead. Dr. Sealfont has been taken forcibly from his house under guard. He was driven away in a Carlyle patrol car."
"What? Kressell I don't believe itl Ifs not truel"
"I'm afraid it is. Our men report that the two bodies were carried out not more than fifteen minutes ago. The word is murder and suicide. Naturally.
it would fit perfectly."
"Oh, Christl Oh, Jesus Christl Ifs my faultl I made them do itl I forced theml Sealfontl Where did they take him?"
'We don't know. The brothers on watch didet dare follow the patrol car."
He had no words. The paralysis, the fear, was there again. He reeled blindly into the bed and sank down on it, sitting, staring at nothing. The sense of futility, of inadequacy, of defeat was now overwhelming. He had caused so much pain, so much death.
"It's a severe complication," said Dunois, his elbows on the card table.
"Nimrod has removed your only contacts. In so doing, h&s answered a vital question, prevented us from making an enormous error-I refer to Kressel, of course. Nevertheless, to look at it from another direction, Nimrod has reduced our alternatives. You have no choice now. You must deal through his private army, the Carlyle police."
Matlock looked numbly across at Julian Dunois. "Is that all you can do? Sit there and coolly decide a next move? . . . Kressers dead. His wife is dead.
Adrian Sealfont's probably killed by now. These were my friendsl-
"And you have my sympathies, but let me be honest: I don't regret the loss of the three individuals. Frankly, Adrian Sealfont is the only real casualty-we
35o Robert Ludlum
might have worked with him, he was brilliant-but this loss does not break my heart. We lose thousands in the barrios every month. I weep for them more readily.... However, to the issue at hand. You really doet have a choice.
You must make your contact through the police."
But thats where you're wrong." Matlock felt suddenly stronger. "I do have a choice.... Greenberg left West Virginia early this morning. He1l be in Washington by now. I have a number in New York that can put me in touch with him. I'm getting hold of Greenberg.' Hed done enough, caused enough anguish. He couldnt take the chance with Pafs life. Not any longer. He wasn1 capable.
Dunois leaned back in his chair, removing his arms from the card table. He stared at Matlock. "I said a little while ago that you were an apt student.
I amend that observation. You are quick but obviously superficial.... You will not reach Greenberg. He was not part of our agreement and you will not violate that agreement You will carry through on the basis we agree upon or you will be subject to the penalties I outlined.\*
"Goddamn it, don1 threaten mel I'm sick of threatsl" Matlock stood up.
Dunois reached under his jacket and took out a gun. Matlock saw that it was the black automatic he had taken from the dead man on the East Gorge slope.
Dunois, too, rose to his feet.
"The medical report will no doubt estimate your death to be at dawn."
"For God7s sakel The girl is being held by killersf"
'So are you," Dunois said quietly. "CarA you see that? Our motives are different, but make no mistake about it. We are killers. We have to be."
THE MATLOCK PAPER 351
'You wouldet go that farl'
"Oh, but we would. We have. And much, much further. We would drop your insignificant corpse in front of the police station with a note pinned to your bloodstained shirt We would denwnd the death of the girl prior to any negotiations. They would readily agree, for neither of us can take the chance of her living. Once she, too, is dead, the giants are left to do battle by themselves."
"Yoere a monster."
"I am what I have to be."
No one spoke for several moments. Matlock shut his eyes, his voice a whisper. "What do I do?"
"That's much better." Dunois sat down, looking up at the nervous Adam Williams. Briefly, Matlock felt a kinship with the campus radical. He, too, was frightened, unsure. As Matlock, he was ill-equipped to deal with the world of Julian Dunois or Nimrod. The Haitian seemed to read Matlock's thoughts.
'You must have confidence in yourself. Remember, you've accomplished far more than anyone else. With far less resources. And you have extraordinary courage.0
"I doet feel very courageous."
'A brave man rarely does. Isn't that remarkable? Come, sit down." Matlock obeyed. "You know, you and I are not so different. In another time, we might even be allies. Except, as many of my brothers have noted, I look for saints.-
"There aren't any," Matlock said.
"Perhaps not. And then again, perhaps ... well debate it some other time.
Right now, we must plan. Nimrod will be expecting you. We can't disappoint him. Yet we must be sure to guard ourselves on all
flanks." He pulled closer to the table, a haff-smile on his lips, his eyes shining.
The black revolutionar/s strategy, if nothing else, was a complex series of moves designed to protect Matlock and the girl. Matlock grudgingly had to acknowledge it
"I have a double motive," Dunois explained. 'The second is, frankly, more important to me. Nimrod will not appear himself unless he has no other choice, and I want Nimrod. I will not settle for a substitute, a camouflage The essence of the plan was Herroes notebook itself, the last entries in the diary.
The identity of Nimrod.
"Herron states explicitly that he would not write the name intimated by the messengers. Not that he couldift His feeling obviously was that he could not implicate that man if the information was incorrecL Guilt by innuendo would be abhorrent to him. Like yourself, Matlock; you refused to offer up Herron on the basis of an hysterical phone can. He knew that he might die at any given moment; his body had taken about as much abuse as it could endure.... He had to be positive." Dunois, by now, was drawing meaningless geometric shapes on a blank page of yellow paper.
"And then he was murdered," said Matlock "Made to look like suicide."
"Yes. If nothing else, the diaries confirm that. Once Herron had proved to himself who Nimrod was, he would have moved heaven and earth to include it in the notebook. our enemy cannot know that he did not. That is our Damocletian sword."
