«A narcotics courier—that is, a man who goes into a specific source territory carrying instructions, money, messages—left the country six weeks ago. He was more than a courier, actually; he was quite powerful in the distribution hierarchy; you might say he was on a busman’s holiday, Mediterranean style. Or perhaps he was checking investments… At any rate, he was killed by some mountain people in the Toros Daglari—that’s Turkey, a growing district. The story is, he canceled operations there and the violence followed. We accept that; the Mediterranean fields are closing down right and left, moving into South America… The paper was found on his body, in a skin belt. As you saw, it’s been handed around a bit. It brought a succession of prices from Ankara to Marrakesh. An Interpol undercover man finally made the purchase and it was turned over to us.»
«From Toros Dag-whatever-it-is to Washington. That paper’s had quite a journey,» said Matlock.
«And an expensive one,» added Loring. «Only it’s not in Washington now, it’s here. From Toros Daglari to Carlyle, Connecticut.»
«I assume that means something.» Sam Kressel sat down, apprehensively watching the government man.
«It means the information in that paper concerns Carlyle.» Loring leaned back against the desk and spoke calmly, with no sense of urgency at all. He could have been an instructor in front of a class explaining a dry but necessary mathematics theorem. «The paper says there’ll be a conference on the tenth of May, three weeks from tomorrow. The numbers are the map coordinates of the Carlyle area—precision decimals of longitude and latitude in Greenwich units. The paper itself identifies the holder to be one of those summoned. Each paper has either a matching half or is cut from a pattern that can be matched—simple additional security. What’s missing is the precise location.»
«Wait a minute.» Kressel’s voice was controlled but sharp; he was upset. «Aren’t you ahead of yourself, Loring? You’re giving us information—obviously restricted—before you state your request. This university administration isn’t interested in being an investigative arm of the government. Before you go into facts, you’d better say what you want.»
«I’m sorry, Mr. Kressel. You said I was on the spot and I am. I’m handling it badly.»
«Like hell. You’re an expert.»
«Hold it, Sam.» Matlock raised his hand off the arm of the chair. Kressel’s sudden antagonism seemed uncalled for. «Sealfont said we had the option to refuse whatever he wants. If we exercise that option—and we probably will—I’d like to think we did so out of judgment, not blind reaction.»
«Don’t be naïve, Jim. You receive restricted or classified information and instantly, post facto, you’re involved. You can’t deny receiving it; you can’t say it didn’t happen.»
Matlock looked up at Loring. «Is that true?»
«To a degree, yes. I won’t lie about it.»
«Then why should we listen to you?»
«Because Carlyle University is involved; has been for years. And the situation is critical. So critical that there are only three weeks left to act on the information we have.»
Kressel got out of his chair, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. «Create the crisis—without proof—and force the involvement. The crisis fades but the records show the university was a silent participant in a federal investigation. That was the pattern at the University of Wisconsin.» Kressel turned to Matlock. «Do you remember that one, Jim? Six days of riots on campus. Half a semester lost on teach-ins.»
«That was Pentagon oriented,» said Loring. «The circumstances were entirely different.»
«You think the Justice Department makes it more palatable? Read a few campus newspapers.»
«For Christ’s sake, Sam, let the man talk. If you don’t want to listen, go home. I want to hear what he has to say.»
Kressel looked down at Matlock. «All right. I think I understand. Go ahead, Loring. Just remember, no obligations. And we’re not bound to respect any conditions of confidence.»
«I’ll gamble on your common sense.»
«That may be a mistake.» Kressel walked to the bar and replenished his drink.
Loring sat on the edge of the desk. «I’ll start by asking both of you if you’ve ever heard of the word nimrod.»
«Nimrod is a Hebrew name,» Matlock answered. «Old Testament. A descendant of Noah, ruler of Babylon and Nineveh. Legendary prowess as a hunter, which obscures the more important fact that he founded, or built, the great cities in Assyria and Mesopotamia.»
Loring smiled. «Very good again, professor. A hunter and a builder. I’m speaking in more contemporary terms, however.»
«Then, no, I haven’t. Have you, Sam?»
Kressel walked back to his chair, carrying his glass. «I didn’t even know what you just said. I thought a nimrod was a casting fly. Very good for trout.»
«Then I’ll fill in some background… I don’t mean to bore you with narcotics statistics; I’m sure you’re bombarded with them constantly.»
«Constantly,» said Kressel.
«But there’s an isolated geographical statistic you may not be aware of. The concentration of drug traffic in the New England states is growing at a rate exceeding that of any other section of the country. It’s a startling pattern. Since 1968, there’s been a systematic erosion of enforcement procedures… Let me put it into perspective, geographically. In California, Illinois, Louisiana, narcotics controls have improved to the point of at least curtailing the growth curves. It’s really the best we can hope for until the international agreements have teeth. But not in the New England area. Throughout this section, the expansion has gone wild. It’s hit the colleges hard.»
«How do you know that?» asked Matlock.
«Dozens of ways and always too late to prevent distribution. Informers, marked inventories from Mediterranean, Asian, and Latin American sources, traceable Swiss deposits; that is restricted data.» Loring looked at Kressel and smiled.
«Now I know you people are crazy.» Kressel spoke disagreeably. «It seems to me that if you can substantiate those charges, you should do so publicly. And loud.»
«We have our reasons.»
«Also restricted, I assume,» said Kressel with faint disgust.
«There’s a side issue,» continued the government man, disregarding him. «The eastern prestige campuses—large and small, Princeton, Amherst, Harvard, Vassar, Williams, Carlyle—a good percentage of their enrollments include VIP kids. Sons and daughters of very important people, especially in government and industry. There’s a blackmail potential, and we think it’s been used. Such people are painfully sensitive to drug scandals.»
Kressel interrupted. «Granting what you say is true, and I don’t, we’ve had less trouble here than most other colleges in the northeast area.»
«We’re aware of that. We even think we know why.»
«That’s esoteric, Mr. Loring. Say what you want to say.» Matlock didn’t like the games some people played.
«Any distribution network which is capable of systematically servicing, expanding, and controlling an entire section of the country has got to have a base of operations. A clearing house—you might say, a command post. Believe me when I tell you that this base of operations, the command post for the narcotics traffic throughout the New England states, is Carlyle University.»
Samuel Kressel, dean of the colleges, dropped his glass on Adrian Sealfont’s parquet floor.
Ralph Loring continued his incredible story. Matlock and Kressel remained in their chairs. Several times during his calm, methodical explanation, Kressel began to interrupt, to object, but Loring’s persuasive narrative cut him short. There was nothing to argue.