scoonts.theminotaur-第37节

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　global　positioning　system　to　stabilize　the　inertial　you　might　have　a　chance；　but　not　now。〃
　〃It　looks　to　me　like　you've　got　a　handle　on　the　major　problems。　This　evening　how　about　jumping　a　plane　and　flying　up　to　Calverton；　New　York？　With　mander　Richards。　The　guys　at　Grumman　are　expecting　you　two。　I　want　you　to　look　over　the　A…6G　system　and　play　with　it　and　let　me　know　what　you　think。　e　back　Monday。　Tuesday　you　and　I　are　going　to　take　a　little　trip　out　West。〃
　The　lieutenant's　face　reflected　his　dismay。
　〃That's　not　going　to　put　you　out　or　interfere　with　anything；　is　it？〃　Jake　tried　to　appear　solicitous。
　〃Geez；　CAG。　The　whole　weekend…〃
　〃You　didn't　have　anything　going；　did　you？　I　mean；　you　haven't　been　around　here　long　enough　to…〃
　〃Oh　no；　sir。　I　just　thought　I'd　do　my　laundry　and　all。　Maybe　take　in　a　movie。　Write　a　letter　to　my　mom。〃
　Jake　couldn't　hold　back　a　smile。　〃Running　out　of　clean　underwear；　huh？〃
　Toad　nodded；　trying　to　maintain　a　straight　face。
　〃Buy　some　more。　See　you　Monday；　Toad。〃
　〃Yessir。　Monday。〃
　At　four　o'clock　Jake　received　a　call　from　mander　Rob　Knight。　〃Could　you　e　over　to　my　office？〃
　〃Well；　I　was　getting　ready　to　go　home。〃
　〃On　your　way？〃
　〃Sure。〃
　Jake　locked　the　files；　turned　off　the　lights　and　snagged　his　hat　on　the　way　out。　Smoke　Judy　was　still　there。　〃Lock　up；　will　you；　Smoke？〃
　〃Sure；　Captain。　Have　a　good　weekend。〃
　〃You　too。〃
　Jake　walked　to　the　Pentagon。　He　was　getting　very　familiar　with　this　route。　The　parking　lot　was　emptying　as　he　crossed　it　and　he　had　to　do　some　dodging。
　On　the　fourth…level　corridor　the　pile　of　used　furniture　was　still　gathering　dust。　Jake　turned　right　on　the　D…Ring　and　walked　down　three　doors。　He　knocked。
　Rear　Admiral　Costello　opened　the　door。　〃Ah；　Captain；　please　e　in。〃
　The　room　was　packed。　People　were　sitting　on　desks。　Everyone　had　a　beer　can　in　his　hand。　Vice　Admiral　Henry　was　there；　Costello's　three　aides…all　captains　fresh　from　carrier　mands　and　waiting　for　the　flag　list　or　new　orders…together　with　the　four　office　regulars　and　two　admirals　Jake　didn't　know。　He　accepted　a　beer　and　found　himself　talking　to　Henry。　〃Glad　you　could　join　us；　Captain。〃
　〃Delighted；　sir。〃
　It　was　Happy　Hour。　These　men　who　had　spent　their　lives　in　the　camaraderie　of　ready　rooms　needed　two　hours　at　the　end　of　the　week　to　review　the　week's　frustrations　and　reduce　them　to　manageable　proportions。　Soon　the　subject　turned　from　shop　to　mutual　friends；　ships；　ports；　and　planes　they　had　flown。
　Just　before　six　Jake　excused　himself。　He　and　Callie　were　going　to　the　beach　this　evening。　Tyler　Henry　grabbed　his　hat　and　started　with　Jake　for　the　door。　As　Jake　opened　it；　Henry　paused　and　took　a　long；　smiling　look　at　the　bulletin　board。　He　was　looking　at　a　photo。　It　was　a　black…and…white　eight…by…ten　of　singer　Ann…Margret　holding　a　microphone　in　her　hand　and　singing　her　heart　out；　wearing　a　sleeveless　shorty　blouse　and　no　pants　at　all。
　〃I　was　there；〃　Henry　said。　〃Kitty　Hawk；　'67　or　'68。　That　woman。。。〃　He　pointed　at　the　picture。　〃She's　all　lady。　She's　my　favorite　entertainer。〃
