scoonts.theminotaur-第85节

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l　sleeping。
　At　7　A。M。；　or　thereabouts…Judy　had　stowed　his　watch　in　his　gym　bag…his　panions　stirred　themselves　and　collected　their　traps。　He　followed　them　as　they　staggered　the　five　blocks　to　a　mission。　Two　of　them　vomited　along　the　way。　The　little　neon　sign　over　the　door　proclaimed：　〃Jesus　Saves。〃
　Breakfast　was　scrambled　eggs；　toast　and　black　coffee。　Judy　carefully　observed　the　men　and　four　women；　maybe　five…he　wasn't　sure　about　one…who　ate　listlessly　or　not　at　all。　The　alcoholics　in　the　final　stages　of　their　disease　drank　coffee　but　didn't　touch　the　food。　Almost　everyone　smoked　cigarettes。　A　man　across　from　him　offered　him　an　unfiltered　Pall　Mall；　which　Smoke　Judy　accepted。　He　hadn't　smoked　a　cigarette　since　he　was　twenty…four；　but　when　in　Rome。。。
　〃I　see　you　been　to　the　barber　college；〃　his　benefactor　said　as　he　blew　out　his　match。
　〃Yeah。〃
　〃Go　there　myself　from　time　to　time。〃
　Judy　concentrated　on　smoking　the　cigarette　until　the　man　beside　him　lost　interest　in　conversation。　Behind　the　screen　of　rising　smoke　he　studied　the　people　around　him。　He　was　apparently　the　only　one　who　showed　any　interest　in　his　panions。　Most　of　them　sat　with　vacant　eyes；　or　stared　at　their　plates；　or　the　wall；　or　the　smoke　rising　from　their　cigarettes。
　By　eight　o'clock　he　was　back　on　the　street。　The　humidity　was　bad　and　the　heat　was　building。　Already　the　concrete　sidewalks　had　bee　griddles。　His　panions　wandered　off　in　twos　and　threes；　looking　for　shady　spots　to　snooze；　spots　near　areas　of　heavy　pedestrian　traffic　that　later　in　the　day　could　be　mined　by　panhandling　for　enough　money　to　purchase　the　daily　bottle。
　Deciding　the　street　was　too　dangerous　for　a　man　with　only　a　day's　growth　of　beard；　Judy　ambled　back　toward　the　alley　where　he　had　spent　the　night。　He　concentrated　on　the　derelict's　shuffle；　the　head…down；　stoop…shouldered；　eyes…averted　gait　that　characterized　so　many　of　the　defeated　wanderers…
　His　eye　caught　a　headline　in　a　newspaper　rack。　The　photo…that　was　him！　He　walked　along；　wondering。　Up　ahead　was　a　trash　bin　with　a　paper　sticking　out。　He　snagged　it　and　took　it　back　to　the　alley。
　Drugs。　Cocaine　trafficking。　The　photo　of　him　in　uniform　was　that　service…record　shot　he　had　submitted　last　year。　The　picture　of　Harlan　Albright　was　a　candid　street　shot；　almost　as　if　he　had　been　unaware　of　the　camera。　Still；　it　was　a　good　likeness。　With　his　back　to　the　Dumpster；　sitting　on　the　asphalt；　Smoke　Judy　read　the　stories　carefully。　Vice　Admiral　Henry　was　dead；　according　to　the　Post；　killed　by　a　drug　dealer　resisting　arrest。　Well；　was　the　Post　ever　wrong？
　When　he　finished　the　story　he　threw　the　paper　in　the　Dumpster。
　Now　he　lay　in　the　heat；　his　head　on　his　blanket　roll；　watching　an　old　dog　search　for　edible　garbage。　A　slight　breeze　wafted　down　the　alley；　but　it　wasn't　much。　The　place　was　a　sauna。　After　the　dog　left；　the　only　creatures　vigorously　stirring　were　the　flies。
