jg.thepelicanbrief-第16章

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　　〃No。〃
　　
　　〃Good。　As　you　obviously　know；　these　are　indeed　public　records。　But　the　trial　judge　has　placed　certain　restrictions。　First；　I　must　have　your　name　and　the　precise　hours　you　visited　this　room。　Second；　nothing　can　be　taken　from　this　room。　Third；　nothing　in　this　file　can　be　copied　until　the　appeal　is　perfected。　Fourth；　anything　you　touch　in　here　must　be　put　back　exactly　where　you　found　it。　Judge's　orders。〃　
　　
　　Darby　stared　at　the　wall　of　file　cabinets。　〃Why　can't　I　make　copies？〃
　　
　　〃Ask　His　Honor；　okay？　Now；　what's　your　name？〃
　　
　　〃Darby　Shaw。〃　
　　
　　The　clerk　scribbled　the　information　on　a　clipboard　hanging　near　the　door。　〃How　long　will　you　be？〃
　　
　　〃I　don't　know。　Three　or　four　hours。〃
　　
　　〃We　close　at　five。　Find　me　at　the　office　when　you　leave。〃　She　closed　the　door　with　a　smirk。　Darby　opened　a　drawer　full　of　pleadings；　and　began　flipping　through　files　and　taking　notes。　The　lawsuit　was　seven　years　old；　with　one　plaintiff　and　thirty…eight　wealthy　corporate　defendants　who　had　collectively　hired　and　fired　no　less　than　fifteen　law　firms　from　all　over　the　country。　Big　firms；　many　with　hundreds　of　lawyers　in　dozens　of　offices。　
　　
　　Seven　years　of　expensive　legal　warfare；　and　the　oute　was　far　from　certain。　Bitter　litigation。　The　trial　verdict　was　only　a　temporary　victory　for　the　defendants。　The　verdict　had　been　purchased　or　in　some　other　way　illegally　obtained；　clairned　the　plaintiff　in　its　motions　for　a　new　trial。　Boxes　of　motions。　Accusations　and　counteraccusations。　Requests　for　sanctions　and　fines　flowing　rapidly　to　and　from　both　sides。　Pages　and　pages　of　affi　davits　detailing　lies　and　abuses　by　the　lawyers　and　their　clients。　One　lawyer　was　dead。　
　　
　　Another　had　tried　suicide；　according　to　a　classmate　of　Darby's　who　had　worked　on　the　fringes　of　the　case　during　the　trial。　Her　friend　had　been　employed　in　a　summer　clerkship　with　a　big　firm　in　Houston；　and　was　kept　in　the　dark　but　heard　a　little。　
　　
　　Darby　unfolded　a　chair　and　stared　at　the　file　cabinets。　It　would　take　five　hours　just　to　find　everything。　
　　
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　　THE　PUBLICITY　had　not　been　good　for　the　Montrose。　Most　of　its　customers　wore　dark　sunglasses　after　dark；　and　tended　to　enter　and　exit　rather　quickly。　And　now　that　a　U。S。　Supreme　Court　Justice　had　been　found　in　the　balcony；　the　place　was　famous　and　the　curious　drove　by　at　all　hours　pointing　and　taking　pictures。　Most　of　the　regulars　went　elsewhere。　The　bravest　darted　in　when　the　traffic　was　light。　
　　
　　He　looked　just　like　a　regular　when　he　darted　in　and　paid　his　money　inside　the　door　without　looking　at　the　cashier。　Baseball　cap；　black　sunglasses；　jeans；　neat　hair；　leather　jacket。　He　was　well　disguised；　but　not　because　he　was　a　homosexual　and　ashamed　to　be　hanging　around　such　places。　
　　
　　It　was　midnight。　He　climbed　the　stairs　to　the　balcony；　smiling　at　the　thought　of　Jensen　wearing　the　tourniquet。　The　door　was　locked。　He　took　a　seat　in　the　center　section　on　the　floor；　away　from　anyone　else。　
　　
　　He　had　never　watched　queer　movies　before；　and　after　this　night　he　had　no　plans　to　watch　another　one。　This　was　his　third　such　smut　house　in　the　past　ninety　minutes。　He　kept　the　sunglasses　on　and　tried　to　avoid　the　screen。　But　it　was　difficult；　and　this　irritated　him。　
　　
　　There　were　five　other　people　in　the　theater。　Four　rows　up　and　to　his　right　were　two　lovebirds；　kissing　and　playing。　Oh；　for　a　baseball　bat　and　he　could　put　them　out　of　their　misery。　Or　a　nice　little　piece　of　yellow　ski　rope。　
　　
　　He　suffered　for　twenty　minutes；　and　was　about　to　reach　in　his　pocket　when　a　hand　touched　his　shoulder。　A　gentle　hand。　He　played　it　cool。
　　
　　〃Could　I　sit　by　you？〃　came　the　rather　deep　and　manly　voice　from　just　over　his　shoulder。
　　
　　〃No；　and　you　can　remove　your　hand。〃　
　　
　　The　hand　moved。　Seconds　passed；　and　it　was　obvious　there　would　be　no　more　requests。　Then　he　was　gone。　
　　
