THE MATLOCK PAPER

BY

ROBERT LUDLUM

 Other books by the Author:

THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE
THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND
*THE RHINEMANN EXCHANGE
*THE GEMINI CONTENDERS
THE CHANCELLOR MANUSCRIPT
THE HOLCROFT COVENANT
THE MATARESE CIRCLE
THE BOURNE IDENTITY
THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC
THE ROAD TO GANDOLFO
THE AQUITAINE PRGRESSION
THE BOURNE SUPREMACY

 *Available in Dell Editions

 A DELL BOOK
 Published by
 Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
 I Dag Harnmarskjold Plaza
 New York, New York 10017

    For Pat and Bi#As the ancient Bagdhivi proverb says: When giants cast
    shadows, hope for the shade. 71te "Due Macellis "are giants!

 Copyright 0 1973 by Robert Ludium

 All rights reserved. For information address Doubleday & Company, Inc.,
 New York, New York.

 Dell 0 TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

 ISBN: 0440-15538-X

 Reprinted by arrangement with Doubleday & Company, Inc.
 Printed in the United States of America
 One Previous Dell Edition
 New Dell Edition
 March 1986

 10 9 8 7 6 5 4

  1

 Loring walked out the side entrance of the justice Department and looked for
 a taxi. It was nearly five thirty~ a spring Friday, and the congestion in
 the Washington streets was awful. Loring stood by the curb and held up his
 left hand, hoping for the best. He was about to abandon the effort when a
 cab that had picked up a fare thirty feet down the block stopped in front of
 him.
  Going east, mister? It's O.K. This gentleman said he wouldiYt mind."
  Loring was always embarrassed when these incidents occurred. He
  unconsciously drew back his right forearm, allowing his sleeve to cover as
  much of his hand as possible-to conceal the thin black chain looped around
  his wrist, locked to the briefcase handle.
  "rhanks, anyway. rm heading south at the next comer."
  He waited until the taxi reentered the flow of traffic and then resumed his
  futile signaling.
  Usually, under such conditions, his mind was alert, his feelings
  competitive. He would normally dart his eyes in both directions, ferreting
  out cabs about to disgorge passengers, watching the comers for those dimly
  lit roof signs that meant this particular vehicle was for hire if you ran
  fast enough.
 6 Robert Lud7um

  Today, however, Ralph Loring did not feel like running. On this particular
  Friday, his mind was obsessed with a terrible reality. He had just borne
  witness to a man's being sentenced to death. A man be!d never met but knew
  a great deal about An unknowing man of thirty-three who lived and worked in
  a small New England town four hundred miles away and who had no idea of
  Loring's existence, much less of the justice Department's interest in him.
  Lorines memory kept returning to the large conference room with the huge
  rectangular table around which sat the men who'd pronounced the sentence.
  He had objected strenuously. It was the least he could do for the man he'd
  never met, the man who was being maneuvered with such precision into such
  an untenable position.
  "May I remind you, Mr. Lorin&" said an assistant attorney general who'd
  once been a judge advocate in the navy, "that in any combat situation basic
  risks are assumed. A percentage of casualties is anticipate&"
  "The circumstances are different. This man isn7t trained. He won't know who
  or where the enemy is. How could he? We doet know ourselves."
  "Just the point." The speaker then had been another assistant AG, this one
  a recruit from some corporation law office, fond of committee meetings,
  and, Loring suspected, incapable of decisions without them. "Our subject is
  highly mobile. Look at the psychological profile, 'flawed but mobile in the
  extreme: That's exactly what it says. He's a logical choice."
  "'Flawed but mobile'l What in heaven's name does that mean? May I remind
  this committee that I've worked in the field for fifteen years.
  Psychological profiles are only screening guidelines, hit-and-miss judg-
  ments. I would no more send a man into an infiltra-
                    THE MATLOCK PAPER 7

 tion problem without knowing him thoroughly than I would assume the
 responsibility for NASA mathematics.'
  The chairman of the committee, a career profession4 had answered Loring.
  "I understand your reservations; normally, rd agree. However, these areet
  normal conditions. We have barely three weeks. The time factor overrides
  the usual precautions."
  "It's the risk we have to assume," said the former judge advocate
  pontifically.
 'You're not assuming it,' Loring replied.
  'Do you wish to be relieved of the contact?' The chairman made the offer in
  complete sincerity.
  "No, sir. III make it. Reluctantly. I want that on the record.'
  "One thing before we adjourn." The corporation lawyer leaned forward on the
  table. "And this comes right from the top. We've all agreed that our
  subject is motivated. The profile makes that clear. What must also be made
  clear is that any assistance given this comn-Attee by the subject is given
  freely and on a voluntary basis. We!re vulnerable here. We cannot, repeat
  cannot, be responsible. If ies possible, wed like the record to indicate
  that the subject came to us."
  Ralph Loring had tamed away from the man in disgust.
  If anything, the traffic was heavier now. Loring had about made up his mind
  to start walking the twentyodd blocks to his apartment when a white Volvo
  pulled up in front of him.
 "Get inI You look silly with your hand up like that."
  "Oh, it's you. Thanks very much." Loring opened the door and slid into the
  small front seat, holding his briefcase on his lap. There was no need to
  hide the
 8 Robert Ludium

 thin black chain around his wrist Cranston was a field man, too; an overseas
 route specialist. Cranston had done most of the background work on the
 assignment which was now Loring's responsibility.
 "That was a long meeting. Accomplish anything?"
 "Ibe green lighe
 "Ies about time."
  'Two assistant AGs and a concerned message from the White House were
  responsible."
  "Good. Geo division got the latest reports from Force-Mediterranean this
  morning. It's a regular mass conversion of source routes. Ies confinned.
  The fields in Ankara and Konya in the north, the projects in Sidi Barrani
  and Rashid, even the Algerian contingents are systematically cutting
  production. It!s going to make things very difficult"
  "What the hell do you want? I thought the objective was to rip them out You
  people are never satisfied."
  "Neither would you be. We can exert controls over routes we know about;
  what in Gods name do we know about places like. . . Porto Belocruz,
  Pilcomayo, a half dozen unpronounceable nsmes in Paraguay, Brazil, Guiana?
  It's a whole goddamn new ballgame, Ralph.-
  "Bring in the SA specialists. CIAs crawling with them."
 "No way. W6re not even allowed to ask for maps~'
 '.rhat!s asinine."
  "That!s espionage. We stay clean. We're strictly according to
  Interpol-Hoyle; no funny business. I thought you knew that."
 "I do' " replied Uring wearily. "It's still asinine."
  'You worry about New England, USA. We'll handle the pampas, or whatever
  they are.-it is."
                  TBE MATIAXX PAPER 9

  'New England, USA, is a goddamn microcosm. Tbaes what's frightening. What
  happened to all those poetic descriptions of rustic fences and Yankee
  spirit and ivied brick walls?"
 "New poetry. Get with it."
 'Your sympathy is overwhelming. Thanks."
 'You sound discouraged."
 "There isnI enough time. . .
  'Mere never is." Cranston steered the small car into a faster lane only to
  find it bottlenecked at Nebraska and Eighteenth. With a sigh, he shoved the
  gearshift into neutral and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Lorin& who
  was staring blankly at the windshield. "At least you got the green light.
  Thaes something.'
 'Sure. With the wrong personnel."
  "Oh ... I see. Is that him?" Cranston gestured his head toward Loring's
  briefcase.
 "That's him. From the day he was bom*
 "What's his name?"
  "Matlock James B. Matlock II. The B is for Barbour, very old family-two
  very old families. James Matlock, B.A., M.A., Ph.D. A leading authority in
  the field of social and political influences on Elizabethan literature. How
  about that?"
  "Jesusl Are those his qualifications? Where does he start asking questions?
  At faculty teas for retired professorsr
  "No. That part of ies all right; he's young enough. His qualifications are
  included in what Security calls 'flawed but mobile in the extreme.' Isn't
  that a lovely phrase?"
 'Inspiring. What does it mean?"
  "Ies supposed to describe a man who isn't very nice. Probably because of a
  loused-up, army record, or a
 io Robert Ludlum
 divorce-rm sure ies the army thing-but In spite of that insurmountable
 handicap, is very well liked."
  I like him already~-
 "Maes my problem. I do, too.*
  The two men fell into silence. It was clear that Cianston had been in the
  field long enough to realize when a fellow professional had to think by
  himself. Reach certain conclusions--or rational=tions-by himself. Most of
  the time, it was easy.
  Mph Loring thought about the man whose life was detailed so completely in
  his briefcase, culled from a score of data-bank sources. James Barbour
  Matlock was the name, but the person behind the name refused to oome into
  focus. And that bothered Loring; Matlock's life had been shaped by
  disturbing, even violent, Inoonsistencies.
  He was the surviving son of two elderly, Immensely wealthy parents who
  lived in handsome retirement in Scarsdale, New York. His education had been
  properly Eastern Establishment: Andover and Amherst, with the proper
  expectations of a Manhattan-based profession--banking, brokerage,
  advertising. There was nothing in his precollege or undergraduate record to
  indicate a deviation from this pattern. Indeed, marriage to a socially
  prominent girl from Greenwich seemed to confirm it
  And then things happened to James Barbour Matlock, and Loring wished he
  understood. First came the army.
  It was the early sixties, and by the simple expedient of agreeing to a
  six-month extension of service, Matlock could have sat comfortably behind
  a desk as a supply of8cer somewhere-most likely, with his famiys
  connections, in Washington or New York. Instead, his saMce Me read like a
  hoodlunds: a series of in-
                   TEE MAIIX= PAPM 11

 fractions and Insubordinations that guaranteed him the least desirable of
 assignments-Vietnam and its escalating hostilities. While in the Mekong
 Delta, his military behavior also guaranteed him two summary courts-martial.
  Yet there appeared to be no Ideological motivation behind his actions,
  merely poor, if any, adjustment
  His return to civilian life was marked by continuing difficulties, first
  with his parents and then with his wife. Inexplicably, James Barbour
  Matlock, whose academic record had been gentlemanly but hardly superior,
  took a small apartment in Morningside Heights and attended Columbia
  University's graduate school.
  The wife lasted three and a half months, opting for a quiet divorce and a
  rapid exit from Matlock's life.
  The following several years were monotonous Intelligence material. Matlock,
  the incorrigible, was in the process of becoming Matlock, the scholar. He
  worked around the calendar, receiving his mastees degree in fourteen
  months, his doctorate two years later. There was a reconciliation of sorts
  with his parents, and a position with the English department at Carlyle
  University in Connecticut. Since then Matlock had published a number of
  books and articles and acquired an enviable reputation in the academic
  community. He was obviously popular-"mobile in the extreme" (silly goddamn
  expression); he was moderately well off and apparently possessed none of
  the antagonistic traits he'd displayed during the hostile years. Of course,
  there was damn little reason for him to be discontented, thought Loring.
  James Barbour Matlock If had his life nicely routined; he was covered on
  all flanks, thank you, including a girl. He was currently, with discretion,
  involved with a graduate student named Patricia Ballantyne. They kept
  separate resi-
   = Robert Ludium
 dences, but according to the data, were lovers. As near as could be
 determined, however, there was no marriage in sight The girl was completing
 her dootDral studies in archeology, and a dozen foundation grants awaited
 her. Grants that led to distant lands and unfamiliar facts. Patricia
 Ballantyne was not for marriage; not according to the data banks.
  But what of Matlock? wondered Ralph Loring. What did the facts tell bun?
  How could they possibly Justify the choice?
  They didnI. They couldi& Only a trained professional could carry out the
  demands of the current situation. The problems were far too complex, too
  filled with traps for an amateur.
  The terrible irony was that if this Matlock made errors, fell into traps,
  he might accomplish far more far quicker than any professional.
 And lose his life doing so.
  'What makes you all think hell accept?" Cranston was nearing Loring's
  apartment and his curiosity was piqued-
 "What? rm sorry, what did you say?"
  'Whaes the motive for the subjeces acceptance? Why would he agree?"
  "A younger brother. Ten years younger, as a matter of fact. The parents are
  quite old. Very rich, very detached. Tins Matlock holds himself
  responsible"
 "For whatr
  The brother. He killed himself three years ago with an overdose of heroin."

  Ralph Loring drove his rented car slowly down the wide, tree-lined street
  past the large old houses set back beyond manicured lawns. Some were
  fraternity houses. but there were far fewer than had existed a
                 THE MATL(= P"EM 13

 decade ago. The social exclusivity of the fifties and early sixties was
 being replaced. A few of the huge structures had other identifications now.
 The House, Aquarius (naturally), Afro-Commom, Waru*k, Lumumba Hall.
  Connecticues Carlyle University was one of those medium-sized "prestige"
  campuses that dot the New England landscape. An administration, under the
  guidance of its brilliant president, Dr. Adrian Sealfont, was restructuring
  the college, "g to bring it into the second half of the twentieth century.
  There were inevitable protests, proliferation of beards, and African
  studies balanced against the quiet wealth, club blazers, and
  alumni-sponsored regattas. Hard rock and faculty tea dances were groping
  for ways to coexist.
  Loring reflected, as he looked at the peaceful campus in the bright spring
  sunlight, that it seemed inconceivable that such a community harbored any
  real problems.
  Certainly not the problem that had brought him there.
 Yet it did.
  Carlyle was a time bomb which, when detonated, would claim extraordinary
  victims in its fallout. That it would explode, Loring knew, was inevitable.
  What happened before then was unpredictable. It was up to him to engineer
  the best possible probabilities. The key was James Barbour Matlock, B.A.,
  M.A., Ph.D.
  Loring drove past the attractive two-story faculty residence that held four
  apartrnents, each with a separate entrance. It was considered one of the
  better faculty houses and was usually occupied by bright young families
  before they'd reached the tenure necessary for outlying homes of their own.
  Matlock's quarters were on the first floor, west section.
 14 Robert Ludlum

  Loring drove around the block and parked diagonally across the street from
  Matlock's door. Ile couliWt stay long; he kept turning in the seat, scan-
  ning the cars and Sunday morning pedestrians, satir.fled that he himself
  wasn't being observed. That was vital. On Sunday, according to Matlocks
  surveillance file, the young professor usually read the papers till around
  noon and then drove to the north end of Carlyle where Patricia Ballantyne
  lived in one of the efficiency apartinents reserved for graduate students.
  That is, he drove over if she hadiYt spent the night with him. Then the two
  generally went out into the country for lunch and returned to Matlocies
  apartment or went south into Hartford or New Haven. There were variations,
  of course. Often the Ballantyne girl and Matlock took weekends together,
  registering as man and wife. Not this weekend, however. Surveillance had
  confirmed that.
  Loring looked at his watch. It was twelve forty, but Matlock was still in
  his apartment. Time'was runnmg short. In a few minutes, Loring was expected
  to be at Crescent Street. 217 Crescent. It was where he would make
  cover-contact for his second vehicle transfer.
  He knew it wasn't necessary for him to physically watch Matlock. After all,
  he~d read the file thoroughly, looked at scores of photographs, and even
  talked briefly with Dr. Sealfont, Carlyle's president Nevertheless, each
  agent had his own working methods, and his included watching subjects for
  a period of hourr before making contact. Several colleagues at justice
  claimed it gave him a sense of power. Loring knew only that it gave him a
  sense of confidence.
  Matlock's front door opened and a tall man walked out into the sunlight. He
  was dressed in khald trousers, loafers, and a tan turtleneck sweater.
  Loring saw
                 THE MATW= P"ER 15
 that he was modestly good looking with sharp features and fairly long blond
 hair. He checked the lock on his door, put on a pair of sunglasses, and
 walked around the sidewalk to what Loring presumed was a small parking area.
 Several minutes later, James Matlock drove out of the driveway in a Triumph
 sportscar.
  The government man reflected that his subject seemed to have the best of a
  pleasant life. Sufficient income, no responsibilities, work he enjoyed,
  even a convenient relationship with an attractive girl.
  Loring wondered if it would all be the same for James Barbour Matlock three
  weeks from then. For Matlocles world was about to be plunged into an abyss.
  2

 Matlock pressed the TriumpYs accelerator to the floor and the low-slung
 automobile vibrated as the speedometer reached sixty-two miles per hour. It
 wasn1 that he was in a hurry~-Pat Ballantyne waset going anywhere-just that
 he was angry. Well, not angry, really, just irritated. He was usually
 irritated after a phone call from home. Time would never elimmate that Nor
 money, ff ever he made any to speak ofamounts his father considered
 respectable. What caused his irritation was the infuriating condescension.
 it grew worse as his mother and father advanced in years. Instead of making
 peace with the situation, they dwelled on it. They insisted that he spend
 the spring midterm vacation in Scarsdale so that he and his father could
 make daily trips into the city. To the banks, to the attorneys. To make
 ready for the inevitable, when and if it ever happened.
  a. . . Theres a lot you'll have to digest, son," his father had said
  sepulchrally. "Yoifre not exactly prepared, you know. . . ."
  .. Yoere all thafs left, darlin&" his mother had said with obvious pain.
  Matlock knew they enjoyed their anticipated, martyred leave-taking of this
  world. They'd made their mark_or at least his father had. The amusing part
                  Tm mATLOcK PAFm 17

 was that his parents were as strong as pack mules, as healthy as wild
 horses. They'd no doubt outlast him by decades.
  The truth was that they wanted him with them far more than he wished to be
  there. It had been that way for the past three years, since David's death
  at the Cape. Perhaps, thought Matlock, as he drew up in front of Pat's
  apartment the roots of his irritation were in his own guilt. He'd never
  quite made peace with himself about David. He never would.
  And he didn't want to be in Scarsdale during the midterm holidays. Ile
  didet want the memories. He had someone now who was helping him forget the
  awful years--of death, no love, and indecision. Hied promised to take Pat
  to St. Thomas.

  The name of the country inn was the Cheshire Cat, and, as its title
  implied, it was Englishy and pubbish. The food was decent, the drinks
  generous, and those factors made it a favorite spot of Connecticut!s exur-
  bia. They'd finished their second Bloody Mary and had ordered roast beef
  and Yorkshire pudding. There were perhaps a dozen couples and several
  families in the spacious dining area. In the comer sat a single man reading
  The New York Tinws with the pages folded vertically, commuter fashion.
  'Hes probably an irate father waiting for a son whes about to splash out.
  I know the type. They take the Scarsdale train every mornin&"
 "He's too relaxed."
  'They learn to hide tension. Only their druggists 'know. All that GelusiL"
  '01bere are always signs, and he haset any. He looks positively
  self-satisfied. You~re wrong."
 'You just don!t know Scarsdale. Self-satisfaction is a
 3L8 Robert Ludlum

 registered trademark. You cant buy a house without it"
  'Speaking of such things, what are you going to do? I really think we
  should cancel St Thomas."
  "I doet Ies been a rough winter, we deserve a little sun. Anyway, theyre
  being unreasonable. Therels nothing I want to learn about the Matlock
  manipulations; Ws a waste of time. In the unlikely event that they ever do
  go, others'll be in charge."
  "I thought we agreed that was only an excuse. They want you around for a
  while. I think it's touching they do it this way."
  "Ies not touching, ies my fathees transparent attempt at bribery. . . .
  Look. Our commuter~s given up." The single man with the newspaper finished
  his drink and was explaining to the waitress that he waset ordering lunch.
  "Five'll get you ten he pictured his son's hair and leather jacket-maybe
  bare feetand just panicked."
 'I think you~re wishing it on the poor mae
  "No, I'm not. I'm too sympathetic. I can't stand the aggravation that goes
  with rebellion. Makes me selfconscious."
  "You're a very funny man, Private Matlock," said Pat, alluding to Matlock's
  inglorious army career. "When we finish, lees go down to Hartford. There's
  a good movie."
  "Oh, rm sorry, I forgot to tell you. We can't today. ... Sealfont called me
  this morning for an early evening conference. Said it was important."
 "About what?"
  "I'm not sure. The African studies may be in trouble. That 'rom' I
  recruited from Howard turned out to be a beaut. I think Vs a little to the
  right of Louis XIV."
                 TBE MAnA>CK PAPER 19

 She smiled. "Really, you're terrible
 Matlock took her hand.

