jg.thepelicanbrief-第35节

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　　〃I　could　lose　my　job。〃
　　
　　〃Who　would　I　tell；　Gavin？　Who's　covering　up　what？〃
　　
　　〃I'm　not　sure。　We　were　very　interested　in　the　brief　until　the　White　House　pressed　hard；　now　we've　dismissed　it。〃
　　
　　〃I　can　understand　that。　Why　do　they　think　they　can　kill　me　and　it　will　be　kept　quiet？〃
　　
　　〃I　can't　answer　that。　Maybe　they　think　you　know　more。〃
　　
　　〃Can　I　tell　you　something？　Moments　after　the　bomb；　while　Thomas　was　in　the　car　burning　and　I　was　semiconscious；　a　cop　named　Rupert　took　me　to　his　car　and　put　me　inside。　Another　cop　with　cowboy　boots　and　jeans　started　asking　me　questions。　I　was　sick　and　in　shock。　They　disappeared；　Rupert　and　his　cow　boy；　and　they　never　returned。　They　were　not　cops；　Gavin。　They　watched　the　bomb；　and　went　to　plan　B　when　I　wasn't　in　the　car。　I　didn't　know　it；　but　I　was　probably　a　minute　or　two　away　from　a　bullet　in　the　head。〃　
　　
　　Verheek　listened　with　his　eyes　closed。　〃What　happened　to　them？〃
　　
　　〃Not　sure。　I　think　they　got　scared　when　the　real　cops　swarmed　on　the　scene。　They　vanished。　I　was　in　their　car；　Gavin。　They　had　me。〃
　　
　　〃You　have　to　e　in；　Darby。　Listen　to　me。〃
　　
　　Do　you　remember　our　phone　chat　Thursday　morning　when　I　suddenly　saw　a　face　that　looked　familiar　and　I　described　it　to　you？〃
　　
　　〃Of　course。〃
　　
　　〃That　face　was　at　the　memorial　service　yesterday；　along　with　some　friends。〃
　　
　　〃Where　were　you？〃
　　
　　〃Watching。　He　walked　in　a　few　minutes　late；　stayed　ten　minutes；　then　sneaked　out　and　met　with　Stump。〃
　　
　　〃Stump？〃
　　
　　〃Yes；　he's　one　of　the　gang。　Stump；　Rupert；　Cowboy；　and　the　Thin　Man。　Great　characters。　I'm　sure　there　are　others；　but　I　haven't　met　them　yet。〃
　　
　　〃The　next　meeting　will　be　the　last；　Darby。　You　have　about　forty…eight　hours　to　live。〃
　　
　　〃We'll　see。　How　long　will　you　be　in　town？〃
　　
　　〃A　few　days。　I'd　planned　to　stay　until　I　found　you。〃
　　
　　〃Here　I　am。　I　may　call　you　tomorrow。〃　
　　
　　Verheek　breathed　deeply。　〃Okay；　Darby。　Whatever　you　say。　Just　be　careful。〃　
　　
　　She　hung　up。　He　threw　the　phone　across　the　room；　and　cursed　it。　
　　
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　　TWO　BLOCKS　AWAY　and　fifteen　floors　up；　Khamel　stared　at　the　television　and　mumbled　rapidly　to　himself。　It　was　a　movie　about　people　in　a　big　city。　They　spoke　English；　his　third　language；　and　he　repeated　every　word　in　his　best　generic　American　tongue。　He　did　this　for　hours。　He　had　absorbed　the　language　while　hiding　in　Belfast；　and　in　the　past　twenty　years　had　watched　thousands　of　American　movies。　His　favorite　was　Three　Days　of　the　Condor。　He　watched　it　four　times　before　he　figured　out　who　was　killing　whom　and　why。　He　could　have　killed　Redford。　
　　
　　He　repeated　every　word　out　loud。　He　had　been　told　his　English　could　pass　for　that　of　an　American；　but　one　slip；　one　tiny　mistake；　and　she　would　be　gone。　
　　
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　　THE　VOLVO　was　parked　in　a　lot　a　block　and　a　half　from　its　owner；　who　paid　one　hundred　dollars　a　month　for　the　space　and　for　what　he　thought　was　security。　They　eased　through　the　gate　that　was　supposed　to　be　locked。　