Matlock's first line of protection was to let the chief TBE MATLOCK PAP= 353
of the Carlyle police understand that he, Matlool; knew the identity of Nimrod. He would reach an accommodation solely with Nimrod. This accommodation was the lesser of two evils. He was a hunted There was a warrant out for his arrest of which the Carlyle police surely were aware. He might conceivably be exonerated from the lesser indictments, but he would not escape the charge of murder. Possibly, two murders. For he had killed, the evidence was overwhebxiing, and he had no tangible alibis.
He did not know the men he had killed. There were no witnesses to corroborate self-defense; the manner of each killing was grotesque to the point of removing the killer from society. The best he could hope for was a number of years in prison.
And then he would spell out his terms for an aocommodation with Nimrod.
Lucas Herron7s diaries for his life-and the life of the girl. Certainly the diaries were worth a sum of money sufficient for both of them to start again somewhere.
Nimrod could do this. Nimrod had to do it.
"The key to this ... lees call it phase one ... Is the wriount of conviction you display." Dunois spoke carefully. 'Remember, you are in panic. You have taken lives, killed other human beings. You are not a violent man but yoteve been forced, coerced into frightening crimes."
"It!s the truth. More than you know."
"Good. Convey that feeling. All a panicked man wants is to get away from the scene of his panic. Nimrod must believe this. It guarantees your immediate safety~"
A second telephone call would then be made by Matlock-to confirm Nirnro&s acceptance of a meeting. The location, at this point, could be chosen by ,W Robert LucUum
Nimrod. Matlock would call again to learn where. But the meeting must take place before ten o'clock in the morning.\*
'By now, you, the fugitive, seeing freedom in sight, suddenly possess doubts," said Dunois. "In your gathering hysteria, you need a guaran factor.'
"Which isr
A third party; a mythical third party. .. .7
Matlock was to inform the contact at the Carye Police Headquarters that he had written up a complete statement about the Nimrod operation. Herron~s diaries, identities, everything. This statement had been sealed in an envelope and given to a friend. It would be mailed to the justice Department at ten in the morning unless Matlock instructed otherwise.
"Here, phase two depends again on conviction, but of another sorL Watch a caged animal whose captors suddenly open the gate. Hes wary, suspicious; he approaches his escape with caution. So, too, must our fugitive. It will be expected. You have been most resourceful during the past week. By logic you should have been dead by now, but you survived. You must continue that cunning.\*
"I understand."
The last phase was created by Julian Dunois to guaruntee--as much as was possible in a I)estefforts situation7-the reclaiming of the girl and the safety of Matlock. It would be engineered by a third and final telephone call to Nimrod's contact. The object of the call was to ascertain the specific location of the meeting and the precise time.
When informed of both, Matlock was to accept without hesitation.
At first.
Then moments later-seemingly with no other rea- THE MATLOCK PAPER M
son than the last extremity of panic and suspicionhe was to reject Nimrod's choice.
Not the time-the location.
He was to hesitate, to stutter, to behave as close to irrationality as he could muster. And then, suddenly, he was to blurt out a second location of his own choice. As if it had just come to mind with no thoughts of it before that moment. He was then to restate the existence of the nonexistent statement which a mythical friend would mail to Washington at ten in the morning. He was then to hang up without listening further.
'Ile most important factor in phase three is the recognizable consistency of your panic. Nimrod must see that your reactions are now primitive. The act itself is about to happen. You lash out, recoil, set up barriers to avoid his net, should that net exist In your hysteria, you are as dangerous to him as a wounded cobra Is deadly to the tiger. For rationality doesn1
exist, only survival. He now must meet you himself, he now must bring the girl. He will, of course, arrive with his palace guard. His intentions won7t change. He'll take the diaries, perhaps discuss elaborate plans for your accommodation, and when he learns that there is no written statement, no friend about to mail it hell expect to IdU you both.... However, none of his intentions will be carried out. For we'll be waiting for him.'
"How? How will you be waiting for himP"
"With my own palace guard.... We shall now, you and I, decide on that hysterically arrived at second location. It should be in an area you know well, perhaps frequent often. Not too far away, for it is presumed you have no automobile. Secluded, because you are hunted by the law. Yet accessible, for you
must travel fast, most likely on back roads."
"You're describing Herron's Nest. Herron~s house.'
"I may be, but we can't use it. It's psychologically inconsistent It would be a break in our fugitive's pattern of behavior. Herroes Nest is the root of his fear. He wouldn1 go back there.... Someplace else."
Williams started to speak. He was still unsure, still wary of joining Dunois's world. "I think, perhaps ...
"What, Brother Williams? What do you think?"
'Professor Matlock often dines at a restaurant called the Cheshire Cat."
Matlock snapped his head up at the black radical. "You too? You've had me followed."
"Quite often. We don't enter such places. We'd be conspicuous."
"Go on, brother," broke in Dunois.
"The Cheshire Cat is about four miles outside Carlyle. ies set back from the highway, which is the normal way to get there, about half a mile, but it also can be reached by taking several back roads. Behind and to the sides of the restaurant are patios and gardens used in the summer for dining. Beyond these are woods."
"Anyone on the premises?"
"A single night watchman, I believe. It doesn't open until one. I don't imagine cleanup crews or kitchen help get there before nine thirty or ten."
"Excellent." Dunois looked at his wristwatch. "It's now ten past five. Say we allow fifteen minutes b4~,tween phases one, two, and three and an additional twenty minutes for traveling between stations, that would make it approximately six fifteen. Say six thirty for contingencies. Well set the rendezvous for seven. Behind the Cheshire Cat. Get the notebook, brother. III alert the men."
TER WATIOX PAPER 3V
Williams rose from his chair and walked to the door. He turned and addressed Dunois. -You won t change your mind? You wonI let me come with the rest of you?"
