responsibility and always take away the authority. lies not logical.-
01fs not awraL Let me tell you something. This ht- T73E AUTLOCK PAM 269
tle odyssey of mine is bringing me closer and closer to the sublime question
of morality.”
Tin glad for you, but rm. afraid your odyssey’s coming to an end.”
Try itr
rheyre going to. Statements in lawyers’ offices woadt mean a damn. I told
them I’d try fint … If you doet turn yourself over to protective Custody
within forty-eight hours, theyl issue a warrant.”
On what grounds?1-
‘You’re a menace. You’re mentally unbalanced. YoVre a nut TheyT cite your
army record–two courts-martial, brig time, continuous instability under
combat conditions. Your use of drugs. And alcoholthey’ve got witnesses.
You’re also a racist-the3eve got that Lumumba affidavit from Kressel. And
now I understand, although I haven’t the facts, yoxere consorting with
known crimmals. They have photographsfrom a place In Avon. Turn yourself
in, Jim ‘M18y!1l i uin your life.”
26
Forty-eight hoursl Why forty-eight hours? Why not twenty-four or twelve or
immediately? It didn7t make sensel Then he understood and, alone in the
booth, he started to laugh. He laughed out loud in a telephone booth at five
thirty in the morning on a deserted stretch of highway in Mount Holly,
Connecticut
The practical men were giving him just enough time to accomplish
something-if he could accomplish something. If he couldn’t, and anything
happened, they were clean. It was on record that they considered him a
mentally unbalanced addict with racist tendencies who consorted with known
criminals, and they had given him warning. In deference to the delicate
balance of dealing with such madmen, they allocated tinw in the hopes of
reducing the danger. Oh, Christl The manipulatorsl
He reached the West Hartford diner at six fortyfive and ate a large
breakfast, somehow believing that the food would take the place of sleep
and give him the energy he needed. He kept glancing at his watch, knowing
that he’d have to be in the parking lot by seven thirty.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 271
He wondered what his contact at Charger Threezero would look like
The man was enormous, and Matlock had never considered himself small. Cliff
of Charger Three-zero reminded Matlock of those old pictures of Prinio
Carnera. Except the face. The face was lean and hi~-telligent and smiled
broadly.
‘Don1 get out, Mr. Matlock.” He reached in and shook Madocks hand. “Heres
the paper; I put it in an envelope. By the way, we had Miss BaIlantyne
laughing last night. She’s feeling better. EncephalograpYs steady,
inetabolism’s coming back up to par, pupil dilatioes receding Thought you’d
like to )mow.,,
“I imagine that’s gc)ocL”
“It is. Widve made friends with the doctor. He levels.7
Mow’s the hospital taking your guard duty?o
‘Aft. Blackstone solves those problems in advance. We have rooms on either
side of the subject.”
“For which, Im sure, I’ll be charged.”
‘You kiiow Mr. Blackstone.”
Tm getting to. He goes first class.”
OSo do his clients. I’d better get back. Nice to meet you.” The Blackstone
man walked rapidly away and got into a nondescript automobile several years
old.
It was time for Matlock to drive to New Haven.
He had no set plan, no specific individuals in mind, he wasn’t leading, he
was being led. His information was, at best, nebulous, sketchy, far too
incomplete to deal in absolutes. Yet perhaps there was enough for someone
to make a connection. But whoever made it, or was capable of making it had
to be someone with
272 Robert Ludlum
an overall view of the university. Someone who dealt, as did Sam Kressel,
with the general tensions of the campus.
However, Yale was five times the size of Carlyle; it was infinitely more
diffuse, a section of the New Haven city, not really isolated from its
surroundings as was Carlyle. There was a focal point, the Office of Student
Affairs; but he didn7t know anyone there. And to arrive off the street with
an improbable story of college girls forming-or being formed intD-a
prostitution ring reaching, as so far determined, the states of
Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, would create havoc if he was
taken seriously. And he wasn’t sure he would be taken seriously, in which
case hed learn nothing.