  The residence of Dr. Adrian Sealfont was imposingly appropriate. It was a
  large white colonial mansion with wide marble steps leading up to thick
  double doors carved in relief. Along the front were Ionic pillars spanning
  the width of the building. Floodlights from the lawn were turned on at
  sundown.
  Matlock walked up the stairs to the door and rang the bell. Thirty seconds
  later he was admitted by a maid, who ushered him through the hallway toward
  the rear of the house, into Dr. Sealfonfs huge library.
  Adrian SeaIfont stood in the center of the room with two other men.
  Matlock, as always, was struck by the presence of the man. A shade over six
  feet, thin, with aquiline features, he radiated a warmth that touched all
  who were near him. There was about him a genuine humility which concealed
  his brilliance from those who did not know him. Matlock liked him
  immensely.
  "Hello, James." Sealfont extended his hand to Matlock. "Mr. Loring, may I
  present Dr. Matlock?"
  "How do you do? Hi, Sam." Matlock addressed this last to the third man,
  Samuel Kressel, dean of colleges at Carlyle.
 Hello, Jim.-
  'We've met before, haven't we?" asked Matlock, looking at Loring. "I'm
  trying to remember."
 "Irm going to be very embarrassed if you do."
  '11 bet you willl" laughed Kressel with his sardonic., slightly offensive
  humor. Matlock also liked Sam Kressel, more because he knew the pain of
  Kressers job-what he had to contend with-than for the mign himself.
 2o Robert Ludlum
 'What do you mean, Sam?"
  "III answer you," interrupted Adrian Sealfont. 'Mr. Loring is with the
  federal government, the justice Department. I agreed to arrange a meeting
  between the three of you, but I did not agree to what Sam and Mr. Loring
  have just referred to. Apparently Mr. LorIng has seen fit to have you-what
  is the term-under surveillance. Ive registered my strong objections."
  Sealfont looked directly at Loring.
 "YotNe had me what?" asked Matlock quietly.
  "I apologize," said Loring persuasively. "Ies a personal idiosyncrasy and
  has nothing to do with our business."
 'You~re the commuter in the Cheshire Cat.-
 "Ibe what?" asked Sam Kressel.
 'Me man with the newspaper."
  "Thaes right. I knew yotfd noticed me this afternoon. I thought you'd
  recognize me the minute you saw me again. I didn't know I looked like a
  commuter."
  "It was the newspaper. We called you an irate father.*
  "Sometimes I am. Not often, though. My daughtees only seven."
  "I think we should begin," Sealfont said. "Incidentally, James, I'm
  relieved your reaction is so understanding."
  "My only reaction is curiosity. And a healthy degree of fear. To tell you
  the truth, Im scared to death." Matlock smiled haltingly. "What!s it all
  about?'
  'Lees have a drink while we talk.' Adrian Sealfont smiled back and walked
  to his copper-topped dry bar in the comer of the room. '-fou~re a bourbon
  and water man, aren1 you, James? And Sam, a double Scotch over ice,
  correct? Whats yours, Mr. Loring?'
                  THE JUTLOCK PAPER 21

 'Scotch'Il be fine. just water."
  OHere, James, give me a hand." Matlock crossed to Sealfont and helped him.
  'You amaze me, Adrian, . said Kressel, sitting down in a leather armchair.
  "What in heaven~s name prompts you to remember your subordinates' choice of
  liquor?-
  Seaffont laughed. 'Me most logical reason of all. And it certainly iset
  confined to my ... colleagues. I've raised more money for this institution
  with alcohol than with hundreds of reports prepared by the best analytic
  minds in fund-raising circles." Here Adrian Sealfont paused and chuckled-as
  much to himself as to those in the room. "I once gave a speech to the
  Organization of University Presidents. In the question and answer period,
  I was asked to what I attributed Carlyle's endowment. . . . I'm afraid I
  replied, To those ancient peoples who developed the art of fermenting the
  vineyards.' . . . My late wife roared but told me later I'd set the fund
  back a decade."
  The three men laughed; Matlock distributed the drinks.
  "Your health," said the president of Carlyle, raising his glass modestly.
  The toast, however, was brief. '11is is a bit awkward, James ... Sam.
  Several weeks ago I was contacted by Mr. Loring's superior. He asked me to
  come to Washington on a matter of utmost importance, relative to Carlyle.
  I did so and was briefed on a situation I still refuse to accept. Certain
  information which Mr. Loring will impart to you seems incontrovertible on
  the surface. But that is the surface: rumor; out-of-context statements,
  written and verbal; constructed evidence which may be meaningless. On the
  other hand, there might well be a degree of substance. It is on that
  possibility that Ive agreed
 22 Robert Ludlum
 to this meeting. I must make it clear, however, that I cannot be a party to
 it. Carlyle wiU not be a party to it Whatever may take place in this room
 has my unacknowledged approval but not my official sanction. You act as
 individuals, not as members of the faculty or staff of Carlyle. If, indeed,
 you decide to act at all. ... Now, James, if that doesn't 'scare you,' I
 don1 know what will." Sealfont smiled again, but his message was clear.
 "It scares me, . said Matlock without emphasis.
  Kxessel put down his glass and leaned forward on the chair. "Are we to
  assume from what you've said that you don't endorse Loring~s presence here?
  Or whatever it is he wants?"
  "It's a gray area. If there's substance to his charges, I certainly cannot
  turn my back. On the other hand, no university president these days will
  openly collaborate with a government agency on speculation. Youll forgive
  me, Mr. Loring, but too many people in Washington have taken advantage of
  the academic communities. I refer specifically to Michigan, Columbia,
  Berkeley ... among others. Simple police matters are one thing,
  infiltration ... well, that's something else again."
  "Infiltration? That's a pretty strong word," said Matlock.
  "Perhaps too strong. I'll leave the terms to Mr. Loring."
  Kressel picked up his glass. "May I ask why weMatlock and I-have been
  chosen?"
  "That, again, will be covered in Mr. Loring's discussion. However, since
  I'm responsible for your being here, Sam, I'll tell you my reasons. As
  dean, yoere more closely attuned to campus affairs than anyone else.... You
  will also be aware of it if Mr. Loring or
                 THE MATLOCK PAPM 23
 his associates overstep their bounds.... I think thafs all I have to say.
 I'm going over to the assembly. That filmmaker, Strauss, is speaking tonight
 and Ive got to put in an appearance." Seaffont walked back to the bar and
 put his glass on the tray. The three other men rose.
  "One thing before you go," said Kressel, his brow wrinkled. "Suppose one or
  both of us decide we want no part of Mr. Lorines ... business?"
  "Then refuse." Adrian Sealfont crossed to the library door. "You are under
  no obligation whatsoever; I want that perfectly -ulear. Mr. Loring
  understands. Cood evening, gentlemen." Sealfont walked out into the
  hallway, closing the door behind him.
  3

 The three men remained silent, standing motionless. They could hear the
 front entrance open and close. Kressel turned and looked at Loring.
 "It seems to me you've been put on the spot.*
  "I usually am in these situations. Let me clarify my position; it will
  partly explain this meeting. The first thing you should know is that Fm
  with the justice Department, Narcotics Bureau."
  Kressel sat down and sipped at his drink "You haveet traveled up here to
  tell us forty percent of the student body is on pot and a few other items,
  have you? Because if so, ifs nothing we don't know."
  "No, I haven't. I assume you do know about such things. Everyone does. I'm
  not sure about the percentage, though. It could be a low estimate."
  Matlock finished his bourbon and decided to have another. He spoke as he
  crossed to the copper bar table. "It may be low or high, but comparatively
  speaking-in relation to other campuses-were not in a panic.*
 "Mere's no reason for you to be. Not about that.'
 'Mere's something else?"
  "Very much so." Loring walked to Sealfones desk and bent down to pick up
  his briefcase from the floor. It was apparent that the government man and
  Car-
                   TBE MATLOCK PAPER 25
 IyWs president had talked before Matlock and Kressel arrived. Loring put the
 briefcase on the desk and opened it. Matlock walked back to his chair and
 sat down.
  "I'd like to show you something." Loring reached into the briefcase and
  withdrew a thick page of silvercolored stationery, cut diagonally as if
  with pinking shears. The silver coating was now filthy with repeated
  handling and blotches of grease or dirt. He approached Matlocks chair and
  handed it to him Kressel got up and came over.
  "It's some kind of letter. Or announcement. With numbers," said Matlock.
  "It's in French; no, Italian, I think. I can't make it out.'
  "Very good, professor," said Loring. "A lot of both and not a predominance
  of either. Actually, ies a Corsican dialect, written out. les called the
  01tremontan strain, used in the southern hill country. Like Etruscan, ies
  not entirely translatable. But what codes are used are simple to the point
  of not being codes at all. I don~t think they were meant to be; there arenI
  too many of these. So there's enough here to tell us what we need to know."
  "Which is?" asked Kressel, taking the strange-lookIng paper from Matlock.
  "First I'd like to explain how we got it Without that explanation, the
  information is meaningless."
  "Go ahead." Kressel handed the filthy silver paper back to the government
  agent, who carried it to the desk and carefully returned it to his
  briefcase.
  "A narcotics courier-that is, a man who goes into a specific source
  territory carrying instructions, money, messages-left the country six weeks
  ago. He was more than a courier, actually; he was quite powerful in the
  dwtribution hierarchy; you might say he was
 26 Robert Ludlum
 on a busman~s holiday, Mediterranean style. Or perhaps he was checking
 investments.... At any rate, he was killed by some mountain people in the
 Toros Daglari-that's Turkey, a growing district. The story is, he canceled
 operations there and the violence followed. We accept that; the
 Mediterranean fields are closing down right and left, moving into South
 America... The paper was found on his body, in a skin belt As you saw, ifs
 been handed around a bit. It brought a succession of prices from Ankara to
 Marrakesh. An Interpol undercover man finally made the purchase and it was
 tamed over to us."
  'From Toros Dag-whatever-it-is to Washington. That paper's had quite a
  journey," said Matlock.
  "And an expensive one," added Loring. "Only it's not in Washington now,
  it's here. From Toros Daglari to Carlyle, Connecticut."
  "I assume that means something." Sam Kressel sat down, apprehensively
  watching the government man.
  "It means the information in that paper concerns Carlyle." Loring leaned
  back against the desk and spoke calmly, with no sense of urgency at all. He
  could have been an instructor in front of a class explaining a dry but
  necessary mathematics theorem. "The paper says there'll be a conference on
  the tenth of May, three weeks from tomorrow. The numbers are the map
  coordinates of the Carlyle area-precision decimals of longitude and
  latitude in Greenwich units. The paper itself identifies the holder to be
  one of those summoned. Each paper has either a matching half or is cut from
  a pattern that can be matched-simple additional security. Whaes missing is
  the precise location.22
  -Wait a mintrte~" Kressers voice was controlled but sharp; he was upseL
  "AreZt you ahead of yourself,
                  TM MATWCK P"ER 27

 Loring? You're giving us inforination---obviously restricted-before you
 state your request. This university administration isn1 interested in being
 an investigative arm of the government. Before you go into facts, yoiYd
 better say what you want."
  "I'm sorry, Mr. Kressel. You said I was on the spot and I am. I'm handling
  it badly."
 "Like bell. You're an expert."
  "Hold it~ Sam." Matlock raised his hand off the arm of the chair. Kressel's
  sudden antagonism seemed uncalled for. "Sealfont said we had the option to
  refuse whatever he wants. If we exercise that optionand we probably
  will-I'd like to think we did so out of judgment not blind reaction."
  "Don1 be naYve, Jim. You receive restricted or classified information and
  instantly, post facto, you're involved. You can~t deny receiving it; you
  can't say it didn't happen."
 Matlock looked up at Loring. "Is that true?"
 "To a degree, yes. I won't lie about it."
 "Then why should we listen to you?'
  "Because Carlyle University is involved; has been for years. And the
  situation is critical. So critical that there are only three weeks left to
  act on the information we have."
  Kxessel got out of his chair, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
  "Create the crisis-without proofand force the involvement. The crisis fades
  but the records show the university was a silent participant in a federal
  investigation. That was the pattern at the University of Wisconsin."
  Kressel turned to Matlock. "Do you remember that one, Jim? Six days of
  riots on campus. Half a semester lost on teach-ins."
  'That was Pentagon oriented," said Loring. "The circumstances were entirely
  different."
 28 Robert Ludlum

  'You think the justice Department makes it more palatable? Read a few
  campus newspapers."
  "For Chrisfs sake, Sam, let the man talk. If you doi* want to listen, go
  home. I want to hear what he has to say."
  Kressel looked down at Matlock. "All right. I think I understand. Go ahead,
  Loring. just remember, no obligations. And we're not bound to respect any
  conditions of confidenm"
 "I'll gamble on your common sense.'
  'That may be a mistake." Kressel walked to the bar and replenished his
  drink.
  Loring sat on the edge of the desk. "III start by askthg both of you if
  yoeve ever heard of the word nimrod.*
  "Nimrod is a Hebrew name," Matlock answered. "Old Testament. A descendant
  of Noah, ruler of Babylon and Nineveh. Legendary prowess as a hunter, which
  obscures the more important fact that he founded, or built, the great
  cities in Assyria and Mesopotamia."
  Loring smiled. "Very good again, professor. A hunter and a builder. rm
  speaking in more contemporary terms, however.'
 'Ilen, no, I haven't. Have you, Sam?'
  Kressel walked back to his chair, carrying his glass. 'I didn1 even know
  what you just said. I thought a nimrod was a casting fly. Very good for
  trout."
  'Then III fill in some background.... I don't mean to bore you with
  narcotics statistics; rm sure yoere bombarded with them constantly~-
 "Constantly," said Kressel.
  "But there's an isolated geographical statistic you may not be aware of.
  The concentration of drug traffic in the New England states is growing at
  a rate ex-
                   THE MATLOCK PAPER 29

 ceeding that of any other section of the country. It!s a startling pattern.
 Since 1968, there's been a systematic erosion of enforcement procedures....
 Let me put it into perspective, geographically. In California, Ilhnois,
 Louisiana, narcotics controls have improved to the point of at least
 curtailing the growth curves. It!s really the best we can hope for until the
 international agreements have teeth. But not in the New England area.
 Throughout this section, the expansion has gone wild. Ies hit the colleges
 hard."
 "How do you know that?' asked Matlock.
  "Dozens of ways and always too late to prevent distribution. Informers,
  marked inventories from Mediterranean, Asian, and Latin American sources,
  traceable Swiss deposits; that is restricted data." Loring looked at
  Kressel and smiled.
  "Now I know you people are crazy." Kxessel spoke disagreeably. "It seems to
  me that if you can substantiate those charges, you should do so publicly.
  And loud."
 'We have our reasons."
  "Also restricted, I assume," said Kressel with faint disgust.
  "There's a side issue," continued the goverm-nent man, disregarding him.
  "The eastern prestige earnpuses-large and small, Princeton, Amherst,
  Harvard, Vassar, Williams, Carlyle-a good percentage of their enrollments
  include VIP kids. Sons and daughters of very important people, especially
  in government and industry. There's a blackmail potential, and we think
  it's been used. Such people are painfully sensitive to drug scandals."
  Kressel interrupted. "Granting what you say is true, and I don1, we've had
  less trouble here than most other colleges in the northeast area."
 3o Robert Ludlum
 "We're aware of that. We even think we know why.'
  'That's esoteric, Mr. Loring. Say what you want to say." Matlock didn't
  like the games some people played-
  'Any distribution network which is capable of systernatically servicing,
  expanding, and controlling an entire section of the country has got to have
  a base of operations. A clearing house-you might say, a command post.
  Believe me when I tell you that this base of operations, the command post
  for the narcotics traffie throughout the New England states, is Carlyle
  University."
  Samuel Kressel, dean of the colleges, dropped his glass on Adrian Sealfones
  parquet floor.

  Ralph Loring continued his incredible story. Matlock and Kressel remained
  in their cbairs. Several times during his calm, methodical explanation,
  KXessel began to interrupt, to object, but Loring's persuasive narrative
  out him short. There was nothing to argue.
  The investigation of Carlyle University had begun eighteen months ago. It
  had been triggered by an accounts ledger uncovered by the French Suret6
  during one of its frequent narcotics investigations in the port of
  Marseilles. Once the ledgees American origins were established, it was sent
  to Washington under Interpol agreement Throughout the ledger*s entries were
  references to "C-22*-591" consistently followed by the name Nftnrod. The
  numbered degree marks were found to be map coordinates of northern
  Connecticut, but not decimally definitive. After tracing hundreds of
  possible trucking routes from Atlantic seaboard piers and airports relative
  to the Marseilles operation, the vicinity of Carlyle was placed under
  maximum surveillance.
                 THE MAnOX PAPER 31

  As part of the surveillance, telephone taps were ordered on persons known
  to be involved with narcotics distribution from such points as New York,
  Hartford, Boston, and New Haven. Tapes were made of conversations of
  underworld figures. All calls regarding narcotics to and from the Carlyle
  area were placed to and from public telephone booths. It made the inter-
  cepts difficult, but not impossible. Again, restricted methods.
  As the information files grew, a startling fact became apparent. The
  Carlyle group was independent It had no formal ties with structured
  organized crime; it was beholden to no one. It used known crin-Anal
  elements, was not used by them. It was a tightly knit unit, reaching into
  the majority of New England universities. And it did not-apparently-stop at
  drugs.
  There was evidence of the Carlyle unies infiltration into gambling,
  prostitution, even postgraduate employment placement. Too, there seemed to
  be a purpose, an objective beyond the inherent profits of the illegal
  activities. The Carlyle unit could have made far greater profit with less
  complications by dealing outright with known criminals, acknowledged sup-
  pliers in all areas. Instead, it spent its own money to set up its
  organization. It was its own master, controlling its own sources, its own
  distribution. But what its ultimate objectives were was unclear.
  It had become so powerful that it threatened the leadership of organized
  crime in the Northeast. For this reason, leading figures of the underworld
  had demanded a conference with those in charge of the Carlyle operation.
  The key here was a group, or an individual, referred to as Nimrod.
  The purpose of the conference, as far as could be determined, was for an
  accommodation to be reached
 32 Robert Ludlum

 between Nimrod and the overlords of crime who felt threatened by Nimrod's
 extraordinary growth. The conference would be attended by dozens of known
 and unknown criminals throughout the New England states.
  "Mr. Kressel." Loring turned to CarlyWs dean and seemed to hesitate. "I
  suppose you have lisu-students, faculty, staff-people you know or have
  reason to suspect are into the drug scene. I caet assume it because I don't
  know, but most colleges do have."
 "I woet answer that question."
  'Which, of course, gives me my answer," said Loring quietly, even
  sympathetically.
  "Not for a minutel You people have a habit of assuming exactly what you
  want to assume."
  "All right, I stand rebuked. But even if you'd said yes, it wasn't my
  purpose to ask for them. It was merely by way of telling you that we do
  have such a list. I wanted you to know that."
  Sam Kressel realized bed been trapped; Loring's ingenuousness only annoyed
  him further. Tm sure you do."
  "Needless to say, we'd have no objection to giving you a copy."
 "That won7t be necessary."
  "Yoere pretty obstinate, Sam," said Matlock. "You burying your head?"
  Before Kressel could reply, Loring spoke. 'The dean knows he can change his
  mind. And we've -agreed, theres no crisis here. You~d be surprised how many
  people wait for the roof to cave in before asking for help. Or accepting
  it."
  "But there aren't many surprises in your organization~s proclivity for
  turning difficult situations into
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER 33

 disasters, are thereP' countered Sam Kressel antagonistically.
 "Wve made mistakes."
  'Since you have names," continued Sam, "why don7t you go after them? Leave
  us out of it; do your own dirty work. Make arrests, press charges. Don~t
  try to deputize us."
  "We doet want to do that Besides, most of our evidence is inadmissible."
 "Ilat occurred to me," interjected Kressel.
  'And what do we gain? What do you gain?" Loring leaned forward, returning
  Sam's stare. 'We pick up a couple of hundred potheads, a few dozen
  speedfreaks; users and low-level pushers. Don't you understand, that
  doesn't solve anything."
  "Mich brings us to what you really want, doesn't it?' Matlock sank back
  into the chair; he watched the persuasive agent closely.
  'Yes," answered Loring softly. -We want Nimrod. We want to know the
  location of that conference on May 3Lo. It could be anywhere within a
  radius of fifty to a hundred miles. We want to be prepared for it. We want
  to break the back of the Nimrod operation, for reasons that go way beyond
  Carlyle University. As well as narcotics."
 "How?" asked James Matlock.
  "Dr. Sealfont said it. Infiltration.... Professor Matlocl; you are whats
  known in intelligence circles as a highly mobile person within your
  environment. You're widely accepted by diverse, even conflicting factions
  -within both the faculty and the student body. We have the names, you have
  the mobility." Loring reached into his briefcase and withdrew the scissored
  page of filthy stationery. "Somewhere out there is the
 34 Robert Ludluin

 information we need. Somewhere theWs someone who has a paper like this;
 someone who knows what we have to know."
  James Barbour Matlock remained motionless in his chair, staring at the
  govermnent mwL Neither Loring nor Kressel could be sure what he was
  thinking but both had an idea. If thoughts were audible, there would have
  been full agreement in that room at that moment James Matlock's mind had
  wandered back three, almost four years ago. He was remembering a
  blond-baired boy of nineteen. Immature for his ag% perhaps, but good, kind.
  A boy with problems.
  They'd found him as they'd found thousands like him in thousands of cities
  and towns across the country. Other times, other Nimrods.
  James Matlocles brother, David, had inserted a needle in his right arm and
  had shot up thirty mg. of white fluid. He had performed the act in a
  catboat in the calm waters of a Cape Cod inlet The small sailboat had
  drifted into the reeds near shore. When they found it, James Matlock's
  brother was dead.
 Matlock made his decision.
 "Can you get me the namesr
 "I have them with me."
  "Just hold it." Kressel stood up, and when he spoke, it wasn't in the tone
  of an angry man-it was with fear. "Do you realize what you~re asking him to
  do? He has no experience in this kind of work. He's not trained. Use one of
  your own men."
  "There isn7t time. There's no time for one of our men. H&II be protected;
  you can help."
 "I can stop youl"
 "No, you can't, Sam," said Matlock from the chair.
 "Jim, for Christ:s sake, do you know what he's ask-                 THE MATLOCK PAPM 35
 ing? If therd's any truth to what he!s said, he's placing you in the worst
 position a man can be in. An informer.'
  "You don't have to stay. My decision doesn't have to be your decision. Why
  doet you go home?" Matlock rose and walked slowly to the bar, carrying his
  glass.
  nafs impossible now," said Kressel, turning toward the government agent.
  "And he knows it~"
  Loring felt a touch of sadness. This Matlock was a good man; be was doing
  what he was doing because he felt be owed a debt. And it was coldly,
  professionally projected that by accepting the assignment, James Matlock
  was very possibly going to his death. It was a terrible price, that
  possibility. But the objective was worth it. The conference was worth it.
 Nimrod was worth it.
 That was Loring's conclusion.
 It made his assignment bearable.
  4

