jg.thepelicanbrief-第31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！


ably　Fletcher　Coal；　wanted　the　world　to　know　that　Khamel　had　emerged　as　a　suspect；　and　that　he　was　an　Arab　of　all　things；　and　had　close　ties　to　Libya　and　Iran　and　Iraq；　countries　led　by　fiery　idiots　who　hated　America。　Someone　in　the　White　House　of　Fools　wanted　the　story　on　the　front　page。　
　　
　　But　it　was　a　helluva　story　and　it　was　front…page　news。　He　and　Smith　Keen　had　it　finished　by　nine。　They　found　two　old　pictures　of　a　man　widely　believed　to　be　Khamel；　but　so　dissimilar　they　appeared　to　be　of　different　people。　Keen　said　run　both　of　them。　The　file　on　Khamel　was　thin。　Much　rumor　and　legend；　but　little　meat。　Grantham　mentioned　the　Pope；　the　British　diplomat；　the　German　banker；　and　the　ambush　of　the　Israeli　soldiers。　And　now；　according　to　a　confidential　source　at　the　White　House；　a　most　reliable　and　trusted　source；　Khamel　was　a　suspect　in　the　killings　of　Justices　Rosenberg　and　Jensen。　
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　TWENTY…FOUR　HOURS　after　hitting　the　street；　she　was　still　alive。　If　she　could　make　it　to　morning；　she　could　start　another　day　with　new　ideas　about　what　to　do　and　where　to　go。　For　now；　she　was　tired。　She　was　in　a　room　on　the　fifteenth　floor　of　the　Marriott；　with　the　door　bolted；　lights　on；　and　the　mighty　can　of　Mace　lying　on　the　bedspread。　Her　thick；　dark　red　hair　was　now　in　a　paper　sack　in　the　closet。　The　last　time　she　cut　her　hair　she　was　three　years　old；　and　her　mother　whipped　her　tail。　
　　
　　It　took　two　painful　hours　with　dull　scissors　to　cut　it　off　yet　leave　some　semblance　of　style。　She　would　keep　it　under　a　cap　or　hat　until　who　knows　when。　It　took　another　two　hours　to　color　it　black。　She　could've　bleached　it　and　gone　blonde；　but　that　would　be　obvious。　She　assumed　she　was　dealing　with　professionals；　and　for　some　unfathomable　reason　she　determined　at　the　drugstore　that　they　might　expect　her　to　do　this　and　bee　a　blonde。　And　what　the　hell。　The　stuff　came　in　a　bottle；　and　if　she　woke　up　tomorrow　with　a　wild　hair　she　could　go　blonde。　The　chameleon　strategy。　Change　colors　every　day　and　drive　'em　crazy。　Clairol　had　at　least　eighty…five　shades。　
　　
　　She　was　dead　tired　but　afraid　of　sleep。　She　had　not　seen　her　friend　from　the　Sheraton　during　the　day；　but　the　more　she　moved　around　the　more　the　faces　looked　the　same。　He　was　out　there；　she　knew。　And　he　had　friends。　If　they　could　assassinate　Rosenberg　and　Jensen；　and　knock　off　Thomas　Callahan；　she　would　be　easy。　
　　
　　She　couldn't　go　near　her　car；　and　she　didn't　want　to　rent　one。　Rentals　leave　records。　And　they　were　probably　watching。　She　could　fly；　but　they　were　stalking　the　airports。　Take　a　bus；　but　she'd　never　bought　a　ticket　or　seen　the　inside　of　a　Greyhound。　
　　
　　And　after　they　realized　she　had　disappeared；　they　would　expect　her　to　run。　She　was　just　an　amateur；　a　little　college　girl　brokenhearted　after　watching　her　man　blown　to　bits　and　fried。　She　would　make　a　mad　dash　somewhere；　get　out　of　the　city；　and　they　would　pick　her　off。　
　　
　　She　rather　liked　the　city　at　this　moment。　It　had　a　million　hotel　rooms；　almost　as　many　alleys　and　dives　and　bars；　and　it　always　had　crowds　of　people　strolling　along　Bourbon；　Chartres；　Dauphine；　and　Royal。　She　knew　it　well；　especially　the　Quarter；　where　life　was　within　walking　distance。　She　would　move　from　hotel　to　hotel　for　a　few　days；　until　when？　She　didn't　know　when。　She　didn't　know　why。　Moving　just　seemed　intelligent　under　the　circumstances。　She　would　stay　off　the　streets　in　the　mornings；　and　try　to　sleep　then。　She　would　change　clothes　and　hats　and　sunglasses。　She　would　start　smoking；　and　keep　one　in　her　face。　She　would　move　until　she　got　tired　of　moving；　then　she　might　leave。　It　was　okay　to　be　scared。　She　had　to　keep　thinking。　She　would　survive。　
　　