　Jesus；　who　would　have　believed　things　could　go　so　wrong　so　fast？　The　feds　must　have　been　monitoring　access　to　that　file；　and　the　instant　he　opened　it；　jumped　in　the　car　to　drive　over　and　arrest　him。　From　mander　in　the　U。S。　Navy　to　hunted　fugitive　killer　all　in　one　fifteen…minute　period…that　had　to　be　a　new　record　for　the　fastest　fall　in　the　history　of　the　navy。
　As　he　thought　about　it；　Smoke　Judy　did　not　agonize　over　the　split…second　decisions　he　had　made　or　torture　himself　with　whatifs。　He　had　spent　his　adult　life　in　a　discipline　posed　of　split…second　decisions；　and　he　had　long　ago　learned　to　live　with　them。　You　made　the　best　choice　you　could　on　the　information　you　had　and　never　wasted　time　later　regretting　the　choice。　He　didn't　now。
　Still；　as　he　looked　back；　he　couldn't　really　pinpoint　any　specific　decision　that　he　could　say　had　been　the　perfect　choice　to　make　when　he　made　it。　So　here　he　was；　lying　in　an　alley　ten　blocks　northeast　of　the　White　House。　Hell　must　be　like　this。　dirty　and　hot；　all　the　sinners　baking　slowly；　desperate　for　a　beer。　God；　a　cold　beer　would　taste　so　good！
　The　money。　After　that　phone　call　from　Homer　T。　Wiggins；　he　had　felt　it　unsafe　to　leave　the　money　in　his　apartment　when　he　wasn't　there；　so　he　had　put　it　in　a　duffel　bag　in　the　trunk　of　his　car。　His　passport　was　in　the　bag　too。　The　car　was　undoubtedly　in　the　police　impound　lot　by　this　time　and　the　money　and　passport　were　in　the　evidence　safe。　He　had　been　tempted　yesterday　to　try　to　get　it；　but　that　temptation　he　had　easily　resisted。　Smoke　Judy；　fighter　pilot；　knew　all　about　what　happened　to　guys　who　went　back　to　a　heavily　defended　target　for　one　more　run。
　Man；　the　bumper　sticker　is　right…shit　happens。　And　it　happens　fast。　The　real　crazy　thing　is　it　all　happened　to　him。　The　great　sewer　in　the　sky　dumped　it　all　on　him。　Fuck！　He　said　it　aloud；　〃Fuck。〃
　〃Fuck！〃　He　shouted　it；　liking　the　sound　of　his　voice　booming　the　obscenity　at　the　alley　walls。　The　word　seemed　to　gain　weight　and　substance　as　it　echoed　toward　the　street。　He　filled　his　lungs　with　air　and　roared；　〃Fuck　fuck　fuck　fuck　fuck！〃
　〃Hey；　you　down　there。〃　He　looked　up。　Some　guy　was　leaning　out　a　window。　〃You　stop　that　damn　shouting　or　I'll　call　a　cop　to　run　you　out　of　there。　You　hear？〃
　〃Yeah。　Sorry。〃
　〃Goddamn　fucking　drunk　psychos；〃　the　man　said　as　he　closed　the　window；　probably　to　keep　in　the　cool；　conditioned　air。
　Okay；　Judy　told　himself；　going　through　the　whole　thing　one　more　time。　He　was　in　the　smelly　stuff　to　his　eyes。　Okay。　How　was　he　going　to　get　the　hell　out　of　this　mess？
　Well；　this　alley　was　as　good　a　place　as　any　to　spend　the　weekend。
　If　he　tried　to　check　into　a　motel　or　hotel；　or　tried　to　buy　clothes　or　steal　a　car；　he　might　be　recognized。　The　cops　wouldn't　be　looking　for　him　in　an　alley；　at　least　not　for　a　few　days。　No　doubt　they　were　watching　the　airports；　train　station　and　bus　depot。　And　looking　for　that　car　he　drove　away　from　Crystal　City。
　So　sitting　here　in　this　shithole　for　a　few　days　looked　like　a　pretty　good　idea。　Of　course；　selling　the　E…PROM　data　to　Homer　T。　Wiggins　had　looked　good　too；　as　did　killing　Harold　Strong；　copying　the　Athena　file。。。
　Ah　me。