 Nothing could be written down; the briefing was slow, repetition constant
 But Loring was a professional and knew the value of taking breaks from the
 pressures of trying to absorb too much Wo rapidly. During these periods, he
 attempted to draw Matlock out, learn more about this man whose life was so
 easily expendable. It was nearly midnight; Sam Kressel had left before eight
 o'clock. It was neither necessary nor advisable that the dean be present
 during the detailing of the specifics. He was a liaison, not an activist.
 Kressel was not averse to the decision.
  Ralph Loring learned quickly that Matlock was a private man. His answers to
  innocuously phrased questions were brief, thrown-away replies constituting
  no more than self-denigrating explanations. After a while, Loring gave up.
  Matlock had agreed to do a job, not make public his thoughts or his
  motives. It wasn't necessary; Loring understood the latter. That was all
  that mattered. He was just as happy not to know the man too well.
  Matlock, in turn-while memorizing the complicated information-was, on
  another level, reflecting on his own life, wondering in his own way why
  he'd been selected. He was intrigued by an evaluation that
                  THE MATLOCK PAPM 37
 could describe him as being nwbile, what an awful word to have appliedl
  Yet he knew he was precisely what the term signified. He was mobile. The
  professional researchers, or psychologists, or whatever they were, were
  accurate. But he doubted they understood the reasons behind his . . .
  mobility.a
  The academic world had been a refuge, a sanctuary. Not an objective of
  long-standing ambition. He had fled into it in order to buy time, to
  organize a life that was falling apart, to understand. To get his head
  straight, as the kids said these days.
  He had tried to explain it to his wife, his lovely, quick, bright,
  ultimately hollow wife, who thought he!d lost his senses. What was there to
  understand but an awfully good job, an awfully nice house, an awfully
  pleasant club, and a good life within an awfully rewarding social and
  financial world? For her, there was nothing more to understand. And he
  understood that
 I But for him that world had lost its meaning. He had begun to drift away
 from its core in his early twenties, during his last year at Amherst. The
 separation became complete with his army experience.
  It was no one single thing that had triggered his rejection. And the
  rejection itself was not a violent act, although violence played its role
  in the early days of the Saigon mess. It had begun at home, where most
  .life-styles are accepted or rejected, during a series of disagreeable
  confrontations with his father. The old gentleman-too old, too
  gentlemanly-felt justified in demanding a better performance from his first
  son. A direction, a sense of purpose not at all in evidence. The senior
  Matlock belonged to another era-if not
 38 Robert Ludlum

 another century-and believed the gap between father and son a desirable
 thing, the lower element being dismissible until it had proved itself in the
 marketplace. Dismissible but, of course, malleable. In ways, the father was
 like a benign ruler who, after generations of power, was loath to have the
 throne abandoned by his rightful issue. It was inconceivable to the elder
 Matlock that his son would not assume the leadership of the family business.
 Businesses.
  But for the younger Matlock, it was all too conceivable. And preferable. He
  was not only uncomfortable thinking about a future in his father's nw-rket-
  place, he was also afraid. For him there was no joy in the regimented
  pressures of the financial world; instead, there was an awesome fear of
  inadequacy, emphasized by his father's strong--overpoweringcompetence. The
  closer he came to entering that world, the more pronounced was his fear.
  And it occurred to him that along with the delights of extravagant shelter
  and unnecessary creature comforts had to come the justification for doing
  what was expected in order to possess these things. He could not find that
  justification. Better the shelter should be less extravagant, the creature
  comforts somewhat limited, than face the prospects of continuing fear and
  discomfort
  He had tried to explain that to his father. Whereas his wife had claimed
  hed lost his senses, the old gentleman pronounced him a misfit
  Which didn7t exactly refute the army's judgment of him.
 The army.
  A disaster. Made worse by the knowledge that it was of his own making. He
  found that blind physical discipline and unquestioned authority were
  abhorrent
                  THE MATLOCK PAPM 39

 to him And he was large enough and strong enough and had a sufficient
 vocabulary to make his unadJustable, immature objections known-to his own
 disadvantage.
  Discreet manipulations by an uncle resulted in a discharge before his tour
  of service was officially completed; for that he was grateful to an
  influential family.
  And at this juncture of his life, Jaynes Barbour Matlock III was a mess.
  Separated from the service less than gloriously, divorced by his wife,
  dispossessedsymbolically if not actually~by his family, he felt the panic
  of belonging nowhere, of being without motive or purpose.
  So hed fled into the secure confines of graduate school, hoping to find an
  answer. And as in a love affair begun on a sexual basis but growing into
  psychological dependence, he had married that world; he'd found what had
  eluded him for nearly five vital years. It was the first real commitment
  he'd ever experienced.
 He was free.
  Free to enjoy the excitement of a meaningffil challenge-, free to revel in
  the confidence that he was equal to it He plunged into his new world with
  the enthusiasm of a convert but without the blindness. He chose a period of
  history and literature that teemed with energy and conflict and
  contradictory evaluations. The apprentice years passed swiftly; he was
  consumed and pleasantly surprised by his own talents. When he emerged on
  the professional plateau, he brought fresh air into the musty archives. He
  made startling innovations in long-unquestioned methods of research. His
  doctoral thesis on court interference with English Renaissance
  hterature--news manage-
   4o Robert Ludluin
 ment-blew into the historical ashcan several holy theories about one
 benefactress named Elizabeth.
  He was the new breed of scholar: restless, skeptical, unsatisfied, always
  searching while imparting what he'd learned to others. Two and a half years
  after receiving his doctorate, he was elevated to the tenured position of
  associate professor, the youngest instructor at Carlyle to be so
  contracted.
  James Barbour Matlock U made up for the lost years, the awful years.
  Perhaps best of all was. the knowledge that he could communicate his
  excitement to others. He was young enough to enjoy sharing his enthusiasm,
  old enough to direct the inquiries.
  Yes, he was mobile; God, was hel He couldiA, wouldfet turn anyone off, shut
  anyone out because of disagreement--even dislike. The depth of his own
  gratitude, the profoundness of his relief was such that he unconsciously
  promised himself never to discount the concerns of another human being.
  'Any surprises?" Loring had completed a section of the material that dealt
  with narcotics purchases as they'd been traced.
  "More a clarification, rd say," replied Matlock. Me old-line fraternities
  or clubs-mostly white, mostly rich-get their stuff from Hartford. The black
  units like Lumumba Hall go to New Haven. Different sources."
  'Exactly; that's student orientation. The point being that none buy from
  the Carlyle suppliers. From Nimroc1L"
  "You explained that. The Nimrod people don't want to be advertised."
 "But they're here. They're used."
  By whom?-                  TBE mATLOcK PAM 41

  'Faculty and staff," answered Loring calmly, flipping over a page. This nwy
  be a surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Archer Beeson . . ."
  Matlock immediately pictured the young history instructor and his wife.
  They were Ivy League conformity itself-falsely arrogant, aesthetically
  precious. Archer Beeson was a young man in an academic hurry; his wife, the
  perfect faculty ingenue, carelessly sexy, always in awe.
  "They"re with LSD and the methedrines. Acid and speed."
  "Good Lordl They fooled the hell out of me. How do you know?"
  "Ies too complicated to go into, also restricted. To oversimplify: they,
  he, used to purchase heavily from a distributor in Bridgeport. The contact
  was terminated and he didn1 show up on any other lists. But he!s not off.
  We think he made the Carlyle conneotion. No proof, though ... Here's
  another."
  It was the coach of varsity soccer, a lock who worked in physical
  education. His items were marijuana and amphetamines; his previous source,
  Hartford. He was considered a pusher on campus, not a user. Although the
  Hartford source was no longer employed, the man's varied and dumn-ded bank
  accounts continued to grow. Assumption: Nimrod.
  And another. This one frightening to Matlock. The assistant dean of
  admissions. An alumnus of Carlyle who returned to the campus after a brief
  career as a salesman. He was a flamboyant, open-handed man; a proselytizer
  for the cause of Carlyle. A popular enthusiast in these days of cynicism.
  He, too, was considered a distributor, not a user. He covered himself well
  through second- and third-level pushers.
 42 Robert Ludlum
  "We think he came back here through the Nimrod organization. Good
  positioning on Nimrod's part."
  "Goddamn scarey. That son of a bitch makes parents think he's a combination
  of astronaut and chaplain."
  "Good positioning, as I said. Remember? I told you and Kressel: the Nimrod
  people have interests that go beyond drugs."
 "But you don't know what they are."
  'We'd better find out-         Here~s the breakdown of
 the kids."
  The names of the students seemed endless to Matlock. There were 563 out of
  a total enrollment of i2oo plus. The government man admitted that many were
  included not because of confirmation of individual use, but due to their
  campus affiliations. Clubs and fraternities were known to Pool resources
  for the purchase of narcotics.
  "We haven7t the time to ascertain the validity of every name. Were looking
  for relationships; any, no matter how remote. You've got to have all kinds
  of avenues; we caet restrict them.... And there~s one aspect to this list;
  I don7t know whether you see it or not."
  "I certainly do. At least, I think I do. Twenty or thirty names here ring
  loud bells in several high Places. Some very influential parents. Industry,
  government. Here." Matlock pointed. "The presidenes cabinet, if I'm not
  mistaken. And I'm not.*
 "You see." Loring smiled.
 "Has any of this had any effect?"
  "We doet know. Could have, could be. The Nimrod tentacles are spreading out
  fast. That's why the alarms are sounding; louder than your bells. Speaking
                  TBE MATLOCK PAPER 43
 unofficially, there could be repercussions no one's dreamed of. . . .
 Defense overruns, union contracts, forced installations. You name it. It
 could be related.*
 'Jesus Christ," said Matlock softly.
 "Exactly."
  The two men heard the front door of SeaIfont7s mansion open and shut. As if
  by reflex, Loring calmly took the papers from Matlock's band and quickly
  replaced them in his briefcase. He closed the case and then did an
  unexpected thing. He silently, almost unobtrusively, whipped back his
  jacket and curled his fingers around the handle of a revolver in a small
  holster strapped to his chest. The action startled Matlock. He stared at
  the hidden hand.
  The library door opened and Adrian Sealfont walked in. Loring casually
  removed his hand from inside his coat Sealfont spoke kindly.
  "I do try. I honestly do. I understand the words and the pictures and take
  no offense whatsoever at the braided hair. What confuses me is the
  hostility. Anyone past thirty is the natural enemy of these fellows."
 "That was Strauss, wasn't it?" asked Matlock.
  'Yes. Someone inquired about the New Wave influence. He replied that the
  New Wave was ancient history. Prehistoric, was his word.... I won't inter-
  rupt you gentlemen. I would, however, like to know Kressers status, Mr.
  Loring. Obviously, James has accepted.-
 "So has Mr. Kressel, sir. He'll act as liaison between
 US,
  q see." Sealfont looked at Matlock. There was a sense of relief in his
  eyes. "James, I can tell you now. I'm extremely grateful you've decided to
  help."
 "I don1 think theres an alternative."
 44 Robert Ludlum
  'There iset. What!s frightening is the possibility of such total
  involvement. Mr. Loring, I'll want to be advised the n-dnute you have
  anything concrete. At that point I shall do whatever you wish, follow any
  mstructions. All I ask is that you supply me with proof and youll have my
  complete, my official cooperation."
  "I understand, sir. Yoeve been very helpful. More than we had a right to
  expect. We appreciate it."
  'As James said, there is no alternative. But I must impose limits; my first
  obligation is to this institution. The campuses these days might appear
  dormant; I think thafs a surface evaluation.... You have work to do and I
  have some reading to finish. Good night, Mr. Loring. James."
  Matlock and the government man nodded their goodnights as Adrian Sealfont
  closed the library door.

  By one o!clock, Matlock could absorb no more. The main elements-names,
  sources, conjectures-were locked in; he would never forget them. Not that
  he could recite everything by rote; that wasn't expected. But the sight of
  any particular individual on the lists would trigger a memory response. He
  knew Loring was right about that. It was why the agent insisted that he say
  the names out loud, repeating them several times each. It would be enough.
  What he needed now was a nights sleep, if sleep would come. Let everything
  fall into some kind of perspective. Then in the morning he could begin to
  make initial decisions, determine which individuals should be approached,
  selecting those least likely to come in contact with one another. And this
  meant familiarizing himself with immediate friends, faculty or student body
  status-dozens of isolated fragments
                  THE MATLOCK PAPER 45
 of information beyond the data supplied by Loring. Kressers files-the ones
 he disclaimed having-would help.
  Once in conversations he'd have to make his way carefully-thrusting,
  parrying, watching for signs, looks, betrayals.
 Somewhere, with someone, it would happen.
  "I'd like to go back to something," said Loring. "Background material.-
  "We've covered an awful lot. Maybe I should digest what I've got"
  ~I7his won't take a minute. It's important." The agent reached into his
  briefcase and withdrew the filthy, scissored paper. "Here, this is yours."
  'rhanks for I-don't-know-what" Matlock took the once-shining silver paper
  and looked at the strange script
  "I told you it was written in Oltremontan-Corsican and, except for two
  words, that's correct At the bottom, on a single line, you'll see the
  phrase Venerare Omerta. That's not Corsican, Ws Sicilian. Or a Sicilian
  contraction, to be precise."
 "I've seen it before."
  "I'm sure you have. Ies been given wide distribution in newspapers, movies,
  fiction. But that doesdt lessen its impact on those concerned by it It's
  very real."
 "What does it mean?"
  "Roughly translated: Respect the law of Omerta. Omerta is an oath of
  allegiance and silence. To betray either is asking to be killed."
 "Mafia?"
  "Ies involved. You might say it's the party of the second part. Bear in
  mind that this little announce-
   46 Robert Ludlum

 ment was issued jointly by two factions trying to reach an accommodation.
 'Omerta' goes across the board; it's understood by both."
  I'll bear it in mind, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."
 "Just know about ie
 OO.K."

  'One last item. Everything weve covered here tonight is related to
  narcotics. But if our information is correct, the Nimrod people are
  involved in other fields. Sharldng, prostitution, gambling ... perhaps, and
  it's only perhaps, municipal controls, state legislatures, even the federal
  government... Experience tens us that narcotics is the weakest action, the
  highest rate of collapse among these activities, and that!s why w6've
  centered on it. In other words, concentrate on the drug situation but be
  aware that other avenues

 'Ies no secret~"
 'Maybe not to you. Let's call it a night~"
  "Shouldet you give me a number where I can reach you?"
  "Negative. Use Kressel. Well check with him several times a day. Once you
  start asking questions, you may be put under a microscope. Doet call
  Washington. And-doWt lose our Corsican invitation. Ifs your ultimate clout.
  just find another one."
  I'll try.-
  Matlock watched as Loring closed his briefcase, looped the thin black chain
  around his wrist, and snapped the built-in lock.
  "Looks very cloak-and-daggerish, doeset it?" LorInglaughed.
 "I'm impressed."
 "Doet be. The custom began with diplomatic cou-                 THE MATLOCK PAPM 47

 riers who'd take their pouches to hell with them, but today ies simply a
 protection against purse-snatching. ... So help me, thaes what they think of
 us."
  "I don1 believe a word you say. Thaes one of those cases that make smoke
  screens, send out radio signals, and trigger bombs."
  'You~re right It does all those things and more. les got secret
  compartments for sandwiches, laundry, and God knows what else." Loring
  swung the briefcase off the desk. "I think Wd be a good idea if we left
  separately. Preferably one from the front, one from the rear. Ten minutes
  apart.
 "You think that's necessary?"
  'Frankly, no, but thafs the way my superiors want it"
  "O.K. I know the house. I'll leave ten minutes after you do, from the
  kitchen."
  "Fine." Loring extended his right hand by steady~-ing the bottom of his
  case with his left. "I don't have to tell you how much we appreciate what
  you~re doing.0
 "I think you know why Im doing it.-
 "Yes, we do. Frankly, we counted on it."
  Loring let himself out of the library and Matlock waited until he heard the
  outer door open and close. He looked at his watch. He'd have one more drink
  before he left.

  By one twenty Matlock was several blocks away from the house. He walked
  slowly west toward his apartment, debating whether to detour around the
  campus. It often helped him to walk out a problem; he knew sleep would come
  fitfully. He passed a number of students and several faculty members,
  exchanging low-keyed, end of the weekend greetings with
 48 Robert Ludlum

 those he recognized. Wd about made up his mind to tum north on High Street~
 away from the direction of his apartment, when he heard the footsteps behind
 him. Fwt the footsteps, then the harshly whispered voice.
  "MatlockI DonI turn around. It's Loring. just keep walking and listen to me
 "What is it?"
 OSomeone knows rm here. My car was searched...
 'Ch&fl How do you Imow?"
  OField threads, preset markings. All over the car. F~ont, back, trunIL A
  very thorough, very professional job.-
 "'You're sure?'
  'So goddamn sure rm not going to start that enginel"
 "Jesust" Matlock nearly stoppect
  '%eep walkingl If anyone was watching me-and YOU can be damned sure someone
  was-I made it clear rd lost my ignition key. Asked several people who
  passed by where a pay phone was and waited till I saw you far enough aw*"
  what do you want me to do? Theres a phone booth on the next comer .... *
  &I know I doet think youll have to do anything, and for both our sakes, I
  hope rm right rm going to josde you as I pass-pretty hard. Lose your
  balance, III shout my apologies. Pretend you twisted an ankle, a wdst,
  anything you like; but buy tinw/ Keep me in sight until a car comes for me
  and I nod that it's o.k. Do you have all that? rU get to the booth in a
  hurry.0
 "Suppose you!re still phoning when I get there?"
  Meep walking but keep checking The caes cruising.7
  Whaes the point?-                 TBE MATLOCK PAMM 49
  'This briefcase. Thaes the point. Ther6s only one thing Nimrod-if it is
  Nimrod-would like more than this briefcase. And thafs the paper in your
  coat pockeL So be carefull"
  Without warning, he rushed up beside Matlock and pushed him off the
  sidewalk
 'Sorry, fellal rin in an awful hurryl"
  Matlock looked up from the grourd, reflecting that hed had no reason to
  pretend to fall. The force of Loring's push eliminated that necessity. He
  swore and rose awkwardly. Once on his feet, he limped slowly toward the
  phone booth several hundred yards away. He wasted nearly a minute lighting
  a cigarette. LorIng was inside the booth now, sitting on. the plastic seat,
  hunched over the phone
  Any second, Matlock expected Loring's car to drive up the sbreet.
 Yet none came.
  Instead, there was the tiniest break in the spring noises. A rush of air
  through the new leaves. Or was it the crush of a stone beneath a foot, or
  a small twig unable to take the weight of the new growth in the trees? Or
  was it Matlocles imagination? He coulddt be sure.
  He approached the booth and remembered Loring's orders. Walk by and pay no
  attention. Loring was still huddled over the phone, his briefcase resting
  on the floor, its chain visible. But Matlock could hear no conversation,
  could see no movement from the man within. Instead, again, there was a
  sound: now, the sound of a dial tone.
  Despite his instructions, Matlock approached the booth and opened the door.
  There was nothing else he could do. The government man had not even begun
  his call.
 5o Robert Ludlum

 And in an instant, he understood why.
  Loring had fallen into the gleammg gray metal of the telephone. He was
  dead. His eyes wide, blood trickling out of his forehead. A small circular
  hole no larger than a shirt button, surrounded by a spray of cracked glass,
  was wnple evidence of what had hap. pened.
  Matlock stared at the man who had briefed him for hours and left him
  minutes ago. The dead man who had flmnked him, joked with him, then finally
  warned him. He was petrified, unsure of what he should do, could do.
  He backed away from the booth toward the steps of the nearest house. Instin
  told him to stay away but not to rtm away. Someone was out there in the
  street. Someone with a rifle.
  When the words came, he realized they were his, but he didn't know when hed
  decided to shout them. They just emerged involuntarily.
  "Help ... HeIpI There's a man out herel He!s been Shod"
  Matlock raced up the steps of the comer house and began pounding on the
  door with all his strength. Several fights went on in several different
  homes. Matlock continued shouting.
  "For Go&s sake, someone call the policel There's a dead nwn out herel"
  Suddenly, from the shadows underneath the full trees in the middle of the
  block, Matlock heard the roar of an automobile engine, then the sound of
  swerving tires as the vehicle pulled out into the n-dddle of the street and
  started forward. He rushed to the edge of the porch. The long black
  automobile plunged out of the darkness and sped to the comer. Matlock
                 TM MATWCK P"ER 51
 tried to see the license plates and, realizing that was impossible, took a
 step down to identify the make of the car. Suddenly he was blinded. The beam
 of a searchlight pierced the dimly lit spring night and focused itself on
 him. He pulled his hands up to shield his eyes and then heard the quiet
 slap, the instant rush of air he had heard minutes ago.
 A rifle was being fired at him. A rifle with a silencer.
  He dove off the porch into the shrubbery. The black car sped away.
  5

 He waited alone. The room was small, the window glass meshed with wire. The
 Carlyle Police Station was filled with officers and plainclothesmen called
 back on duty; no one could be sure what the killing signified. And none
 discounted the possibility that others might follow.
  Alert. It'was the particular syndrome of midcentury America, thought
  Matlock.
 The gun.
  He'd had the presence of mind after reaching the police to call Sam
  Kressel. Kressel, in shock, told him he would somehow contact the
  appropriate men in Washington and then drive down to the station house.
  Until further instructions, they both agreed Matlock would restrict himself
  to a simple statement on finding the body and seeing the automobile. He had
  been out for a late night walk that was aIL
 Nothing more.
  His statement was typed out; questions as to time, his reasons for being in
  the vicinity, descriptions of the "alleged perpetratoes vehicle,"
  direction, estimated speed-all were asked routinely and accepted without
  comment.
  Matlock was bothered by his unequivocal negative to one question.
                  THE MATLOM PAPER 53
 "Did you ever see the deceased before?'
 "No.
  That hurt. Loring deserved more than a considered, deliberate lie. Matlock
  recalled that the agent said he had a seven-year-old daughter. A wife and
  a child; the husband and father killed and be could not admit be knew his
  name.
  He wasn~t sure why it bothered him, but it did. Perhaps, he thought,
  because he knew it was ihe beginning of a great many hes.
  He signed the short deposition and was about to be released when he heard
  a telephone ring inside an office beyond the desk. Not on the desk beyond
  it. Seconds later, a uniformed policeman emerged and said his name in a
  loud voice, as if to make sure he had not left the building.
  Yes, officer?"
  'We'll have to ask you to wait. If you'll follow me~ please."

