scoonts.theminotaur-第34章

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g　through　the　crowd　looking　for　watchers。　Camacho　stood　near　the　door　and　looked　at　faces；　an　ocean　of　faces　of　all　ages　and　colors　and　sizes。　Could　one　of　them　be　the　Minotaur？　No　chance。　The　Minotaur　was　too　careful；　too　circumspect。　This　wasn't　his　kind　of　risk。　He　didn't　need　men　like　Smoke　Judy　for　his　treason。　Or　did　he？
　〃He's　in　line　at　the　taco　joint。〃
　Camacho　was　tempted　to　move。　Not　yet！　Not　yet！
　〃There's　a　man　behind　the　subject；　Caucasian　male　about　fifty…five；　five　feet　nine　or　so；　about　a　hundred　ninety　pounds；　wearing　dark　slacks。　Hush　Puppies　and　a　faded　blue　windbreaker。　No　hat。　Balding。〃
　Camacho　shifted　his　weight　and　examined　the　people　on　the　stairs。　Families。　Youngsters。　Five　black　teenage　boys　with　red　ball　caps　and　scarves。　No　one　was　looking　at　him。
　〃Guy　in　the　windbreaker　said　something　to　the　subject。〃
　〃Get　pictures。〃　That　was　Dreyfus　in　the　van。
　〃Camera's　rolling。〃　The　lawyers　at　Justice　loved　these　portable　video　cameras　with　automatic　focus　and　light…level　adjustment。　Jurors　raised　in　the　television　age　thought　prosecutors　should　have　a　movie　of　every　ten…dollar　back…alley　deal。　At　last　technology　had　delivered。　The　government's　shysters　could　show　each　greedy；　grubby；　loving　little　moment　in　living　color　on　the　courtroom　Zenith…and　play　it　over　and　over　again　until　even　the　stupidest　juror　was　firmly　convinced…while　the　defendants　writhed　and　the　defense　shysters　planned　their　appeals。
　〃Subject　paying　for　his　grub。〃
　Camacho　swiveled　his　eyes　again；　looking　at　no　one　in　particular；　seeing　everyone…
　〃Windbreaker　paying；　just　dropped　a　coin。　Kid　retrieving　it　for　him。　He's　nervous；　looking　around。。。　Now　he's　following　subject。。。　They're　gonna　share　a　table。　That's　our　man。　That's　him！〃
　He　moved　for　the　stairs；　climbing　slowly；　listening　to　the　running　mentary　from　the　observer。　Pausing　with　his　eyes　just　at　the　level　of　the　second…story　floor；　Camacho　scanned　to　his　left；　toward　the　taco　stand。　The　observer　said　they　were　near　there　at　a　two…person　table。　He　climbed　carefully；　watching；　peering　through　moving　legs　and　around　bodies。　He　glimpsed　Judy's　face。　Another　step。　He　was　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。　He　moved　left；　keeping　a　fat　woman　between　himself　and　Judy。　Against　the　far　wall　he　saw　a　man　from　the　power　pany　up　on　a　step　ladder；　bending　over　a　toolbox　on　the　ladder's　little　platform。　The　video　camera　was　in　the　toolbox。　Judy's　face　was　panning　again；　examining　the　crowd…
　Camacho　turned　his　back。　A　pretzel　stand　was　right　in　front　of　him。　He　pointed　one　out　to　the　girl　and　asked　for　a　soft　drink。　As　she　thumbed　the　dispenser　he　checked　the　mirror　on　the　back　wall。　There　was　Judy　again。　And　there　was　the　man　across　from　him。
　Luis　Camacho　studied　the　face　in　the　mirror。　Fleshy；　clean…shaven；　pale。
　He　paid　the　girl　and　turned　to　his　right；　back　toward　the　stairs；　as　he　sipped　the　drink　through　a　straw。　Descending　the　stairs　he　kept　his　eyes　glued　on　the　back　of　the　teenager　in　front　of　him　in　a　conscious　effort　to　avoid　any　possibility　of　eye　contact　with　a　nervous　Smoke　Judy。　He　threw　the　pretzel　and　nearly　full　cup　in　a　trash　hamper　by　the　main　door　and　pushed　on　through；　out　into　the　rain。
　The　wind　threatened　to　blow　his　cap　off。　He　held　it　with　his　hand　as　the　wind　whipped　his　trouser　legs。
　〃So？〃　said　Dreyfus　as　Camacho　wiped　the　water　off　his　face　with　a　handkerchief　when　he　had　gained　the　shelter　of　the　van。
　Luis　Camacho　shrugged。　〃They'll　probably　bus　their　own　table。　Put　their　trash　in　a　receptacle。　Have　one　of　the　guys　take　the　whole　bag。〃
　〃Fingerprints？〃
　〃Uh…huh。〃
　〃Think　it's　the　Minotaur？〃
　〃What　in　hell　would　the　Minotaur　have　to　say　to　Smoke　Judy？〃
