jg.thepelicanbrief-第33部分

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　treating　it　as　a　homicide；　but　there　wasn't　much　to　go　on。　A　white　female　had　been　seen　in　the　area　shortly　before　the　explosion。　The　law　school　was　in　shock；　according　to　the　dean。　The　cops　said　little。　Services　were　tomorrow　on　campus。　A　horrible　mistake　had　been　made；　the　dean　said。　If　it　was　murder；　then　someone　had　obviously　killed　the　wrong　person。　
　　
　　Her　eyes　were　wet；　and　suddenly　she　was　afraid　again。　Maybe　it　was　simply　a　mistake。　It　was　a　violent　city　with　crazy　people；　and　maybe　someone　got　their　wires　crossed　and　the　wrong　car　was　chosen。　Maybe　there　was　no　one　out　there　stalking　her。　
　　
　　She　put　the　sunglasses　on　and　looked　at　his　photo。　They　had　pulled　it　from　the　law　school　annual；　and　there　was　that　smirk　he　habitually　wore　when　he　was　the　professor。　He　was　clean　shaven；　and　so　handsome。　
　　
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　　GRANTHAM'S　KHAMEL　STORY　electrified　Washington　Friday　morning。　It　mentioned　neither　the　memo　nor　the　White　House；　so　the　hottest　game　in　town　was　speculating　about　the　source。　
　　
　　The　game　was　especially　hot　in　the　Hoover　Building。　In　the　office　of　the　Director；　Eric　East　and　K。　O。　Lewis　paced　nervously　about　while　Voyles　talked　to　the　President　for　the　third　time　in　two　hours。　Voyles　was　cussing；　not　directly　at　the　President；　but　all　around　him。　He　cussed　Coal；　and　when　the　President　cussed　back；　Voyles　suggested　they　set　up　the　polygraph；　strap　in　everyone　on　his　staff；　beginning　with　Coal；　and　just　see　where　the　damned　leaks　were　ing　from。　Yes；　hell　yes；　he；　Voyles；　would　take　the　test；　and　so　would　everyone　who　worked　in　the　Hoover　Building。　And　they　cussed　back　and　forth。　Voyles　was　red　and　sweating；　and　the　fact　that　he　was　yelling　into　the　telephone　and　the　President　was　on　the　other　end　receiving　all　this　mattered　not　a　bit。　He　knew　Coal　was　listening　somewhere。　
　　
　　Evidently；　the　President　gained　control　of　the　conversation　and　launched　into　a　long…winded　sermon　of　some　sort。　Voyles　wiped　his　forehead　with　a　handkerchief；　sat　in　his　ancient　leather　swivel；　and　began　controlled　breathing　to　lower　the　pressure　and　pulse。　He　had　survived　one　heart　attack　and　was　due　for　another；　and　had　told　K。　O。　Lewis　many　times　that　Fletcher　Coal　and　his　idiot　boss　would　eventually　kill　him。　But　he'd　said　that　about　the　last　three　Presidents。　He　pinched　the　fat　wrinkles　on　his　forehead　and　sunk　lower　into　the　chair。　〃We　can　do　that；　Mr。　President。〃　He　was　almost　pleasant　now。　He　was　a　man　of　swift　and　radical　mood　swings；　and　suddenly　before　their　eyes　he　was　courteous。　A　real　charmer。Thank　you；　Mr。　President。　I'll　be　there　tomorrow。〃　
　　
　　He　hung　up　gently；　and　spoke　with　his　eyes　closed。　〃He　wants　us　to　place　that　Post　reporter　under　surveillance。　Says　we've　done　it　before；　so　will　we　do　it　again？　I　told　him　we　would。〃
　　
　　〃What　type　of　surveillance？〃　asked　K。O。
　　
　　〃Let's　just　follow　him　in　the　city。　Around　the　clock　with　two　men。　See　where　he　goes　at　night；　who　he　sleeps　with。　He's　single；　isn't　he？〃
　　
　　〃Divorced　seven　years　ago；〃　Lewis　answered。
　　
　　〃Make　damned　sure　we　don't　get　caught。　Do　it　with　plain…clothes；　and　switch　'em　up　every　three　days。〃
　　
　　〃Does　he　really　believe　the　leaks　are　ing　from　us？〃
　　
　　〃No；　I　don't　think　so。　If　we　were　leaking；　why　would　he　want　us　to　trail　the　reporter？　I　think　he　knows　it's　his　own　people。　And　he　wants　to　catch　them。〃
　　
　　〃It's　a　small　favor；〃　Lewis　added　helpfully。
　　
　　〃Yeah。　Just　don't　get　caught；　okay？〃　
　　
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　　THE　OFFICE　of　L。　Matthew　Barr　was　tucked　away　on　the　third　floor　of　a　tacky　and　decaying　office　building　on　M　Street　in　Georgetown。　There　were　no　signs　on　the　doors。　An　armed　guard　in　a　coat　and　tie　turned　people　away　at　the　elevator。　The　carpet　was　worn　and　the　furniture　was　old。　Dust　covered　it；　and　it　was　apparent　the　Unit　spent　no　money　on　housekeeping。　Barr　ran　the　Unit；　which　was　an　unofficial；　hidden；　little　division　of　the　mittee　to　Reeled　the　President。　CRP　had　a　vast　suite　of　plush　offices　across　the　river　in　Rosslyn。　It　had　windows　that　opened　and　secretaries　who　smiled　and　maids　that　cleaned　every　night。　But　not　this　dump。　