  Matlock had been in the small room for nearly an hour; it was 2:45 A.m. and
  he had run out of cigarettes. It was no time to run out of cigarettes.
  The door opened and a tall, thin man with large, serious eyes walked in. He
  was carrying Loring's briefcase. "Sorry to detain you, Dr. Matlock. It is
  'Doctor,, iset itr
 " Wisterl is fine."
  "My identification. Name~s Greenberg, Jason Greenberg. Federal Bureau of
  Investigation. I had to confirm your situation.... It's a bell of a note,
  isn1 it?"
 "'A bell of a note? Is that all you can say?"
  Ile agent looked at Matlock quizzically. "It's all I care to share," he
  said quietly. "If Ralph Loring had completed his call, he would have
  reached me."
 54 Robert Ludlum

 "I'm sorry."
  Forget it I'm out-briefed-that is, I know something but not much about the
  Nimrod situation; I'll get filled in before morning. Incidentally, this
  fellow Kressel is on his way over. He knows I'm here."
  -Does this change anything? ... That sounds Stupid, doesn't it? A man is
  killed and I ask you if it changes anything. I apologize again."
  "No need to; yoxfve had a terrible experience.... Any change is up to you.
  We accept the fact that Ralpys death could alter tonights decision. We ask
  only that you keep your own counsel in what was revealed to you."
 "Yoxere offering me a chance to renege?'
 "Of course. You're under no obligation to us.0
  Matlock walked to * the small, rectangular window with the wire-enclosed
  glass. The police station was at the south end of the town of Carlyle,
  about a half a mile from the campus, the section of town considered
  industrialized. Still, there were trees along the streets. Carlyle was a
  very clean town, a neat town. The trees by the station house were pruned
  and shaped.
 And Carlyle was also something else.
  "Let me ask you a question," he said. "Does the fact that I found Loring's
  body associate me with him? I mean, would I be considered a part of
  whatever he was doing?"
  we don~t think so. The way you behaved tends to remove you from any
  association."
  -What do you mean?" Matlock turned to face the agent.
  "Frankly, you panicked. You didn't run, you didn't take yourself out of the
  area; you flipped out and started shouting your head off. Someone who's
  progirammed for an assignment wouldn't react like that."
                 THE MATLOCX PAPER 55
 "I wasn't programmed for this."
  "Same results. You just found him and lost your head. If this Nimrod even
  wspects we're involved..."
 "Suspectsl" interrupted Matlock. "They killed himl"
  'Sonwone killed him. 16 unlikely that it's any part of Nimrod. Other
  factions, maybe. No covees absolutely foolproof, even Loring's. But his was
  the closest"
 "I doet understand you.~'
  Greenberg leaned against the wall and folded his arms, his large, sad eyes
  reflective. "RalpYs field cover was the best at justice. For damn near
  fifteen years." The agent looked down at the floor. His voice was deep,
  with faint bitterness. "The kind of goddamn cover that works best when it
  doesn't matter to a man anymore. When its finally used, it throws everyone
  off balance. And insults his fm-dly.-
  Greenberg looked up and tried to smile, but no smile would come.
 "I still don~t understand you.'
  "It's not necessary. The main point is that you simply stumbled on the
  scene, went into panic, and had the scare of your life. You're dismissible,
  Mr. Matlock.
 I So?"
  Before Matlock could respond, the door swung open and Sam Kressel entered,
  his expression nervous and frightened.
  ~Oh, Christl This is terriblef Simply terrible. Yolere Greenberg?'
 "And you're Mr. Kressel."
  "Yes. What!s going to happen?" Kressel turned to Matlock, speaking in the
  same breath. "Are you all right, Jim?-
 "Sure."
 "Well, Greenberg, whaes happeningl? They told
 56 Robert Ludlum

 me in Washington that you!d let us know."
 "I've been talking to Mr. Matlock and ... 7
  'Listen to me," interrupted Kressel suddenly. *1 called Sealfont and were
  of the same opinion. What happened was terrible ... tragic. We express our
  sympathies to the man's family, but were most anxious that any use of the
  Carlyle name be cleared with us. We assume this puts everything in a
  different light and, therefore, we insist we be kept out of it I think
  thaes understandable."
  Greenberes face betrayed his distaste. "You race in here, ask me whaes
  happening, and before you give me a chance to answer, you tell me what must
  happen. Now, how do you want it? Do I can Washington and let them have your
  version or do you want to listen first? Doeset make a particle of
  difference, to me.
  'Theres no reason for antagonism. We never asked to be involved."
  "Nobody does." Greenberg smiled. "Just please let me finish. rve offered
  Matlock his out He hasn't given me his answer, so I can't give you mine,
  However, if he says what I think hes going to say, Lorines cover will be
  activated immediately. Iell be activated anyway, but if the professor's in,
  we'll blow it up a bit."
  "What the hell are you talking about?' Kressel stared at the agent
  "For years Ralph was a partner in just about the most disreputable law firm
  in Washington. Its clients read like a cross section of a Mafia index....
  Early this morning, there was the first of two vehicle transfers. It took
  place in a Hartford suburb, Elmwood. Loring's car with the D.C. plates was
  left near the home of a well-advertised capo. A rented automobile
                 TBE MATLOCK PAPER 57

 was waiting for him a couple of blocks away. He used that to drive to
 Carlyle and parked it in front of 217 Crescent Street, five blocks from
 Sealfont's place. 217 Crescent is the residence of a Dr. Ralston. . . "
  "I've met him6" interjected Matlock. 'Tve heard he's ... "
   .. an abortioni< completed Greenberg.
  'He's in no way associated with this universityl" said Kressel
  emphatically.
  'Yoeve had worse," countered Greenberg quietly. "And the doctor is still a
  Mafia referral. At any rate, Ralph positioned the car and walked into town
  for the second transfer. I covered him; this briefcase is prime material.
  He was picked up by a Bell Telephone truck which made routine
  stops-including one at a restaurant called the Cheshire Cat-and finally
  delivered him to Sealfont's. No one could have known he was there. If they
  had, they would have intercepted him outside; they were watching the car on
  Crescent."
 'Jrhat!s what he told me," said Matlock.
  "He knew it was possible; the trace to Crescent was intentionally left
  open. When he confirmed it, to his satistaction, he acted fast. I don!t
  know what he did, but he probably used whatever stragglers he could find
  until he spotted yoe
 OThales what he did."
 "He wasn't fast enough."
  "What in Go&s name does this have to do with us? What possible bearing can
  it have?' Kressel was close to shouting.
  "If Mr. Matlock wants to go on, Lorines death will be publicized as an
  underworld killing. Disreputable lawyer, maybe a bag man; undesirable
  clients. The capo and the doctor will be hauled in; they're
 58 Robert Ludlum
 expendable. The smoke screen7s so thick everyone's off balance. Even the
 killers. Matlocks forgotten. ItIl. work; ies worked before."
  Kressel seemed astonished at Greenberg's assured glibness, his confidence,
  his calm professionalism "You talk awfully fast, don~t you?"
 "I'm very bright."
  Matlock coul(&t help but smile. He liked Greenberg; even in-perhaps because
  of-the sadly disagreeable circumstances. The agent used the language well;
  his mind was fast. He was, indeed, bright.
 'And if Jim says he washes his hands of it?"
  Greenberg shrugged. "I don't like to waste words. Lees hear him say it."
 Both the men looked at Matlock
 Tm afraid I'm not going to, Sam. Im still in.'
 'You can~t be serioust That man was killedl'
 'I know. I found him."
  Kressel put his hand on Matlock's arm. It was the gesture of a friend. "I'm
  not an hysterical shepherd watching over a flock. Im concerned. I'm
  Mghtened. I see a man being manipulated into a situation he's not qualified
  to handle."
  'Ibales subjective," broke in Greenberg quietly. 'We!re concerned, too. If
  we didet think be was capable, we never would have approached him."
  "I think you would," said Kressel. "I don't for a minute believe such a
  consideration would stop you. You use the word expendable too easily, Mr.
  Greenberg.
  Tm sorry you think so. Because I don't. We don't. ... I haven't gotten the
  detailed briefing, Kressel, but areet you supposed to act as liaison?
  Because if thaes true, I suggest you remove yourself. Well have someone
  else assigned to the job."
                 TIM MATLOCK PAPM 59
  "And give you a clear fleld? Let you run roughshod over this campus? Not on
  your life."
  "Then we work together. As disagreeable as that may be for both of us . .
  . You're hostile; perhaps that's good. Youll keep me on my toes. You
  protest too much."
  Matlock was startled by Greenberg's statement. It was one thing to form an
  antagonistic coalition, quite another to make veiled accusations; insulting
  to use a fiterary clich6.
  "That remark requires an explanation," said Kressel, his face flushed with
  anger.
  When Greenberg replied, his voice was soft and reasonable, belying the
  words he spoke. "Pound sand, mister. I lost a very good friend tonight.
  Twenty minutes ago I spoke with his wife. I don't give explanations under
  those conditions. That's where my employers and me part company. Now, shut
  up and III write out the hours of contact and give you the emergency
  telephone numbers. If you don1 want them, get the hell out of here."
  Greenberg lifted the briefcase onto a small table and opened it. Sam
  Kressel, stunned, approached the agent silently.
  Matlock stared at the worn leather briefcase, only hours ago chained to the
  wrist of a dead man. He knew the deadly pavanne had begun. The first steps
  of the dance had been taken violently.
 There were decisions to make, people to confront.
  6

 The implausible name below the doorbell on the twofamily faculty house read:
 Mr. and Mrs. Archer Beeson. Matlock had elicited the dinner invitation
 easily. History instructor Beeson had been flattered by his interest in
 coordinating a seminar between two of their courses. Beeson would have been
 flattered if a faculty member of Matlocles attainments had asked him how his
 wife was in bed (and most wondered). And since Matlock was very clearly
 male, Archer Beeson felt that "drinks and din" with his wife wriggling
 around in a short skirt might help cement a relationship with the highly
 regarded professor of English literature.
  Matlock heard the breathless shout from the secondfloor landing. "Just a
  seel"
  It was Beeson~s wife, and her broad accent, overcultivated at Miss Portees
  and Finch, sounded caricatured. Matlock pictured the girl racing around
  checking the plates of cheese and dip-very unusual cheese and dip,
  conversation pieces, really~while her husband put the final touches on the
  visual aspects of his bookcases-perhaps several obscure tomes carelessly,
  carefully, placed on tables, impossible for a visitor to miss.
                  THE mATLocK PAPEM &L

  Matlock wondered if these two were also secreting small tablets of lysergic
  acid or capsules of methedrine.
  The door opened and Beeson's petite wife, dressed in the expected short
  skirt and translucent silk blouse that loosely covered her large breasts,
  smiled ingenuously.
  "Hil I'm Ginny Beeson. We met at several, mad cocktail parties. I'm so glad
  you could come. Archies justfinishing a paper. Come on up." She preceded
  Matlock up the stairs, hardly giving him a chance to acknowledge. "These
  stairs are horrendoust Oh, well, the price of starting at the bottom."
 Tm sure it won~t be for long," said Matlock.
  "Mat's what Archie keeps saying. He'd better be right or III have muscles
  all over my legst"
  "I'm sure he is," said Matlock, looking at the soft, unmuscular, large
  expanse of legs in front of him.
  Inside the Beeson apartment, the cheese and dip were prominently displayed
  on an odd-shaped coffee table, and the anticipated showcase volume was one
  of Matlocles own. It was titled Interpolations in Richard II and it resided
  on a table underneath a fringed lamp. Impossible for a visitor to miss.
  The minute Ginny closed the door, Archie burst into the small living room
  from what Matlock presumed was Beesor~s study-also small. He carried a
  sheaf of papers in his left hand; his right was extended.
  "Good-ohl Glad you could make it, old mant ... Sit, sit. Drinks are due and
  overduel Godl I'm flaked out for onel ... just spent three bours reading
  twenty versions of the Thirty Years' Warl"
  "It happens. Yesterday I got a theme on Volpone with the strangest ending
  I ever heard of. Turned out
 62 Robert Ludlum,

 the kid never read it but saw the film in Hartford.7
 'With a new ending?"
  Totally.-
  'Godl Thafs marvyl" injected Ginny sernihysterically. "What's your drink
  preference, Jim? I may call you Jim, mayn1 1, Doctor?"
  "Bourbon and a touch of water, and you certainly better, Ginny. I've never
  gotten used to the 'doctor.' My father calls it fraud. Doctors carry
  stethoscopes, not books." Matlock sat in an easy chair covered with an
  Indian serape.
  "Speaking of doctors, Im working on my dissertation now. That and two more
  hectic surnmers'll do the trick." Beeson took the ice bucket from his wife
  and walked to a long table underneath a window where bottles and glasses
  were carelessly arranged.
  "It's worth it," said Ginny Beeson emphatically. 'Isn~t it worth it,
  Jim?-
 "Almost essential. It'll pay offi"
  "Ilat and publishing." Ginny Beeson picked up the cheese and crackers and
  carried them to Matlock. "rhis is an interesting little Irish fromage.
  Would you believe, it's called 'Blarney? Found it in a little shop in New
  York two weeks ago."
 "Looks great. Never heard of it."
  "Speaking of publishing. I picked up your Interpolations book the other
  day. Damned fascinatingf Reallyl"
  "Lord, I've almost forgotten it. Wrote it four years ago."
  "It should be a required textl That7s what Archie said, isn~t it, Archie?"
  "Damned rightl Heres the poison, old man," said Beeson, bringing Matlock
  his drink. "Do you work
                 THE mATLo(x PAmm 63

 through an agent, Jim? Not that I'm nosy. rm years from writing anything."
  "That!s not true, and you know it," Ginny pouted vocally.
  'Yes, I do. Irving Block in Boston. If you're workIng on something, perhaps
  I could show it to him."
 "Oh, no, I wouldn't. . . thatd be awfully presump-
  tuous of me                     Beeson retreated with feigned hu-
 mility to the couch with his drink. He sat next to his
 wife and they--4nvoluntarily, thought Matlock-ex
 changed satisfied looks.
  "Come on, Archie. You're a bright fellow. A real comer on this campus. Why
  do you think I asked you about the seminar? You could be doing me the
  favor. I might be bringing Block a winner. That rubs off, you know."
  Beeson~s expression had the honesty of gratitude. It embarrassed Matlock to
  return the instructor's gaze until he saw something else in Beeson's eyes.
  He couldn't define it, but it was there. A slight wildness, a trace of
  panic.
  The look of a man whose mind and body knew drugs.
  "That's damned good-oh of you, Jim. I'm touched, reaUy."

  The cheese, drinks, and dinner somehow passed. There were moments when
  Matlock had the feeling he was outside himself, watching three characters
  in a scene from some old movie. Perhaps on board ship or in a sloppily
  elegant New York apartment with the three of them wearing tightly fitted
  formal clothes. He wondered why he visualized the scene in such
  fashion--and then he knew. The Beesons had a thir-
   64 Robert Ludlum

 ties quality about them. The thirties that he had observed on the late night
 television films. They were somehow an anachronism, of this time but not of
 the time. It was either more than camp or less than puton; he couldiYt be
 sure. They were not artificial in themselves, but there was a falseness in
 their emphatic small talk their dated expressions. Yet the truth was that
 they were the now of the present generation.
 Lysergic acid and methedrine.
 Acid heads. Pill poppers.
  The Beesons: were somehow forcing themselves to show themselves as part of
  a past and carefree era. Perhaps to deny the times and conditions in which
  they found themselves.
 Archie Beeson and his wife were frightening.
  By eleven, after considerable wine with the "in-
  teresting-httle-veal-dish-from-a-recipe-in-an-old-Italian cookbook" the
  three of them sat down in the living room. The last of the proposed seminar
  problems was ironed out. Matlock knew it was time to begin; the awful,
  awkward moment. He wasn1 sure how, the best he could do was to trust his
  amateur instincts.
  'Look, you two.... I hope to hell this woZt come as too great a shock, but
  I've been a long time without a stick." He withdrew a thin cigarette case
  from his pocket and opened it He felt foolish, uncomfortably clumsy. But he
  knew he could not show those feelings. "Before you make any judgments, I
  should tell you I doZt go along with the pot laws and I never have~"
  Matlock selected a cigarette from the dozen in the ewe and left the case
  open on the table. Was that the proper thing to do? He waset sure; he didn1
  know. Archie and his wife looked at each other. Through the flame in front
  of his face, Matlock watched their
                 TnE mATLocK PAPEn 65

 reaction. It was cautious yet positive. Perhaps it was the alcohol in Ginny,
 but she smiled hesitantly, as if she was relieved to find a friend. Her
 husband wasn1 quite so responsive.
  "Go right ahead, old man," said the young instructDr with a trace of
  condescension. 'Were hardly on the attorney general's payroll."
 'Hardlyl" giggled the wife.
  Me laws are archaic," continued Matlock, inhaltng deeply. "In all areas.
  Control and an abiding sense of discretion--self-discretion-are all that
  matter. To deny experience is the real crime. To prohibit any intelligent
  individuars right to fulfillment is .
 goddamn it, ies repressive."
  'Well, I think the key word is intelligent, Jim. Indiscriminate use among
  the unintelligent leads to cham"
  "Socratically, you're only half right. The other half is 'control.'
  Effective control among the 'iron' and 'bronze! then frees the 'gol&--to
  borrow from The Republic. If the intellectually superior were continually
  kept from thinking, experimenting, because their thought processes were
  beyond the comprehension of their fellow citizens, there'd be no great
  works-artistically, technically, politically. We'd still be in the Dark
  Ages-"
  Matlock inhaled his cigarette and closed his eyes. Had he been too strong,
  too positive? Had he sounded too much the false proselytizer? He waited,
  and the wait was not long. Archie spoke quietly, but urgently nevertheless.
  "Progress is being made every day, old man. Believe that. Ifs the truth.'
  Matlock half opened his eyes in relief and looked at Beeson through the
  cigarette smoke. He held his
 66 Robert Ludlum

 gaze steady without blinking and then shifted his stare to Beeson~s wife. He
 spoke only two words.
 "You're children."
  'flaes a relative supposition under the circum. stances," answered Beeson,
  still keeping his voice low, his speech precise.
 "And that's talk"
  "Oh, don't be so sure about thatt" Ginny Beeson had had enough alcohol in
  her to be careless. Her husband reached for her arm and held it. It was a
  warning. He spoke again, taking his eyes off Matlock, looking at nothing.
  "I'm not at all sure we're on the same wavelength ... "
  "No, probably not. Forget it... III finish this and shove off. Be in touch
  with you about the seminar." Matlock made sure his reference to the seminar
  was offfianded, almost disinterested.
  Archie Beeson, the young man in an academic hur. ry, could not stand that
  disinterest.
 'Would you mind if I had one of those?"
  'If ies your first, yes, I would.... DoA try to impress me. It doesn't
  really matter."
  "My first? . . . Of what?" Beeson rose from the couch and walked to the
  table where the cigarette case lay open. He reached down, picked it up, and
  held it to his nostrils. "That's passable grass. I might add, just
  passable. I'll try one. . . for openers."
 "For openers?"
  "You seem to be very sincere but, if you'll forgive me, you!re a bit out of
  touch."
 "From what?"
  "From where ies at." Beeson withdrew two ciga. rettes and lit them in Now,
  Voyager fashion. He inhaled deeply, nodding and shrugging a reserved ap.
                 TER MATLOCK PAPER 67 proval, and handed one to his wife.
                 *Iees call this an hors croeuvre. An appetizer."
  He went into his study and returned with a Chinese lacquered box, then
  showed Matlock the tiny peg which, when pushed, enabled the holder to flip
  up a thin layer of wood on the floor of the box, revealing a false bottom.
  Beneath were two dozen or so white tablets wrapped in transparent plastic.
  'This is the main course ... the entr6e, if you!re up to %0
  Matlock was grateful for what knowledge he possessed and the intensive
  homework hed undertaken during the past forty-eight hours. He smiled but
  his tone of voice was firm.
  'I only take white trips under two conditions. Ile first Is at my home with
  very good, very old friends. The second is with very good, very old friends
  at their homes. I don't know you well enough, Archie. Selfdiscretion.... rm
  not averse to a small red journey, however. Only I didn't come prepare&'
  'Say no more. I just may be." Beeson took the Chinese box back into his
  study and returned with a small leather pouch, the sort pipe smokers use
  for tobaoco, and approached Matlock's chair. Ginny BeesoiYs eyes grew wide;
  she undid a button on her halfunbuttoned blouse and stretched her legs.
  'Dunhill!s best." Beeson opened the top flap and bald the pouch down for
  Matlock to see inside. Again there was the clear plastic wrapped around
  tablets. However, these were deep red and slightly larger than the white pa
  in the Chinese box. There were at least fifty to sixty doses of Seconal.
  Ginny jumped out of the chair and squealed. "I love it! lies the
  pinky-groovyl"
 "Beats the hell out of brandy," added Matlock- 68 Robert Ludlum

  'Well trip. Not too much, old man. Limit's five. That's the house rules for
  new old friends."

