The Matlock Paper (36 page)

“Yes, I
do!
Because I’m not your enemy. I may not be everything you want me to be, but I’m not your enemy. If you turn me—and men like me—into objects of hatred, you’re
finished
. You’re outnumbered, don’t forget that, Dunois. We won’t storm the barricades every time you yell ‘foul,’ but we hear you. We’re willing to help; we want to help.”

Dunois looked coldly at Matlock. “Prove it.”

Matlock returned the black’s stare. “Use me as your bait, your hostage. Kill me if you have to. But get the girl out.”

“We can do that—the hostaging, the killing—without your consent. Brave but hardly proof.”

Matlock refused to allow Dunois to disengage the stare between them. He spoke softly. “I’ll give you a statement. Written, verbal—on tape; freely, without force or coercion. I’ll spell it all out. How I was used, what I did. Everything. You’ll have your Washington men as well as Nimrod.”

Dunois folded his arms and matched Matlock’s quiet voice. “You realize you would put an end to your professional life; this life you love so much. No university administration worthy of its name would consider you for a position. You’d never be trusted again. By any factions. You’d become a pariah.”

“You asked for proof. It’s all I can offer you.”

Dunois sat immobile in the chair. Williams had straightened up from his slouching position against the wall. No one spoke for several moments. Finally Dunois smiled gently. His eyes, surrounded by the gauze, were compassionate.

“You’re a good man. Inept, perhaps, but persevering. You shall have the help you need. We won’t leave you without hope. Do you agree, Adam?”

“Agreed.”

Dunois got out of the chair and approached Matlock.

“You’ve heard the old cliché, that politics make strange bedfellows. Conversely, practical objectives often make for strange political alliances. History bears this out.… We want this Nimrod as much as you do. As well as the Mafiosi he tries to make peace with. It is they and their kind who prey upon the children. An example must be made. An example which will instill terror in other Nimrods, other Mafiosi.… You shall have help, but this is the condition we demand.”

“What do you mean?”

“The disposition of Nimrod and the others will be left to us. We don’t trust your judges and your juries. Your courts are corrupt, your legalistics no more than financial manipulations.… The barrio addict is thrown into jail. The rich gangsters appeal.… No, the disposition must be left to us.”

“I don’t care about that. You can do whatever you like.”

“Your not caring is insufficient. We demand more than that. We must have our guarantee.”

“How can I give a guarantee?”

“By your silence. By not acknowledging our presence. We will take the Corsican paper and somehow we will find the conference and be admitted. We will extract what we want from the diaries—that’s being done now, incidentally.… But your
silence
is the paramount issue. We will help you now—on a best-efforts basis, of course—but you must never mention our involvement. Irrespective of what may happen, you must not, directly or indirectly, allude to our participation. Should you do so, we will take your life and the life of the girl. Is this understood?”

“It is.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“We are.”

“Thank you,” said Dunois, smiling.

As Julian Dunois outlined their alternatives and began to formulate strategy, it became clearer to Matlock why the blacks had sought him out with such concentration—and why Dunois was willing to offer help. He, Matlock, had the basic information they needed. Who were his contacts? Both inside and without the university? Who and where were the government men? How were communications expedited?

In other words—whom should Julian Dunois
avoid
in his march to Nimrod?

“I must say, you were extraordinarily unprepared for contingencies,” Dunois said. “Very slipshod.”

“That occurred to me, too. But I think I was only partially to blame.”

“I dare say you were!” Dunois laughed, joined by Williams. The three men remained in the windowless room. A card table had been brought in along with several yellow pads. Dunois had begun writing down every bit of information Matlock supplied. He double-checked the spelling of names, the accuracy of addresses—a professional at work; Matlock once again experienced the feeling of inadequacy he had felt when talking with Greenberg.

Dunois stapled a number of pages together and
started on a fresh pad. “What are you doing?” asked Matlock.

“These will be duplicated by a copier downstairs. The information will be sent to my office in New York.… As will a photostat of every page in Professor Herron’s notebook.”

“You don’t fool around, do you?”

“In a word—no.”

“It’s all I’ve got to give you. Now, what do we do? What do
I
do? I’m frightened, I don’t have to tell you that. I can’t even let myself think what might happen to her.”

