scoonts.theminotaur-第80节

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　much；　sometimes　gets　good　stuff；　sometimes　bad。　Buys　what　he　likes　and　to　hell　with　the　experts。　Has　a　copy　of　every　book　ever　written　about　MacArthur　and　the　best　MacArthur　memorabilia　collection　in　existence。　Time　said　he　has　every　piece　of　old　junk　Mrs。　MacArthur　ever　threw　out。　What　else？　Oh　yeah。　He　has　two　grown　children；　two　dogs；　and　drives　a　fifteen…year…old　Jaguar。　Owns　an　estate　in　Virginia　near　Middleburg。　Gives　his　entire　government　salary　to　charity。〃
　〃Was　involved　in　a　panty　raid　when　he　was　in　college　and　was　suspended　for　a　semester；〃　Camacho　said　without　taking　his　eyes　from　his　work。
　〃That　too。　The　rattling　bones　from　his　youth。〃　Albright　tossed　the　dregs　of　his　coffee　into　the　grass　and　laid　the　cup　on　his　lap。　〃So；　Dr。　Freud；　has　Caplinger　gone　over　the　edge？　Is　he　copulating　with　Mother　Russia？〃
　Albright　rose　and；　dangling　the　cup　from　a　finger；　ambled　through　the　gate。　Thirty　minutes　later　Camacho　heard　his　car　start　out　front　and　drive　away。
　
　Albright　drove　to　a　Wat…Mart　store　near　Laurel。　After　browsing　for　ten　minutes；　he　used　the　pay　phone　in　the　entryway。　No　one　answered　at　the　number　he　tried。　He　waited　exactly　one　minute　and　tried　again。　The　third　time　someone　picked　up　the　phone。
　Albright　talked　for　almost　a　minute。　The　other　party　never　spoke。　Then　Albright　hung　up　and　went　back　into　the　store；　where　he　wandered　the　aisles　and　handled　merchandise　for　another　half　hour。
　When　he　left　the　store　he　drove　aimlessly　for　an　hour。　At　Burtonsville　he　stopped　for　gas　and　bought　a　can　of　soda　pop；　a　Dr　Pepper。　He　drank　the　contents　as　he　drove　north　on　Route　29　and　used　a　rag　in　the　car　to　carefully　wipe　the　fingerprints　from　the　can。
　Approaching　the　outskirts　of　Columbia；　he　took　the　off…ramp　for　Route　32；　made　an　illegal　left　turn　at　the　top　and　a　sweeping　right　down　onto　Route　29　headed　south　as　he　scanned　the　mirrors。　No　one　followed。　No　choppers　or　light　planes　in　sight。　At　Route　216　he　turned　right　from　the　through　lane　at　the　very　last　instant；　just　as　the　stoplight　turned　green。
　He　was　on　two…lane　blacktop　now；　a　local　county　road。　He　watched　the　mirror。　A　car　turned　from　29　onto　this　road；　but　it　had　been　traveling　north。　He　didn't　recognize　it　Local　traffic　passed　him　going　the　other　way。　Pulton　was　a　tiny　village…just　a　few　farms；　a　church　and　a　small　post　office　with　a　few　nearby　shops…1。1　miles　west　of　Route　29。　Albright　angled　left　onto　Lime　Kiln　Road。　This　asphalt　ribbon　was　more　narrow　and　twisty　as　it　followed　the　natural　descent　of　a　creek。　He　was　in　an　area　of　beautiful　homes　set　in　huge　meadows　well　back　from　the　road。　Trees　lined　the　fences　and　horses　grazed　on　the　lush　grass。　The　car　that　had　followed　him　from　Route　29　turned　left　at　Reservoir　Road　and　went　up　a　little　bill　into　a　sprawling　subdivision。