  The next two hours were blurred for James Matlock, but not as blurred as
  they were for the Beesons. The history instructor and his wife quickly
  reached their "highs" with the five pflls--,as would have Matlock had he,
  not been able to pocket the final three while pretending to have swallowed
  them. Once on the first plateau, it waset too hard for Matlock to imitate
  his companions and then convince Beeson to go for another dosage.
  "Where's the almighty discretion, Doctor?' chuckled Beeson, sitting on the
  floor in front of the couch, reaching occasionally for one of his wifes
  legs.
 "You're better friends than I thought you were."
  just the beginning of a beautiful, beautiftd friendship." The young wife
  slowly reclined on the couch and giggled. She seemed to writhe and put her
  right hand on her husban&s head, pushing his hair forward.
  Beeson laughed with less control than he had shown earlier and rose from
  the floor. T11 get the magic then."
  When Beeson walked into his study, Matlock watched his wife. There was no
  mistaking her action. She looked at Matlock, opened her mouth slowly, and
  pushed her tongue out at him. Matlock realized that one of Seconars side
  effects was showing. As was most of Virginia Beeson.
  The second dosage was agreed to be three, and Matlock was now easily able
  to fake it. Beeson turned on his stereo and played a recording of "Carmina
  Burana." In fifteen minutes Ginny Beeson was sitting on Matlocles lap,
  intermittently rubbing herself
                 TBx mATLocK PAPEa 69
 against his groin. Her husband was spread out in front of the stereo
 speakers, which were on either side of the turntable- Matlock spoke as
 though exhaling, Just loud enough to be heard over the music.
  Mese are some of the best rve had, Archie... Where? Wheres the supply fromr
  'Probably the same as yours, old man.- Beeson tUrDed over and looked at
  Matlock and his wife. He laughed. 'Now, I don't know what you mean. The
  magic or the girl on your lap. Watch her, Doctor. Shes a minx."
  'No kidding. Your pills are a better grade than mme and my grass barely
  passed mspection- Where? Be a good friend.-
  'Yotere funny, man. You keep asking. Do I ask you? No.... les not
  polite.... Play with Ginny. Let me listen.' Beeson rolled back over face
  down on the floor.
  The girl on Matlocks lap suddenly put her arms around his neck and pressed
  her breasts against his chest She put her head to the side of his face and
  began kissing his ears. Matlock wondered what would happen if he lifted her
  out of the chair and carried her Into the bedroom. He wondered, but he
  didn't want to find out. Not then. Ralph Loring had not been murdered to
  increase his, Matlock's, sex life.
  *IA me try one of your joints. Let me see just how advanced your taste is.
  You may be a phony, Archie."
  Suddenly Beeson sat up and stared at Matlock. He waat concerned with his
  wife. Something in Matlock's voice seemed to trigger an instinctive doubt.
  Or was it the words? Or was it the too normal pattern of speech Matlock
  used? The English professor thought of all these things as he returned
  Beesoes look over the girrs shoulder. Archie Beeson was suddenly a
 7o Robert Ludkm
 man warned, and Matlock wasn't sure why. Beeson spoke haltingly.
 "Certainly, old                 Ginny, doet annoy Jim.0
 He began to rise.
 "Pinky groovy ... 7
  Orve got several in the kitchen. rm not sure where but rU look Ginny, I
  told you not to tense Jim. . . Be nice to him, be good to him.- Beeson kept
  staring at Matlock, his eyes wide firom the Seconat his lips parted, the
  muscles of his face beyond relaxation. He backed away toward the kitchen
  door, which was open. Once inside, Archie Beeson did a stnmge thing. Or so
  it appeared to James Matlock-
  He slowly dosed the swing-hinged door and held ft shut
  Matlock quickly eased the drugged girl off hig lap and she quietly
  stretched out on the floor. She smiled angelically and reached her arms up
  for him. He smiled down, stepping over her.
  'Be right back,* he whispered. "I want to ask Archie something.' The girl
  rolled over on her stomach as Matlock walked cautiously toward the Idtchen
  door. He ruffled his hair and purposely, silently, lurched, holding onto
  the dining room table as he neared the entrance. If Beeson suddenly came
  out, he wanted to appear irrational, drugged. The stereo was a little
  louder now, but through it Matlock could hear the sound of ArchWs voice
  talking quietly, excitedly on the kitchen telephone.
  He leaned against the wall next to the kitchen door and tried to analyze
  the disjointed moments that caused Archie Beeson to panic, to find it so
  imperative to reach someone on the telephone.
 Why? What?
                  THE MATLOM PAP= 71

  Had the grand impersonation been so obvious? Had he blown his first
  encounter?
  If he had, the least he could do was try to find out who was on de other
  end of the line., who it was that Beason ran to in his disjointed state of
  anxiety.
  One fact seemed clear: whoever it was had to be more important than Archer
  Beeson. A man-even a dmg addict-did not panic and contact a lesser figure
  on his own particular totenL
  Perhaps the evening wasn7t a failure; or his failure --conversely-a
  necessity. In Beeson7s desperation, he might let slip information he never
  would have revealed if he hadiet been desperate. It vva&t prepostewus to
  force it out of the frightened, drugged Instructor. On the other hand, that
  was the least demrable method. if he failed in that, too, he was finished
  before bed begun. Loring's meticulous briefing would have been for nothing;
  his death a rather macabre jok% ha terrible cover-so painful to his family,
  so inhumn somehow-made fruitless by a bumbling amateur.
  There was no other way, thought Matlock, but to try. Try to find out who
  Beeson had reached and try to put the pieces of the evening back where
  Beeson might accept him again. For some insane reason, he pictured Lorings
  briefcase and the thin black chain dangling from the handle. For an even
  crazier reason, it gave him confidence; not much, but some.
  He assumed a stance as close to the appearance of collapse as he could
  imagine, then moved his head to the door frame and slowly, quarter inch by
  quarter Inch, pushed it inward. He fully expected to be met by Beesods
  staring eyes. Instead, the instructor"s back was to him; he was hunched
  over hke a small boy
 7!s Robert Ludluts

 trying to control his bladder, the phone clutched to his thin scrunched
 neck, his head bent to the side. It was obvious that Beeson thought his
 voice was muffled, indistinguishable beneath the sporadic crescendos of the
 -Carmina Burana." But the Seconal had played one of its tricks. Beeson's ear
 and his speech were no longer synchronizedL His words were not Only clear.
 They were emphasized by being spaced out and repeated.
  . . . You do not understand me. I want you to un
 dmtand me. Please, understand. He keeps asking
 questions. Hes not with it He is not U*h it. I swear
 to Christ hes a plant Get hold of Herron. Tell Her6
 ron to reach him for Gods sake. Reach him, Pleavet
 I could lose everythingl ... No. No, I can tell! I am
 what I me, man/ When that bitch hums horny I have
 probImns I mean there are appearances, old man...
 Get Lucas.... For Christ's sake get to him! rm in
 trouble and I can't ... 0
  madock let the door swing slowly back IntD the frame. His shock was such
  that thought and feeling were suspended, he saw his hand still on the
  kitchen door, yet he felt no wood against his fingers. What he had just
  heard was no less horrible than the sight of Palph Lormes lifeless body in
  the telephone booth.
 Herron. Lucas Herrwd
  A seventy-year-old legend. A quiet scholar who was as much revered for his
  perceptions of the human condition as he was for his brilliance. A lovely
  man, an honored man. There had to be a mistake, an aiplanation-
 There was nD time to ponder the inexplicable.
  Archer Beeson thought he was a "plant" And now, someone else thought so,
  too. He couldn!t allow that. He had W dikk force himself to act.
                 THE MATLOM PAPER 73
  Suddenly he understood. Beeson himself had told him what to do.
  No infornier-no one not narcodzect-would attempt it
  Matlock looked over at the girl lying face down on the living room floor He
  crossed rapidly around the dining table and ran to her side, unbuckling his
  beft as he did so. In swift movements, he took off his trousers; and
  reached down, rolling her over on her back. He lay down beside her and
  undid the remaining two buttons on her blouse, pulling her brassiere until
  the hasp broke She moaned and giggled, and when he touched her exposed
  breasts, she moaned again and lifted one leg over Matlock's -hip.
  Tinky groovy, pinky groovy. . ~* She began breathIng through her mouth,
  pushing her pelvis into Matlock's groin, her eyes half open, her hands
  reaching down, stroking his le& her fingers clutching at his skhL
  Matlock kept his eyes toward the kitchen door~ praying it would open.
 And then it did, and he shut his eyes.
  Archie Beeson stood in the dining area looking down at his wife and guest.
  Matlock, at the sound of Beesoes footsteps, snapped his head back and
  feigned terrified confusion. He rose from the floor and immediately fell
  back down agam. He grabbed his trousers and held them in front of his
  shorts, rising once more unsteadily and finally falling onto the couch.
  'Oh, jesusl Oh, sweet Jesus, Archief ChrK young fella! I didet think I was
  this fi-eaked outl ... rm far out, Archiel What the hell, what do I do? rin
  gone, nun, rm sorryl Christ, rm sorryl*
  Beeson approached the couch, his half-naked wife at his feet. From his
  expression it was impossible to
 74 Robert Ludlum

 tell what he was thinking. Or the extent of his anger.
 Or was it anger?
  His audible reaction was totally unexpected: he Started to laugh. At first
  soffly, and then with gathering momentum, until he became nearly hystericaL
  'Oh, God, old maul I said itt I said she was a minxf ... DonI worry. No
  tattle tales. No rapes, no dirty-old-man-on-the-faculty. But well have our
  seminar. Oh, Christ, yesf That'll be some senainwf And youll teU them aU
  you picked mef Won't you? Ob, yesl That's what you'll tell them, isi* it?"
  Matlock looked into the wild eyes of the addict above him.
 'Sure. Sure, Archie. Whatever you say."
  'You better believe it, old manl And don't apologim No apologies are
  necessaryl The apologies are minel" Archer Beeson collapsed on the floor in
  laughter. He reached over and cupped his wifes left breast; she-moaned and
  giggled her maddening, high-pitched giggle-
 And Matlock kiiew he had won.
  7

 He was exhausted, both by the hour and by the tensions of the night It was
 ten minutes past three and the choral strains of the "Carnima Burana" were
 still hammering in his ears. The image of the bare. breasted wife and the
 jackal-sorunding husband-both writhing on the floor in front of him-added
 revulsion to the sickening taste in his mouth.
  But what bothered him most was the knowledge that Lucas Herrons name was
  used within the context of such an evening.
 It was inconceivable.
  Lucas Herron. The "grand old bird," as he called. A reticent but obvious
  fixture of the Carlyle campus. The chairman of the Romance languages de-
  partment and the embodiment of the quiet scholar with a deep and abiding
  compassion. There was always a glint in his eyes, a look of bemusement
  mixed with tolerance.
  To associate him-regardless of how remotelywith the narcotics world was
  unbelievable. To have heard him sought after by an hysterical addict-4or
  essentially, Archer Beeson um an addict, psychologically if not
  chemically-as though Lucas were some sort of power under the circumstances
  was beyond rational comprehension.
 76 Robert Ludlum

  The explanation had to he somewhere In Lucas HerroWs immense capacity for
  sympathy. He was a friend to many, a dependable refuge for the troubled,
  often the deeply troubled. And beneath his placid, aged, unruffied surface,
  Herron was a strong man, a leader. A quarter of a century ago, he had spent
  countless months of hell in the Solomon Islands as a middle-aged infantry
  officer. A lifetime ago, Lucas Herron had been an authentic hero in a
  vicious moment of time during a savage war in the Pacific. Now over
  seventy, Herron was an institution.
  Matlock rounded the comer and saw his apartment half a block away. The
  campus was dark; aside from the street lamps, the only light came from one
  of his rooms. Had he left one on? He couldn't remember.
  He walked up the path to his door and inserted his key. Simultaneously with
  the click of the lock, there was a loud crash from within. Although it
  startled him, his first reaction was amusement His clumsy, long-haired
  house cat had knocked over a stray Oass or one of those pottery creations
  Patricia Ballantyne had inflicted on him. Then he realized such a tbought
  was ridiculous, the product of an exhausted mtad. The crash was too loud
  for pottery, the shattesing of glass too violent
  He rushed into the small foyer, and what he saw pushed fatigue out of his
  brain. He stood immobile in disbelief.
  Ilie entire room was in shambles. Tables were overturned; books pulled from
  the shelves, their pages torn from the bindings, scattered over the floor;
  his stereo turntable and speakers smashed. Cushions from his couch and
  armchairs were slashed, the stuffJug and foam rubber strewn everywhere; the
  rugs up-
                    THE MATLOCK PAPER 77
 ended, himped In folds; the curtains ripped from their rods, thrown over the
 upturned furnitum
  He saw the reason for the crash. His large casement window, on the far
  right wall bordermg the street, was a mass of twisted lead and broken
  glass. The window consisted of two panels; he remembered clearly that he
  had opened both before leaving for the Beesons. He liked the spring
  breezes, and it was too early in the season for screens. So there was no
  reason for the window to be smashed; the ground was perhaps four or five
  feet below the casement, sufficient to dissuade an intruder, low enough for
  a panicked burglar to negotiate easily.
  The smashing of the window, therefore, was not for escape. It was intended.
 He had been watched, and a signal had been givem
 It was a warning.
  And Matlock knew he could not acknowledge that warning. To do so was to
  acknowledge, more than a robbery; he was not prepared to do that
  He crossed rapidly to his bedroom door and looked Inside. If possible, his
  bedroom was in more of a mess than the living room. The mattress was thrown
  against the wall, ripped to shreds. Every drawer of his bureau was
  dislodged, lying on the floor, the contents seattered all around the room.
  His close was like the rest -suits and jackets pulled from the clothes rod,
  shoes yanked from their recesses.
  Even before he looked he knew his kitchen would be no better off than the
  rest of his apartment The foodstuffs in cans and boxes had not been thrown
  on the floor, simply moved around, but the soft items had been torn to
  pieces. Matlock understood again. One or two crashes from the other rooms
  were toler-
   78 Robeq Ludlum

 able noise levels; a continuation of the racket from his kitchen might
 arouse one of the other families in the building. As it was, he could hear
 the faint sounds of footsteps above him. The final crash of the window had
 gotten someone up.
  The warning was explicit, but the act itself was a search.
  He thought he knew the object of that search, and again he realized he
  could not acknowledge it Conclusions were being made as they had been made
  at Beeso,A; he had to ride them out with the most convincing denials he
  could manufacture. That much he knew instinctively.
  But before he began that pretense, he had to find out if the search was
  successful.
  He shook the stammering lethargy out of his mind and body. He looked once
  again at his living room; he studied it. All the windows were bare, and the
  light was sufficient for someone with a pair of powerful binoculars
  stationed in a nearby building or standing on the inclining lawn of the
  campus beyond the street to observe every move he made. If he turned off
  the lights, would such an unnatural action lend credence to the conclusions
  he wanted denied?
  Without question. A man didn7t walk into a house in shambles and proceed to
  turn off lights.
  Yet he had to reach his bathroom, at that moment the most important room in
  the apartment. He had to spend less than thirty seconds inside to determine
  the success or failure of the ransacking, and do so in such a way as to
  seem innocent of any abnormal concerns. If anyone was watching.
  It was a question of appearance, of gesture, he thought He saw that the
  stereo turntable was the
                  TEE MATLOCK P"ER 79

 nearest object to the bathroom door, no more then five feet away. He walked
 aver and bent down, picking up several pieces, including the metal arm. He
 looked at it, then suddenly dropped the arm and brought his finger to his
 mouth, feigning an imagined puncture on his skin. He walked into the
 bathroom rapidly.
  Once inside, he quickly opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a tin of
  Band-Aids from the glass shelf. He then swiftly reached down to the left of
  the toilet bowl where the cats yellow plastic box was placed and picked up
  a comer of the newspaper m2demeath the granules of litter. Beneath the
  newspa, per he felt the coarse grain of the two layers of canvas he had
  inserted and lifted up an edge.
  The scissored page was still intact The silver Corsican paper that ended in
  the deadly phrase Venerare Onwrft had not been found.
  He replaced the newspaper, scattered the litter, and stood up. He saw that
  the frosted glass of the small window above the toilet was partially
  opened, and he swom
 There was no time to think of that
  He walked back into the living room, ripping the plastic off a Band-Aid.
  The search had failed. Now the warning had to be ignored, the conclusions
  denied. He crossed to the telephone and called the police.

  "Can you give me a list of whaes missing?" A uniformed patrolman stood in
  the middle of the debris. A second policeman wandered about the apartment
  making notes.
 "I'm not sure yet. I havenI really checked."
 'Thafs understandable. Ifs a mess. You'd better
 8o Robert Ludlum

 look, though. The quicker we get a list, the better."
  "I don7t think anything is missing, officer. What I mean is, I doet have
  anything particularly valuable to anyone else. Except perhaps the stereo .
  . . and thwes smashed. There's a television set in the bedroom, that's
  okay. Some of the books could bring a price, but look at them."
 "No cash, jewelry, watches?"
  "I keep money in the bank and cash in my wallet. I wear my watch and
  haven't any jewelry."
  "How about exam papers? We've been getting a lot of that"
 'In my office. In the English department.*
  The patrolman wrote in a small black notebook and called to his partner,
  who had gone into the bedroom. "Hey, Lou, did the station confirm the print
  man?"
  '11ey're getting him up. He'll be over in a few minutes."
 "Have you touched anything, Mr. Matlock?*
 "I don7t know. I may have. It was a shock."
  'Particularly any of the broken items, like that record player? Ied be good
  if we could show the fingerprint man specific things you haveet touched."
 "I picked up the arm, not the casing."
 "Good. It's a place to starL"

  The police stayed for an hour and a half. The fingerprints specialist
  arrived, did his work, and departed. Matlock thought of phoning Sam
  Kressel, but reasoned that there wasn't anything Kressel could do at that
  hour. And in the event someone outside was watching the building, Kressel
  shouldnt be seen. Various people from the other apartments had wakened and
  had come down offering sympathy, help, and coffee.
                  TBE mATLocK PAPm 83L

  As the police were leaving, a large patrolman turned in the doorway. "Sorry
  to take so much time, Mr. Matlock. We doift usually lift prints in a break
  and entry unless there's injury or loss of property, but theriA been a lot
  of this sort of thing recently. Personally, I think it's those weirdos with
  the hair and the beads. Or the niggers. We never had trouble like this
  before the weirdos and the niggers got here."
  Matlock looked at the uniformed officer, who was so confident of his
  analysis. There was no point in objecting; it would be useless, and Matlock
  was too tired. "Thanks for helping me straighten up."
  "Sure thing." The patrolman started down the cement path, then turned
  again. "Oh, Mr. Matlock."
 'Yes?" Matlock pulled the door back.
  'It struck us that maybe someone was looking for something. What with all
  the slashing and books and everything ... you know what I mean?"

