The investigation of Carlyle University had begun eighteen months ago. It had been triggered by an accounts ledger uncovered by the French Sureté during one of its frequent narcotics investigations in the port of Marseilles. Once the ledger’s American origins were established, it was sent to Washington under Interpol agreement. Throughout the ledger’s entries were references to «C-22°–59°» consistently followed by the name Nimrod. The numbered degree marks were found to be map coordinates of northern Connecticut, but not decimally definitive. After tracing hundreds of possible trucking routes from Atlantic seaboard piers and airports relative to the Marseilles operation, the vicinity of Carlyle was placed under maximum surveillance.
As part of the surveillance, telephone taps were ordered on persons known to be involved with narcotics distribution from such points as New York, Hartford, Boston, and New Haven. Tapes were made of conversations of underworld figures. All calls regarding narcotics to and from the Carlyle area were placed to and from public telephone booths. It made the intercepts difficult, but not impossible. Again, restricted methods.
As the information files grew, a startling fact became apparent. The Carlyle group was independent. It had no formal ties with structured organized crime; it was beholden to no one. It used known criminal elements, was not used by them. It was a tightly knit unit, reaching into the majority of New England universities. And it did not—apparently—stop at drugs.
There was evidence of the Carlyle unit’s infiltration into gambling, prostitution, even postgraduate employment placement. Too, there seemed to be a purpose, an objective beyond the inherent profits of the illegal activities. The Carlyle unit could have made far greater profit with less complications by dealing outright with known criminals, acknowledged suppliers in all areas. Instead, it spent its own money to set up its organization. It was its own master, controlling its own sources, its own distribution. But what its ultimate objectives were was unclear.
It had become so powerful that it threatened the leadership of organized crime in the Northeast. For this reason, leading figures of the underworld had demanded a conference with those in charge of the Carlyle operation. The key here was a group, or an individual, referred to as Nimrod.
The purpose of the conference, as far as could be determined, was for an accommodation to be reached between Nimrod and the overlords of crime who felt threatened by Nimrod’s extraordinary growth. The conference would be attended by dozens of known and unknown criminals throughout the New England states.
«Mr. Kressel.» Loring turned to Carlyle’s dean and seemed to hesitate. «I suppose you have lists—students, faculty, staff—people you know or have reason to suspect are into the drug scene. I can’t assume it because I don’t know, but most colleges do have.»
«I won’t answer that question.»
«Which, of course, gives me my answer,» said Loring quietly, even sympathetically.
«Not for a minute! You people have a habit of assuming exactly what you want to assume.»
«All right, I stand rebuked. But even if you’d said yes, it wasn’t my purpose to ask for them. It was merely by way of telling you that we do have such a list. I wanted you to know that.»
Sam Kressel realized he’d been trapped; Loring’s ingenuousness only annoyed him further. «I’m sure you do.»
«Needless to say, we’d have no objection to giving you a copy.»
«That won’t be necessary.»
«You’re pretty obstinate, Sam,» said Matlock. «You burying your head?»
Before Kressel could reply, Loring spoke. «The dean knows he can change his mind. And we’ve agreed, there’s no crisis here. You’d be surprised how many people wait for the roof to cave in before asking for help. Or accepting it.»
«But there aren’t many surprises in your organization’s proclivity for turning difficult situations into disasters, are there?» countered Sam Kressel antagonistically.
«We’ve made mistakes.»
«Since you have names,» continued Sam, «why don’t you go after them? Leave us out of it; do your own dirty work. Make arrests, press charges. Don’t try to deputize us.»
«We don’t want to do that… Besides, most of our evidence is inadmissible.»
«That occurred to me,» interjected Kressel.
«And what do we gain? What do you gain?» Loring leaned forward, returning Sam’s stare. «We pick up a couple of hundred potheads, a few dozen speedfreaks; users and low-level pushers. Don’t you understand, that doesn’t solve anything.»
«Which brings us to what you really want, doesn’t it?» Matlock sank back into the chair; he watched the persuasive agent closely.
«Yes,» answered Loring softly. «We want Nimrod. We want to know the location of that conference on May 10. It could be anywhere within a radius of fifty to a hundred miles. We want to be prepared for it. We want to break the back of the Nimrod operation, for reasons that go way beyond Carlyle University. As well as narcotics.»
«How?» asked James Matlock.
«Dr. Sealfont said it. Infiltration… Professor Matlock, you are what’s known in intelligence circles as a highly mobile person within your environment. You’re widely accepted by diverse, even conflicting factions—within both the faculty and the student body. We have the names, you have the mobility.» Loring reached into his briefcase and withdrew the scissored page of filthy stationery. «Somewhere out there is the information we need. Somewhere there’s someone who has a paper like this; someone who knows what we have to know.»
James Barbour Matlock remained motionless in his chair, staring at the government man. Neither Loring nor Kressel could be sure what he was thinking but both had an idea. If thoughts were audible, there would have been full agreement in that room at that moment. James Matlock’s mind had wandered back three, almost four years ago. He was remembering a blond-haired boy of nineteen. Immature for his age, perhaps, but good, kind. A boy with problems.
They’d found him as they’d found thousands like him in thousands of cities and towns across the country. Other times, other Nimrods.
James Matlock’s brother, David, had inserted a needle in his right arm and had shot up thirty mg. of white fluid. He had performed the act in a catboat in the calm waters of a Cape Cod inlet. The small sailboat had drifted into the reeds near shore. When they found it, James Matlock’s brother was dead.
Matlock made his decision.
«Can you get me the names?»
«I have them with me.»
«Just hold it.» Kressel stood up, and when he spoke, it wasn’t in the tone of an angry man—it was with fear. «Do you realize what you’re asking him to do? He has no experience in this kind of work. He’s not trained. Use one of your own men.»
«There isn’t time. There’s no time for one of our men. He’ll be protected; you can help.»
«I can stop you!»
«No, you can’t, Sam,» said Matlock from the chair.
«Jim, for Christ’s sake, do you know what he’s asking? If there’s any truth to what he’s said, he’s placing you in the worst position a man can be in. An informer.»
«You don’t have to stay. My decision doesn’t have to be your decision. Why don’t you go home?» Matlock rose and walked slowly to the bar, carrying his glass.
«That’s impossible now,» said Kressel, turning toward the government agent. «And he knows it.»
Loring felt a touch of sadness. This Matlock was a good man; he was doing what he was doing because he felt he owed a debt. And it was coldly, professionally projected that by accepting the assignment, James Matlock was very possibly going to his death. It was a terrible price, that possibility. But the objective was worth it. The conference was worth it.