　　
　　Fletcher　Coal　stepped　off　the　elevator　and　nodded　at　the　security　guard；　who　nodded　back　without　making　another　move。　They　were　old　acquaintances。　He　made　his　way　through　the　small　maze　of　dingy　offices　in　the　direction　of　Barr's。　Coal　took　pride　in　being　honest　with　himself；　and　he　honestly　did　not　fear　any　man　in　Washington；　maybe　with　the　possible　exception　of　Matthew　Barr。　Sometimes　he　feared　him；　sometimes　not；　but　he　always　admired　him。　
　　
　　Barr　was　an　ex…Marine；　ex…CIA；　ex…spy　with　two　felony　convictions　for　security　scams　from　which　he　earned　millions　and　buried　the　money。　He　had　served　a　few　months　in　one　of　the　country　clubs；　but　no　real　time。　Coal　had　personally　recruited　Barr　to　head　the　Unit；　which　officially　did　not　exist。　It　had　an　annual　budget　of　four　million；　all　cash　from　various　slush　funds；　and　Barr　supervised　a　small　band　of　highly　trained　thugs　who　quietly　did　the　work　of　the　Unit。　
　　
　　Barr's　door　was　always　locked。　He　opened　it　and　Coal　entered。　The　meeting　would　be　brief；　as　usual。
　　
　　〃Let　me　guess；〃　Barr　started。You　want　to　find　the　leak。〃
　　
　　〃In　a　way；　yes。　I　want　you　to　follow　this　reporter；　Grantham；　around　the　clock　and　see　who　he's　talking　to。　He's　getting　some　awfully　good　stuff；　and　I'm　afraid　it's　ing　from　us。〃
　　
　　〃You're　leaking　like　cardboard。〃
　　
　　〃We've　got　some　problems；　but　the　Khamel　story　was　a　plant。　Did　it　myself。〃　
　　
　　Barr　smiled　at　this。　〃I　thought　so。　It　seemed　too　clean　and　pat。〃
　　
　　〃Did　you　ever　run　across　Khamel？〃
　　
　　〃No。　Ten　years　ago　we　were　sure　he　was　dead。　He　likes　it　that　way。　He　has　no　ego；　so　he'll　never　get　caught。　He　can　live　in　a　paper　shack　in　Sao　Paulo　for　six　months；　eating　roots　and　rats；　then　fly　off　to　Rome　to　murder　a　diplomat；　then　off　to　Singapore　for　a　few　months。　He　doesn't　read　his　press　clippings。〃
　　
　　〃How　old　is　he？〃
　　
　　〃Why　are　you　interested？〃
　　
　　〃I'm　fascinated。　I　think　I　know　who　hired　him　to　kill　Rosenberg　and　Jensen。〃
　　
　　〃Oh；　really。　Can　you　share　this　bit　of　gossip？〃
　　
　　〃No。　Not　yet。〃
　　
　　〃He's　between　forty　and　forty…five；　which　is　not　that　old；　but　he　killed　a　Lebanese　general　when　he　was　fifteen。　So　he's　had　a　long　career。　This　is　all　legend；　you　understand。　He　can　kill　with　either　hand；　either　foot；　a　car　key；　a　pencil；　whatever。　He's　an　expert　marksman　with　all　weapons。　Speaks　twelve　languages。　You've　heard　all　this；　haven't　you？〃
　　
　　〃Yeah；　but　it's　fun。〃
　　
　　〃Okay。　He's　believed　to　be　the　most　proficient　and　expensive　assassin　in　the　world。　In　his　early　years　he　was　just　another　terrorist；　but　he　was　much　too　talented　for　simple　bomb　throwing。　So　he　became　an　assassin　for　hire。　He's　a　bit　older　now；　and　kills　just　for　money。〃
　　
　　〃How　much　money？〃
　　
　　〃Good　question。　He's　probably　in　the　ten…to…twenty…million…a…job　range；　and　there's　not　but　one　other　guy　I　know　of　in　that　league。　One　theory　believes　he　shares　it　with　other　terrorist　groups。　No　one　knows；　really。　Let　me　guess；　you　want　me　to　find　Khamel　and　bring　him　back　alive。〃
　　
　　〃You　leave　Khamel　alone。　I　sort　of　like　the　work　he　did　here。〃
　　
　　〃He's　very　talented。〃
　　
　　〃I　want　you　to　follow　Gray　Grantham　and　find　out　who　he's　talking　to。〃
　　
　　〃Any　ideas？〃
　　
　　〃A　couple。　There's　a　man　by　the　name　of　Milton　Hardy　who　works　as　a　janitor　in　the　West　Wing。〃　Coal　threw　an　envelope　on　the　desk。　〃He's　been　around　for　a　long　time；　appears　to　be　half　blind；　but　I　think　he　sees　and　hears　a　lot。　Follow　him　for　a　week　or　two。　Everyone　calls　him　Sarge。　Make　plans　to　take　him　out。〃
　　
　　〃This　is　great；　Coal。　We're　spending　all　this　money　to　track　blind　Negroes。〃
　　
　　〃Just　do　as　I　say。　Make　it　three　weeks。〃　Coal　stood　and　headed　for　the　door。
　　
　　〃So　you　know　who　hired　the　killer？〃　Barr　said。　〃We're　getting　close。〃
　　
　　〃The　Unit　is　more　than　anxious　to　help。〃
　　
　　〃I'm　sure。〃　
　　
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　　MRS。　CHEN　owned　the　duplex；　and　had　been　renting　th