　〃How're　they　hanging　down　in　your　shop？　How'd　you　like　to　ski　Moscow？　Quit　fucking　my　wife。　The　possibilities…〃　The　radio　speaker　squawked　to　life　with　another　report　from　the　food　court　and　Dreyfus　closed　his　eyes　to　listen。
　Camacho　took　off　the　radio　he　was　wearing　and　handed　it　to　one　of　the　technicians。　〃See　you　tomorrow　at　the　office；〃　he　said　to　Dreyfus　during　a　silent　moment；　then　let　himself　out　of　the　van　and　walked　through　the　drizzling　rain　toward　his　car。
　
　Harlan　Albright　came　over　to　Camacho's　house　after　supper。　He　accepted　a　cup　of　coffee　and　the　two　of　them　went　to　the　basement。　The　boy　was　there；　and　he　got　up　with　a　wounded　look　on　his　face　and　took　the　stairs　two　at　a　time。　His　father　watched　him　go；　then　settled　onto　the　couch　and　picked　up　the　television　remote　control　and　began　flipping　channels。
　〃I　see　in　the　paper　that　Matilda　Jackson　is　dead。〃
　Camacho　grunted。　Two　of　the　channels　had　those　damned　game　shows；　people　answering　trivial　questions　to　win　flashy；　useless　consumer　goods。
　〃Who　killed　her？〃
　〃Someone　who　knew　exactly　what　he　was　about。〃　Camacho　stared　at　the　sex　goddess　nipping　answer　cards　on　Channer4。
　〃Too　bad。　Had　you　had　a　chance　to　show　her　Franklin's　picture？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Well；　she　was　an　old　woman；　had　lived　a　long　life。　It　would　have　e　soon　anyhow。〃
　Camacho　jabbed　the　remote　savagely。　The　television　settled　on　the　educational　channel。　Some　Englishman　was　talking　about　cathedrals。　〃Listen；　asshole。　I'm　not　in　the　mood　for　that　shit　tonight。　It's　been　a　long　goddamn　weekend。〃
　〃Sorry。　I　read　about　that　shooting　incident　in　front　of　Jackson's　house。　That　must　have　been　touch　and　go。〃
　He　examined　the　Russian's　face。　〃I　know　you　probably　dropped　a　dime　on　her；　so　don't　waste　the　hot　air　on　me。　You　don't　give　a　damn　about　that　old　woman　or　anybody　else。〃
　〃Sometime…〃
　〃Shut　up！〃
　The　Englishman　was　explaining　about　flying　buttresses。　He　used　a　puter　model　to　graphically　depict　the　forces　transferred　through　the　stone。
　Albright　stood　up。　〃I'll　drop　over　some　night　this　week　when　you're　in　a　better　mood。〃
　〃Ummm。〃
　Camacho　listened　to　the　footsteps　climbing　the　stairs　and　the　noises　of　Sally　letting　him　out　the　front　door。　He　stared　at　the　television　without　seeing　it；　lost　in　thought。
　When　Luis　Camacho　returned　to　his　office　from　his　usual　Monday…morning　conference　with　his　boss；　he　was　in　a　foul　mood。　The　boss　had　made　several　candid　remarks　about　Camacho's　conduct　Friday　night。
　〃Look　at　this　shit；〃　he　roared；　waving　a　section　of　the　Sunday　Washington　Post；　〃the　special　agent　in　charge　of　counterespionage　standing　on　a　street　corner　with　two　punk　dopers；　in　front　of　a　fucking　crack　house；　for　Christ's　sake！　What　in　hell　has　busting　dopers　got　to　do　with　catching　spies？〃
　Camacho　remarked　that　he　had　asked　the　newspaper　photographer　not　to　take　his　picture。
　〃Apparently　you　haven't　read　the　Constitution　lately；　mister。〃
　〃That's　what　he　said。〃
　〃And　I'm　saying　it　too。　I　don't　ever　want　to　see　your　sweet　little　puss　in　the　public　press　again；　mister；　or　you're　going　to　wind　up　in　Pocatello　chasing　Nazis　through　cow　shit　up　to　your　armpits。　Those　crackpots　are　probably　the　only　nut　cases　around　who　never　read　the　goddamned　paper！〃　The　boss　had　been　irked　for　months　by　press　coverage　of　the　FBI　investigation　of　the　Aryan　Nations　white　supremacy　fanatics；　and　ridiculed　it　and　them　every　chance　he　got。　Sometimes　he　made　up　chances。　〃If　you　wanta　be　famous；　get　a　lobotomy　and　bee　a　rock　star。〃
　After　he'd　calmed　down；　he　wanted　a　plete　oral　report　on　Matilda　Jackson　and　Smoke　Judy。　That　had　taken　an　hour。　Then　the　boss　had　asked　questions　for　a　half　hour　and　discussed　tactics　and　strategy　for　another　thirty　minutes。　When　he　signaled　the　discussion　was　over；　Luis　Camacho　was　tired　and　needed　to　go　to　the　rest　room。
