jg.thepelicanbrief-第22部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ight　to　New　Orleans。　They　had　left　the　restaurant　when　it　closed　at　midnight；　then　hit　a　few　bars　and　joked　about　catching　a　skin　flick　or　two；　but　since　their　favorite　movie　house　had　been　bombed　they　couldn't。　So　they　just　drank　until　three　or　four。　
　　
　　He　had　a　meeting　with　Director　Voyles　at　eleven；　and　it　was　imperative　to　appear　sober　and　alert。　It　would　be　impossible。　He　told　his　secretary　to　close　the　door；　and　explained　to　her　that　he　had　caught　a　nasty　virus；　maybe　the　flu；　and　he　was　to　be　left　alone　at　his　desk　unless　it　was　awfully　damned　important。　She　studied　his　eyes　and　seemed　to　sniff　more　than　usual。　The　smell　of　beer　does　not　always　evaporate　with　sleep。　
　　
　　She　left　and　closed　the　door　behind　her。　He　locked　it。　To　make　things　equal；　he　called　Callahan's　room；　but　no　one　answered。　
　　
　　What　a　life。　His　best　friend　earned　almost　as　much　as　he　did；　but　worked　thirty　hours　in　a　busy　week；　and　had　his　pick　of　pliant　young　things　twenty　years　his　junior。　Then　he　remembered　their　grand　plans　for　the　week　in　St。　Thomas；　and　the　thought　of　Darby　strolling　along　the　beach。　He　would　go；　even　if　it　caused　a　divorce。　
　　
　　A　wave　of　nausea　rippled　through　his　chest　and　up　his　esophagus；　and　he　quickly　lay　still　on　the　floor。　Cheap　government　carpet。　He　breathed　deeply；　and　the　pounding　started　at　the　top　of　his　head。　The　plaster　ceiling　was　not　spinning；　and　this　was　encouraging。　After　three　minutes；　it　was　evident　he　would　not　vomit；　at　least　not　now。　
　　
　　His　briefcase　was　within　reach；　and　he　carefully　slid　it　next　to　him。　He　found　the　envelope　inside　with　the　morning　paper。　He　opened　it；　unfolded　the　brief；　and　held　it　with　both　hands　six　inches　above　his　face。　
　　
　　It　was　thirteen　letter…sized　pages　of　puter　paper；　all　double…spaced　with　wide　margins。　He　could　handle　it。　Notes　were　scribbled　in　the　margins　by　hand　and　whole　sections　were　marked　through。　The　words　FIRST　DRAFT　were　handwritten　with　a　felt　pen　across　the　top。　Her　name；　address；　and　phone　number　were　typed　on　the　cover　sheet。　
　　
　　He　would　skim　it　for　a　few　minutes　while　he　was　on　the　floor；　then　hopefully　he　would　feel　like　sitting　at　the　desk　and　going　through　the　motions　of　being　an　important　government　lawyer。　He　thought　of　Voyles；　and　the　pounding　intensified。　
　　
　　She　wrote　well；　in　the　standard；　scholarly　legal　fashion　of　long　sentences　filled　with　large　words。　But　she　was　clear。　She　avoided　the　double…talk　and　legal　lingo　most　students　strive　so　desperately　for。　She　would　never　make　it　as　an　attorney　employed　by　the　United　States　Government。　
　　
　　Gavin　had　never　heard　of　her　suspect；　and　was　certain　it　was　not　on　anyone's　list。　Technically；　it　was　not　a　brief；　but　more　of　a　story　about　a　lawsuit　in　Louisiana。　She　told　the　facts　succinctly；　and　made　them　interesting。　Fascinating；　really。　He　was　not　skimming。　
　　
　　The　facts　took　four　pages；　then　she　filled　the　next　three　with　brief　histories　of　the　parties。　It　dragged　a　bit　here；　but　he　kept　reading。　He　was　hooked。　On　page　eight；　the　briefer　whatever　it　was　summarized　the　trial。　On　nine；　it　mentioned　the　appeal；　and　the　final　three　pages　laid　an　implausible　trail　to　the　removal　of　Rosenberg　and　Jensen　from　the　Court。　Callahan　said　she　had　already　discarded　this　theory；　and　she　appeared　to　lose　steam　at　the　end。　
　　
　　But　it　was　highly　readable。　For　a　moment　he　had　forgotten　his　current　state　of　pain；　and　read　thirteen　pages　of　a　law　student's　brief　while　lying　on　the　floor　on　dirty　carpet　with　a　million　things　to　do。　
　　
　　There　was　a　soft　knock　at　the　door。　He　slowly　sat　up；　gingerly　stood；　and　walked　to　the　door。　〃Yes。〃　
　　
　　It　was　the　secretary。　〃I　hate　to　bother。　But　the　Director　wants　you　in　his　office　in　ten　minutes。〃　
　　
　　Verheek　opened　the　door。　〃What？〃
　　
　　〃Yes　sir。　Ten　minutes。〃　
　　
　　He　rubbed　his　eyes　and　breathed　rapidly。　〃What　for？〃
　　
　　〃I　get　demoted　for　asking　those　questions；　sir。〃
　　
　　〃Do　you　have　any　mouthwash？〃
　　