Dunob didn!t bother to look up. He answered curtly. "Don!t annoy me. rve a great deal to think aboue
Williams left the room quickly.
Matlock watched Dunois. He was still sketching his meaningless figures on the yellow pad, only now he bore down on the pencil, causing deep ridges on the paper. Matlock saw the diagram emerging. It was a series of lagged lines, all converging.
They were bolts of lightning.
"Listen to me," he said. "Ifs not too late. Call. In the authorities.
Please, for Christs sake, you cadt risk the lives of these kids.'
From behind his glasses, surrounded by the gauze bandages, Dunois's eyes bore into Matlock. He spoke with contempt. "Do you for one minute think I would allow these children to tread in waters I dodt even know I can survive? Were not your joint Chiefs of Staff, Matlock. We have greater respect greater love for our young.'
Matlock recalled Adam Wilhand protestations at the door. "Thafs what Williams meant then? About coming with you."
"Come with me."
Dunois led Matlock out of the small, windowless room and down the corridor to a staircase. There were a few students milling about but only a few. The rest of Luniumba Hall was asleep. They proceeded down two flights to a door Matlock remembered as leading to the cellars, to the old, high-ceilinged chapter room in which hed witnessed the frightening performance of the African tribal rite. They descended the stairs
and, as Matlock suspected, went to the rear of the cellars, to the thick oak door of the chapter room. Dunois had not spoken a word since he'd bade Matlock follow him.
Inside the chapter room were eight blacks, each well over six feet tall.
They were dressed alike: dark, tight-fitting khakis with open shirts and black, soft leather ankle boots with thick rubber soles. Several were sitting, playing cards; others were reading, some talking quietly among themselves. Matlock noticed that a few had their shirt sleeves rolled up.
The arms displayed were tautly muscular, veins close to the skin. They all nodded informally to Dunois and his guest. Two or three smiled intelligently at Matlock, as if to put him at ease. Dunois spoke softly.
"The palace guard."
"My Godl"
"The elite corps. Each man is trained over a period of three years. There is not a weapon he cannot fire or fix, a vehicle he cannot repair ... or a philosophy he cannot debate. Each is familiar with the most bruW forms of combat, traditional as well as guerril-Ia. Each is committed until death."
The terror brigade, is that it? les not new, you know."
"Not with that description, no, it wouldn't be. Don!t forget, I grew up with such dogs at my heels. Duvaliefs Ton Ton Macoute were a pack of hyenas; I witnessed their work. These men are no such animale I wasn~t thinking of Duvalier."
'On the other hand, I acknowledge the debt to Papa Doc. The Ton Ton's concept was exciting to me. Only I realized it had to be restructured. Such units are springing up all over the country."
They sprung up once before:' Matlock said. "They TEE WAnOM PAPER 359
were called 'elite' then, too. They were also called 'Units'-SS units."
Dunois looked at Matlock and Matlock saw the hurt in his eyes. 'To reach for such parallels is pain. fuL Nor is it justified. We do what we have to do. What is right for us to do."
"Ein Volk Ein Reich, Ein Fuehrer," said Matlock softly.
34
Everything happened so fast. Two of Dunois's elite guard were assigned to him, the rest left for the rendezvous with Nimrod, to prepare themselves to meet another elite guard-the selected few of Nimrod's private army who undoubtedly would accompany him. Matlock was ushered across the campus by the two huge blacks after the word came back from scouts that the path was clear. He was taken to a telephone booth in the basement of a freshman dormitory, where he made his first call.
He found that his fear, his profound fear, aided the impression Dunois wanted to convey. It wasn't difficult for him to pour out his panicked emotions, pleading for sanctuary, for, in truth, he felt panicked. As he spoke hysterically into the phone, he wasn't sure which was the reality and which the fantasy. He wanted to be free. He wanted Pat to live and be free with him. If Nimrod could bring it all about why not deal with Nimrod in good faith?
It was a nightmare for him. He was afraid for a moment that he might yell out the truth and throw himself on the mercy of Nimrod.
The sight of Dunois's own Ton Ton Macoute kept bringing him back to his failing senses, and be ended the first telephone call without breaking. The Carlyle
TnE mATLocK PAPEFt 361
police "superintendent" would forward the information, receive an answer, and await Matlock's next call.
The blacks received word from their scouts that the second public telephone wasn't clear. It was on a street comer, and a patrol car had been spotted in the area, Dunois knew that even public phones could be traced, although it took longer, and so he had alternate sites for each of the calls, the last one to be made on the highway. Matlock was rushed to the first alternate telephone booth. It was on the back steps of the Student Union.
The second call went more easily, although whether that was an advantage was not clear. Matlock was emphatic in his reference to the mythical statement that was to be mailed at ten in the morning. His strength had its effect, and he was grateful for it. The "superintendent" was frightened now, and he didn't bother to conceal it. Was Nimrod's private army beginning to have its doubts? The troops were, perhaps, picturing their own stomachs blown out by the enemy's shells. Therefore, the generals had to be more alert, more aware of the danger.
He was raced to a waiting automobile. It was an old Buick, tarnished, dented, inconspicuous. The exterior, however, belied the inside. The interior was as precisely tooled as a tank. Under the dashboard was a powerful radio; the windows were at least a half-inch thick, paned, Matlock realized, with bulletproof glass. Clipped to the sides were high-powered, short-barreled rifles, and dotted about the body were rubber-flapped holes into which these barrels were to be inserted. The sound of the engine impressed Matlock instantly. It was as powerful a motor as h6d ever heard.