　A　half　mile　past　Reservoir　Road　Albright　slowed　the　car。　There　it　was；　right　beside　the　road…a　stone…drinking　fountain　fed　by　a　pipe　from　a　spring。　He　eased　to　a　stop　and　slammed　the　gear　shift　lever　into　park。　From　the　floor　of　the　backseat　he　selected　a　7…Up　can；　grasping　it　with　a　rag。　He　slid　across　the　seat；　opened　the　passenger　door　and　set　the　can　at　the　base　of　the　fountain　so　it　was　visible　from　the　road。　Back　into　the　car；　door　shut；　and　rolling　again。　Twenty　seconds。
　He　glanced　left；　up　a　long　sloping　meadow　at　a　huge　house　set　on　top　of　the　hill　in　a　grove　of　trees。　No　one　in　sight。
　Three　hundred　yards　farther　on　he　came　to　a　T　intersection。　This　was　Brown　Bridge　Road；　another　strip　of　two…lane　asphalt　with　a　double　yellow　line　down　the　center　and　no　benns。　He　sat　at　the　intersection　and　looked　both　ways。　No　traffic。　Nothing　in　the　rearview　mirror。
　He　turned　right。　The　road　wound　up　a　wooded　draw　and　came　out　into　rolling；　open　country。　A　mile　from　Lime　Kirn　Road　he　came　to　another　stop　sign　at　a　T　intersection。　This　was　Route　216　again。　To　the　right；　east；　was　Fulton；　1。1　miles　to　the　west　was　Highland　Junction。　He　knew；　because　he　had　spent　many　a　Sunday　driving　these　suburban　county　roads；　learning　their　twists　and　turns；　looking　for　likely　drop　sites。　Directly　across　the　road　was　a　Methodist　church。　Three　or　four　cars　in　the　lot；　no　people　in　sight。
　He　turned　right；　toward　Fulton。　He　went　through　the　village　and　out　to　Route　29；　which　he　crossed　and　continued　on　through　Skaggsville；　across　1…95；　and　into　Laurel；　where　he　turned　around　in　the　parking　lot　of　a　convenience　store　and　began　retracing　Iris　route　as　he　watched　for　vehicles　he　had　seen　before　and　scanned　the　sky　for　airplanes。
　Exactly　thirty　minutes　later；　at　2：47　P。M。；　he　again　passed　Reservoir　Road　on　Lime　Kirn。　Someone　was　changing　a　flat　tire　on　a　van　fifty　yards　up　the　hill　on　Reservoir。　He　hadn't　seen　that　van　before。　Maybe。　It　could　be　the　FBI。　Or　it　could　be　anybody。　He　continued　past　and　slowed　for　the　stone　fountain。
　The　7…Up　can　was　still　there。　No　vehicles　in　sight。　No　people　on　the　hills　that　he　could　see。　No　choppers　or　planes　overhead。　He　kept　rolling　past　the　fountain　and　dropped　down　to　the　Brown　Bridge　Road　intersection。
　He　stopped　at　the　stop　sign　and　looked　both　ways。　No　traffic。　He　looked　back　over　his　shoulder；　thinking　about　the　van　with　the　flat　tire；　weighing　it。
　He　turned　left。　The　road　ran　along　a　creek　that　was　dropping　toward　the　Patuxent　River。　The　little　valley　was　heavily　wooded。　Houses　sat　amid　the　trees　off　to　his　left；　but　the　steep　bank　on　his　right　was　a　forest。
　Two…tenths　of　a　mile　from　the　intersection　a　gravel　road　branched　off　to　the　right。　〃Schooley　Mill　Road；〃　the　sign　read。　He　took　it。
　The　road　was　narrow；　no　more　than　ten　feet　wide。　It　ran　just　along　the　north　side　of　the　creek；　parallel　to　the　asphalt　road；　which　was　twenty…five　feet　or　so　above　him　at　the　top　of　a　steep　embankment　on　his　left。　This　was　a　secluded　lovers'　lane；　for　a　few　hundred　yards　invisible　from　the　paved　road　above。　Apparently；　when　the　teenagers　weren't　screwing　here；　the　locals　used　this　lane　as　a　trash　depository。　Green　garbage　bags；　beer　and　soda…pop　cans　lay　abandoned　alongside　the　gravel。