“
Nothing
will happen. Believe me when I tell you that. At the moment, your Miss Ballantyne is as safe as if she were in her mother’s arms. Or yours. She’s the bait, not you. The bait will be kept fresh and unspoiled. For you have what they want. They can’t survive without it.”

“Then let’s make the offer. The sooner the better.”

“Don’t worry. It will be made. But we must decide carefully—aware of the nuances—how we do it. So far, we have two alternatives, we agreed upon that. The first is Kressel, himself. The direct confrontation. The second, to use the police department, to let your message to Nimrod be delivered through it.”

“Why do that? Use the police?”

“I’m only listing alternatives.… Why the police? I’m not sure. Except that the Herron diaries state clearly that Nimrod was replaced in the past. This current Nimrod is the third since the position’s inception, is that not correct?”

“Yes. The first was a man named Orton in the lieutenant governor’s office. The second, Angelo Latona, a builder. The third, obviously, Kressel. What’s your point?”

“I’m speculating. Whoever assumes the position of Nimrod has authoritarian powers. Therefore, it is the position, not the man. The man can make whatever he can of the office.”

“But the office,” interrupted Williams, “is given and taken away. Nimrod isn’t the last voice.”

“Exactly. Therefore, it might be to Matlock’s advantage to let the word leak out very specifically that it is
he
who possesses the weapon. That Kressel—Nimrod—must exercise great caution. For everyone’s sake.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that more people would be after me?”

“Possibly. Conversely, it could mean that there’d be a legion of anxious criminals protecting you. Until the threat you impose is eliminated. No one will act rashly until that threat is taken away. No one will want Nimrod to act rashly.”

Matlock lit a cigarette, listening intently. “What you’re trying to do then is to partially separate Nimrod from his own organization.”

Dunois snapped the fingers of both hands, the sound of castanets, applause. He smiled as he spoke.

“You’re a quick student. It’s the first lesson of insurgency. One of the prime objectives of infiltration. Divide. Divide!”

The door opened; an excited black entered. Without saying a word, he handed Dunois a note. Dunois read it and closed his eyes for several moments. It was his way of showing dismay. He thanked the black messenger calmly and dismissed him politely. He looked at Matlock but handed the note to Williams.

“Our stratagems may have historic precedence, but I’m afraid for us they’re empty words. Kressel and his
wife are dead. Dr. Sealfont has been taken forcibly from his house under guard. He was driven away in a Carlyle patrol car.”

“What? Kressel! I don’t believe it! It’s not true!”

“I’m afraid it is. Our men report that the two bodies were carried out not more than fifteen minutes ago. The word is murder and suicide. Naturally. It would fit perfectly.”

“Oh, Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ! It’s my fault! I made them do it! I
forced
them! Sealfont! Where did they take him?”

“We don’t know. The brothers on watch didn’t dare follow the patrol car.”

He had no words. The paralysis, the fear, was there again. He reeled blindly into the bed and sank down on it, sitting, staring at nothing. The sense of futility, of inadequacy, of defeat was now overwhelming. He had caused so much pain, so much death.

“It’s a severe complication,” said Dunois, his elbows on the card table. “Nimrod has removed your only contacts. In so doing, he’s answered a vital question, prevented us from making an enormous error—I refer to Kressel, of course. Nevertheless, to look at it from another direction, Nimrod has reduced our alternatives. You have no choice now. You must deal through his private army, the Carlyle police.”

Matlock looked numbly across at Julian Dunois. “Is that all you can
do?
Sit there and coolly decide a next move?… Kressel’s
dead
. His
wife
is
dead
. Adrian Sealfont’s probably killed by now. These were my
friends!
”

“And you have my sympathies, but let me be honest: I don’t regret the loss of the three individuals. Frankly, Adrian Sealfont is the only
real
casualty—we
might have worked with him, he was brilliant—but this loss does not break my heart. We lose thousands in the barrios every month. I weep for them more readily.… However, to the issue at hand. You really don’t have a choice. You must make your contact through the police.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.” Matlock felt suddenly stronger. “I
do
have a choice.… Greenberg left West Virginia early this morning. He’ll be in Washington by now. I have a number in New York that can put me in touch with him. I’m getting hold of Greenberg.” He’d done enough, caused enough anguish. He couldn’t take the chance with Pat’s life. Not any longer. He wasn’t capable.

