scoonts.theminotaur-第46部分

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　the　expression　on　Judy's　face。　He　looked　like　a　tourist　until　you　studied　his　face…alert；　ready；　in　absolute　control。
　The　agent　backed　off　a　tad　on　the　zoom　and　scanned　the　camera。　The　crowd　was　large；　lots　of　families　and　young　couples。　With　the　earpiece　in　his　left　ear　he　picked　up　snatches　of　conversation　as　the　camera　moved　along。　Feeling　a　bit　like　a　voyeur；　he　aimed　the　camera　at　a　stream　of　people　ing　from　the　dark　interior　of　the　huge；　green…glass　building　into　the　light。　A　stringy　youth　in　a　black　Harley　shirt　held　hands　with　a　vacant…eyed　girl　with　large；　unrestrained　breasts　and　a　slack　jaw。　Adenoids？　〃。。。that　AIDS　is　bad　shit。　Had　a　hell　of　a　time　shaking　it　last　time。〃
　A　tight…faced　gray…haired　woman　spoke　to　her　male　panion　in　a　polished　whine：　〃。。。too　far　to　walk。　My　feet　hurt　and　it's　been　just　a　terrible。。。〃　Camacho　moved　on；　sampling　the　faces　and　polyglot　sounds。
　〃I'm　not　hooked；　I　tell　you。　I　just　like　the　rush。。。〃　In　her　mid…thirties；　she　wore　a　one…piece　designer　outfit　and　a　wind…blown　coiffure　and　was　speaking　to　a　man　in　gray　slacks　and　camel…colored　cardigan　who　was　chewing　on　his　lower　lip。　Not　wishing　to　hear　more；　Luis　Camacho　swung　the　camera　away。
　〃He's　moving；〃　Dreyfus　said。　〃Toward　the　door。　He's　looking　at　someone。　Do　you　see　him？〃
　Camacho　searched　for　the　door　to　the　mall　and　saw　only　backs。　He　waited。　The　light　was　fading　noticeably　now　as　a　dark　cloud　choked　off　the　sunlight。　In　a　few　seconds　Smoke　Judy　entered　his　range　of　vision　from　the　left　and　joined　the　crowd　streaming　into　the　interior　gloom。　Camacho　released　the　camera　and　rubbed　his　eyes。
　Dreyfus　was　on　the　radio；　talking　to　the　watchers　inside。　〃Here　he　es；〃　one　of　them　said；　and　launched　into　a　running　mentary　on　Judy's　direction　of　travel　for　the　benefit　of　his　rades　stationed　throughout　the　building。
　〃I'm　going　inside；〃　Camacho　said。　Judy　had　never　met　him；　so　that　wasn't　a　concern。　Depending　on　who　it　was；　Judy's　contact　might　recognize　him；　but　even　so　he　wanted　to　see…see　now；　with　his　own　eyes…the　person　Smoke　Judy　did　not　want　to　be　seen　with。　He　would　try　to　stay　out　of　sight。　Just　in　case。
　A　spatter　of　drops　came　in　at　an　angle；　driven　by　the　strong　breeze；　as　Luis　Camacho　walked　across　the　head　of　the　quay。　A　solid　curtain　of　rain　over　the　water　moved　rapidly　this　way。　The　crowd　around　two　jugglers　on　unicycles　dissolved　as　people　began　to　run。　The　FBI　agent　reached　the　double　doors　and　hurried　through　just　as　the　deluge　struck。　A　crowd　was　gathering　by　the　exit；　looking　out　and　chattering　nervously；　but　audible　above　the　babble　was　the　drumming　of　the　rain　on　the　glass　windows　of　the　building。
　Camacho　put　the　earpiece　on　his　radio　in　place　and　rearranged　his　cap。　The　radio　itself　was　in　an　interior　jacket　pocket。　The　microphone　was　pinned　inside　his　lapel：　he　merely　had　to　key　the　transmit　switch　and　talk。
　A　voice　on　the　radio　reported　that　Judy　was　upstairs；　on　the　second　floor；　wandering　from　booth　to　booth。　That　meant　the　person　he　had　e　to　meet　was　still　unknown；　still　moving　through　the　crowd　looking　for　watchers。　Camacho　stood　near　the　door　and　looked　at　faces；　an　ocean　of　faces　of　all　ages　and　colors　and　sizes。　Could　one　of　them　be　the　Minotaur？　No　chance。　The　Minotaur　was　too　careful；　too　circumspect。　This　wasn't　his　kind　of　risk。　He　didn't　need　men　like　Smoke　Judy　for　his　treason。　Or　did　he？
　〃He's　in　line　at　the　taco　joint。〃
　Camacho　was　tempted　to　move。　Not　yet！　Not　yet！
　〃There's　a　man　behind　the　subject；　Caucasian　male　about　fifty…five；　five　feet　nine　or　so；　about　a　hundred　ninety　pounds；　wearing　dark　slacks。　Hush　Puppies　and　a　faded　blue　windbreaker。　No　hat。　Balding。〃
　Camacho　shifted　his　weight　and　examined　the　people　on　the　stairs。　Families。　Youngsters。　Five　black　teenage　boys　with　red　ball　caps　and　scarves。　No　one　was　looking　at　him。
　〃Guy　in　the　windbreaker　said　something　to　the　subject。〃
　〃Get　pictures。〃　That　was　Dreyfus　in　the　van。