 'You'd tell us if that was the case, wouldn't you?"
 *XX course."
  &Yeah. It'd be stupid to withhold information like that~"
 "I'm not stupid."
  'No offense. just that sometimes you guys get all involved and forget
  things."
 'Tm not absentminded. Very few of us are~"
  Yeah." The patrolman laughed somewhat derisively. "I just wanted to bring
  it up. I mean, we caZt do our jobs unless we got all the facts, you know?'
 "I understand."
 'Yeah. Good."
 -Good night.-
 "Good night, Doctor."
 He closed the door and walked into his living
 8z Pwbert Ludluin
 room. He wondered if his insurance would cover the disputable value of his
 rarer books and prints. He sat down on the nidned couch and surveyed the
 room. It was still a mess; the carnage had been thorough. It would take more
 than picking up debns and righting furniture, The warning had been clear,
 violent
  The startling fact was that the warning adsted at all.
 Why? From whom?
  Archer Beeson~s hysterical telephone call? That was possible, even
  preferable, perhaps. It might encompass a motive unrelated to Nimrod. It
  could mean that Beeson~s circle of users and pushers wanted to frighten him
  enough to leave Archie alone. Leave them all alone; and Loring had
  specifically said there was no proof that the Beesons were involved with
  the Nimrod unit.
 There was no proof that they weren't, either.
  Nevertheless, if it was Beeson, the alarm would be called off in the
  morning. There was no mistaking the conclusion of the nighes engagement.
  The "near-rape by a dirty, drugged "old man." He was Beesoes acaden-Ac
  ladder.
  On the other hand, and far less preferable, there was the possibility that
  the warning and the search were centered on the Corsican paper. What had
  Loring whispered behind him on the sidewalk?
  ". . . There's only one thing they want more than this briefcase; that's
  the paper in your pocket."
  It was then reasonable to assume that he!d been linked to Ralph Loring.
  Washington's assessment that his panic at finding Loring dissociated him
  from the agent was in error, Jason Greenberg's confidence misplaced.
 Still again, as Greenberg had suggested, they might
                  THE MATL4(XX PAP= 83
 test him. Press him before issumg a clean bill of health.
 Might, couK possible, still agaim
 Conjectures.
  He had to keep his head; he couldn't allow himself to overreact. If he was
  to be of any value, he had to play the innocent
 Might have, could have, it was possible.
  His body ached. His eyes were swollen and his mouth still bad the terrible
  aftertaste of the combined dosages of Seconal, wine, and marijuana. He was
  exhausted; the pressures of trying to reach unreachable conclusions were
  overtaldng him His memory wandered back to the early days in 'Nam and he
  recalled the best advice hed ever been given in those weeks of unexpected
  combat. That was to rest whenever he could, to sleep if it was at all
  possible. The advice had come from a line sergeant who, it had been
  rumored, had survived more assaults than any man In the Mekong Delta. Who,
  it was also rumored, had slept through an ambush which had taken most of
  his company.
  Matlock stretched, out on the barely recognizable couch. There was no point
  in going into the bedroom -his mattress was destroyed. He unbucided his
  belt and ldcked off his shoes. He could sleep for a few hours; then he'd
  talk to Kressel. Ask Kressel and Greenberg to work out a story for him to
  use about the invasion of his apartment. A story approved by Washington
  and, perhaps, the Carlyle police.
 The police.
  Suddenly he sat up. It hadn't struck him at the time, but now be considered
  it The crass but imperiously polite patrolman whose primitive detection
  powers had centered on the "weirdos and niggee
 84 Robert Lu&um

 had addressed him as "Mister," throughout the nearly two hours of police
 investigation. Yet when he was leaving, when he insultingly referred to the
 possibility of Matlocles withholding information, he had called him
 "Doctor." The "mister," was normal. The "doctoe was most unusual. No one
 outside the campus community--and rarely ther&-ever called him "Doctor,"
 ever called any Ph.D. 'Doctor." It struck most holders of such degrees as
 fatuous, and only the fatuous expected it
  Why had the patrolman used it? He didn't know him, he had never seen him to
  his knowledge. How would the patrolman know he was even entitled to the
  name "doctor"?
  As he sat there, Matlock wondered if the combined efforts and pressures of
  the last hours were taking their toll. Was he now finding unreasonable
  meanIngs where no meanings existed? Was it not entirely plausible that the
  Carlyle police had a list of the Carlyle faculty and that a desk sergeant,
  or whoever took emergency calls, had checked his name against the list and
  casually stated his title? Was he not, perhaps, consigning the patrolman to
  a plateau of ignorance because he disliked the officer's prejudices?
 A lot of things were possible.
 And disturbing.
  Matlock fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes-
  At first the noise reached him as a faint echo might from the far end of a
  long, narrow tunnel. Then the noise became identifiable as rapid, incessant
  tapping. Tapping which would not stop, tapping which b&came louder and
  louder.
 Matlock opened his eyes and saw the blurred light
                 THE MATLOM PAMM 85
 coming from two table lamps across from the couch. His feet were drawn up
 under him, his neck perspiring against the rough surface of the sofds
 corduroy cover. Yet there was a cool breeze connng through the smashed,
 lead-framed window.
  The tapping continued, the sound of flesh against wood. It came from the
  foyer, from his front door. He Rung his legs over the side onto the floor
  and found that they both were filled with pins and needles. He struggled to
  stand.
  The tapping and the knocking became louder. Then the voice. "Jandel
  Jan-del"
 He walked awkwardly toward the door
  'Comingl* He reached the door and opened it swiftly. Patricia Ballantyne,
  dressed in a raincoat, silk pajamas evident underneath, walked rapidly
  inside.
 "Jamie, for Gods sake, I've been trying to call you.*
 'I've been here. The phone didn't ring."
  'I know it didn't. I finally got an operator and she said it was out of
  order. I borrowed a car and drove over as fast as I could and . . ."
  'Ies not out of order, Pat. The police-the police were here and a quick
  look around will explain why --they used it a dozen times."
  "Oh, good Lordt" The girl walked past him into the still-disheveled room.
  Matlock crossed to the telephone and picked it up from the table. He
  quickly held it away from his ear as the piercing tone of a disengaged
  instrument whistled out of the receiver.
  '1rhe bedroom," he said, replacing the telephone and going to his bedroom
  door.
  On his bed, on top of the slashed remains of his mattress, was his bedside
  phone. The receiver was off the hook, underneath the pillow, muffling the
  harsh
 86 Robert Lua%tn
 sound of the broken connection so ft would not be heard. Someone had not
 wanted it to ring.
  Matlock tried to remember everyone wWd been diere. All told, more than a
  dozen people. Rve or six policemen-in and out of uniform; husbands and
  wives from other apartments; several late-night passersby who had seen the
  police cars and wandered up to the front door. it had been cumulatively
  blurre& He coul(Wt remember all the faces.
  He put the telephone back on the bedside table and was aware that Pat stood
  in the doorway. He gambled that she hadiYt seen him remove the pillow.
  "Someone must have knocked it over straightening out things," he said,
  pretending irritation. 'fhaes rotten; I mean your having to borrow a car...
  Why did you? What's the matter?"
  She didn't reply. Instead, she turned and looked back into the living room.
  "What happened?'
  Matlock remembered the patrolmaes language. 'T'hey call it 'break and
  entry.' A police phrase coverIng human tornadoes, as I understand it . . .
  Robbery. I got myself robbed for the first time in my life. les quite an
  experience. I think the poor bastards were angry because there wasn't
  anything of any value so they ripped the place aparL Whyd you come over?"
  She spoke softly, but the intensity of her voice made Matlock realize that
  she was close to panic. As always, she imposed a control on herself when
  she be. came emotional. It was an essential part of the girl.
  "A couple of hours ago-at quarter to four to be exact-my phone rang. The
  man, it was a man, asked for you. I was asleep, and I suppose I didn't make
  much sense, but I pretended to be upset that
                 THE MATLOCK PAPIM 87

 anyone would think you were there... I diddt know what to do. I was
 confused. . . ~*
 'Okay, I understand that Sor
  "He said he diddt believe me. I was a liar. I ... I was so surprised that
  anyone would phone thenat quarter to fcur--and can me a har ... I was con-
  fused..
 "What did you say?*
  'Ifs not what I said. Ws what he said. He told me to tell you to ... not to
  stay 'behind the globe' or light the lower world! He said it twicel He said
  it was an awful joke but you~d understand. It was frighteningl ... Do you?
  Do you understand?"
  Matlock walked past her into the living room. He looked for his cigarettes
  and tried to remain calm She followed him. 'Vhat did he mean?"
 Tm not sure~*
  OHas it anything to do with ... this?' She gestured her hand over the
  apartment.
  'I dont think so." He lit his cigarette and wondered what he should tell
  her. The Nimrod people haddt wasted any time finding associations. If it
  was Nimrod.
 'What did he mean by             'standing behind the
 globe'? It sounds like a riddle."
  'Ifs a quote, I think." But Matlock did not have to think. He knew. He
  recalled Shakespeares words precisely: Knowest thou not that when the
  searching eye of heaven is hid behind the globe and lights the lower world
  ... then thieves and robbers range abroad unmen ... in murders and in
  outrage bloody here.
 'What does it mean?"
  "I dont knowl I can't remember it ... Somebody's confusing me with someone
  else. Thaes the only thing
 88 Robot Ludlum
 I can Imagine, ... What did he sound like?-
  "NormaL He was angry but he didnI shout or anything."
  "No one you recognized? Not specifically, but did you ever hear the voice
  before?"
  'Tm not sure. I don't think so. No one I could pick out but ... n
 'Tut whatr
  "Well, it was a ... cultivated voice. A little actorish, I &inL-
  O'A man used tD lecturing." Matlock made a statemenik he did not ask a
  question. His cigarette tasted sour so he crushed it ou:L
 'Yes, I guess that would describe
  mAnd probably not in a science lab.... That reduces the possibilities to
  roughly eighty people on canlpus-~*
  Yotere making assumptions I don't understandl That phone call did have
  something to do with what happened here.-
  He limew he was talking too much. He didet want to involve Pat, he couWt
  involve her Yet someone else had-and that fact was a profound complication.
  It might have. According tD the best sources-natarally I refer to
  television detectives-6ieves make sure people aren t home before they rob
  a place. They were probably checking me ouLw
  The girl held his wavering eyes with her gaze. 4NVereet you home then? At
  quarter to four? - . . IU question is not inquisitorial, my darling, simply
  a point of information.-
  He swore at himself silently. It was the exhaustion, the Beeson episode,
  the shock of the apartment Of course the question waset inquisitoriaL He
  was a free
                 THE MATLOCK FAP= 89
 agent And, of course, he w home at quarter to four.
  "rm not sure. I wasn't that concerned with the time. It was one hell of a
  long evening.* He laughed feebly. "I was at Archie Beesoes. Proposed
  seminars with young instructors promote a lot of booze,*
  She smiled. "I doet think you understand me. I really dont mind what Poppa
  Bear was doing . . . Well, of course, I do, but right now I doet understand
  why yoWre lying to me. . . . You were here two hours ago, and that phone
  call wasn't any dad checidng your whereabouts and you know it"
  'Momma Beaes reaching. 11hat doeset go with the territory." Matlock was
  rude. It, too, like the lying, was obviously false. Whatever his past
  rebellions, whatever his toughness, he was a Idnd person and she ]mew that.
  'All right I apologize. IT ask one more question and then Ill leave....
  What does Omerta ineanr
 Matlock froze 'What did you say?'
 Me man on the phone. He used the word Omrte
 ME[owr
 'Very casually. Just a remindej; he said.*
 8

 Fleld Agent Jason Greenberg walked through the borderless door of the squash
 court. "You're working up quite a sweat there, Dr. Matlock."
  *Td hate to have it analyzed... Anyway, it your idea. I would have been
  just as happy at Kress&s office or even downtown somewhere."
  "rhis is better. . . . Weve got to talk quickly~ though. The gym registry
  has me listed as an insurance, surveyor. I'm checking the extinguishers in
  the corridors."
  'They probably need checking.' Matlock walked to a comer where a gray
  sweatshirt was wrapped in a towd He unwound it and shpped it over his head.
  'What have you come up with? Last night was a httle hairy.-
  "If you discount confusion, we haven't come up with a thing. At least
  nothing specific. A couple of theories, thafs alL . . . We think you
  handled yourself very we1V
  "17hanks. I was confused. What are the theories? You sound academic, and Im
  not sure I hke that.0
  Greenberg's head suddenly shifted. From the right waU there could be heard
  a dull thumpin& "Is that another court?'
 'Yes. There are six of them on this side, They're
                 TBE MATLOCK PAPER 91

 practice courts, no balconies. But you know that*
  Greenberg picked up the ball and threw it hard against the fiont wan.
  Matlock understood and caught it on the bounce. He threw it back, Greenberg
  re. tamed it They maintained a slow rhythm, neither man moving more than a
  foot or two, each taking his turn to throw Greenberg spoke softly, in a
  monotone.
  -We think yoeze being tested. Thaes the most logical explanation. You did
  find Ralph. You made a state. ment about seeing the car Your reasons for
  being In the area were weak; so weak we thought they were plausible. They
  want to make sure, thaes why they brought in the girl. They~re being
  thorough.0
 "Okay. Theory number one. Whafs number twop*
  01 said that was the most logical. ... les the only one, really."
 "What about Beeson?'
 "What about him? You were there.'
  Matlock held the squash ball in his hand for a few seconds before lobbing
  it against the side walL The wall away from Greenberg7s stare
  "Could Beeson have been smarter than I thought and sent out an alarm?"
  "He could have. We think fes doubtfiA ... The way you described the
  evening."
  But Matlock had not described the entim evening. He had not told Greenberg
  or anyone of Beesoes telephone call. His reasons weren't rational, they
  were emotional. Lucas Herron was an old man a gentle man. His sympathy for
  troubled students was legendary; his concern for young, untried, often
  arrogant new instructors was a welcomed sedative in faculty crises. Matlock
  had convinced himself that the "grand old birir had befriended a desperate
  young man,
 9s Robert LucUum

 helping him in a desperate situation. He had no right to surface Herron!s
 name on the basis of a phone call made by a panicked drug user. There were
 too many possible explanations. Somehow he'd speak with Herron, perhaps over
 coffee at the Commons, or in the bleachers at a baseball game-Herron loved
 baseball --ftlk to him, tell him he should back away from Archer Beeson.
 0--about Beesonr
 OWhatr Matlock had not heard Greenberg.
  'I asked you if you had second thoughts about Beeson.w
  -No. No, I haven't He's not important As a matter of fact~ hell probably
  throw away the grass and the pills-except for my benefit-if he thinks he
  can use nm.~
 'I woet try to follow that"
  *Don!t I just had momentary doubts. ... I caet believe you arrived at only
  one theory Come on. What elser
  'All right Two others and they're not even plausible-both from the same
  egg. The first is that there might be a leak in Washington. The second-a
  leak here at Carlyle."
 'Why not plausible?"
  'Washington first. There are fewer than a dozen men who know about this
  operation, and that includes justice, Treasury, and the VvUte House.
  They're the caliber of men who exchange secret mesuges with the Kremlin.
  Impossible
 'And Carlyler
  'You, Adrian Sealfont, Emd the obnoxious Samuel Kressei.... rd like nothing
  better than pointing at Kressel-he's a prick-but, again, impossible. I'd
  also take a certain ethnic delight in knocking a venerated
                 THE MATIOX PAP= 93

 WASP Eke Sealfmt off his pedestal, but there, toono sense. That leaves you.
 Are you the one?"
  "Your wit is staggering." Matlock had to run to catch the ball which
  Greenberg threw into a comer. He held it In his hand and looked at the
  agent 'Don't misunderstand me-I like Sam, or at least I think I do-but why
  is he 'impossibWP-
  "Same as Sealfont ... In an operation like this we start at the beginning.
  And I inean the beginning. We don't gtve a gDddamn about positions,
  stattxs, or reputation-good or bad. We use every trick in the books to
  prove someone guilty, not innocent. We try to find even the flimsiest
  reason not to clear him. Kressers as clean as John the Baptist. Still a
  prick but dean. Sealfonfs worse. Hes everything they say. A goddamn
  saint-Church of England, of course. So, again, that leaves you.*
  Matlock whipped the ball up in a spinning reverse shot into the rear left
  ceiling. Greenberg stopped back and slashed the ball in midair into the
  right wall. It bulleted back between Matlock's legs.
  "I gather you!ve played the game," said Matlock with an embarrassed grin.
  rhe bandit of Brandeis. What about the girl? Where is slier
  "In my apartment I made her promise not to leave till I got back. Outside
  of safety, ies one way to get the place cleaned up."
  "I'm assigning a man to her. I dont think ies neoessary, but *M make you
  feel better" Greenberg looked at his watch.
 "It will and thanks."
  'We'd better hurry.... Now, listen. Were letting everything take its normal
  course. Police blotter, newspapers, everything. No covers, no counter
  stories, noth-
   94 Robert Ludlum
 tag to obstruct normal curiosity or your perfectly normal reactions. Someone
 broke into your apartment and smashed up the place. That's all you know...
 And theres something else. You may not like it~ but we think ifs best-and
 safest.*
 Owhaffo
  "We think Mim Ballantyne should report the phone call she received to the
  police."
  'Hey, come onf The caller expected to find me there at four o!c1ock in the
  morning. You doet spell that kind of thing out. Not if youre on a
  fellowship and expect to work for museum foundations. They still revere
  McKinley."
  'The eye of the beholder, Dr. Matlock- She just received a phone call; some
  mian asked for you, quoted Shakespeare, and made an unintelligible refer-
  ence to some foreign word or city. She was goddamn vad. It wouldn't rate
  five lines in a newspaper, but since your apartment was broken into, ifs
  logical she report te
  Matlock was silent. He walked over to the comer of the squash court where
  the ball had settled and picked it up. "We're a couple of ciphers who got
  pushed around. We doet know what happened; just that we doet like ft."
  nUfs the idea. Nothing is so convincing as someone wWs a bewildered injured
  party and lets everybody know it Make an insurance issue about those old
  books of yours.... I've got to go. There areet that many extinguishers in
  the building, Anything else? What are you doing next?"
  Matlock bounced the ball on the floor. "A fortuitous invitation.
  Fortuitously received over a number of beers at the Afro-Commons. I'm
  invited to a staged version of the original puberty rites of the Mau Mau
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER 95

 tribes. Tonight at ten eclock in the cellars of Lummnba Hall. . . . It used
 to be the Alpha Delt fraternity house. I can tell you there are a lot of
 white Episco-
 palians spinning in hell over that one."
  Again, rm not following, Doctor.
  'You don't do your homework, either. Lumum
 ba Hall is very large on your list."
  "Sorry. Youll phone me in the morning?'
  "In the morning."
  'IT call you Jim if you'll call me Jason.*
  'No kiss, but agreed."
  'O.K. Practice some more in here. IM take you when this is over.~
 "Yoxere on."
  Greenberg let himself out. He looked up and down the narrow corridor,
  satisfied that no one was there; no one had seen him enter or leave the
  court Continuous thumping could be heard within the walls. All the courts
  were in use. Greenberg wondered, as he was about to turn the comer into the
  main hallway, why the Carlyle gymnasium was so heavily attended at eleven
  o'clock in the morning. It was never the case at Brandeis; not fifteen
  years ago. Eleven o'clock in the morning was a time for class.
  He heard a strange noise that was not the sound of a hard ball against
  thick wood and turned quickly.
 No one.
  He entered the main hall and turned once again. No one. He left quickly.
  The sound he heard was that of a stubborn latch. It came from the door next
  to Matlock's court. Out of that door a man emerged. He, too, as Greenberg
  had done less than a minute before, looked up and down the narrow corridor.
  But instead of being satisfied that no one was there, he was annoyed. The
  obstinate
 96 Robert Ludluin
 latch had caused him to n-Ass seeing the man who'd met with James Matlock.
  Now the door of court four opened and Matlock himself stepped into the
  corridor. The man ten feet away was startled, pulled his towel up to his
  face, and walked away, coughing.
  But the man wasnI quick enough. Matlock knew that face.
  It was the patrolman from his apartment at four c~clock in the morning.
  The patrolman who had called him "Doctor." The man in uniform who knew
  beyond a doubt that the campus troubles were caused by the "weirdos and the
  niggers."
 Matlock stared at the retreating figure.
  9

 Over the large cathedral doors one could see.---if one looked closely, or
 the sun was shining at a certain angle---the faded imprint of the Greek
 letters Am). They had been there in bas-relief for decades, and no amount of
 sand blasting or student damage could eradicate them completely. The
 fraternity house of Alpha Delta Phi had gone the way of other such buildIngs
 at Carlyle. Its holy order of directors could not find it within themselves
 to accept the inevitable. The house had been sold-lock, stocl~, leaking
 roof, and bad mortgage-to the blacks.
  The blacks had done well, even extremely well, with what they had to work
  with. The decrepit old house had been totally refurbished inside and out.
  All past associations with its former owners were obliterated wherever
  possible. The scores of faded photographs of venerated alumni were replaced
  with wildly theatrical portraits of the new revolutionaries--Afiican, Latin
  American, Black Panther. Throughout the ancient halls were the new
  commands, screeched in posters and psychedelic art: Death to the Pigsl Up
  Whiteyl Malcolm Lives! Lumumba the Black Christ!
  Between these screams for recognition were replicas of primitive African
  artifacts-fertility masks, spears,
 98 Robert Ludluin
 shields, animal skins dipped in red paint shrunken heads suspended by hair
 with complexions unmIstAably white.
  Lunrumba, Hall wasn't trying to fool anyone. It reflected anger. It
  reflected fury.
  Matlock didn7t have to use the brass knocker set beside the grotesque iron
  mask at the edge of the doorfi-ame. The large door opened as he approached
  it and a student greeted him with a bright smile.
  "I was hoping youd make it! Iles gonna be a groovel"
  Thanks, Johnny. Wouldn't miss ft- Matlock walked in, struck by the
  proliferation of lighted candles throughout the hallway and adjouung rooms.
  "Looks like a wake. Wheres the casket?"
 'Males later. Wait11 you seel"
  A black Matlock recognized as one of the campus extremists walked up to
  them. Adam Williams' hair was long-African style and clipped in a perfect
  semicircle above his head. His features were sharp; Matlock had the feeling
  that if they met in the veldt, W& hams would be assumed to be a tribal
  chief.
  "Good evemng," Williams stud with an Infectious grin. "Welcome to the seat
  of revolution."
  "Thanks very much." They shook hands. 'You doet look so revolutionary as
  you do funereal. I was asking Johnny where the casket was."
  Williams laughed. His eyes were intelligent, his smile genuine, without
  guile or arrogance. In close quarters, the black radical had little of the
  firebrand quality he displayed on the podium in front of cheering
  supporters. Matlock wasn't surprised. Those of the faculty who had Williams
  in their courses often remarked on his subdued, good-humored approach. So
  different from the image he projected in campus-
                    TEE MATLOCK PAPER 99
 rapidly becoming national-politics.
  "Oh, Lordl Were lousing up the picture thenl This U a happy occasion. A
  little gruesome, I suppose, but essentially joyfuV
 Tin not sure I understand," Matlock smiled.
  'A youngster from the tribe reaches the age of manhood, the brink of an
  active, responsible life. A jungle Bar Mitzvah. It's a time for rejoicing.
  No caskets, no weeping shrouds.-
  "rhaes rightl Thaes right, Adaml" said the boy named Johnny
  enthusiastically.
  'Why don't you get Mr. Matlock a drink, brother." And then he turned to
  Matlock. "Ifs all the same drink until after the ceremony~its called Swaluh
  punch. Is that O.K.?"
 "Of course."
  Mght." Johnny disappeared into the crowd toward the dining room and the
  punch bowl. Adam smiled as he spoke.
  "Ies a light nun drink with lemonade and cranberry fuice. Not bad,
  really.... Thank you for con-dng. I mean that."
  'I was surprised to be invited. I thought this was a very& thing.
  Restricted to the tribe.... That didn't come out the way I meant it."
  Williams laughed. "No offense. I used the word. It's good to think in terms
  of tribes. Good for the brothers."
 "Yes, I Imagine it is....
  'The collective, protective social group. Possessing an Identity of its
  own."
  "If that's the purpose-the constructive purpose-I endorse it."
  "Oh, it is. Tribes in the bush don't always make war on each other, you
  know. Ifs not all stealing, looting,
 ioo Robett Ludkm

 carrying away women. 17haes a Robert Ruark hangup They trade, share hunting
 and farming lands together, coexist in the mam. probably better than nations
 or even political subdivisions."
  It was Matlock's tam to laugh. "All right, professor. IT make notes aftm
  the lecture
  Sorry. Avocational hazard.-
 OAvocational or occupational?*
  rime will tell, woet it? ... One thing I should make clear, however We
  don7t need your endorsement"
  Johnny returned with Matlock's cup of Swahili punch. 'Hey~ you know what?
  Brother Davis, tws Bill Davis, says you told him you were going to flunk
  hum, then at midterm you gave him a ffigh Passl"
  "Brother Davis got off his fat ass and did a We work.0 Madock looked at
  Adam Williams. OYou don't object to that kind of endorsement, do you?-
  WML&ms smiled broadly and placed his hand on madodes arm. No, sir, bwana...
  In that area you ran King Solornoes Mines. Brother Davis is here to work as
  hard as he can and gc) as far as his potential will let him. No argument
  there. Bear down on the brother.s
  You!re positively fnghtenmg- Matlock spoke with a lightness he did not
  feel.
  "Not at all. just pragmatic... rve got some lastminute preparations to look
  after. See you later." Wil. liams bailed a passing student and walked
  through the crowd toward the staircase.
  Come on, Mr Matlock. rll show you the new alIterations.* Johnny led Matlock
  into what used to be Alpha Deles common room.
 In the see. of dark faces, Matlock saw a minimum of
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER 202

 guarded, hostile looks. There were, perhaps, less overt greetings than he
 might expect outside on the campus, but by and large, his presence was
 accepted. He thought fDr a moment that if the brothers knew why he had come,
 the inhabitants of Lumumba, Hall might turn on him angrily. He was the only
 white person
 dMV6
  Ile alterations in the common room were drastic. Gone were the wide
  moldings of dark wood, the thick oak window seats beneath the huge
  cathedral windows, the solid, heavy furniture with the dark red leather.
  Instead, the room was transformed Into something else entirely. The arched
  windows were no longer. They were now squared at the top, bordered by
  jet-black dowels an inch or two in diameter, which loolred like long,
  rectangular slits. Spreading out from the windows into the walls was a
  textured pattern of tiny wooden bamboo strips shellacked to a high polish.
  This same wall covering was duplicated on the ceilmg, thousands of highly
  glossed reeds converging towards the center. In the middle of the ceiling
  was a large circle~ perhaps three feet in width, in which there was placed
  a thick pane of rippled glass. Beyond the glass shone a bright yellowish
  white light, its flood diffused in ripples over the room. What furniture he
  could see through the mass of bodies was not really furniture at all. There
  were various low-cut slabs of thick wood in diffming shapes on short
  legs-these Matlock assumed were tables. Instead of chairs, there were
  dozens of pillows in vibrant colors scattered about the edge of the Walls.
 it didet take Matlock long to realize the effect
  Alpha Delta Plifs common room had been transformed brilliantly into the
  replica of a large thatched
 io2 Robert Ludlum