　　
　　It　was　a　1986　GL　without　a　security　system；　and　within　seconds　the　driver's　door　was　open。　One　sat　on　the　trunk　and　lit　a　cigarette。　It　was　almost　4　A。M。　Sunday。　
　　
　　The　other　one　opened　a　small　tool　case　he　kept　in　his　pocket；　and　went　to　work　on　the　yuppie　car　phone　。that　Grantham　had　been　embarrassed　to　buy。　The　dome　light　was　enough；　and　he　worked　quickly。　Easy　work。　With　the　receiver　open；　he　installed　a　tiny　transmitter　and　glued　it　in　place。　A　minute　later；　he　eased　out　of　the　car　and　squatted　at　the　rear　bumper。　The　one　with　the　cigarette　handed　him　a　small　black　cube；　which　he　stuck　under　the　car　to　a　grille　and　behind　the　gas　tank。　It　was　a　magnetized　transmitter；　and　it　would　send　signals　for　six　days　before　it　died　and　needed　replacing。　
　　
　　They　were　gone　in　less　than　seven　minutes。　Monday；　as　soon　as　he　was　spotted　entering　the　Post　building　on　Fifteenth；　they　would　enter　his　apartment　and　fix　his　phones。　
　　
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　　　PART　2
　　　
　　
　　HER　SECOND　NIGHT　in　the　bed　and　breakfast　was　better　than　the　first。　She　slept　until　mid…morning。　Maybe　she　was　used　to　it　now。　She　stared　at　the　curtains　over　the　tiny　window　and　determined　that　there　had　been　no　nightmares；　no　movements　in　the　dark　with　guns　and　knives　emerging　and　attacking。　It　was　a　thick；　heavy　sleep；　and　she　studied　the　curtains　for　a　long　time　while　the　brain　woke　up。　
　　
　　She　tried　to　be　disciplined　about　her　thinking。　This　was　her　fourth　day　as　the　Pelican；　and　to　see　number　five　she　would　have　to　think　like　a　fastidious　killer。　It　was　day　number　four　of　the　rest　of　her　life。　She　was　supposed　to　be　dead。　
　　
　　But　after　the　eyes　opened；　and　she　realized　she　was　indeed　alive　and　safe；　and　the　door　wasn't　squeaking　and　the　floor　wasn't　cracking；　and　there　was　no　gunman　lurking　in　the　closet；　her　first　thought　was　always　of　Thomas。　The　shock　of　his　death　was　fading；　and　she　found　it　easier　to　put　aside　the　sound　of　the　explosion　and　the　roar　of　the　fire。　She　knew　he　had　been　blown　to　pieces　and　killed　instantly。　She　knew　he　did　not　suffer。　
　　
　　So　she　thought　of　other　things；　like　the　feel　of　him　next　to　her；　and　his　whispering　and　snickering　when　they　were　in　bed　and　the　sex　was　over　and　he　wanted　to　cuddle。　He　was　a　cuddler；　and　he　wanted　to　play　and　kiss　and　caress　after　the　love…making。　And　giggle。　He　loved　her　madly；　had　fallen　hard；　and　for　the　first　time　in　his　life　could　be　silly　with　a　woman。　Many　times　in　the　middle　of　his　lectures；　she　had　thought　of　his　cooing　and　snickering；　and　bit　her　lip　to　keep　from　smiling。　
　　
　　She　loved　him　too。　And　it　hurt　so　badly。　She　wanted　to　stay　in　bed　and　cry　for　a　week。　The　day　after　her　father's　funeral；　a　psychiatrist　had　explained　that　the　soul　needs　a　brief；　very　intense　period　of　grieving；　then　it　moves　to　the　next　phase。　But　it　must　have　the　pain；　it　must　suffer　without　restraint　before　it　can　properly　move　on。　She　took　his　advice；　and　grieved　without　courage　for　two　weeks；　then　got　tired　of　it　and　moved　to　the　next　stage。　It　worked。　
