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