‘Yeah … Yeah. The paper.*
“rhat papees pretty important, Wt it?w
‘fheyll kill you … they’ll kill you to get itl You
stand no chance, mister… No chance … *
Who’s they?/-
01 dodt know… doetknowl”
OWhd’s Nimrodr
01 doet know. . . ‘Ornertal … e0mertdlo
The man opened his eyes wide, and in the dim spill of the fallen
flashlight, Matlock saw that something had happened to his victim Some
thought, some concept overpowered his tortured imagination. It was painful
to watch. It was too close to the sight of the panicked Lucas Herron, the
terrified Alan Pace.
‘Come on, Ill get you down the slope. . . ”
It was as far as he got. From the depths of his lost control, the man with
the blood-soaked face lunged forward, making a last desperate attempt tx)
reach the gun in Matlocles right hand. Matlock yanked back-, instinctively
he fired the weapon. Blood and pieces of flesh flew everywhere. Half the
maxYs neck was blown off.
Matlock stood up slowly. The smoke of the automatic lingered above the dead
man, the ram forcing it downward toward the earth.
He reached into the grass for the fiashhght~ and as he bent over he began
to vonut.
28
Ten minutes later he watched the parking lot below him from the tivnk of a
huge maple tree fifty yards up the trail. The new leaves partLaUy protected
him from the pouring ram, but his clothes were filthy, covered with wet dirt
and blood. He saw the white station wagon near the front of the area, next
to the stone gate entrance of the Sail and Ski. Then wasiA much activity
now; no automobiles entmed, and those drivers inside would wait until the
deluge stopped before venturing out on the roads. The parkIng lot attendant
hed given the ten dollars to was talking with a uniformed doorman under the
carport roof of the restaurant entrance. Matlock wanted to race to the
station wagon and drive away as fast as he could, but he knew the sight of
his clothes would alarm the two men, make them wonder what had happened on
the East Gorge slope. There was nothing to do but wait, wait until someone
came out and dmtracted them, or both went inside.
He hated the waiting. More than hating it, he was frightened by it. Thered
been no one he could see or hear near the wheel shack, but that didn7t mean
no one was there. Nimrod’s dead contact probably had a partner somewhere,
waiting as Matlock was waittag now. If the dead man was found, they’d stop
him,
TFIS MATIA)CK PAPER 295
kill him-if not for revenge, for the Corsican paper.
He had no choice now. Hed gone beyond his depth, his abilities. Hed been
manipulated by Nimrod as Vd been maneuvered by the men of the justice
Department He would telephone Jason Greenberg and do whatever Greenberg
told him to do.
In a way, he was glad his part of it was over, or soon would be. He still
felt the impulse of commitment, but there was nothing more he could do. He
had failed.
Down below the restaurant entrance opened and a waitress signaled the
uniformed doorman. He and the attendant walked up the steps to speak with
the girl-
Matlock ran down to the gravel and darted in front of the grills of the
cars parked on the edge of the lot Between automobiles he kept Iooking
toward the restaurant door. The waitress had given the doorman a container
of coffee. All three were smoking cigarettes, all three were laughing.
He rounded the circle and crouched in front of the station wagon. He crept
to the door window and saw to his relief that the keys were in the
ignition. He took a deep breath, opened the door as quietly as possible,
and leaped inside. Instead of slamming it, he pulled the door shut quickly,
silently, so as to extinguish the interior light without calling attention
to the sound. The two men and the waitress were still taEking, still
laughin& oblivious.
He settled himself in the seat, switched on the ignition, threw the gears
into reverse, and roared back. ward in front of the gate. He raced out
between the stone posts and started down the long road to the highway-
Back under the roof, on the steps by the front door,
296 Robert Ludium
the three employees were momentarily startled. Then, from being startled
they became quickly bewildered –and even a little curious. For, from the
rear of the parking lot, they could hear the deep-throated roar of a second,
more powerful engine. Bright headlights filcked on, distorted by the
downpour of rain, and a long black limousine rushed forward.
The wheels screeched as the orninous-lookirig antDinobile swerved toward
the stone posts. The huge car went to full ffiwttle and raced after the
station wagon.
There waset much traffic on the highway, but he still felt he’d make better
time taking the back roads IntD Carlyle. He decided to go straight to
Kressers house, despite SanYs proclivity toward hysteria. Together they
could both call Greenberg He had just brutally, horribly killed another
human being, and whether tt was justified or not, the shock was still with
him. He suspected it would be with him for the remainder of his life. He
wasn7t sure Kressel was the man to see.
But there was no one else Unless he returned to his apartment and stayed
there until a federal agent picked him up. And then again, instead of an
agent, there might well be an en-Assary from Nimrod.
There was a winding S-curve in the road. He remembered that it came before
a long stretch through farmland where he could make up fame. The highway
was straighter, but the back roads were shorter as long as there was no
traffic to speak of. As he rounded th6 final half-circle, he realized that
he was gripping the wheel so hard his forearms ached. It was the muscular
defenses of his body taking over, con-
THE MATUXZ PAPER 297
trolling his shaking limbs, steadying the car with show unfeeling strength.
The &a stretch appeared; the rain had let up. He pushed the SOMIMIftr to
the floor and felt the station wagon surge forward in overdrive.
He looked twice, then three times, up at Ins rearview mirror, wary of
patrol can. He saw headlights behind him coming closer. He looked down at
his speedometer. It read eighty-seven miles per hour and still the lights
in the mirror gained on him.
The instincts of the hunted came swiftly to the surface, he knew the
automobile behind him was no police car There was no sh-en penetrating the
wet stillness, no Hashing light heralding authority.
He pushed his right leg forward, pressing the socelerator beyond the point
of achieving anything further from the erigme. His speedometer reached
ninety-four miles per hour-the wagon was not capable of greater speed.
The headlights were directly behind him now. The unknown pursuer was feet,
inches from Ins rear bumper. Suddenly the headlights veered to the left,
and the car came alongside the white station wagon.
It was the same black liniousine he had seen after Lorings murderl The same
huge automobile that had raced out of the darkened driveway minutes after
the massacre at Windsor Shoalsl Matlock tried to keep part of his mind on
the road ahead, part on the single driver of the car, which was crowding
him to the far right of the road. The station wagon vibrated under the
impact of the enormous speed; he found it more and more difficult to hold
the wheel
And then he saw the barrel of the pistol pointed at hun through the window
of the adjacent autDmo-
-2aR Robeft L40um
bile. He saw the look of desperation in the darting eyes behind the
outstretched arm, trying to steady itself for a clean line of fire.
He heard the shots and felt the glass shattering Ino. to his face and over
the front seat. He slammed his foot into the brake and spun the steering
wheel to the right, lumping the shoulder of the road, careening violently
Into and through a barbed-wire fence and onto a rock-strewn field. The
wagon lunged into the grass, perhaps fifty or sixty feet, and then slammed
into a cluster of rocks, a property demarcation. The headlights smashed and
went out, the grill buckled. He was thrown into the dashboard, only his
upheld arms keeping his head from crashing into the windshield.
But he was conscious, and the instincts of the hunted would not leave him.
He heard a car door open and close, and he knew the killer was coming into
the field after his quarry. After the Corsican paper. He felt a trickle of
blood rolling down his forehead-whether it was the graze of a bullet or a
laceration from the flying glass, he couldiet be sure-but he was grateful
it was them He!d need it now, he needed the sight of blood on his forehead.