 African hut Even to the point of the blazing eqt=tDrial sun streaming
 through the enclosures vent to the Ades.
  "This is remarkablel Really remarkable. It must have taken months."
  'Almost a year and a half," Johnny said. "lirs very comfortable, very
  relaxing. Did you know that lots of top designers are going in for this
  sort of thing now? I mean the back-to-nature look. Ifs very functional and
  easy to maintain."
  "That sounds dangerously like an apology. You doi* have to apologize. It's
  terrific."
  '%, rm not apologizing" Johnny retreated from his explanation. "Adam says
  theres a certain majesty in the primitive. A very proud heritage
  "Adam's right Only hes not the first person to make that observation."
 "Please doi* put us down, Mr. Matlock. . .
  Matlock looked at Johnny over the rim of his cup of Swahili punch. Oh,
  Christ, he thought, the more things change, the more they remain the same.

  The high-ceflinged chapter room of Alpha Delta Phi had been carved out of
  the cellars at the farthest end of the fraternity house. It had been built
  shortly after the turn of the century when impressive alumm had poured
  impressive sums into such hobbies as secret societies and debutante
  cotillions. Such activities promulgated and propagandized a way of life,
  yet assuredly kept it selective.
  Thousands of starched young men had been initiated in this chapel-like
  enclosure, whispering the secret pledges, exchanging the unfamiliar
  handshakes explained to them by stem-faced older children, vowing
                 THE MATUXX PAPER 203

 till death to keep the selected faith. And afterward, getting drunk and
 vomiting in comers.
  Matlock thought these thoughts as he watched the Mau Mau ritual unfold
  before him,. It was no less childish, no less absurd than the preceding
  scenes in this rooni, he considered. Perhaps the physical aspects --the
  simulated physical aspects.-were more brutal in what they conveyed, but
  then the roots of the cereInOmy were not based in the delicate steps of a
  cotflfton~s pavanne but, instead, in harsh, animal-like pleas to primitive
  gods. Pleas for strength and survival. Not . ns for continued exclusivity.
  The tribal rite itself was a series of unintelligible chants, each one
  growing in intensity, over the body of a black student--obviously the
  youngest brother in Lumumba Hall-stretched out on the concrete floor, naked
  except for a red loincloth strapped around his waist and legs, covering his
  genitals. ' At the finish of each chant, signifying the end of one canto
  and the commencement of the succeeding song, the boys body was raised above
  the crowd by four extremely tall Students, themselves naked to the waist,
  wearing jetblack dance belts, their legs encased in spirals of rawhide
  strips. The room was lighted by dozens of thick candles mounted on stands,
  causing shadows to dance across the upper walls and the ceding Adding to
  this theatrical effect was the fact that the five active participants in
  the ritual had their skins covered with oil, their faces streaked in
  diabolical patterns. As the singt[kg grew wilder, the young boys rigid body
  was thro" higher and higher until it left the hands of its four supporters,
  returning split seconds later into the outstretched arm. Each time the
  black body with the red loincloth was flung into the air, the crowd re-
   w4 Robed Ludium

 spo.ded with growing volumes of gattural shouts.
  And then Matlodic, who had been watching with a degree of detachment,
  suddenly found hunself frightened. Frightened for the small Negro whose
  stif~ oiled body was being flung into air with such abandon. For two
  additional blacks, dressed like the others, had joined the four in the
  center of the floor. However, instead of helping toss the now soaring
  figure, the two blaclm crouched between the rectangular foursomebeneath the
  body-and withdrew long-bladed knives, ti
 one in each hand. Once in their squatting post ons, they sbetched out their
 arm so that the blades were held upright, as rigid, as stiff as the body
 above them Each time the small Negro descended, the four blades Inched
 closer to the falling flesh. One dip, one oily miscalculation on the part of
 Just one of the fim blacJm, and the ritual would end in death for the small
 student In murder.
  Matlock, feeling that the ritual had gone as far as he could allow, began
  scanning the crowd for Adam Williams. He saw him in front, on the edge of
  the circle, and started pushing his way toward him He was stopped--quietly
  but firmly-by the blacks around him. He looked angrily at a Negro who held
  his arm. ne black didn't acknowledge Ins stam, he was hypnotized by the
  action now taking place in the center of the room.
  Matlock saw why instantly For the body of the small boy was now being spun,
  alternately face up and face down with each elevation. The danger of error
  was increased tenfold. Matlock grabbed the hand on his arm, twisted it
  inward, and flung it off him. He looked once more in the direction of Adam
  Williams.
  He wasn't there. He was nowhere in sightl Matlock stood still, undecided.
  If he raised his voice between
                 T= MATLOCK PAP20K WS
 the crowd's roaring crescendos, it was entirely possible that he might cause
 a break in the concentration of those handling the body. He couldnt risk
 that, and yet he couldnt allow the dangerous absurdity to continue.
  Suddenly Matlock felt another hand, this one on his shoulder. He turned and
  saw the face of Adam Wil~ hams behind him. It startled him. Had some
  primitive tribal signal been transmitted to Williams? The black: radical
  gestured with his head for Matlock to follow him through the shouting crowd
  to the outer edge of the circle. William spoke between the roam
 OYou look worried. Doet be."
  *Lookl This craVs gone far enoughl That kid could be killedl'
  'No chance. The brothers have rehearsed for months.... les really the most
  simplistic of the Mau Mau rites. The symbolism is fundamental. ... See? The
  chII&s eyes remain open. First to the sky, then facing the blades. He is
  constantly aware-every gecond-that his life is in the hands of his brother
  warnom. He cannot, he must not show fear To do so would betray his peers.
  Betray the confidence he must place in their hands--as they will someday
  place their lives in his hands."
  "Ies childish, dangerous dupidity, and you know itl" cut in MatlocIL 'Now,
  rm telling you, Williams, you put a stop to it or I willl"
  "Of course,* continued the black radical, as if Mat.
 lock had not spoken, -there are anthropologists who
 insist that the ceremony is essentially one of fertility.
 The unsheathed knives representing erections, the four
 protectors guarding the child through its formative
 years. Frankly, I think that's reaching. Also, it sb*w
 me as contradictory even for the primitive mind ... 0
 io6 Robert Ludlum

  -Goddamn youl- Matlock grabbed Williams by the front of his shirL
  Immediately other blacks closed in on lifin.
  Suddenly there was total silence in the eerily lit room. The silence lasted
  only a moment. It was followed by a series of mind-shattering screams from
  the mouths of the four Negroes in the center of the crowd In whose hands
  the life of the young student depended. Matlock whipped around and saw the
  shinIng black body descending downward from an incredIble height above the
  outst:retched hands.
  It couldet be truel It waset happening! Yet it wasl
  The four blacks suddenly, in unison, crouched into kneeling positions away
  from the center, their arms dashed to their sides. The young student came
  crashing down, face touwrd the blades. Two further smeams followed. In a
  fraction of a second, the students holding the huge knives swung their
  weapons across one another and in an unbelievable display of wrist
  strength, caught the body on the flat of the blades.
 The crowd of blacks went wild.
 The ceremony was over.

  'Do you believe me now?" Williams asked, speaking in a comer with Matlock.
  'Whether I do or not doesn7t change what I said. You caiet do this sort of
  thmgl Ifs too goddamn dangaxnw"
  'You exaggerate.... Here, let me introduce another guest." Williams raised
  his hand and a tall thin black with close-mopped hair and glasses, dressed
  in an expensively cut tan suit~ joined them. "Ilds is Ju-
                   TBE MAnAXX PAPER 107

 lian Dunois, Mr. Matlock. Brother Julian is our experL, Our choreographer,
 if you like."
  A pleasum- Dunois extended his hand, speaking with a slight accent
  Brother Julian is from Haiti. ... Harvard Law out of Haiti. A most unusual
  progression, I think youll agree.0
 "It certainly is....
  'Many Haitians, even the Ton Ton Macoute, still get upset when they hear
  Ins name."
  "You exaggerate, Adam~" said Julian Dunois with a smile.
  "Thaes what I just said to Mr. Matlock He exaggerates. About the danger of
  the ceremony.*
  "Oh, there's danger-as theres danger if one crosses the Boston Commons
  wearing a blindfold. The petcock of safety, Mr. Matlock, is that those
  holding the knives watch closely. In the training there is as much emphasis
  on being able to drop the knives Instantly as there is in holding them up."
  "That may be so,* Matlock acitnowledged. "But the margin for error
  terrifies me."
  "Ies not as narrow as you think." The lilt in the Haitian~s voice was as
  reassuring as it was attractive. 'Incidentally, rm a fan of yours. rve
  enjoyed your works on the Elizabethans. May I add, yoere not exactly what
  I expected. I mean, yo&re far, for youngen"
  'You flatter me. I diddt think I was known In law schools.*
 "My undergraduate major was English literatum*
  Adam interrupted politely. "You two enjoy yourselves. There'll be drinks
  upstairs in a few minutes; just follow the crowd. rve got things to do....
  rm
 108 Robert LudUutn

 glad you!ve met You!re both strangers, In a way. Strangers should meet in
 unfamiliar areas. Iles comkrtinto
  He gave Dunois an enigmatic look and walked upidly away through the crowd.
  *Why does Adam feel he has to talk in what rin vire he considers are
  profound riddIes?' Matlock

  "Rds very young. He strives constantly tD make emphasis. Very bright, but
  very young."
  'Youll pardon me, but you!re not exactly ancient I doubt more than a year
  or two older than Adam."
  The black in the expensively cut tan suit looked Into Matlocles eyes and
  laughed gently.
  "Now you flatter nw," he sad. "If the truth were known-and why shouldn't it
  be?---and If my tropic color did not disguise the years so well, yoWd know
  that I was precisely one year, four months, and sixteen days okler than
  you."
  Matlock stared at the Negro, speechless. It took him nearly a full minute
  to assimilate the lawyer's words and the meaning behind those words. The
  blacles eyes did not waver. He returned Matlock's stare in equal measure.
  Finally, Matlock found his voice.
 Tm not sure I like this game."
  'Oh, come, we're both here for the same reason, are we not? You from your
  vantage point, I from mine . . . Lees go upstairs and have a drink- . . .
  Bourbon and soda, isn't it? Sour mash, if ies available, I understancV
  Dunois preceded Matlock through the crowd, and Matlock had no other course
  but to follow.

 Dunois leaned against the brick wall.
 'All right," Matlock said, "the amenities are over.
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER 109

 Everyones acknowledged your show downstairs, and theres no one left for me
 to impress my white skin on. I think it's time you started explaining.*
  They were alone now, outside on the porch. Both held drinks.
  "My, aren't we professional? Would you care for a cigar? I can assure you
  it!s Havana."
  "No cigar. Just talk I came here tonight because these are my friends. I
  felt privileged to be invited. ... Now, yoeve attached something else and
  I doiYt ]like it.0
  "Bravol Bravol" said Dunois, raising his glass. 'You do that very well....
  Doet worry, they know nothing. Perhaps they suspect, but believe me, only
  in the vaguest terins."
 "What the hell are you talking about?"
  "Finish your drink and lees walk out on the lawn.7 Dunois drained his nun
  and, as if by reflex, Matlock drank the remainder of his bourbon. The two
  men walked down the steps of the Lumumba Hall, Matlock following the black
  to the base of a large elm tree, Dunois turned suddenly and grabbed Matlock
  by the shoulders.
 "Take your goddamn hands off mel"
  %isten to mel I want that paperl I must have that paperl And you must tell
  me where it W
  Matlock flung his hands up to break Dunois's grip. But his arms did not
  respond. They were suddenly heavy, terribly heavy And there was a whistling
  A growing, piercing whistling in his hea&
  "What? What? ... What paper? I doet have any paper. . . .*
  "Met be difficultl Well get it, you knowl Now, just tell me where it isl"
 Matlock realized that he was being lowered to the
 im Robert Ludlum

 ground. The outline of the huge tree above him began tD spin, and the
 whistling in his brain became louder and louder. It was unendurable. He
 fought to find his mind again.
 'What are you doing? What are you doing to mel?'
 'Jrhe paper, Matlocki Wbere is the Corsican paper?"
  'Get off met" Matlock tried to yell. But nothing came from his lips.
 "The silver paper, goddamn you to heUr
 'No paper ... no. Haven1 paperl Nol'
  'Listen to mel You just had a drink, remember the drink? . . . You just
  finished that drink. Remember?
 You can't be -alone nowl You don't dare be alonel"
 'What?... What? Get off mel You~re crushing mel"
  *Tm not even touching you. The drink isf You just consumed three tabs of
  lysergic acidt Yoere in troub1% Doctorl ... Nowl You tell nw where that
  paper br
  From his inner recesses he found an instant of clarity From the spinning,
  turning, whirling spirals of mind-blasting colors, he saw the form of the
 above him and he lashed out. He grabbed at the white shirt between the dark
 borders of the jacket and pulled it down with all the strength he could sum-
 mon. He brought his fist up and hit the descending face as hard as he could.
 Once the face was jarred, he began hammering at the throat beneath it
 mercilessly. He could feel the shattering of the glasses and he knew his
 fist had found the eyes and crushed the glass Into the rolling head.
  It was over in a period of time he could never ascertain. Dunois's body was
  beside him, unconscious.
  And he knew he had to ran. Run furiously awayl What had Dunois said? ...
  Doet dare be alone. Don't
                 TM A"TLOCK PAM III

 darel He had to find Patt Pat would know what to do. He had to find herl The
 chemical in his body was going to take full effect soon and he knew it! Run,
 for Chrises sakel
  But where?l VVhich way?l He didn't know the wayl The goddamn fucking wayl
  The street was there, he raced along the street, but was it the right way?l
  Was it the right street?l
  Then he heard a car. It was a car, and it was com,.ing close to the curb
  and the driver was looking at him. Looking at him, so he ran faster,
  tripping once over the curb and falling into the pavement and risIng again.
  Running, for Christ Almighty's sake, nmning till the breath in his lungs
  was gone and he could no longer control the movement of his feet. He felt
  himself swerve, unable to stop himself, toward the wide gulf of the street,
  which suddenly became a river, a black putrid river in which he would
  drown.
  He vaguely heard the screech of the brakes. The lights blinded him, and the
  figure of a man reached down and poked at his eyes. He didn't care any
  longer. Instead, he laughed. Laughed through the blood which flowed into
  his mouth and over his face.
  He laughed hysterically as Jason Greenberg carried him to the car.
  And then the earth, the world, the planet~ the galaxy, and the entire solar
  system went crazy.
  10

 The night was agony.
  The morning brought a degree of reality, less so for Matlock than for the
  two people sitting beside him, one on either side of the bed. Jason
  Greenberg, his large, sad eyes drooping, his hands calmly crossed on his
  lap, leaned forward. Patricia Ballantyne, her arm stretched out, held a
  cool washcloth on Matlocles forehead.
 'Me schvugs gave you one hell of a party, friend.'
 'Shhl" whispered the girl. "Leave him alone."
  Matlocles eyes wandered as best they could around the room. He was in Pats
  apartment, in her bedroom, her bed.
 'Mey gave me acid."
  'You!re telling us ... We bad a doctor--a real doctor-brought in from
  Litchfield. He's the nice fella you kept trying to take the eyeballs
  from.... Doet worry, he!s federal. No names.*
 Tat? How come . . ."
  OYoere a very sweet acid head, Jamie. You kept yelling my name."
  "It also made the best sense,' interrupted Greenberg. "No hospitals. No
  out-patient records. Nice and private; good thinking. Also, yoifre very
  persuasive when yoere violent. Yoifre a hell of a lot stronger than
                 TBE MATLOCK PAPM 113

1 thought. Especially for such a lousy handball player.' "You shouldn~t have
 brought me here. Goddamn i4 Greenberg, you shouldn~t have brought me herel"
  "Forgetting for the moment that it was your Idea . . ~*
 "I was druggedt"
  'It was a good idea. What would you have preferred? The emergency clinic?
  . . . VWs that on the
  stretcher, Doctor? The one screan-Ang Oh, just
 Associate Professor Matlock, Nurse. Hes on an acid
 trip., "
  'You know what I mearil You could have taken me home. Strapped me down."
  Tin relieved to see you donI know much about acid," said Greenberg.
 "What he means, Jamie             Pat took his hand,
  .. if it's bad, you should be with someone you know awfully well. The
  reassurance is necessary."
  Matlock looked at the girl. And then at Greenberg. 'What have you told
  her?"
  'nat you volunteered to help us; that w6re grateful. With your help we may
  be able to prevent a serious situation from getting worse." Greenberg spoke
  in a monotone; it was obvious that he didift wish to expand.
  "It was a very cryptic explanation," Pat said. "He wouldnI have given me
  that if I hadnI threatened him."
  "She was going to call the police." Greenberg sighed, his sad eyes sadder.
  "She was going to have me locked up for dosing you. I had no choice."
 Matlock smiled.
  'Why are you doing this, Jamie?" Pat found nothing amusing.
 'The man said it: the situations serious."
 134 Robert Ludlum

 'But why youP"
 "'Because I can.*
 aWhat? Turn in kids?"
  'I tDId you,7 said Jason. "W6re not interested in
 students .... "
  Whaes Lumumba Hall, then? A branch of General Motors?"
  'Ies one contact point; there are others. Frankly, vWd rather not have
  gotten involved with that crowd-, it's ticklish. Unfortunately, we =1
  choose.-
 "That's offensive."
  "I don't think theres much I could say that wouldet be offensive to you,
  Miss Ballantyne.*
  "Perhaps not Because I thought the FBI had more important work to do than
  harassing young blackL Obviously, you doet"
  "Hey, come on." Matlock squeezed the girrs hand. She took it from him.
  "No, I mean that, jamiel No games, no radical chic. There are drugs all
  over this place. Some of it's a bad scene, most of it's pretty standard. We
  both know that Why all of a sudden are the kids at Lumumba singled out?"
  'We wouldn7t touch those kids. Except to help them." Greenberg was weary
  from the long night His irritation showed.
  "I doet like the way you people help people and I doet like what happened
  to jamiel Why did you send him thereP"
 "He didet send me. I maneuvered that myself."
 "Why?'"
  "It's too complicated and I'm too washed out to explain ft."
  "Oh, Mr. Greenberg did that. He explained all right IWve given you a badge,
  haven1 they? They can7t
                 THE MATLOCK PAP= 115

 do it themselves so they pick a nice, easygoing fellow to do it for them.
 You take all the risks; and when ies over, youll never be truAed on this
 campus again. Jamie, for Gods sake, this is your home, your WOW"
  Matlock held the girrs eyes with his own, doing his best to calm her. "I
  know that better than you do. My home needs to be helped-and thales no game
  either, Pat I think the risks are worth it"
 "I won1 pretend to understand that"
  'You can1 understand it, Miss Ballantyne, because we can't tell you enough
  to make it reasonable. Youll have to accept that"
 "Do I?"
  "rm asking you to,' said Matlock. "He saved my life.*
  "I woui&1 go that far, Professor." Greenberg shrugged as he spoke.
  Pat stood up. "I think he threw you overboard and tossed you a rope as an
  afterthought ... Are you all right?-
 "Yes,* answered Matlock.
 I have to go; I won~t if you don't want me to.'
  "No, you go ahead. I'll call you later. Thanks for the ministrations."
  The girl looked briefly at Greenberg-it was not a pleasant look-and crossed
  to her dresser. She picked up a brush and rapidly stroked her hair,
  slipping an orange headband into place. She watched Greenberg through the
  mirror. He returned the stare.
  &7be man who's been following me, Mr. Greenberg. Is he one of your men?"
 "Yes."
 "I dont like it.0
 'Tm sorry."
 Pat turned. 'Will you remove him, please?'
 116 Robert Ludlum
 01 c&t & that Ill tell him to be less obvious."
  "I see." She took her purse from the dresser top and reached down to the
  floor, picking up her accordion briefcase. Without speaking further, the
  girl walked out of the bedroom. Several seconds later, the two men could
  hear the apartment door open and shut firmly.
  'rhat is one very ng-willed young lady," said Jason.
 'There!s a good reason."
 'What do you mean?"
  'I thought you fellows were so familiar with the people you had to deal
  with. . . ."
  "I'm still getting briefed. I'm the back-up, rememberr
  'Then IT save you time. In the late fifties her father got McCarthyized out
  of the State Department Of course, he was very dangerous. He was a language
  consultant. He was cleared for translating newspapers."
 "Shit."
  'Mes the word, brother. He never made It back. She's had scholarships all
  her life; the cupbow&s bare. Shes a little sensitive to your type.*
 "Boy, do you pick'eml"
 'You picked vie, remember?'