　　This　was　torture　for　a　man　violently　opposed　to　pornography。　He　wanted　to　vomit。　He　glanced　behind　him；　then　reached　carefully　into　the　leather　jacket　and　removed　a　black　box；　six　inches　by　five　and　three　inches　thick。　He　laid　it　on　the　floor　between　his　legs。　With　a　scalpel；　he　made　a　careful　incision　in　the　cushion　of　the　seat　next　to　him；　then；　while　glancing　around；　inserted　the　black　box　into　the　cushion。　There　were　springs　in　this　one；　a　real　antique；　and　he　delicately　twisted　the　box　from　one　side　to　the　other　until　it　was　in　place　with　the　switch　and　the　tube　barely　visible　through　the　incision。　
　　
　　He　took　a　deep　breath。　Although　the　device　had　been　built　by　a　true　professional；　a　legendary　genius　at　miniature　explosives；　it　was　not　pleasant　carrying　the　damned　thing　around　in　a　coat　pocket；　just　centimeters　from　his　heart　and　most　other　vital　organs。　And　he　wasn't　particularly　fortable　sitting　next　to　it　now。　
　　
　　This　was　his　third　plant　of　the　night；　and　he　had　one　more；　at　another　movie　house　where　they　showed　old…fashioned　heterosexual　pornography。　He　was　almost　looking　forward　to　it；　and　this　irritated　him。　
　　
　　He　looked　at　the　two　lovers；　who　were　oblivious　to　the　movie　and　growing　more　excited　by　the　minute；　and　wished　they　could　be　sitting　right　there　when　the　little　black　box　began　silently　spewing　forth　its　gas；　and　then　thirty　seconds　later　when　the　fireball　would　flash…fry　every　object　between　the　screen　and　the　popcorn　machine。　He　would　like　that。　
　　
　　But　his　was　a　nonviolent　group；　opposed　to　the　indiscriminate　killing　of　innocent　and/or　insignificant　people。　They　had　killed　a　few　necessary　victims。　Their　specialty；　however；　was　the　demolition　of　structures　used　by　the　enemy。　They　picked　easy　targets：　unarmed　abortion　clinics；　unprotected　ACLU　offices；　unsuspecting　smut　houses。　They　were　having　a　field　day。　Not　one　single　arrest　in　eighteen　months。　
　　
　　It　was　twelve…forty；　time　to　leave　and　hurry　four　blocks　to　his　car　for　another　black　box；　then　six　blocks　over　to　the　Pussycat　Cinema；　which　closed　at　one…thirty。　The　Pussycat　was　either　eighteen　or　nineteen　on　the　list；　he　couldn't　remember　which；　but　he　was　certain　that　in　exactly　three　hours　and　twenty　minutes　the　dirty　movie　business　in　D。C。　would　take　a　helluva　blow。　Twenty…two　of　these　little　joints　were　supposed　to　receive　black　boxes　tonight；　and　at　4　A。M。　they　were　all　supposed　to　be　closed　and　deserted；　and　demolished。　Three　all…nighters　were　scratched　from　the　list；　because　his　was　a　nonviolent　group。　
　　
　　He　adjusted　his　sunglasses　and　took　one　last　look　at　the　cushion　next　to　him。　Judging　from　the　cups　and　popcorn　on　the　floor；　the　place　got　swept　once　a　week。　No　one　would　notice　the　switch　and　tube　barely　visible　between　the　ragged　threads。　He　cautiously　flipped　the　switch；　and　left　the　Montrose。　
　　
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　　ERIC　EAST　had　never　met　the　President；　nor　been　in　the　White　House。　And　he'd　never　met　Fletcher　Coal；　but　he　knew　he　wouldn't　like　him。　
　　
　　He　followed　Director　Voyles　and　K。　O。　Lewis　into　the　Oval　Office　at　seven　Saturday　morning。　There　were　no　smiles　or　handshakes。　East　was　introduced　by　Voyles。　The　President　nodded　from　behind　the　desk　but　did　not　stand。　Coal　was　reading　something。　
　　
　　Twenty　porno　houses　had　been　torched　in　the　B。C。　area；　and　many　were　still　smoldering。　They　had　seen　the　smoke　above　the　city　from　the　back　of　the　limo。　At　a　dump　called　Angels　a　janitor　had　been　badly　burned　and　was　not　expected　to　live。　
　　
　　An　hour　ago　they　had　received　word　that　an　anonymous　caller　to　a　radio　station　had　claimed　responsibility　for　the　Underground　Army；　and　he　promised　more　of　the　same　in　celebration　of　the　death　of　Rosenberg。　
　　
　　The　President　spoke　first。　He　looked　tired；　East　thought。　It　was　such　an　early　hour　for　him。　〃How　many　places　got　bombed？〃
　　
　　〃Twenty　here；〃　Voyles　answered。　〃Seventeen　in　Baltimore　and　around　fifteen　in　Atlanta。　It　appears　as　though　the　assault　was　carefully　coordinated　because　all　the　explosions　happened　at　precisely　4　A。M。〃　
　　
　　Coal　looked　up　from　his　memo。　〃Director；　do　you　believe　it's　the　Underground　Army？〃
　　
　　〃As　of　now　they're　the　only　ones　claiming　responsibili