　Now　Camacho　slumped　in　his　office　chair　and　shuffled　through　the　paper　in　his　in　basket。　He　was　rereading　a　new　administrative　procedure　for　the　third　time　when　Dreyfus　tapped　on　his　door；　then　stuck　his　head　in。　Pipe　smoke　swirled　into　the　room。　〃Wanta　watch　the　tape　of　Smoke　Judy　we　made　yesterday？〃
　〃Sure。〃
　〃Got　it　on　the　VCR。〃
　The　two　men　went　to　the　little　conference　room　next　door　and　Dreyfus　pushed　buttons。　〃The　plates　and　glasses　they　used　are　at　the　lab。　Should　have　some　good　prints。〃
　〃Terrific。〃
　〃The　lab　wizards　synched　up　the　sound　from　one　of　the　mikes　with　the　video。〃　Judy　and　the　beefy　man　in　the　windbreaker　appeared　on　the　television　screen。　Dreyfus　twiddled　the　color　knob　and　adjusted　the　volume。
　〃。。。not　happy　with　all　the　media　on　procurement　problems　down　there。〃　The　beefy　man　had　a　well…spoken　baritone　voice；　but　his　nervousness　was　evident。
　Judy　replied；　but　his　back　must　have　been　to　the　parabolic　mike　that　picked　up　this　sound　track；　because　his　words　were　indistinct　Dreyfus　punched　the　pause　button　and　said；　〃We　have　two　other　audio　tracks　and　think　we　got　it　all；　but　it'll　take　a　few　hours　to　e　up　with　a　plete　transcript。〃
　Camacho　nodded　and　the　tape　rolled　on。
　〃。。。big　risks。　Some　people　will　be　going　to　prison；〃　Judy's　panion　said；　〃after　they've　been　drawn　and　quartered　in　a　public　trial　that　will　take　six　months。〃
　Judy　leaned　forward　and　spoke　earnestly。　Snatches　of　his　remarks　came　through。　〃。。。you　people　。。。　a　lifetime　building　the　pany　。。。　literally　millions　at　stake。　You　guys　really　need　this　because　。。。　You'll　make　tens　of　millions　in　the　next　twenty　years　and　I'll　get　a　little　stock　and　a　paycheck　and　a　pension　。。。　not　much　。。。〃　The　rest　was　too　garbled　to　follow。
　〃That's　enough；〃　Camacho　said　after　another　five　minutes。　〃Let　me　see　the　transcript　when　it's　finished。〃
　Dreyfus　stopped　the　tape　and　pushed　the　rewind　button。　〃I　think　that　guy's　gonna　buy　what　Judy's　selling。〃
　〃When　you　get　that　rewound；　e　on　back　to　my　office。〃
　In　his　office　Luis　Camacho　took　a　sheet　of　scratch　paper　and　printed　one　word：　〃Fallacy。〃　He　handed　it　to　Dreyfus　when　he　came　in。　〃See　if　this　is　in　any　of　the　Minotaur's　letters。〃
　Dreyfus　dropped　into　a　chair　and　began　to　fiddle　with　his　pipe。　He　put　the　paper　in　his　shirt　pocket　after　a　glance。　〃Where'd　you　get　it？〃　he　asked　when　he　had　his　pipe　going　again。
　〃Ask　me　no　questions　and　I'll　tell　you　no　lies。〃
　〃Vice　Admiral　Henry；　huh？〃
　〃I　found　it　in　the　John。〃
　〃Why　can't　we　get　a　list　of　all　the　code　words　from　NSA？〃
　〃We've　been　all　through　this　before。〃
　〃So　I'm　not　too　bright。　Tell　me　again。〃
　〃NSA　won't　give　us　the　code　words　without　the　approval　of　the　mittee。　The　mittee　has　not　approved。〃　The　mittee　was　slang　for　the　ultrasecret　group　that　formulated　intelligence　munity　policy　and　coordinated　the　intelligence　activities　of　all　U。S。　agencies。　Some　of　its　members　included　the　directors　of　the　FBI　and　CIA；　the　Secretary　of　Defense；　the　Secretary　of　State；　the　National　Security　Agency　chief；　and　speaking　directly　for　the　President；　the　National　Security　Adviser。
　〃So　what　does　that　tell　you？〃　Dreyfus　asked；　his　voice　sharper　than　usual。
　Camacho　rubbed　his　eyes；　then　his　face。　〃You　tell　me。〃
　〃If　it　walks　like　a　duck；　quacks　like　a　duck；　and　leaves　duck　shit　all　over；　it　probably　is　a　duck。〃
　〃Umm。〃
　〃I　think　those　assholes　already　know　what　the　Minotaur　has　given　away。　So　they're　in　no　rush　for　us　to　put　a　list　together。〃　Dreyfus　flicked　his　lighter　and　puffed　several；　times。　〃Somebody　in　Moscow　has　gotta　be　telling　them。〃
　〃Maybe；〃　said　Luis　Camacho；　weighing　it。　〃Or　maybe　they're　hoping　this　whole　thing　will　crawl　into　a　corner　and　die　quietly　without　being　a　majo