  Matlock opened the door to his apartment and walked into the foyer. Pat had
  done a good job putting the rooms in order-as he knew she would. Even the
  curtains were rehung. It was a little after threemost of the day wasted.
  Greenberg had insisted that the two of them drive over to Litchfield for a
  reexamination by the doctor. Shaken but operable, was the verdict.
 They stopped for lunch at the Cheshire Cat. During
                 TBZ MAnDM PAMM 117

 the meal, Matlock kept looking over at the small table where four days ago
 Ralph Loring had sat with his folded newspaper. The lunch was quiet. Not
 strained --the two men were comfortable in each others company-but quiet, as
 if each had too much to think abouL
  On the road back to Carlyle, Greenberg told him to stay in his apartment
  until he contacted him. Washington hadn't issued any new instructions. They
  were evaluating the new information, and until they confirmed any further
  involvement, Matlock was to remain -OOS---a term the English professor
  found hard to equate with grownups: out of n1rategy.
  It was just as well, he thought. He had his own strategy to think
  about-Lucas Herron. The "grand old bird,' the campus elder statesman. it
  was time to reach him, to warn him. The old man was out of his element and
  the quicker he retreated, the better for everyone-Carlyle included. Yet he
  didet want to telephone him, he didn't want to arrange a formal meeting-he
  had to be subtler than that He didn't want to alarm old Lucas, have him
  talking to the wrong people.
  It occurred to Matlock that he was acting as some sort of protector for
  Herron. That presumed Lucas was innocent of any serious involvement He won-
  dered if be had the right to make that assumption. On the other hand, by
  civilized standards, he had no right to make any other.
  The telephone rang. It coul(Wt be Greenber& he thought Bed just left him at
  the curb. He hoped it wasiet Pat; he wasn't ready to talk to her yet Re-
  luctantly he lifted the instrument to his ear. "Hellol"
  "Jim] Where have you beenl? I've been calling since eight this mornmg1 I
  was so goddamn worried I
 iL:L8 Robed Ludium
 went over there twice. Got your key from mabiW nanm* It was Sam Kressel. He
 sounded as though Carlyle had lost its accreditation.
  "Ies too involved to go into now, Sam. Lees get together later. rU come
  over to your place after dinner~"
  'I don!t know if it can wait that long. jesust What the hell got wo your
 "I don!t understane
  At Lumumba, last nightl-
  'What are you talking about? What have you heardr
  'rhat black bastard, Adam Williams, handed in a report to my office
  accusing you of just about everything short of advocating slaveryl He clai
  the only reason Ws not filing police charges is that you were blind drunk!
  Of course, the alcohol stripped you of your pretenses and showed clearly
  what a racist you arel"
 "What?1"
  'You broke up furniture, slapped around some Inds, smashed windows. . . ."
 ~You know damned well thaes bullshitl'p
  'I figured as much." Kressel lowered his voice. He was calming down. 'But
  my knowing it doeset help, can't you see that? This is the kind of thing
  weve got to avokL Polarizationi The government walks Onto a campus,
  polarization follows.*
  "Listen to me. Williams' statement is a decayL.-If thaes the word. les
  camouflage. They drugged me last night. If it hadn't been for Greenberg, I
  doet know where rd be right now."
  "Oh, Godl . . . LumumWs on your list, IsnI it? Thaes all we nee& The
  blacksll scream persecution. Christ knows what'll happen."
 Matlock tried to speak calmly "I% come over
                 THE MATU= PAP= 119

 around seven. Don't do anythmig, dodt say anything rve got to get off the
 phone. Greenbergs supposed to cav
 'Wait a minute, jiml One thing. This Greenberg
  . I don't trust him. I don't trust any of them. just remember. Your
  loyalt3es to Carlyle. . . ~- Kressel s"43ed, but he had not finished.
  Matlock realized he was at a loss for words.
 '11aes a strazige thing to say~'
 'I think you know what I mean.*
  Tin not sure I do. I thought the idea was to work
 together ... 0
  Not at the expense of ripping this oampus apardThe dean of colleges sounded
  nearly hysterical.
  DonI worry,- Matlock said. -It won!t: tear. r1l see you later." Matlock
  hung up the phone before Kresad could speak agam. His mind needed a short
  rest, and Kressel never let anyone rest where his domain was concerned. Sam
  Kressel, in his own way, was as militant as any extremist and, perhaps,
  quicker to Cry Obw
  These thoughts led Matlock to another consideraflon-two considerations.
  Four days ago, he had told Pat that he didnI want to change their plans for
  St 7bomas. Carlyles midteim holiday, a short ten days at the end of April,
  would start after classes on Saturday, in three days. Under the
  circumstances, St Thomas was out-unless Washington decided to retire him,
  and he doubted that. Hed use his parents as the excuse. Pat would
  understand, even be sympathetic. The other thought was his own classes. He
  had fallen behind. His desk was piled with papers-mostly themes and essay
  exams. He had also missed his two classes earlier in the day. He was not so
  much concerned for his students.-his method was to accelerate
 iw Robert LUAM
 In the fall and winter and relax in the spring-but be didn1 want to add any
 fuel to such fires as Williamd' false complaint An absentee associate
 professor was a target for gossip. His class load for the next three days
 was medium--~ two, and two. He'd organize the work later. Between now and
 seven o'clock, however, he had to find Lucas Herron. If Greenberg called
 while he was out, hed blame it on a forgotten gradaate conference.
  He decided to shower, shave, and change clothes. Once in the bathroom, he
  checked the litter boiL The Corsican paper was there-he knew it would be.
  The shave and shower completed, Madock walked into his bedroom, selecting
  clothes and a course of action. He didn't know Herroes daily schedule, al-
  though it would be a simple matter to find out If Lucas had any late
  afternoon classes or seminars. If he &W% Matlock knew HerroiYs house-, it
  would take about fifteen minutes to get there by car Herron lived eight
  miles from the campus, on a rarely traveled back road in a section once a
  part of the old Carlyle fiunfly estate. Herron7s home had been a carriage
  house. It was out of the way, but as Lucas kept sayin& "Once there,
  iesworth it"
  The rapid tapping of the door knocker broke his concentration. It also
  frightened him--he felt himself gasping for breath; that was disturbing.
  "Be right there," he yelled, slipping a white sport shut over his head. He
  walked barefoot to the hont door and opened it It was impossible for him to
  conceal his shock. In the doorframe stood Adgm Williams --alone.
 "Afternooe
 "Jesust ... I doet know whether to hit you in the
                 THE MATL4DCK PAPER 222

 mouth right now or first call the police! What the hell do you want?
 Kressers ah-eady called me~ if thaes what you're checking on."
  ^Please let me talk to you. rU be quick." The black spoke with urgency,
  trying, thought Matlock, to conceal his fear.
  "Come on in. And make it quick." Matlock slammed the door as Williams
  passed by hun into the foyer The black turned and tried to smile, but them
  was no humor in his eyes.
  Tin sorry about that report. Truly sorry. It was an unpleasant
  necessity.-
  "I don't buy that and you can't sell itl What did you want Kressel to do?
  Bring me up before the board and bum me out of here? Did you think rd just
  sit down and play doormat? Yoere a goddamn maniacl'
  "We didn't think anything would happen. Thaes precisely why we did it . .
  . We couldn't be sure where you went You disappeared, you know You might
  say we had to take the offensive and then later agree that it was all a
  disagreeable misunderstandin* ... les not a new tactic. rH send Kressel
  another report, backing off-but not entirely. In a couple of weeks, iell be
  forgotten.-
  Matlock raged, as much against Williarris' attitude as his conscienceless
  pragmatism. But when he spoke he did not raise his voice. "Get out You
  disgust me."
  "Oh, come off it, manI Haven7t we aluwjs disgwW you?l' Matlock had hit a
  nerve and William responded in kind. But just as suddenly, he took hold of
  himself. "Lees not argue theoretical practicalities. Let me get to the
  point and leave."
 'By all means.
 ^A11 right Listen to me. Whatever Dunois wanted
 in Robert Ludlum
 from you, give it to himi ... That is, give it to me and rlI send it on. No
 forked tongue; ifs last-extremity Janguager
  "roo pat a phrase. No sale. Why would I have anything Brother Julian
  wanted? Did he say so? Why doesn't he come over himselfr
  'Brother Julian doesn't stay long in any one place. His talents are in
  great demand."
 "Staging Mau Mau puberty rituals?"
 'Ile really does that, you know. Its a hobW
  *SeDd him to me." Matlock crossed in front of WilHam and went to the coffee
  table. He reached down and picked up a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "Well
  oompm notes on associative body movements. rve a hell of a collection of
  sixteenth-century folk dances.*
 'Talk seriously. Theres no timer
  Matlock lit a cigarette. "rve got all the time in the workL I just want to
  see Brother Julian again; I want W put him in jail.-
  'No chancel No chance. rm. here for your benefid If I leave without it, I
  can't control itl"
  "rwo pronouns signifying the same or different objects?-
  "Oh, yot*e too muchl You're really too muchl Do yorn know who Julian Dunois
  isr
 "Part of the Borgia family? Ethiopian branch?"
  'Stop it, Matlockf Do what he saysl People could be hurL Nobody wants thae
  'I doWt know who Dunois is and I don7t much give a dilmn I just know he
  drugged me and assaulted me and is exercising a dangerous influence on a
  bunch of children. Beyond this, I suspect he had my apartment broken Into
  and many of my personal belongings destroyeclL I want hun put away. From
  you and from Ine
                 TEE MATLOCK PAPER IM

 'Be reasonable, pleawr
  Matlock walked swiftly to the curtains in front of his casement window and
  with a flourish, yanked them down, displaying the shattered glass and
  twisted lead.
 "Is this one of Brother julian~s calling cards?"
  Adam Williams stared, obviously shocked, at the mass of destruction. "No,
  man. Absolutely, no. Thafs not julian~s style.... That's not even my style.
  That's someone else."
  11

 The road to Lucas Herron's house was dotted with the potholes of winter.
 Matlock doubted that the town of Carlyle would fill them in; there were too
 many other commercially traveled streets still showing the effects of the
 New England fi-eeze. As he approached the old carriage house, he slowed his
 Triumph to barely ten miles an hour. The bumps were jazzing, and he wanted
 to reach Herron~s house with little nollse,
  Thinking that Jason Greenberg might have had him followed, Matlock took the
  long route to Herron~s, driving four miles north on a parallel road and
  then doubling back on Herron~s street. There was no one behind himL The
  nearest houses to lqerron~s were a hundred yards away on either side, none
  in front TheWd been talk of turning the area into a housing development
  just as there'd been talk of enlarging Carlyle University, but nothing came
  of either projecL Actu&Dy, the first depended upon the second, and there
  was strong alumni opposition to any substantial physical change at Carlyle.
  The alumni were Adrian Sealfones personal cross.
  Matlock was struck by the serenity of Herron!s home. He!d never really
  looked at the house before. A dozen times, more or less, he'd driven Lucas
  home
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER 125

 after famltY meetings, but he'd always been in a hurry. He'd never accepted
 Lucas's invitations for a drink and, as a result, he had never been inside
 the house.
  He got out of the car and approached the old brick shluture. It was tall
  and narrow; the faded stDne covered with thousands of strands of ivy
  heightened the feeling of isolation. In front, on the large expanse of
  lawn, were two Japanese willow trees In hill spring blOOD36 their purple
  flowers cascading toward &e earth in large arcs. The grass was cut, the
  shrubbery pruned, and the white gravel on the vanous paths was gleaming. It
  was a house and grounds which were loved and cared for, yet one had the
  feeling that they were not shared. It was the work of and for one per. son,
  not two or a family. And then Matlock remembered that Lucas Herron had
  never marned. There were the ineviftble stones of a lost love, a tragic
  death, even a runaway bride-to-be, but whenever Lucas Herron heard about
  such youthful romanticumg he count, ered with a chuckle and a statement
  about being "too damned selfish."
  Matlock walked up the short steps to the door and rang the bell. He tried
  practicing an opening smile, but it was false; he wouldn't be able to carry
  it off. He was afraid.
  The door swung back and the ba white-haned Lucas Herron, dressed in
  wrinkled trousers and a halfunbuttoned, oxford-blue shirt sftred at hum
  It was less than a second before Herron spoke, but in that brief instant,
  Matlock knew that hed been wrong. Lucas Herron knew why he had come.
  "Well, Jiml Come in, come in, my boy. A pleasant surprise."
  "Thank you, Lucas. I hope I'm not interrupting anythin&w
 126 Robert Ludlum
  'Not a thing. Yoere just in time, as a matter of fact rm dabbling in
  alchemy. A fresh fruit gm, Collins. Now I won't have to dabble alone."
 'Sounds good to me."
  The inside of Herron!s house was precisely as Matlock thought it would
  be-as his own might be in thirty-odd years, if he lived that long alone. It
  was a mixed bag, an accumulated toW of nearly half a century of unrelated
  gatherings from a hundred unrelated sources. The only common theme was
  comfort; there was no concern for style or period or coordination. Several
  walls were lined with books, and those which were not were filled with
  enlarged photographs of places visited abroad-one suspected during sabbati-
  cob. The armchairs were thick and soft, the tables within arnfs reach-the
  sign of practiced bachelorbood, thought Matlock.
  "I doet think yoeve ever been here-inside, I mean.~
  No, I haven% It's very attractive. Very Comfortable."
  "Yes, it's that. It's comfortable. Here, sit down, I'll finish the formula
  and bring us a drink." Herron started across the living room toward what
  Matlock presumed was the door to the kitchen and then stDpped and turned.
  "I know perfectly well that you haveet come all the way out here to liven
  up an old mads cocktail hour. However, I have a house rule: at lead one
  drink-religion and strong principles permittint-before any serious
  discussion." He smiled and the myriad lines around his eyes and temples
  became more pronounced. He was an old, old man. "Besides, you look terribly
  serious. The Collinsll lessen the degree, I pron-dse you."
                 THE MATLOCK PAM 127

  Before Matlock could answer, Herron walked rapidly through the door.
  Instead of sittin& Matlock walked to the wall nearest him, against which
  was a small writing desk above it a half-dozen photographs that hung in no
  discernible pattern. Several were of Stonehenge taken from the same
  position, the setting sun at dramatically different angles. Another was of
  a rock-bound coast, mountains in the distance, fishing boats moored
  offshore. It looked Mediterranean, possibly Greece or the Thracian Islands.
  Then there was a surprise. On the lower right side of the wall, only inches
  above the desk, was a small photograph of a tall, slender army officer
  standing by the trunk of a tree. Behind him the foliage was profuse,
  junglelike; to the sides were the shadows of other figures. The officer was
  helmetless, his shirt drenched with sweat, his large right hand holding the
  stock of a submachine gun. in his left hand the officer held a folded piece
  of paper-it looked like a map-and the man had obviously just made a
  decision. He was looking upward, as though toward some high terrain. The
  face was taut but not excited. It was a good face, a strong face. It was a
  dark-haired, middle-aged Lucas Herron.
  "I keep that old photograph to remind me that time was not always so
  devastating."
  Matlock snapped up, startled. Lucas had reentered and had taken him off
  guard. "Ifs a good picture. Now I know who really won that war. "
  No doubt about it. Unfortunately, I never heard of that particular island
  either before or since. Someone said it was one of the Solomons. I think
  they blew it up in the fifties. Wouldn1 take much. Couple of fin crackers'd
  do it. Here." Herron crossed to Matlock, handing him his drink.
 128 Robert Ludlum

 "nanks. You're too modest. I've heard the stories.*
  "So have I. Impressed the hell out of me. They grow better as I grow
  older.... What do you say we sit in the back yard. Too nice to stay
  indoors." Without waiting for a reply, Herron started out and Matlock
  followed.
  Like the front of the house, the back was precisely manicured. On a
  flagstone patio, there were comfortable-looking, rubber-stranded beach
  chairs, each with a small table by its side. A large wrought-iron table
  with a sun umbrella was centered in the middle of the flagstones. Beyond,
  the lawn was close cropped and fulL Dogwood trees were dotted about, each
  spaded around its trunk, and two lines of flowers-mostly roses--stretched
  lengthwise to the end of the lawn, about a hundred feet away. At the end of
  the lawn, however, the pastoral effect abruptly stopped. Suddenly there
  were huge trees, the underbrush thick~ mangled, growing within itself. The
  side borders were the same. Around the perimeters of the sculptured back
  lawn was an undisciplined, overgrown forest.
  Lucas Herron was surrounded by a forbidding green wall.
  "It is a good drink, yoij!ll admit." The two men were seated.
 "It certainly is. You'll convert me to gin."
  'Only in spring and summer. Gies not for the rest of the year... All right,
  young fellow, the house rule's been observed. What bringsyou to Herron's
  Nest?"
 "I think you have an idea."
 "Do I?"
  "Archie Beeson." Matlock watched the old man, but Herroes concentration was
  on his glass. He showed no reaction.
 "The young history man?"
                 THE MATLOCK PAPER  129

 "Yes."
  "He'll make a fine teacher one day. Nice little filly of a wife, too."
 "Nice.. . and promiscuous, I think."
  'Appearances, jim." Herron chuckled. "Never thought of you as Victorian....
  One grows infinitely more tolerant of the appetites as one gets older. And
  the innocent whetting of them. You'll see."
 "Is that the key? The tolerance of appetites?'
 "Key to what?"
 'Come on. He wanted to reach you the other night."
  'Yes, he did. And you were there.... I understand your behavior left
  something to be desired."
  "My behavior was calculated to leave that impression." For the first time
  Herron betrayed a trace of concern. It was a small reaction, the blinking
  of his eyes in rapid succession.
  "That was reprehensible." Herron spoke softly and looked up at his imposing
  green wall. The sun was going below the line of tall trees; long shadows
  were cast across the lawn and patio.
  "It was necessary." Matlock saw the old man~s face wince in pain. And then
  he recalled his own reaction to Adam Williams' description of the
  "unpleasant necessity" of sending Sam Kressel the false report of his
  actions at Lumumba Hall. The parallel hurt.
  "The boy's in trouble. He's sick. It's a disease and he!s trying to cure
  himself. That takes courage. . . . This is no time for campus Gestapo
  tactics." Herron took a long drink from his glass while his free hand
  gripped the arm of the chair.
 "How did you know about it?"
  "That might be privileged information. Let's say I heard from a respected
  co-worker of ours-in the medical line--who ran across the symptoms and
  be-
  
   130 Robert Ludlum

 came concerned. What difference does it make? I tried to help the boy and
 I'd do it again."
  "I'd like to believe that. It's what I wanted to believe."
 "Why is that difficult for you?"
  "I don1 know.... Something at the front door a few minutes ago. Perhaps
  this house. I canI put my finger on ft. . . . I'm being completely honest
  with you."
  Herron laughed but still avoided Matlock's eyes. 'You~re too wound up in
  the Elizabethans. The plots and counterplots of The Spanish Tragedy. . . .
  You young faculty crusaders should stop trying to be an amateur Scotland
  Yard. Not too long ago it was fashionable around here to have Red Dogs for
  breakfast. You7re just magnifying the situation out of proportion."
  "That!s not true. I'm not a faculty crusader. Im no part of that growd, and
  I think you know ft."
  "What was it then? Personal interest? In the boy. Or his wife? ... I'm
  sorry, I shouldn't have said that"
  "I'm glad you did. I have no interest in Virginia Beeson-sexual or
  otherwise. Although I cadt imagine what else there would be.~
 "Then you put on quite an act,"
  "I certainly did. I took extreme measures to keep Beeson from knowing why
  I was there. It was that important.-
  
  "To whom?" Herron slowly put his glass down with his right hand, his left
  still gripped the arm of the chair.
  "To people beyond this campus. Washington people. The federal
  authorities. 
 Lucas Herron took a sudden, sustained intake of breath through his nostrils.
  In front of Matlock's eyes,