They followed an automobile in front of them at
moderate speed; Matlock realized that another car had taken up the rear position. Dunois had meant it when he said they were to cover themselves on all Ranks. Dunois was, indeed, a professional.
And it disturbed James Matlock when he thought about the profession.
It was black. It was also Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Fuehrer.
As was Nimrod and all he stood for.
The words came back to him.
0... rm getting out of this goddamn country, mister. . . '
Had it come to that?
And: ". . . You think ies all so digerent? ... les mini-Americal ... les company policy, mant"
The land was sick. Where was the cure?
"Here we are. Phase three." The black revolutionary in command tapped him lightly on the arm, smiling reassuringly as he did so. Matlock got out of the car. They were on the highway south of Carlyle. The car in front had pulled up perhaps a hundred yards ahead of them and parked off the road, its lights extinguished. The automobile behind had done the same.
In front of him stood two aluminum-framed telephone booths, placed on a concrete platform. The second black walked to the right booth, pushed the door open-which turned on the dull overhead fight-and quickly slid back the pane of glass under the light, exposing the bulb. This he rapidly unscrewed so that the booth returned to darkness. It struck Matlock-impressed him, really-that the Negro giant had eliminated the light this way. It would have been easier, quicker, simply to have smashed the glass.
The objective of the third and final call, as Dunois Tm mATLocK PAPim 363
had instructed, was to reject Nirwod's meeting place. Reject it in a manner that left Ninuod no altemative but to accept Matlocles panicked substitute: the Cheshire Cat
The voice over the telephone from the Carlyle pohoe was wary, precise.
"Our mutual friend understands your concerns, Matlock. He'd feel the same way you do. He'll meet you with the girl at the south entrance of the athletic field, to the left of the rear bleachers. It's a small stadiun-4
not far from the gym and the dormitories. Night watchmen are on; no harm could come to
YOU. . . ."
"All right. All right, that's O.K." Matlock did his best to sound quietly frantic, laying the groundwork for his ultimate refusal. "Tbere are people around; if any of you tried anything, I could scream my head off. And I wilU'
"Of course. But you won't have to. Nobody wants anyone hurt. Its a simple transaction; that's what our friend told me to tell you. He admires you. .
. . .
"How can I be sure he'll bring Pat? I have to be surel"
'The transaction, Matlock." The voice was oily, there was a hint of despemtion. Dunois's "cobra" was unpredictable. "rhats what it's all about Our friend wants what you found, remember?"
"I remember. . . ." Matlocles mind raced. He realized he had to maintain his hysteria, his unpredictability. But he had to switch the location.
Change it without being suspect. If Nimrod became suspicious, Dunois had sentenced Pat to death. "And you tell our Mend to remember that there's a statement in an envelope addressed to men in Washingtonl"
"He knows that, for Christ's sake, I mean ... he's
concerned, you know what I mean? Now, well see you at the field, O.K.? In an hour, O-K-?"
This was the moment There might not come another.
Nol Wait a minute.... rm not going on that campusl The Washington people, theyve got the whole place watchedl The)ere all aroundl They'll put me awayl"
No, they won't.
'How the hell do you knowP"
~Mere!s nobody. So help me, it's O.X Calm down, please "Ilaes easy for You, not Mel No, III tell YOU where.. ~\*
He spoke rapidly, disjointedly, as if thinking desperately while talking.
First he mentioned Herron!s house, and before the voice could either agree or disagree, he rejected it himself. He then Pinpointed the freight yards, and immediately found irrational reasons why he could not go there.
Now, doet get so excited: said the voice. "Ies a simple transaction ... 0
Mt restaurantl Outside of town. The Cheshire Cati Behind the restaurant, there's a garden- . - "
The voice was confused hying to keep up with hinli and Matlock knew he was carrying off the ploy. He made last references to the diaries and the incriminating affidavit and slanimed the telephone receiver jUtD its cradle.
He stood in the booth, exhausted. Perspiration was dripping down his face, yet the early morning air was cool.
.rhat was handled very nicely.- said the black man in command. "your adversary chose a place within
Tim mATLocK PApm 365
the college, I gather. An intelligent move on his parL Very nicely done, sir."
Matlock looked at the uniformed Negro, grateful for his praise and not a little astonished at his own resourcefulness. "I don't know if I could do it again."
"Of course you could," answered the black, leading Matlock toward the car.
"Extreme stress activates a memory bank, not unlike a computer. Probing, rejecting, accepting--aIl instantaneously. Until panic, of course. There are interesting studies being made regarding the varying thresholds."
Really?" said Matlock as they reached the car door. The Negro motioned him inside. The car lurched forward and they sped off down the highway flanked by the two other automobiles.
We'll take a diagonal route to the restaurant using the roads set back in the farm country," said the black behind the wheel. 'Ve1l approach it from the southwest and let you off about a hundred yards from a path used by employees to reach the rear of the building. We'll point it out to you.
Walk directly to the section of the gardens where there's a large white arbor and a circle of flagstones surrounding a goldfish pond. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I do. I'm wondering how you do, though."
The driver smiled. "I'm not clairvoyant. While you were in the tqlephone booth, I was in touch with our men by radio. Everything's ready now. Were prepared. Remember, the white arbor and the goldfish pond. . . . And here.
Here's the notebook and the envelope." The driver reached down to a flap pocket on the side of his door and pulled out the oilcloth package. The envelope was attached to it by a thick elastic band.
"Well be there in less than ten minutes," said the man in conunand, shifting his weight to get comfortable. Matlock looked at him. Strapped to his legsewn into the tight-fitting khaki, actually~--was a leather scabbard. He hadn't noticed it before and knew why. The bone-handled knife it contained had only recently been inserted. The scabbard housed a blade at least ten inches long.