　The　photo　was　autographed　and　signed。　〃To　the　guys　of　OP…506。〃　Yes；　thought　Jake　Grafton；　remembering　those　days。　No　doubt　that　was　a　great　moment　for　her；　performing　before　five　thousand　screaming　sailors；　but　it　was　an　even　greater　moment　for　them；　a　moment　they　would　remember　and　cherish　every　day　of　their　lives；　each　and　every　man　jack　of　them。　Of　course；　bombing　North　Vietnam　twelve　hours　a　day；　some　of　them　didn't　have　very　many　days　left。　The　loss　rate　then　was　almost　a　plane　a　day。　No　doubt　Ann…Margret　had　known　that。
　〃Mine　too；〃　said　Jake　Grafton；　and　together　with　the　admiral　walked　into　the　corridor　where　he　said　goodbye。　The　admiral　went　back　toward　his　office　as　Jake　set　off　alone　for　the　subway。
　
　At　six　o'clock；　as　Jake　Grafton　was　boarding　the　subway　at　the　Pentagon　station；　Luis　Camacho　closed　the　last　of　the　files　piled　up　on　his　desk。　It　was　hopeless：　218　files；　218　political　appointees　in　the　Department　of　Defense；　including　the　service　secretaries　and　unders　and　assistants。　He　had　selected　just　eighteen　files：　the　Under　Secretary　of　Defense　for　Acquisition；　his　political　aides；　and　the　assistants　and　under　secretaries　in　SECDEF's　office。　And　SECDEF。　All　these　men　had　held　their　positions　for　at　least　three　years。　But　it　was　still　hopeless。
　If　one　of　these　men　was　the　Minotaur；　no　hint　of　it　came　from　the　FBI　background　investigations　that　had　been　pleted　for　the　Senate　confirmation　process。　The　mon　thread　was　that　they　were　pillars　of　the　establishment；　the　kind　of　men　generations　of　mothers　prayed　their　daughters　would　marry。　All　eighteen　were　white；　well　educated；　leaders　in　their　local　munities；　respected　by　all　those　similarly　situated。　Several　had　previously　held　elected　or　appointed　office。　Most　were　family　men　or　divorced　family　men。　Thirteen　of　them　had　graduated　from　an　Ivy　League　school。　Tennis　was　the　most　popular　sport　and　golf　a　close　second。　Several　were　yachtsmen。　Every　single　one　of　them　could　be　labeled　independently　wealthy；　most　from　old　family　money；　a　few　from　small　fortunes　they　had　made　themselves。
　It　was　sickening。　Wealth；　privilege；　power；　spelled　out　in　these　files　in　black　and　white。　Oh；　they　had　a　few　little　peccadillos。　One　man　had　flunked　out　of　three　colleges　before　he　had　pleted　his　education　in　a　fourth。　Three　drunken…driving　convictions。　One　illegitimate　child。　One　man　had　been　known　to　frequent　prostitutes　in　his　younger　days；　and　one　had　been　accused　of　being　a　closet　homosexual　by　a　disgruntled　soon…to…be…ex　during　a　messy　divorce。　Luis　Camacho；　career　cop；　thought　it　pretty　tame　stuff。
　For　several　seconds　he　sat　and　stared　at　the　piles　of　folders　spread　over　the　table。　No　cop；　he　told　himself；　ever　looked　seriously　at　a　more　unlikely　group　of　suspects。　There　wasn't　even　one　man　with　a　family　or　background　that　might　be　vulnerable　to　intense　scrutiny。　Not　here。　These　men　had　had　every　advantage　that　birth；　wealth；　and　social　position　could　confer。　Sadly　he　shook　his　head。