　　She　thought　of　calling　the　cops；　but　not　now。　They　took　names　and　kept　records；　and　they　could　be　dangerous。　She　thought　of　calling　Thomas'　brother　in　Mobile；　but　there　wasn't　a　single　thing　the　poor　man　could　do　to　help　her　at　this　moment。　She　thought　of　calling　the　dean；　but　how　could　she　explain　the　brief；　Gavin　Verheek；　the　FBI；　the　car　bomb；　Rosenberg　and　Jensen；　and　her　on　the　run　and　make　it　sound　believable。　Forget　the　dean。　She　didn't　like　him　anyway。　She　thought　of　calling　a　couple　of　friends　from　law　school；　but　people　talk；　and　people　listen；　and　they　could　be　out　there　listening　to　the　people　talking　about　poor　Callahan。　She　wanted　to　talk　to　Alice　Stark；　her　best　friend。　Alice　was　worried；　and　Alice　would　go　to　the　cops　and　tell　them　her　friend　Darby　Shaw　was　missing。　She　would　call　Alice　tomorrow。　
　　
　　She　dialed　room　service；　and　ordered　a　Mexican　salad　and　a　bottle　of　red　wine。　She　would　drink　all　of　it；　then　sit　in　a　chair　with　the　Mace　and　watch　the　door　until　she　fell　asleep。　
　　
　　
　　GMINSKI'S　LIMO　made　a　wild　U…turn　on　Canal　as　if　it　owned　the　street；　and　came　to　a　sudden　stop　in　front　of　the　Sheraton。　Both　rear　doors　flew　open。　Gminski　was　out　first；　followed　quickly　by　three　aides　who　scurried　after　him　with　bags　and　briefcases。　
　　
　　It　was　almost　2　A。M。；　and　the　Director　was　obviously　in　a　hurry。　He　did　not　stop　at　the　front　desk；　but　went　straight　for　the　elevators。　The　aides　ran　behind　him　and　held　the　elevator　door　for　him；　and　no　one　spoke　as　they　rode　up　six　floors。　
　　
　　Three　of　his　agents　were　waiting　in　a　corner　room。　One　of　them　opened　the　door；　and　Gminski　barged　through　it　without　any　sort　of　greeting。　The　aides　threw　the　bags　on　one　bed。　The　Director　yanked　off　his　jacket　and　threw　it　in　a　chair。
　　
　　〃Where　is　she？〃　he　snapped　at　an　agent　by　the　name　of　Hooten。　The　one　named　Swank　opened　the　curtains；　and　Gminski　walked　to　the　window。　
　　
　　Swank　was　pointing　to　the　Marriott；　across　the　street　and　down　a　block。　〃She's　on　the　fifteenth　floor；　third　room　from　the　street；　lights　are　still　on。〃　
　　
　　Gminski　stared　at　the　Marriott。　〃You're　certain？〃
　　
　　〃Yes。　We　saw　her　go　in；　and　she　paid　with　a　credit　card。〃
　　
　　〃Poor　kid；〃　Gminski　said　as　he　walked　away　from　the　window。　〃Where　was　she　last　night？〃
　　
　　〃Holiday　Inn　on　Royal。　Paid　with　a　credit　card。〃
　　
　　〃Have　you　seen　anyone　following　her？〃　the　Director　asked。
　　
　　〃No。〃
　　
　　〃I　need　some　water；〃　he　said　to　an　aide；　who　jumped　toward　the　ice　bucket　and　rattled　cubes。　
　　
　　Gminski　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed；　laced　his　fingers　together；　and　cracked　every　possible　knuckle。　〃What　do　you　think？〃　he　asked　Hooten；　the　oldest　of　the　three　agents。
　　
　　〃They're　chasing　her。　They're　looking　under　rocks。　She's　using　credit　cards。　She'll　be　dead　in　forty…eight　hours。〃
　　
　　〃She's　not　pletely　stupid；〃　Swank　inserted。　〃She　cut　her　hair　and　colored　it　black。　She's　moving　around。　It's　apparent　she　has　no　plans　to　leave　the　city　any　time　soon。　I'll　give　her　seventy…two　hours　before　they　find　her。〃　
　　
　　Gminski　sipped　his　water。　〃This　means　her　little　brief　is　directly　on　point。　And　it　means　our　friend　is　now　a　very　desperate　man。　Where　is　he？〃　
　　
　　Hooten　answered　quickly。　〃We　have　no　idea。〃
　　
　　〃We　have　to　find　him。〃
　　
　　〃He　hasn't　been　seen　in　three　weeks。〃　
　　
　　Gminski　set　the　glass　on　the　desk；　and　picked　up　a　room　key。　〃So　what　do　you　think？〃　he　asked　Hooten。
　　
　　〃Do　we　bring　her　in？〃　Hooten　asked。
　　
　　〃It　won't　be　easy；〃　Swank　said。　〃She　may　have　a　gun。　Someone　could　get　hurt。〃
　　
　　〃She's　a　scared　kid；〃　Gminski　said。　〃She's　also　a　civilian；　not　a　member。　We　can't　go　around　snatching　civilians　off　the　sidewalk。〃
　　
　　〃Then　she　won't　last　long；〃　Swank　said。
　　
　　〃How　do　you　take　her？〃　Gminski　asked。
　　
　　〃There　are　ways；〃　Hooten　answered。　〃Catch　her　on　the　street。　Go　to　her　room。　I　could　be　inside　her　room　in　less　than　ten　minutes　if　I　left　right　now。　It's　not　that　difficult。　She's　not　a　pro。〃　
　　
　　Gminski　paced　slowly　around　the　room　and　everyone　watched　him。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。〃I'm　not　inclined　to　take　her。　Let's　sleep　four　hours；　and　meet　here　at　six…thirty。　Sleep　on　it。　If　you　can　convince　me　to　snatch　her；　then　I'll　say　do　it。　Okay？〃　They　nodded　obediently。　
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　THE　WINE　WORKED。　She　dozed　in　the　chair；　then　made　it　to　the　bed　and　slept　hard。　The　phone　was　ring