scoonts.theminotaur-第42部分

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and　unders　and　assistants。　He　had　selected　just　eighteen　files：　the　Under　Secretary　of　Defense　for　Acquisition；　his　political　aides；　and　the　assistants　and　under　secretaries　in　SECDEF's　office。　And　SECDEF。　All　these　men　had　held　their　positions　for　at　least　three　years。　But　it　was　still　hopeless。
　If　one　of　these　men　was　the　Minotaur；　no　hint　of　it　came　from　the　FBI　background　investigations　that　had　been　pleted　for　the　Senate　confirmation　process。　The　mon　thread　was　that　they　were　pillars　of　the　establishment；　the　kind　of　men　generations　of　mothers　prayed　their　daughters　would　marry。　All　eighteen　were　white；　well　educated；　leaders　in　their　local　munities；　respected　by　all　those　similarly　situated。　Several　had　previously　held　elected　or　appointed　office。　Most　were　family　men　or　divorced　family　men。　Thirteen　of　them　had　graduated　from　an　Ivy　League　school。　Tennis　was　the　most　popular　sport　and　golf　a　close　second。　Several　were　yachtsmen。　Every　single　one　of　them　could　be　labeled　independently　wealthy；　most　from　old　family　money；　a　few　from　small　fortunes　they　had　made　themselves。
　It　was　sickening。　Wealth；　privilege；　power；　spelled　out　in　these　files　in　black　and　white。　Oh；　they　had　a　few　little　peccadillos。　One　man　had　flunked　out　of　three　colleges　before　he　had　pleted　his　education　in　a　fourth。　Three　drunken…driving　convictions。　One　illegitimate　child。　One　man　had　been　known　to　frequent　prostitutes　in　his　younger　days；　and　one　had　been　accused　of　being　a　closet　homosexual　by　a　disgruntled　soon…to…be…ex　during　a　messy　divorce。　Luis　Camacho；　career　cop；　thought　it　pretty　tame　stuff。
　For　several　seconds　he　sat　and　stared　at　the　piles　of　folders　spread　over　the　table。　No　cop；　he　told　himself；　ever　looked　seriously　at　a　more　unlikely　group　of　suspects。　There　wasn't　even　one　man　with　a　family　or　background　that　might　be　vulnerable　to　intense　scrutiny。　Not　here。　These　men　had　had　every　advantage　that　birth；　wealth；　and　social　position　could　confer。　Sadly　he　shook　his　head。
　If　the　key　to　the　Minotaur's　behavior　was　in　his　past；　it　was　going　to　remain　buried　unless　a　small　army　of　agents　with　a　lot　of　time　were　told　to　dig　deep。　The　agents　Camacho　could　get。　What　frustrated　Camacho　was　his　suspicion　that　he　was　running　out　of　time。　What　infuriated　him　was　his　conviction　that　no　matter　how　deep　they　dug；　the　investigators　could　e　up　dry。　And　without　something。。。　some　artifact。。。　something　tangible；　how　could　he　sell　a　man　to　Albright　as　the　Minotaur？　Albright　would　want　a　man　he　could　understand；　with　a　motivation　that　could　be　reduced　to　writing　and　passed　from　the　Aquarium　to　the　Kremlin　and　would　explain。　The　mittee　should　have　thought　this　problem　through　two　years　ago。
　He　went　back　to　his　office　and　found　a　photo　of　Terry　Franklin　in　the　file。　Actually　there　were　four　of　them。　The　one　he　selected　was　a　full…figure　shot　taken　with　a　hidden　camera。　Franklin　was　looking　just　to　the　right　of　the　camera；　perhaps　waiting　for　a　car　to　pass　the　parked　van　the　photographer　had　used。　This　picture　he　placed　in　an　inside　pocket　of　his　sports　coat。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　If　he　went　to　the　Pentagon；　he　could　probably　still　catch　Vice　Admiral　Henry；　who　rarely　left　before　7　P。M。
　
　Terry　Franklin　stopped　at　a　neighborhood　bar　after　he　got　off　the　bus　from　work。　On　the　Friday　evening　of　the　longest　week　of　his　life；　he　deserved　a　few　drinks。　Waiting　for　the　ax　to　fall　was　squeezing　the　juice　right　out　of　him。　He　had　been　a　bumbling　fool　all　week；　botching　one　job　after　another；　having　to　ask　the　chief　for　help　with　several　problems　that　were　so　minor　he　had　been　embarrassed。　The　chief　was　solicitous；　asking　if　he　was　having　problems　at　home。
　The　problem　was　he　couldn't　think　about　anything　else。　He　could　no　longer　concentrate　on　his　job；　his　wife；　the　kids；　anything。　He　had　to　get　his　mind　off　it　and　he　just　couldn't！　Sitting　here　at　the　bar；　he　glanced　warily　at　the　other　customers；　then　bit　his　lip。　A　panic…stricken　scream　was　just　beneath　the　surface。　He　was　losing　it。　It　was　like　one　of　those　nightmares　he　had　as　a　kid…he　was　fleeing　from　a　hideous　monster　and　his　legs　went　slower　and　slower　and　the　monster　was　reaching　out；　within　inches　of　catching　him…and　he　woke　up　screaming　with　pee　soaking　his　pajamas。