　　〃Well；　yes；　I　believe　so。　Do　you　want　it？〃
　　
　　〃I　wouldn't　have　asked　if　I　didn't　want　it。　Bring　it　to　me。　Do　you　have　any　gum？〃
　　
　　〃Gum？〃
　　
　　〃Chewing　gum。〃
　　
　　〃Yes　sir。　Do　you　want　it　too？〃
　　
　　〃Just　bring　me　the　mouthwash　and　gum；　and　some　aspirin　if　you　have　it。〃　He　walked　to　his　desk　and　sat　down；　holding　his　head　in　his　hands　and　rubbing　his　temples。　He　heard　her　banging　drawers；　and　then　she　was　before　him　with　the　goods。
　　
　　〃Thanks。　I'm　sorry　I　snapped。〃　He　pointed　at　the　brief　in　a　chair　by　the　door。　〃Send　that　brief　to　Eric　East；　he's　on　the　fourth　floor。　Write　a　note　from　me。　Tell　him　to　look　it　over　when　he　has　a　minute。〃　
　　
　　She　left　with　the　brief。　
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　FLETCHER　COAL　opened　the　door　to　the　Oval　Office；　and　spoke　gravely　to　K。　O。　Lewis　and　Eric　East。　The　President　was　in　Puerto　Rico　viewing　hurricane　damage；　and　Director　Voyles　now　refused　to　meet　with　Coal　alone。　He　sent　his　underlings。　
　　
　　Coal　waved　them　to　a　sofa；　and　he　sat　across　the　coffee　table。　His　coat　was　buttoned　and　his　tie　was　perfect。　He　never　relaxed。　East　had　heard　tales　about　his　habits。　He　worked　twenty　hours　a　day；　seven　days　a　week；　drank　nothing　but　water；　and　ate　most　meals　from　a　vending　machine　in　the　basement。　He　could　read　like　a　puter；　and　spent　hours　each　day　reviewing　memos；　reports；　correspondence；　and　mountains　of　pending　legislation。　He　had　perfect　recall。　For　a　week　now　they　had　brought　daily　reports　of　their　investigation　to　this　office；　and　handed　them　to　Coal；　who　devoured　the　material　and　memorized　it　for　the　next　meeting。　If　they　misstated　something；　he　would　terrorize　them。　He　was　hated；　but　it　was　impossible　not　to　respect　him。　He　was　smarter　than　them；　and　he　worked　harder。　And　he　knew　it。　
　　
　　He　was　smug　in　the　emptiness　of　the　Oval　Office。　His　boss　was　away　performing　for　the　cameras；　but　the　real　power　had　stayed　behind　to　run　the　country。　
　　
　　K。　O。　Lewis　placed　a　four…inch　stack　of　the　latest　on　the　table。
　　
　　〃Anything　new？〃　Coal　asked。
　　
　　〃Maybe。　The　French　authorities　were　routinely　reviewing　footage　taken　by　the　security　cameras　at　the　Paris　airport；　and　they　thought　they　recognized　a　face。　They　checked　it　against　two　other　cameras　in　the　concourse；　different　angles；　then　reported　to　Interpol。　The　face　is　disguised；　but　Interpol　believes　it　is　Khamel；　the　terrorist。　I'm　sure　you've　heard　of〃
　　
　　〃I　have。〃
　　
　　〃They've　studied　the　footage　at　length；　and　are　almost　certain　he　exited　a　plane　that　arrived　nonstop　from　Dulles　last　Wednesday；　about　ten　hours　after　Jensen　was　found。〃
　　
　　〃The　Concorde？〃
　　
　　〃No；　United。　Based　on　the　time　and　the　locations　of　the　cameras；　they　have　ways　of　determining　the　gates　and　flights。〃
　　
　　〃And　Interpol　contacted　the　CIA？〃
　　
　　〃Yes。　They　talked　to　Gminski　around　one　this　afternoon。〃　
　　
　　Coal's　face　registered　nothing。　〃How　certain　are　they？〃
　　
　　〃Eighty　percent。　He's　a　master　of　disguise；　and　it　would　be　a　bit　unusual　for　him　to　travel　in　such　a　manner。　So　there's　room　for　doubt。　We've　got　photos　and　a　summary　for　the　President's　review。　Frankly；　I've　studied　the　pictures；　and　I　can't　tell　anything。　But　Interpol　knows　him。〃
　　
　　〃He　hasn't　been　willingly　photographed　in　years；　has　he？〃
　　
　　〃Not　that　we　know　of。　And　rumor　has　it　he　goes　under　the　knife　and　gets　a　new　face　every　two　or　three　years。〃　
　　
　　Coal　pondered　this　for　a　second。　〃Okay。　What　if　it's　Khamel；　and　what　if　he　was　involved　in　the　killings？　What　does　it　mean？〃
　　
　　〃It　means　we'll　never　find　him。　There　are　at　least　nine　countries；　including　Israel；　actively　stalking　him　right　now。　It　means　he　was　paid　a　bunch　of　money　by　someone　to　use　his　talents　here。　We've　said　all　along　the　killer　or　killers　were　professionals　who　were　gone　before　the　bodies　were　cold。〃
　　
　　〃So　it　means　little。〃
　　
　　〃You　could　say　that。〃
　　
　　〃Fine。　What　else　do　you　have？〃　
　　
　　Lewis　glanced　at　Eric　East。　〃Well；　we　have　the　usual　daily　summary。〃
　　
　　〃They've　been　rather　dry　as　of　late。〃
　　
　　〃Yes；　they　have。　We　have　three　hundre