There was one possibility; a poor substitute for Student Affairs, but with
its own general view of the campus: the Departnient of Admissions. He knew
a man, Peter Daniels, who worked in YaWs admissions office. He and Daniels
had shared a number of lecterns during prep school recruitment programs. He
knew Daniels well enough to spell out the facts as he understood them;
Daniels wasn’t the sort to doubt him or to panic. Hed restrict his story to
the girt however.
He parked on Chappel Street near the intersection of York. On one side of
the thoroughfare was an arch leading to the quadrangle of Silliman College,
on the other a large expanse of lawn threaded with cement paths to the
Admini tration Building. Daniels’s office was on the second floor. Matlock
got out of the car, locked it, and walked toward the old brick structure
with the American flag masted next to the Yale banner.
THE MATLOCK PAPER 273
“That’s preposterousl This is the age of Aquarius and then some. You donI
pay for sex; its exchanged freely.”
“I know what I saw. I know what the girl told me; she wasn!t lying.”
“I repeat. You can7t be sure.”
“Ies tied in with too many other things. rve seen them, too.”
“May I ask the obvious question? Why dodt you go to the police?”
“Obvious answer. Colleges have been in enough trouble. What facts I have
are isolated. I need more information. I donI want to be responsible for
fndiscriminate name-calling, any widespread panic. Theres been enough of
that”
“All right, III buy it. But I can~t help you.”
“Give me several names. Students or faculty. People you know … you’re
certain are messed up, seriously messed up. Near the center. You!ve got
those kinds of names, I know you do; we do…. I swea4 they’ll never know
who gave them to me.”
Daniels got out of his chair, lighting his pipe, “You’re being awfully
general. Messed up how? Academically, politically . . . narcotics, alcohol?
Yoi*e covering a wide territory.”
“Wait a minute.” Daniels’s words evoked a memory. Matlock recalled a dimly
lit, smoke-filled room inside a seemingly deserted building in Hartford.
Rocco Aie]Ws Hunt Club. And a tall young man in a wait. er’s jacket who had
brought over a tab for Aiello to sign. The veteran of Nam and Da Nang. The
Yalie who was making contacts, building up his nest egg … the business
administration major. “I know who I want to see.”
274 Robert Ludlum
“Whaes his name?”
“I don1 know…. But hes a veteran-Indochina, about twenty-two or three;
he’s pretty tall, light brown hair … majoring in business
administration.”
“A description which might fit five hundred audents. Except for premed,
law, and engineering, its all lumped under liberal arts. Wed have to go
through every Me.”
“Application photographs?”
‘Not allowed anymore, you know that*
Matlock stared out the window, his eyebrows wrinkled in thought He looked
back at Daniels. “Pete, ifs May. . . .”
“So? It could be November, that wouldet change the Fair Practices law.”
“Graduation’s in a month… Senior class photographs. Yearbook portraits.”
Daniels understood instantly. He took his pipe from his mouth and started
for the door.
“Come with me.”
His name was Alan Pace. He was a senior and his curriculum was not centered
on business administration; he was a government major. He lived off campus
on Church Street near the Hamden town line. According tx) his records, Alan
Pace was an excellent student, consistent honors in all subjects, a
fellowship in the offing at the Maxwell School of PoJitical Science at
Syracuse. He had spent twenty-eight months in the army, four more than was
required of him. As with most veterans, his university extracurricular ac-
tivities were minimal.
While Pace was in service, be was an officer attached to inventory and
supply. He had volunteered for a four-month extended tour of duty in the
Saigon
THE MATLOCK PAPER 275
Corps-a fact noted with emphasis on his reapplication form. Alan-Pace had
given four months of his life more than necessary to his country. Alan Pace
was obviously an honorable man in these days of cynr icism.
He was a winner, thought Matlock.
The drive out Church Street toward Hamden gave Matlock the chance to clear
his mind. He had to take one thing at a time; one item crossed off–on to
the next. He couldn’t allow his imagination to interpret isolated facts
beyond their meaning. He couldn’t lump everything together and total a sum
larger than the parts.
It was entirely possible that this Alan Pace played a solo game.
Unattached, unencumbered.
But it wasn’t logical.
Pace’s apartment house was an undistinguished brown brick building, so