Dunois's elite corps was now, indeed, prepared.
as
He stood at the side of the tall white arbor. The sun had risen over the eastern curve, the woods behind him still heavy with mist, dully reflecting the light of the early morning. In front of him the newly filled trees formed corridors for the old brick paths that converged into this restful flagstone haven. There were a number of marble benches placed around the circle, all glistening with morning moisture. From the center of the large patio, the bubbling sounds of the man-made goldfish pond continued incessantly with no break in the sound pattern. Birds could be heard activating their myriad signals, greeting the sun, starting the day's foraging.
Matlocles memory wandered back to Herron!s Nest, to the forbidding green wall which isolated the old man from the outside world. There were similarities, he thought. Perhaps it was fitting that it should all end in such a place.
He lit a cigarette, extinguishing it after two intakes of smoke. He clutched the notebook, holding it in front of his chest as though it were some impenetrable shield, his head snapping in the direction of every sound, a portion of his life suspended with each movement.
He wondered where Dunoi!?s men were. Where had
the elite guard hidden itself? Were they watching him, laughing quietly among themselves at his nervous gestures-his so obvious fear? Or were they spread out, guerrilla fashion? Crouched next to the earth or in the low limbs of the trees, ready to spring, prepared to IdU?
And who would they kill? In what numbers and how armed would be Nimro&s forces? Would Nimrod come? Would Nimrod bring the girl he loved safely back to him? And if Nimrod did, if he fina]]y saw Pat again, would the two of them be caught in the massacre which surely had to follow?
Who was Nimrod?
His breathing stopped. The muscles in his arms and legs contorted spastically, stiffened with fear. He closed his eyes tightly~to listen or to pray, hed never really know, except that his beliefs excluded the existence of God. And so he listened with his eyes shut tight until he was sure.
First one, then two automobiles had turned off the highway and had entered the side road leading to the entrance of the Cheshire Cat Both vehicles were traveling at enormous speeds, their tires screeching as they rounded the front circle leading into the restaurant parking area.
And then everything was stiU again. Even the birds were silent; no sound came from anywhere.
Matlock stepped back under the arbor, pressing himself against its lattice frame. He strained to hearanything.
Silence. Yet not silencel Yet, again, a sound so blended with stillness as to be dismissed as a rustling leaf is dismissed.
It was a scraping. A hesitant, halting scraping from one of the paths in front of him, one of the paths hid- TM MATLOCK PAPER 369
den amongst the trees, one of the old brick lanes leading to the flagstone retreat
. At first it was barely audible. Dismissible. Then it became slightly clearer, less hesitant, less unsure.
Then he heard the quiet tortured moan. It pierced into his braixL
"Jamie ... Jamie? Please, Jamie .... 7
The single plea, his name, broke off into a sob. He felt a rage he had never felt before in his life. He threw down the oilcloth packet, Ins eyes blinded by tears and fury. He lunged out of the protective frame of the white arbor and yelled, roared so that his voice startled the birds, who screeched out of the trees, out of their silent sanctuary.
"Patl Patl Where are you? Pat, my Cod, where? Wherer The sobbing-half relief, half pain-became louder.
"Here.... Here, jamiel CanI see."
He traced the sound and raced up the middle brick path. Halfway to the building, against the t-unk of a tree, sunk to the ground, he saw her. She was on her knees, her bandaged head against the earth. She had fallen.
Rivulets of blood were on the back of her neck-, the sutures in her head had broken.
He rushed to her and gently lifted up her head.
Under the bandages on her forehead were layers of three-inch adhesive tape, pushed brutally against the lids of her eyes, stretched tight to her temples-as secure and unmovable as a steel plate covering her face. To try and remove them would be a torture devised in bell.
He held her close and kept repeating her name over and over again.
"Everything will be all right now.... Everything will be all right...
37o Robert Ludlum
He lifted her gently off the ground, pressing her face against his own. He kept repeating those words of comfort which came to him in the midst of his rage.
Suddenly, without warning, without any warning at all, the blinded girl screamed, stretching her bruised body, her lacerated head.
"Let them have it, for Go&s sakel Whatever it is, give it to themr He stumbled down the brick path back to the flagstone circle.
"I will, I will, my darling.
Vlease, jamiel Don1 let them touch me again! Ever againt-
"No, my darling. Not ever, not ever.
He slowly lowered the girl onto t~e' ground, onto the soft earth beyond the flagstones.
'Take the tape ofil Please take the tape offi"
01 can't now, darling. It would hurt too much. In a little ... "
01 doet caret I can't stand it any longerl"
What could he do? What was he supposed to do? Oh, Goa Oh, God, you son-of-a-bitching God] Te'j met TeU met
He looked over at the arbor. The oilcloth packet lay on the ground where he had thrown it.
He had no choice now. He did not care now.
Nimrodf ... Nimrod! Come to me now, Nimrodl Bring your goddamn army/ Come on and get it, Nimrodl rve got it herer
Through the followmg silence, he heard the footsteps.
Precue, surefooted, emphatic.
On the middle path, Nunrod came into view.
THE MATUXX PAPM 371
Adrian Sealfont stood on the edge of the flagstone circle.
Tin sorry, jamee
Matlock lowered the girrs head to the ground. His mind was incapable of functionmg His shock was so total that no words came, he coul&1 assimilate the terrible, unbelievable fact in front of him. He rose slowly to his feet "Give it to me, James. You have your agreement We'll take care of you."
"No.... No. No, I doet, I woWt believe you! This iset so. This isn7t the way it can be. . . "
Tm afraid it is." Sealfont snapped the fingers of his right hand. It was a signal.