　There　was　one　paved　driveway　leading　north　from　this　road；　and　it　had　a　mailbox　on　a　wooden　post。　He　passed　the　box　and　stopped　at　the　first　large　tree。　He　bolted　out　the　passenger　door；　set　the　Dr　Pepper　can　at　the　base　of　the　tree　and　jumped　back　in　the　car。
　A　tenth　of　a　mile　later　Schooley　Mill　Road　rejoined　Brown　Bridge　Road。　Two…tenths　of　a　mile　after　he　was　back　on　the　asphalt　he　crossed　Brown　Bridge；　a　modem　low　concrete　highway　bridge　across　the　Patuxent　River；　which　was　several　hundred　yards　wide　here。　Now　this　highway　became　Ednor　Road。　He　continued　the　two　miles　to　New　Hampshire　Avenue；　Maryland　Route　650；　and　turned　left。　He　had　to　be　back　at　the　drop　in　twenty…five　minutes。　He　checked　his　watch。
　Eight　thousand　feet　overhead　in　a　Cessna　172；　Agent　Clarence　Brown　laid　his　binoculars　in　his　lap　and　rubbed　his　eyes　as　he　keyed　the　mike。　〃Subject　went　down　that　Schooley　Mill　fuck　road　and　was　hidden　by　the　trees　for　about　two　minutes。　He　might　have　stopped　in　there。　You　better　check　it。〃
　Sitting　in　the　van　with　the　wheel　off　on　Reservoir　Road；　Lloyd　Dreyfus　turned　to　the　man　beside　him。　〃That　can　down　at　the　spring　wasn't　the　drop。　The　subject　was　just　testing　the　water。〃
　〃You　sure？〃
　〃Hell　no。〃　But　Dreyfus　felt　it　in　his　gut。　He　looked　at　his　map。　The　drops　were　close　together；　too　close　really。　Albright　should　have　been　more　careful。　He's　getting　careless。
　〃Think　he's　spotted　the　plane？〃
　〃No；〃　Dreyfus　said。　〃Brown's　too　high。　He　flew　right　over　us　a　couple　minutes　ago。　You　can't　hear　him　at　that　altitude　and　you　can't　see　him　unless　you　know　where　to　look。〃
　Dreyfus　keyed　the　radio　mike。　〃Stay　on　him；　Clarence。　I　want　to　know　when　he's　ing　back。〃
　〃Roger。〃
　To　the　man　beside　him　Dreyfus　said；　〃Have　the　guys　get　the　wheel　back　on。　Get　ready　to　roll　fast。〃　Then　he　switched　frequencies　and　began　moving　his　agents。
　
　Ten　minutes　later　when　Vastly　Pochinkov　passed　the　Methodist　church　on　Route　216　and　turned　onto　Brown　Bridge　Road；　he　was　photographed　from　a　station　wagon　parked　in　the　church　parking　lot　amid　four　other　cars。　He　never　noticed。　His　eye　was　captured　by　the　svelte　figure　of　a　woman　in　shorts　walking　toward　the　church　door。
　He　glanced　at　his　wife　in　the　passenger　seat　as　she　hunted　for　a　glove　on　the　floor。　She　had　dropped　it　and　was　feeling　blindly。　She　was　too　fat　to　bend　over　and　look　for　it。
　Why　is　it；　he　wondered；　not　for　the　first　time　that　all　Russian　women　have　figures　like　potato　sacks　while　American　women　keep　their　figures　well　past　middle　age？　You　wouldn't　know　it　to　look　at　her；　but　this　potato　bag　was　only　thirty…four　years　old　and　had　had　the　figure　of　a　ballerina　when　he　married　her　just　twelve　years　ago。　It　took　a　lot　of　vodka　these　days　to　prime　himself　for　an　expedition　between　those　padded　pillars　she　called　thighs。
　〃Get　ready；　Nadya。　Get　the　gloves　on。〃
　The　road　began　to　twist　and　descend　as　it　dropped　toward　Brown　Bridge。　Pochinkov　slowed　to　twenty…five　miles　per　hour；　watched　the　odometer　and　looked　for　Schooley　Mill　Road。
　There！
　He　saw　the　Dr　Pepper　can　when　he　was　fifty　yards　away。　He　glanced　around　as　he　braked　to　a　stop。　The　glen　was　empty。　Nadya　stepped　out；　a