Dunois leaned back in his chair, removing his arms from the card table. He stared at Matlock. “I said a little while ago that you were an apt student. I amend that observation. You are quick but obviously superficial.… You will
not
reach Greenberg. He was not part of our agreement and you
will not
violate that agreement. You will carry through on the basis we agree upon or you will be subject to the penalties I outlined.”

“Goddamn it, don’t threaten me! I’m sick of threats!” Matlock stood up. Dunois reached under his jacket and took out a gun. Matlock saw that it was the black automatic he had taken from the dead man on the East Gorge slope. Dunois, too, rose to his feet.

“The medical report will no doubt estimate your death to be at dawn.”

“For God’s sake! The girl is being held by killers!”

“So are you,” Dunois said quietly. “Can’t you
see
that? Our motives are different, but make no mistake about it. We are
killers
. We
have
to be.”

“You wouldn’t go that far!”

“Oh, but we would. We have. And much, much further. We would drop your insignificant corpse in front of the police station with a note pinned to your bloodstained shirt. We would
demand
the death of the girl prior to any negotiations. They would readily agree, for neither of us can take the chance of her living. Once she, too, is dead, the giants are left to do battle by themselves.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I am what I have to be.”

No one spoke for several moments. Matlock shut his eyes, his voice a whisper. “What do I do?”

“That’s much better.” Dunois sat down, looking up at the nervous Adam Williams. Briefly, Matlock felt a kinship with the campus radical. He, too, was frightened, unsure. As Matlock, he was ill-equipped to deal with the world of Julian Dunois or Nimrod. The Haitian seemed to read Matlock’s thoughts.

“You must have confidence in yourself. Remember, you’ve accomplished far more than anyone else. With far less resources. And you have extraordinary courage.”

“I don’t feel very courageous.”

“A brave man rarely does. Isn’t that remarkable? Come, sit down.” Matlock obeyed. “You know, you and I are not so different. In another time, we might even be allies. Except, as many of my brothers have noted, I look for saints.”

“There aren’t any,” Matlock said.

“Perhaps not. And then again, perhaps … we’ll debate it some other time. Right now, we must plan. Nimrod will be expecting you. We can’t disappoint him. Yet we must be sure to guard ourselves on all
flanks.” He pulled closer to the table, a half-smile on his lips, his eyes shining.

The black revolutionary’s strategy, if nothing else, was a complex series of moves designed to protect Matlock and the girl. Matlock grudgingly had to acknowledge it.

“I have a double motive,” Dunois explained. “The second is, frankly, more important to me. Nimrod will not appear himself unless he has no other choice, and I want Nimrod. I will not settle for a substitute, a camouflage.”

The essence of the plan was Herron’s notebook itself, the last entries in the diary.

The identity of Nimrod.

“Herron states explicitly that he
would
not write the name intimated by the messengers. Not that he couldn’t. His feeling obviously was that he could not implicate that man if the information was incorrect. Guilt by innuendo would be abhorrent to him. Like yourself, Matlock; you refused to offer up Herron on the basis of an hysterical phone call. He knew that he might die at any given moment; his body had taken about as much abuse as it could endure.… He had to be positive.” Dunois, by now, was drawing meaningless geometric shapes on a blank page of yellow paper.

“And then he was murdered,” said Matlock. “Made to look like suicide.”

“Yes. If nothing else, the diaries confirm that. Once Herron had proved to himself who Nimrod was, he would have moved heaven and earth to include it in the notebook. Our enemy cannot know that he did not. That is our Damocletian sword.”

Matlock’s first line of protection was to let the chief
of the Carlyle police understand that he, Matlock, knew the identity of Nimrod. He would reach an accommodation solely with Nimrod. This accommodation was the lesser of two evils. He was a hunted man. There was a warrant out for his arrest of which the Carlyle police surely were aware. He might conceivably be exonerated from the lesser indictments, but he would not escape the charge of murder. Possibly, two murders. For he had killed, the evidence was overwhelming, and he had no tangible alibis. He did not know the men he had killed. There were no witnesses to corroborate self-defense; the manner of each killing was grotesque to the point of removing the killer from society. The best he could hope for was a number of years in prison.