"No. . . . Not Not Not" Matlock found that he was screan-dng. The girl, too, cried out. He tamed to Sealfont. "They said you were taken awayl I thought you were deadl I blamed myself for your deathl\*
"I wasn7t taken, I was escorted. Give me the diaries." Sealfont, annoyed, snapped his fingers again. "And the Corsican paper. I trust you have both with You."
There was the slightest sound of a muffled cough, a rasp, an interrupted exclamation. Sealfont looked quickly behind him and spoke sharply to his unseen forces.
"Get out beret" Why?-
"Because we had to. I had to. There was no alternative~"
"No alternative?" Matlock couldn't believe he had heard the words. "No alternative to what?\*
"Collapsel We were financially exhaustedl Our last reserves were committed; there was no one left to ap- 372 Robert Ludlum
peal to. The moral corruption was complete: the pleas of higher education became an unprofitable, national bore. There was no other answer but to assert our own leadership ... over the corruptors. We did so, and we survivedin
In the agonizing bewilderment of the moment the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Matlock. The unknown tumblers of the unfamiliar vault locked into gear and the heavy steel door was opened... Carlyle!s extraordinary endowment ... But it was more than Carlyle; Sealfont had just said it. The pleas had become a borel It was subtle, but it was therel Everywherel
The raising of funds throughout all the campuses continued but there were no cries of panic these days; no threats of financial collapse that had been the themes of a hundred past campaigns in scores of colleges and universities.
The general assumption to be made-if one bothered to make it-was that the crises had been averted. Normality had returned.
But it hadWt. The norm had become a monster.
"Oh, my God," said Matlock softly, in terrified consternation.
"He was no help, I can assure you," replied Sealfont. "Our accomplishments are extremely human. Look at us now. Independentl Our strength growing systematically. Within five years every major university in the Northeast will be part of a self-sustaining federation]"
"You're diseased.... You7re a cancerl"
'We survivel The choice was never really that difficult. No one was going to stop the way things were. Least of all ourselves.... We simply made the decision ten years ago to alter the principal players."
THE MATLOCK PAPER 373
OBut you of all people ...
'Yes. I was a good choiM wasn't Ir SeaNoit turned once again In the direction of the restaurant. toward the sleeping hill with the old brick path& He shouted. "I told you to come out herel Theres nothing to worry about Our friend doeset cam who you are. HeM soon be on his way. Wou!t you#
James?-
"Yoxere insane. Toxere ...
~Not for a minutel Theres no one saner. Or more practical. . . . History repeats, you should know that The fabric Is torn, society divided into viciously opposing camps. Doet be fooled by the dormancy; scratch the surface-It bleeds profusely -
Yo,ere making it bleedl-Matlock screamed. Them was nothing left; the spring had sprung.
"On the contraryl You pompous, self-righteous awF Sealfones eyes stared at him in cold fury, his voice scathing. "Who gave you the right to nuke pro-nounoements? Where were you when men like myself--in every institution-faced the very red prospects of closing our doorsl You were safe; we sheltered you. . . . And our appeals went unanswered. There wasn't room for our needs
"You diddt tryl Not hard enough. - "
Uarl Foolr Sealfont roared now. He was a m-n possessed, thought Matlock.
Or a man tormente& What was W Endowments? Dwindlingl Them are other, more viable tax incentives! ... Foundations? Small-minded tyrants-smaller allocationsl - - - The Government? Blindf Obscenel Its priorities am boughtl or returned in kind at the ballot boxi We had no funds; we bought no votesl For us, the system had collapsedl it was finishedl ... And no one knew
it better than I did. For years ... begging, pleading; palm outstretched to the ignorant men and their pompous committees. . . . It was hopeless; we were killing ourselves. Still no one listened. And always ... always-behind the excuses and the delays-there was the snickering, the veiled reference to our common God-given frailty. After all ... we were teachers. Not doers. .
. ."
Sealfones voice was suddenly low. And hard. And utterly convincing as he finished. "Well, young man, were doers now. The system's damned and rightly so. The leaders never learn. Look to the children. They saw. They understood.... And we've enrolled them. Our alliance is no coincidence."
Matlock could do no more than stare at Sealfont. Sealfont had said it: Look to the children.... Look, and behold. Look and beware. The leaders never learn... Oh, Godl Was it so? Was it really the way things were? The Nimrods and the Dunoises. The "federations," the "elite guards." Was it happening all over again?
"Now James. Where is the letter you spoke of? Who has it?"
"Letter? What?'
"The letter that is to be mailed this morning. Well stop it now, won't we?"
"I don't understand." Matlock was trying, trying desperately to make contact with his senses.
"Who has the letterl"
"The letter?" Matlock knew as he spoke that he was saying the wrong words, but he couldn~t help himself. He couldn7t stop to think, for he was incapable of thought.
"The letterl ... There is no letter, is there?l Theres . no 'incriminating statemene typed and ready to THE mATLocK PAPER 375
be mailed at ten 4\*lock in the morningl You were lyingl"
"I was lying. Lying." His reserves had been used up. There was nothing now but what was so.
Sealfont laughed softly. It wasnI the laugh Matlock was used to hearing from him. There was a cruelty h4EM not heard before.
"Wereet you clever? But yotfre ultimately weaJL I knew that from the begimung. You were the gDvernmenes perfect choice, for you have no really &m commitments. They called it mobility. I knew it to be unconcerned fleidbility You talk but thaes all you do. Its meaningless.... You~re very representative, you know." Sealfont spoke over his shoulder toward the paths. "All right, all of youl Dr. Matlock won't be in a position to reveal any nalnes, any identities. Come out of your hutches, you rabbitsl"
Augh...-
11he guttural cry was short, punctuating the stillness. Sealfont whipped around.
