«I apologize,» said Loring persuasively. «It’s a personal idiosyncrasy and has nothing to do with our business.»
«You’re the commuter in the Cheshire Cat.»
«The what?» asked Sam Kressel.
«The man with the newspaper.»
«That’s right. I knew you’d noticed me this afternoon. I thought you’d recognize me the minute you saw me again. I didn’t know I looked like a commuter.»
«It was the newspaper. We called you an irate father.»
«Sometimes I am. Not often, though. My daughter’s only seven.»
«I think we should begin,» Sealfont said. «Incidentally, James, I’m relieved your reaction is so understanding.»
«My only reaction is curiosity. And a healthy degree of fear. To tell you the truth, I’m scared to death.» Matlock smiled haltingly. «What’s it all about?»
«Let’s have a drink while we talk.» Adrian Sealfont smiled back and walked to his copper-topped dry bar in the corner of the room. «You’re a bourbon and water man, aren’t you, James? And Sam, a double Scotch over ice, correct? What’s yours, Mr. Loring?»
«Scotch’ll be fine. Just water.»
«Here, James, give me a hand.» Matlock crossed to Sealfont and helped him.
«You amaze me, Adrian,» said Kressel, sitting down in a leather armchair. «What in heaven’s name prompts you to remember your subordinates’ choice of liquor?»
Sealfont laughed. «The most logical reason of all. And it certainly isn’t confined to my … colleagues. I’ve raised more money for this institution with alcohol than with hundreds of reports prepared by the best analytic minds in fund-raising circles.» Here Adrian Sealfont paused and chuckled—as much to himself as to those in the room. «I once gave a speech to the Organization of University Presidents. In the question and answer period, I was asked to what I attributed Carlyle’s endowment… I’m afraid I replied, ‘To those ancient peoples who developed the art of fermenting the vineyards.’ … My late wife roared but told me later I’d set the fund back a decade.»
The three men laughed; Matlock distributed the drinks.
«Your health,» said the president of Carlyle, raising his glass modestly. The toast, however, was brief. «This is a bit awkward, James … Sam. Several weeks ago I was contacted by Mr. Loring’s superior. He asked me to come to Washington on a matter of utmost importance, relative to Carlyle. I did so and was briefed on a situation I still refuse to accept. Certain information which Mr. Loring will impart to you seems incontrovertible on the surface. But that is the surface: rumor; out-of-context statements, written and verbal; constructed evidence which may be meaningless. On the other hand, there might well be a degree of substance. It is on that possibility that I’ve agreed to this meeting. I must make it clear, however, that I cannot be a party to it. Carlyle will not be a party to it. Whatever may take place in this room has my unacknowledged approval but not my official sanction. You act as individuals, not as members of the faculty or staff of Carlyle. If, indeed, you decide to act at all… Now, James, if that doesn’t ‘scare you,’ I don’t know what will.» Sealfont smiled again, but his message was clear.
«It scares me,» said Matlock without emphasis.
Kressel put down his glass and leaned forward on the chair. «Are we to assume from what you’ve said that you don’t endorse Loring’s presence here? Or whatever it is he wants?»
«It’s a gray area. If there’s substance to his charges, I certainly cannot turn my back. On the other hand, no university president these days will openly collaborate with a government agency on speculation. You’ll forgive me, Mr. Loring, but too many people in Washington have taken advantage of the academic communities. I refer specifically to Michigan, Columbia, Berkeley … among others. Simple police matters are one thing, infiltration … well, that’s something else again.»
«Infiltration? That’s a pretty strong word,» said Matlock.
«Perhaps too strong. I’ll leave the terms to Mr. Loring.»
Kressel picked up his glass. «May I ask why we—Matlock and I—have been chosen?»
«That, again, will be covered in Mr. Loring’s discussion. However, since I’m responsible for your being here, Sam, I’ll tell you my reasons. As dean, you’re more closely attuned to campus affairs than anyone else… You will also be aware of it if Mr. Loring or his associates overstep their bounds… I think that’s all I have to say. I’m going over to the assembly. That filmmaker, Strauss, is speaking tonight and I’ve got to put in an appearance.» Sealfont walked back to the bar and put his glass on the tray. The three other men rose.
«One thing before you go,» said Kressel, his brow wrinkled. «Suppose one or both of us decide we want no part of Mr. Loring’s … business?»
«Then refuse.» Adrian Sealfont crossed to the library door. «You are under no obligation whatsoever; I want that perfectly clear. Mr. Loring understands. Good evening, gentlemen.» Sealfont walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
3
The three men remained silent, standing motionless. They could hear the front entrance open and close. Kressel turned and looked at Loring.
«It seems to me you’ve been put on the spot.»
«I usually am in these situations. Let me clarify my position; it will partly explain this meeting. The first thing you should know is that I’m with the Justice Department, Narcotics Bureau.»
Kressel sat down and sipped at his drink. «You haven’t traveled up here to tell us forty percent of the student body is on pot and a few other items, have you? Because if so, it’s nothing we don’t know.»
«No, I haven’t. I assume you do know about such things. Everyone does. I’m not sure about the percentage, though. It could be a low estimate.»
Matlock finished his bourbon and decided to have another. He spoke as he crossed to the copper bar table. «It may be low or high, but comparatively speaking—in relation to other campuses—we’re not in a panic.»
«There’s no reason for you to be. Not about that.»
«There’s something else?»
«Very much so.» Loring walked to Sealfont’s desk and bent down to pick up his briefcase from the floor. It was apparent that the government man and Carlyle’s president had talked before Matlock and Kressel arrived. Loring put the briefcase on the desk and opened it. Matlock walked back to his chair and sat down.
«I’d like to show you something.» Loring reached into the briefcase and withdrew a thick page of silver-colored stationery, cut diagonally as if with pinking shears. The silver coating was now filthy with repeated handling and blotches of grease or dirt. He approached Matlock’s chair and handed it to him. Kressel got up and came over.
«It’s some kind of letter. Or announcement. With numbers,» said Matlock. «It’s in French; no, Italian, I think. I can’t make it out.»
«Very good, professor,» said Loring. «A lot of both and not a predominance of either. Actually, it’s a Corsican dialect, written out. It’s called the Oltremontan strain, used in the southern hill country. Like Etruscan, it’s not entirely translatable. But what codes are used are simple to the point of not being codes at all. I don’t think they were meant to be; there aren’t too many of these. So there’s enough here to tell us what we need to know.»
«Which is?» asked Kressel, taking the strange-looking paper from Matlock.
«First I’d like to explain how we got it. Without that explanation, the information is meaningless.»
«Go ahead.» Kressel handed the filthy silver paper back to the government agent, who carried it to the desk and carefully returned it to his briefcase.