　　
　　But　it　wasn't　working　with　Thomas。　She　couldn't　scream　and　throw　things　the　way　she　wanted。　Rupert　and　Thin　Man　and　the　rest　of　the　boys　were　denying　her　a　healthy　mourning。　
　　
　　After　a　few　minutes　of　Thomas；　she　thought　of　them　next。　Where　would　they　be　today？　Where　could　she　go　without　being　seen？　After　two　nights　in　this　place；　should　she　find　another　room？　Yes；　she　would　do　that。　After　dark。　She　would　call　and　reserve　a　room　at　another　tiny　guest　house。　Where　were　they　staying？　Were　they　patrolling　the　streets　hoping　to　simply　bump　into　her？　Did　they　know　where　she　was　at　this　moment？　No。　She　would　be　dead。　Did　they　know　she　was　now　a　blonde？　
　　
　　The　hair　got　her　out　of　bed。　She　walked　to　the　mirror　over　the　desk；　and　looked　at　herself。　It　was　even　shorter　now；　and　very　white。　Not　a　bad　job。　She　had　worked　on　it　for　three　hours　last　night。　If　she　lived　another　two　days；　she　would　cut　some　more　and　go　back　to　black。　If　she　lived　another　week；　she　might　be　bald。　
　　
　　A　hunger　pain　hit；　and　for　a　second　she　thought　about　food。　She　was　not　eating；　and　this　would　have　to　change。　It　was　almost　ten。　Oddly；　this　bed　and　breakfast　didn't　cook　on　Sunday　mornings。　She　would　venture　out　to　find　food　and　a　Sunday　Post；　and　to　see　if　they　could　catch　her　now　that　she　was　a　butch　blonde。　
　　
　　She　showered　quickly；　and　the　hair　took　less　than　a　minute。　No　makeup。　She　put　on　a　new　pair　of　Army　fatigues　and　a　new　flight　jacket；　and　she　was　ready　for　battle。　The　eyes　were　covered　with　aviator　shades。　
　　
　　Although　she　had　made　a　few　entrances；　she　had　not　exited　a　building　through　the　front　door　in　four　days。　She　crept　through　the　dark　kitchen；　unlocked　the　rear　door；　and　stepped　into　the　alley　behind　the　little　inn。　It　was　cool　enough　to　wear　the　flight　jacket　without　being　suspicious。　Silly；　she　thought。　In　the　French　Quarter；　she　could　wear　the　hide　and　head　of　a　polar　bear　and　not　appear　suspicious。　She　walked　briskly　through　the　alley　with　her　hands　deep　in　the　fatigues　and　her　eyes　darting　behind　the　shades。　
　　
　　He　saw　her　when　she　stepped　onto　the　sidewalk　next　to　Burgundy　Street。　The　hair　under　the　cap　was　different；　but　she　was　still　five…eight　and　she　couldn't　change　that。　The　legs　were　still　long　and　she　walked　a　certain　way；　and　after　four　days　he　could　pick　her　out　of　a　crowd　regardless　of　the　face　and　hair。　The　cowboy　boots　snakeskin　with　pointed　toes　hit　the　sidewalk　and　started　following。　
　　
　　She　was　a　smart　girl；　turning　every　corner；　changing　streets　every　block；　walking　quickly　but　not　too　fast。　He　figured　she　was　headed　for　Jackson　Square；　where　there　was　a　crowd　on　Sundays　and　she　thought　she　could　disappear。　She　could　stroll　about　with　the　tourists　and　the　locals；　maybe　eat　a　bite；　enjoy　the　sun；　pick　up　a　paper。　
　　
　　Darby　casually　lit　a　cigarette　and　puffed　as　she　walked。　She　could　not　inhale。　She　tried　three　days　ago；　and　got　dizzy。　Such　a　nasty　habit。　How　ironic　it　would　be　if　she　lived　through　all　this　only　to　die　from　lung　cancer。　P