Then there was another gasp, this the unrn te able sound of a human windpipe expunging its last draft of air.
And another, this coupled with the beginnings of a scream.
"Who is it? Who's up there?" Sealfont rushed to the path from which the last cry came.
He was stopped by the sound of a terrifying shout --cut short--from another part of the sanctuary. He raced back; the beginnings of panic were jarring his control.
Who's up there?l Where are all of you? Comi down hereF
The silence returned. Sealfont stared at Matlock.
"What have you done? What have you done, you
unimportant little man? Whom have you brought with you? Who is up there?
Answer mer
Even if he'd been capable, there was no need for Matlock to reply. From a path at the far end of the garden, Julian Dunois walked into view.
"Good morning, Nimrod."
Sealfont's eyes bulged. "Who are you? Where are my men?f'
"ne name is Jacques Devereaux, Heysofi Daumier, Julian Dunois-take your choice. You were no match for us. You had a complement of ten, I had eight.
No match. Your men are dead and how their bodies are disposed of is no concern of yours."
"Who are you?"
"Your enemy."
Sealfont ripped open his coat with his left hand, plunging his right inside. Dunois shouted a warning. Matlock found himself lurching forward toward the man he'd revered for a decade. Lunging at him with only one thought, one final objective, if it had to be the end of his own life.
TO kill.
The face was next to his. The Lincoln-like face now contorted with fear and panic. He brought his right hand down on it like the claw of a terrified animal. He ripped into the flesh and felt the blood spew out of the distorted mouth.
He heard the shattering explosion and felt a sharp, electric pain in his left shoulder. But still he couldiYt stop.
"Get off, MatlockI For God's sake, get offl"
He was being pulled away. Pulled away by huge black muscular arms. He was thrown to the ground, the heavy arms holding him down. And through it all he heard the cries~ the terrible cries of pain and his TM MATLOCK PAPM 377
name being repeated over and over again.
"Jamie ... Jan-de ... Jamie . . "
He lurched upward, using every ounce of strength his violence could summon.
The muscular black arms were taken by surprise; be brought his legs up in crushing blows against the ribs and spines above him.
For a few brief seconds, he was free.
He threw himself forward on the hard surface, pounding his arms and knees against the stone. Whatever had happened to him, whatever was meant by the stinging pain, nowspreading throughout the whole left side of his body, he had to reach the girl on the ground. The girl who had been through such terror for him.
"Patl"
The pain was more than he could bear. He fell once more, but he had reached her hand. They held each other's hands, each trying desperately to give comfort to the other, fully aware that both might die at that moment.
Suddenly Matlock's hand went limp.
All was darkness for him.
He opened his eyes and saw the large black kneeling in front of him. He bad been propped up into a sitting position at the side of a marble bench. His shirt had been removed; his left shoulder throbbed.
"The pain, Im sure, is far more serious than the wound," said the black.
"The upper left section of your body was badly bruised in the automobile, and the bullet penetrated below your left shoulder cartilage. Compounded that way, the pain would be severe.
"We gave you a local anesthetic. It should help." The speaker was Julian Dunois, standing to his right
"Miss Ballant3rne has been taken to a doctor. He7U remove the tapes. Hds black and sympathetic, but not so much so to treat a man with a bullet wound. We~ve radioed our own doctor in Torrington. He should be here in twenty minutes.7
'Why didWt you wait for him to help NO"
Frankly, we have to talk Briefly, but in Confidence. Secondly, for her own sake, those tapes had to be removed as quickly as possible."
"Where!s Sealfont?"
'He's disappeared. Thafs all you know, all youT ever know. les unportant that you understand that. Because, you see, if we must, we will carry out our threat against you and Miss Ballantyne. We don7t wish to do that . . .
You and I, we are not enemies.'
"Yotfre wrong. We are."
"Utimately, perhaps. That would seem inevitable. Right now, however, we!ve served each other in a moment of great need. We acknowledge it. We trust you do also."
"I do."
"Perhaps w4eNe even learned from each other.7
Matlock looked into the eyes of the black revolutionary. "I understand things better. I don7t know what you could have learned from me."
The revolutionary laughed gently. "That an individ. ual, by his actions-his courage, if you hke-rises above the stigma of labels."
"I don!t understand you~"
"Ponder it ItIl come to you."
"What happens now? To Pat? To me? I'll be arrested the minute rm seen."
"I doubt that sincerely. Within the hour, Greenberg will be reading a document prepared by my organization. By me, to be precise. I suspect the contents will
'nM MATLOCK PAPM 379
become part of a file buried in the archives. It's most embarrassing.
Morally, legally, and certainly politically. Too many profound errors were made.... Well act this morning as your intermediary. Perhaps it would be a good time for you to use some of your well-advertised money and go with Miss Ballantyne on a long, recuperative journey.... I believe that win be agreed upon with alacrity. I'm sure it will.'
"And Sealfont? What happens to him. Are you going to kill him?-
"Does Nimrod deserve to die? Don't bother to answer; we'll not discuss the subject. Suffice it to say hell remain alive until certain questions are answered."
"Have you any idea what!s going to happen when he's found to be missing?"'
"There will be explosions, ugly rumors. About a great many things. When icons are shattered, the believers panic. So be it. Carlyle will have to live with it. . . . Rest, now. The doctor will be here soon." Dunois turned his attention to a uniformed Negro who had come up to him and spoken softly. The kneeling black who had bandaged his wound stood up. Matlock watched the tall, slender figure of Julian Dunois, quietly, confidently issuing his instructions, and felt the pain of gratitude. It was made worse because Dunois suddenly took on another image.