　If　the　key　to　the　Minotaur's　behavior　was　in　his　past；　it　was　going　to　remain　buried　unless　a　small　army　of　agents　with　a　lot　of　time　were　told　to　dig　deep。　The　agents　Camacho　could　get。　What　frustrated　Camacho　was　his　suspicion　that　he　was　running　out　of　time。　What　infuriated　him　was　his　conviction　that　no　matter　how　deep　they　dug；　the　investigators　could　e　up　dry。　And　without　something。。。　some　artifact。。。　something　tangible；　how　could　he　sell　a　man　to　Albright　as　the　Minotaur？　Albright　would　want　a　man　he　could　understand；　with　a　motivation　that　could　be　reduced　to　writing　and　passed　from　the　Aquarium　to　the　Kremlin　and　would　explain。　The　mittee　should　have　thought　this　problem　through　two　years　ago。
　He　went　back　to　his　office　and　found　a　photo　of　Terry　Franklin　in　the　file。　Actually　there　were　four　of　them。　The　one　he　selected　was　a　full…figure　shot　taken　with　a　hidden　camera。　Franklin　was　looking　just　to　the　right　of　the　camera；　perhaps　waiting　for　a　car　to　pass　the　parked　van　the　photographer　had　used。　This　picture　he　placed　in　an　inside　pocket　of　his　sports　coat。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　If　he　went　to　the　Pentagon；　he　could　probably　still　catch　Vice　Admiral　Henry；　who　rarely　left　before　7　P。M。
　
　Terry　Franklin　stopped　at　a　neighborhood　bar　after　he　got　off　the　bus　from　work。　On　the　Friday　evening　of　the　longest　week　of　his　life；　he　deserved　a　few　drinks。　Waiting　for　the　ax　to　fall　was　squeezing　the　juice　right　out　of　him。　He　had　been　a　bumbling　fool　all　week；　botching　one　job　after　another；　having　to　ask　the　chief　for　help　with　several　problems　that　were　so　minor　he　had　been　embarrassed。　The　chief　was　solicitous；　asking　if　he　was　having　problems　at　home。
　The　problem　was　he　couldn't　think　about　anything　else。　He　could　no　longer　concentrate　on　his　job；　his　wife；　the　kids；　anything。　He　had　to　get　his　mind　off　it　and　he　just　couldn't！　Sitting　here　at　the　bar；　he　glanced　warily　at　the　other　customers；　then　bit　his　lip。　A　panic…stricken　scream　was　just　beneath　the　surface。　He　was　losing　it。　It　was　like　one　of　those　nightmares　he　had　as　a　kid…he　was　fleeing　from　a　hideous　monster　and　his　legs　went　slower　and　slower　and　the　monster　was　reaching　out；　within　inches　of　catching　him…and　he　woke　up　screaming　with　pee　soaking　his　pajamas。
　He　was　going　to　have　to　get　all　this　crap　stuffed　into　one　sock；　going　to　have　to　wire　himself　together　so　he　could　get　from　one　end　of　the　day　to　the　other。　He　had　all　of　tonight；　all　day　Saturday；　all　day　Sunday…three　nights　and　two　whole　days…before　he　had　to　face　his　demons　on　Monday。
　He　ordered　another　CC　on　the　rocks。　Sure；　he　could　do　it。　No　one　knew。　No　one　was　going　to　arrest　him。　No　one　was　going　to　toss　him　into　prison　with　a　bunch　of　homo　thieves　and　killers。　After　all；　this　is　America；　land　of　the　gullible；　home　of　the　foolish。
　He　would　deliver　and　collect　on　another　dozen　floppies　or　so。　Then　he　would　empty　his　safe…deposit　box　and　be　on　his　way　to　a　new　life。　Perhaps　Rio。　He　would　lie　on　the　beach　all　day　and　fuck　beach　bunnies　at　night。
　He　sipped　on　his　drink　and　thought　about　how　it　would　be。　The　life　he　had　always　wanted　was　right　there　within　his　grasp；　so　close；　within　inches。　But