　He　was　going　to　have　to　get　all　this　crap　stuffed　into　one　sock；　going　to　have　to　wire　himself　together　so　he　could　get　from　one　end　of　the　day　to　the　other。　He　had　all　of　tonight；　all　day　Saturday；　all　day　Sunday…three　nights　and　two　whole　days…before　he　had　to　face　his　demons　on　Monday。
　He　ordered　another　CC　on　the　rocks。　Sure；　he　could　do　it。　No　one　knew。　No　one　was　going　to　arrest　him。　No　one　was　going　to　toss　him　into　prison　with　a　bunch　of　homo　thieves　and　killers。　After　all；　this　is　America；　land　of　the　gullible；　home　of　the　foolish。
　He　would　deliver　and　collect　on　another　dozen　floppies　or　so。　Then　he　would　empty　his　safe…deposit　box　and　be　on　his　way　to　a　new　life。　Perhaps　Rio。　He　would　lie　on　the　beach　all　day　and　fuck　beach　bunnies　at　night。
　He　sipped　on　his　drink　and　thought　about　how　it　would　be。　The　life　he　had　always　wanted　was　right　there　within　his　grasp；　so　close；　within　inches。　But　he　was　going　to　have　to　be　realistic　about　the　monsters；　going　to　have　to　keep　trotting。　No　urine…soaked　pajamas。　No　screaming　fits。　Amen。
　He　paid　the　tab　and　left　two　quarters　on　the　bar。　Outside　he　forced　himself　to　pause　and　examine　the　headlines　on　the　newspaper　in　the　vending　stand。　Same　old　crap。　The　world　was　still　turning；　things　were　burning　down；　trains　were　still　crashing。。。
　He　walked　the　two　blocks　home　with　his　head　up；　breathing　the　spring　air。　It　seemed　just　yesterday　that　it　was　so　cold　and　miserable。　Spring　is　here。　And　I've　got　a　fortune　in　the　bank　and　no　one　knows　but　me。
　His　neighbor　was　washing　his　car　in　the　driveway。　〃Hey；　Terry；　how's　it　going？〃
　〃Pretty　good。　And　you？〃
　〃Just　fine。　Say；　I've　been　meaning　to　ask　you。　How's　the　spy　business？〃
　Terry　Franklin　froze。
　The　asshole　tossed　his　sponge　into　a　bucket　and　wiped　his　hands　on　his　jeans。　He　grinned　as　he　reached　for　his　cigarettes。　〃Lucy　has　been　telling　Melanie　that　you're　a　spy。　I　laughed　myself　sick。　So。。。〃
　Terry　didn't　hear　any　more。　He　lurched　for　the　front　door。
　〃Lucy！〃　He　slammed　the　door　behind　him　and　charged　for　the　kitchen。　〃Lucy；〃　he　bellowed；　〃you　stupid…〃
　Lucy　was　sitting　with　her　mother　drinking　coffee　at　the　counter。
　Both　women　stared；　openmouthed…
　〃What…what　does　Jared　mean…about　Melanie？　What　did　you　tell　Melanie？〃　He　thought　he　was　doing　pretty　welt　under　the　circumstances；　staying　calm　and　keeping　the　legs　going。　But　it　came　out　as　a　roar。
　〃Now　listen　here；　Terry…〃　Lucy's　mom　began。
　〃Lucy；　I　need　to　talk　to　you。〃　He　grabbed　her　arm　and　half　lifted　her　from　the　stool。　〃Now；　Lucy。〃
　〃Let　go　of　her；　Terry！〃
　〃Mom　Southworth；　please！　I　need　to　talk　to…〃
　〃No！〃　The　old　lady　had　a　voice　like　a　drill　instructor。
　〃Lucy；　what　did　you　tell　that　moron　Melanie？〃
　〃I　told　her　that…〃
　〃Get　your　hands　off　her；　Terry。　I　know　all　about　you。　You　stupid；　greedy…〃　The　older　woman　was　fat；　with　two　chins。　Just　now　Terry　Franklin　thought　her　the　ugliest　woman　he　had　ever　laid　eyes　on。
　〃Shut　up；　you　nosy　old　bitch！　What　the　hell　are　you　doing　here　anyway？　Lucy；　I　want　to　talk　to　you。〃　He　grabbed　her　arm　and　dragged　her　from　the　stool　toward　the　downstairs　half…bath。　He　pulled　her　inside　and　slammed　the　door。　〃What　in　the　name　of　God　have　you　been　saying　to　Melanie？〃
　Lucy　was　scared　witless。　〃Noth…〃
　〃Did　you　tell　her　I　was　a　spy？〃
　Terry　didn't　need　an　answer；　it　was　written　all　over　her　face。　The　mother…in…law　was　pounding　on　the　door　and　shouting。　Something　about　calling　the　police。
　〃You…you…〃　he　whimpered　as　his　legs　turned　to　wood　and　the　monster's　fetid　breath　engulfed　him。
　Lucy　opened　the　door　and　slid　out　as　he　sagged　down　onto　the　floor　and　covered　his　face　with　his　hands。　His　whole　life　was　shattered；　smashed　to　bits　by　that　silly；　simple　twit！
　
　It　was　8：30　P。M。　when　Luis　Camacho　parked　in　front　of　Mrs。　Jackson's　house　and　locked　his　car。　It　was　a　delightful　spring　evening；　still　a　nip　in　the　air；　but　almost　no　wind。　The　foliage　was　budding。　Summer　was　ing　and