It was the figure of death.
"Dunois?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful."
The blue-green waters of the Caribbean mirrored the hot afternoon sun in countless thousands of swelfing, blinding reflections. The sand was warm to the touch, soft under the feet This isolated stretch of the island was at peace with itself and with a world beyond that it did not really acknowledge.
Matlock walked down to the edge of the water and let the miniature waves wash over his ankles. Like the sand on the beach, the water was warm.
He carried a newspaper sent to him by Greenberg. Part of a newspaper, actually.
KILLINGS IN CARLYLE, CONN.
23 SLAW, BLACKS AND WIMES, TOWN
SrUMSUID, FOLLOWS DISAPFEARANCH
OF UNWERSMY PRESIDENT
mmyuz, mAy 3Lo-On the outskirts of this small university town, in a section housing large, old estates, a-bizarre mass killing took place yesterday.
Twenty-three men were slain; the federal authorities have speculated the killings were the result of an ambmsh that claimed many lives of both the attackers and the attacked. . . .
THE mATLocK PAPEFt 381
There followed a cold recitation of identities, short summaries of police file associations.
Julian Dunois was among them.
Ile specter of death had not been false; Dunois hadiA escaped. The violence he engendered had to be the violence that would take his life.
The remainder of the article contained complicated speculations on the meaning and the motives of the massacre's strange cast of characters. And the possible connection to the disappearance of Adrian Sealfont.
Speculations only. No mention of Nimrod, nothing of himself; no word of any long-standing federal investigation. Not the truth; nothing of the truth.
Matlock heard his cottage door open, and he turned around. Pat was standing on the small veranda fifty yards away over the dune. She waved and started down the steps toward him.
She was dressed in shorts and a light silk blouse; she was barefoot and smiling. The bandages had been removed from her legs and arms, and the Caribbean sun had tanned her skin to a lovely bronze. She had devised a wide orange headband to cover the wounds above her forehead.
She would not marry him. She said there would be no marriage out of pity, out of debt-real or imagined. But Matlock knew there would be a marriage.
Or there would be no marriages for either of them. Julian Dunois had made it so.
"Did you bring cigarettes?" he asked.
No. No cigarettes,- she replied. I brought matches."
\*Thaes cryptic,"
'I used that word--cryptio-with Jason. Do you remember?"
"I do. You were mad as hell."
'You were spaced out In bell. Lees walk down to the jetty."
"Why did you bring matches?" He took her hand, putting the newspaper under his arm.
"A funeral pyre Archeologists place great signifi cance in funeral pyres.'
"Whatr
'You!ve been carrying around that damned paper all day. I want to bum it-She smiled at him, gently.
"Burning it won't change whaes in it"
Pat ignored his observation. "Why do you think Jason sent it to you? I thought the whole idea was several weeks of nothing. No newspapers, no radios, no contact with anything but warm water and w1ute sand. He made the rules and he broke them-~\*
"He recomntended the rules and knew they were difficult to live by.-
He should have let someone else break them. Hes not as good a friend as I thought he was."
'Maybe hes a better one.".
rhaes sophistry.- She squeezed his jiand. A single~ overextended wave lapped across their bare feet A silent gall swooped down from the sky into the water offshore; its wings flapped against the surface, its neck shook violently. The bird ascended screeching, no quarry In its beak.
'Greenberg knows rve got a very unpleasant decision to make."
Yoteve made it. He knows that, tm"
Matlock looked at her. Of course Greenberg knew; she knew, too, he thought.
"Therell be a lot more pain; perhaps more than justified."
Thaes what theyll tell you. They'll tell you to let them do it their way.
Qxiietly, efficiently, with as little
THE MATLOCK PAPER 383
embarrassment as possible. For everyone.\*
"Maybe tes best; maybe they're right."
'You don1 believe that for a secone No, I done They walked in silence for a while. The jetty was in front of then-4 its rocks placed decades, perhaps cenbuies ago, to restrain a long-forgotten current. It was a natural fixture now.
As Nimrod had become a natural fixture, a logical extension of the anticipated; undesirable but nevertheless expected. To be fought in deep cover.
Mini-America ... just below the surface.
Company policy, man.
Everywhere.
The hunters, builders. The killers and their quarry were making alliances.
Look to the children. They understand ... We've enrolled thenL
The leaders never learn.
A microcosm of the inevitable? Made unavoidable because the needs were real? Had been real for years?
And still the leaders would not learn.
'Jason said once that truth is neither good nor bad. Simply truth. That's why he sent me this.\* Matlock sat down on a large flat rock; Pat stood beside him, The tide was coming in and the sprays of the small waves splashed upward. Pat reached over and took the two pages of the newspaper.
'Ilds is the truth then." A statement.
`Their truth. Their judgment. Assign obvious labels and continue the game.
The good guys and the bad guys and the posse will reach the pass on time.
just in time. This time."
Whaes your truth?'
"Go back and tell the story. All of it."
"They'll disagree. They'll give you reasons why you shoulddt. Hundreds of them."
"They won't convince me.'
"Then theyll be against you. They've threatened; they won't accept interference. That's what Jason wants you to know."
"Thaes what he wants me to think about."
Pat held the pages of the newspaper in front of her and struck a wooden island match on the dry surface of a rock.
The paper burned haltingly, retarded by the Caribbean spray.
But it burned.
"Thaes not a very impressive funeral pyre," said Matlock.
"It'll do until we get back."