　〃Camera's　rolling。〃　The　lawyers　at　Justice　loved　these　portable　video　cameras　with　automatic　focus　and　light…level　adjustment。　Jurors　raised　in　the　television　age　thought　prosecutors　should　have　a　movie　of　every　ten…dollar　back…alley　deal。　At　last　technology　had　delivered。　The　government's　shysters　could　show　each　greedy；　grubby；　loving　little　moment　in　living　color　on　the　courtroom　Zenith…and　play　it　over　and　over　again　until　even　the　stupidest　juror　was　firmly　convinced…while　the　defendants　writhed　and　the　defense　shysters　planned　their　appeals。
　〃Subject　paying　for　his　grub。〃
　Camacho　swiveled　his　eyes　again；　looking　at　no　one　in　particular；　seeing　everyone…
　〃Windbreaker　paying；　just　dropped　a　coin。　Kid　retrieving　it　for　him。　He's　nervous；　looking　around。。。　Now　he's　following　subject。。。　They're　gonna　share　a　table。　That's　our　man。　That's　him！〃
　He　moved　for　the　stairs；　climbing　slowly；　listening　to　the　running　mentary　from　the　observer。　Pausing　with　his　eyes　just　at　the　level　of　the　second…story　floor；　Camacho　scanned　to　his　left；　toward　the　taco　stand。　The　observer　said　they　were　near　there　at　a　two…person　table。　He　climbed　carefully；　watching；　peering　through　moving　legs　and　around　bodies。　He　glimpsed　Judy's　face。　Another　step。　He　was　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。　He　moved　left；　keeping　a　fat　woman　between　himself　and　Judy。　Against　the　far　wall　he　saw　a　man　from　the　power　pany　up　on　a　step　ladder；　bending　over　a　toolbox　on　the　ladder's　little　platform。　The　video　camera　was　in　the　toolbox。　Judy's　face　was　panning　again；　examining　the　crowd…
　Camacho　turned　his　back。　A　pretzel　stand　was　right　in　front　of　him。　He　pointed　one　out　to　the　girl　and　asked　for　a　soft　drink。　As　she　thumbed　the　dispenser　he　checked　the　mirror　on　the　back　wall。　There　was　Judy　again。　And　there　was　the　man　across　from　him。
　Luis　Camacho　studied　the　face　in　the　mirror。　Fleshy；　clean…shaven；　pale。
　He　paid　the　girl　and　turned　to　his　right；　back　toward　the　stairs；　as　he　sipped　the　drink　through　a　straw。　Descending　the　stairs　he　kept　his　eyes　glued　on　the　back　of　the　teenager　in　front　of　him　in　a　conscious　effort　to　avoid　any　possibility　of　eye　contact　with　a　nervous　Smoke　Judy。　He　threw　the　pretzel　and　nearly　full　cup　in　a　trash　hamper　by　the　main　door　and　pushed　on　through；　out　into　the　rain。
　The　wind　threatened　to　blow　his　cap　off。　He　held　it　with　his　hand　as　the　wind　whipped　his　trouser　legs。
　〃So？〃　said　Dreyfus　as　Camacho　wiped　the　water　off　his　face　with　a　handkerchief　when　he　had　gained　the　shelter　of　the　van。
　Luis　Camacho　shrugged。　〃They'll　probably　bus　their　own　table。　Put　their　trash　in　a　receptacle。　Have　one　of　the　guys　take　the　whole　bag。〃
　〃Fingerprints？〃
　〃Uh…huh。〃
　〃Think　it's　the　Minotaur？〃
　〃What　in　hell　would　the　Minotaur　have　to　say　to　Smoke　Judy？〃
　〃How're　they　hanging　down　in　your　shop？　How'd　you　like　to　ski　Moscow？　Quit　fucking　my　wife。　The　possibilities…〃　The　radio　speaker　squawked　to　life　with　another　report　from　the　food　court　and　Dreyfus　closed　his　eyes　to　listen。
　Camacho　took　off　the　radio　he　was　wearing　and　handed　it　to　one　of　the　technicians。　〃See　you　tomorrow　at　the　office；〃　he　said　to　Dreyfus　during　a　silent　moment；　then　let　himself　out　of　the　van　and　walked　through　the　drizzling　rain　toward　his　car。
　
　Harlan　Albright　came　over　to　Camacho's　house　after　supper。　He　accepted　a　cup　of　coffee　and　the　two　of　them　went　to　the　basement。　The　boy　was　there；　and　he　got　up　with　a　wounded　look　on　his　face　and　took　the　stairs　two　at　a　time。　His　father　watched　him　go；　then　settled　onto　the　couch　and　picked　up　the　television　remote　control　and　began　flipping　channels。
　〃I　see　in　the　paper　that　Matilda　Jackson　is　dead。〃
　Camacho　grunted。　Two　of　the　channels　had　those　damned　game　shows；　people　answering　trivial　questions　to　win　flashy；　useless　consumer　goods。
　〃Who　killed　her？〃
　〃Someone　who　knew　exactly　what　he　was　about。〃　Camacho　stared　at　the　sex　goddess　nipping　answer　cards　on　Channer4。
　〃Too　bad。　Had　you　had　a　chance　to　show　her　Franklin's　picture？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Well；　she　was　an　old　woman；　had　lived　a　long　life。　It　would　have　e　soon　anyhow。〃
　Camacho　jabbed　the　remote　savagely。　The　television　settled　on　the　educational　channel。　Some　Englishman　was　talking　about　cathedrals。　〃Listen；　asshole。　I'm　not