　Well；　he　still　had　a　card。　One　chance。　150；000。　Boy；　did　he　ever　need　that　money　now。　Monday　evening；　Harlan　Albright；　that　meat　market　in　Georgetown。　One　way　or　the　other；　Albright　was　parting　with　the　cash；　he　told　himself　grimly。　There　were　still　five　live　cartridges　left　in　the　pistol。
　
　Jake　Grafton　sent　his　family　to　the　beach　Friday　evening。　Saturday　he　was　back　at　the　office…finishing　his　report　on　the　testing　of　the　prototypes。　He　had　already　circulated　a　draft　to　his　superiors　and　now　he　was　incorporating　their　ments。
　The　senior　secretary　had　volunteered　to　work　on　Saturday；　and　she　was　making　the　changes　on　the　puter　when　the　telephone　rang。　〃Jake；　this　is　Admiral　Dunedin。　I　have　a　couple　FBI　agents　here　with　me。　Could　you　e　up　to　my　office？〃
　〃Yessir。　Be　right　there。〃
　The　agents　turned　out　to　be　Camacho　and　Dreyfus。　They　shook　his　band　politely。　Jake　sat　in　a　chair　against　the　wall；　facing　the　side　of　the　admiral's　desk。
　〃Captain；〃　the　admiral　said　to　get　the　ball　rolling；　〃these　gentlemen　said　you　had　some　concerns　that　you　wished　to　discuss。〃
　Jake　snorted　and　rearranged　his　fanny　on　the　chair。　〃I　suspect　my　concerns　are　minor　and　worlds　away　from　the　FBI's；　but　they're　real　enough。　I've　read　the　morning　papers。　Apparently　the　ATA　program　is　some　kind　of　cover　for　drug　dealers　who　are　supplying　all　the　addicts　in　the　Pentagon；　and　one　of　them　went　bug…fuck　crazy　yesterday　and　beat　an　admiral　to　death。〃
　〃Now；　Captain…〃　Camacho　began…
　〃Let　me　finish。　Presumably　this　boondoggle　operation　is　run　by　some　airhead　who　is　unable　to　recognize　the　nefarious　character　of　his　subordinates；　who　have　been　engaged　in　subverting　the　national　defense　establishment　from　within。　Moral　rot　and　all　that。　And　who　is　the　airhead　who　mands　this　collection　of　criminals　in　uniform？　Why；　it's　the　navy's　very　own　Jake　Grafton；　who　next　week　is　going　to　be　testifying　before　various　mittees　of　Congress　about　the　necessity　to　fund　a　new　all…weather；　carrier…based；　stealth　attack　plane。　No　doubt　this　Captain　Bligh　will　be　questioned　closely　by　concerned　congressmen　about　his　inability　to　see　beyond　the　end　of　his　nose。　So　my　question　is　this…just　what　the　hell　do　you　gentlemen　suggest　I　tell　the　congressmen？〃
　The　agents　looked　at　each　other；　then　the　admiral。
　〃We　need　this　airplane；〃　said　the　admiral。　〃Any　suggestions？〃
　〃This　would　be　a　great　place　for　the　truth；〃　Jake　observed。
　It　was　Camacho　who　spoke。　〃The　truth　is　this　is　a　national　security　matter。　Any　additional　ment　will　jeopardize　an　ongoing　investigation。〃
　〃You　expect　me　to　go　over　to　the　Hill　and　say　that？〃　Jake　asked　incredulously。　〃See　this　uniform？　I'm　a　naval　officer；　not　a　spook。　How　about　the　directors　of　the　FBI　and　CIA　go　over　there　and　make　a　little　statement　behind　closed　doors；　ahead　of　time？〃　Camacho　considered　it。
　〃They　can　swear　on　Bibles　or　cross　their　hearts；　or　whatever　it　is　you　spooks　do　on　those　rare　occasions　when　you're　really　going　to　e　clean。〃
　〃I　suppose　we　could　ask　the　Director；〃　Camacho　said　with　a　glance　at　Dreyfus。
　〃While　you're　mulling　that；　how　about　explaining　to　me　and　the　admiral　just　what　is　going　on？　I'd　lik