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〃I'll open it in just a second。〃 Grantham spoke with both palms facing the editor。 Yes； it was serious。 〃Let's talk。〃
〃Okay。 What is it？〃
〃It's big； Smith。〃
〃I know it's big。 You shut the damned door； so I know it's big。〃
〃I just finished my second phone conversation with a young lady by the name of Darby Shaw； and she knows who killed Rosenberg and Jensen。〃
Keen sat slowly and glared at Grantham。 〃Yes； son； that's big。 But how do you know？ How does she know？ What can you prove？〃
〃I don't have a story yet； Smith； but she's talking to me。 Read this。〃 Grantham handed over a copy of the newspaper account of Callahan's death。 Keen read it slowly。
〃Okay。 Who's Callahan？〃
〃One week ago today； he handed a little paper known as the pelican brief to the FBI here in town。 Evidently； the brief implicates an obscure person in the killings。 The brief gets passed around； then sent to the White House； then beyond that no one knows。 Two days later； Callahan cranks his Porsche for the last time。 Darby Shaw claims to be the unidentified female mentioned there。 She was with Callahan； and was supposed to die with him。〃
〃Why was she supposed to die？〃
〃She wrote the brief； Smith。 Or she claims she did。〃
Keen sank deeper into his seat and placed his feet on the desk。 He studied the photo of Callahan。 〃Where's the brief？〃
〃I don't know。〃
〃What's in it？〃
〃Don't know that either。〃
〃Then we don't have anything； do we？〃
〃Not yet。 But what if she tells me everything that's in it？〃
〃And when will she do this？〃
Grantham hesitated。 〃Soon； I think。 Real soon。〃
Keen shook his head and threw the copy on the desk。 〃If we had the brief； we'd have a helluva story； Gray； but we couldn't run it。 There's gotta be some heavy； painful； flawless； and accurate verification before we can run it。〃
〃But I've got the green light？〃
〃Yeah； but you keep me posted every hour。 Don't write a word until we talk。〃
Grantham smiled and opened the door。
* * *
THIS WAS NOT forty…bucks…an…hour work。 Not even thirty； or twenty。 Croft knew he'd be lucky to squeeze fifteen out of Grantham for this needle…in…the…haystack Mickey Mouse crap。 If he'd had other work； he'd have told Grantham to find someone else； or better yet； do it himself。
But things had been slow； and he could do a lot worse than fifteen bucks an hour。 He finished a joint in the last stall； flushed it； and opened the door。 He stuck the dark sunglasses over his ears； and entered the hallway that led to the atrium where four escalators carried a thousand lawyers up to their little rooms； where they would spend the day bitching and threatening by the hour。 He had Garcia's face memorized。 He was even dreaming of this kid with the bright face and good looks； the slim physique draped with an expensive suit。 He would know him if he saw him。
He stood by a pillar； holding a newspaper and trying to watch everyone from behind the dark shades。 Lawyers everywhere； scurrying upward with their smug little faces and carrying their smug little attache cases。 Man； how he hated lawyers。 Why did they all dress alike？ Dark suits。 Dark shoes。 Dark faces。 An occasional nonconformist with a daring little bow tie。 Where did they all e from？ Shortly after his arrest with the drugs； the first lawyers had been a group of angry mouthpieces hired by the Post。 Then he hired his own； an overpriced moron who couldn't find the courtroom。 Then； the prosecutor was of course a lawyer。 Lawyers； lawyers。
Two hours in the morning； two hours at lunch； two hours during the evening； and then Grantham would have another building for him to patrol。 Ninety bucks a day was cheap； and he would give this up as soon as he got a better deal。 He told Grantham this was hopeless； just shooting in the dark。 Grantham agreed； but said to keep shooting。 It's all they could do。 He said Garcia was scared and wouldn't call anymore。 They had to find him。
In his pocket he had two photos just in case； and from the directory he had made a list of the firms in the building。 It was a long list。 The building had twelve floors filled mainly with firms filled with nothing but these fancy little esquires。 He was in a den of snakes。
By nine…thirty the rush was over； and some of the faces looked familiar ing back down the escalators； headed no doubt for the courtrooms and agencies and missions。 Croft eased through the revolving doors； and wiped his feet on the sidewalk。
* * *
FOUR BLOCKS AWAY； Fletcher Coal paced in front of the President's desk and listened intently to the phone in his ear。 He frowned； then closed his eyes； then glared at the President as if to say； 〃Bad news； Chief。 Really bad news。〃 The President held a letter and peered at Coal over his reading glasses。 Coal's pacing back and forth like Der Führer really irritated him； and he made a mental note to say something about it。
Coal slammed the phone down。
〃Don't slam the damned phones！〃 the President said。
Coal was unfazed。 〃Sorry。 That was Zikman。 Gray Grantham called thirty minutes ago； and asked if he had any knowledge of the pelican brief。〃
〃Wonderful。 Fabulous。 How'd he get a copy of it？〃
Coal was still pacing。 〃Zikman knows nothing about it； so his ignorance was genuine。〃
〃His ignorance is always genuine。 He's the dumbest ass on my staff； Fletcher； and I want him gone。〃
〃Whatever。〃 Coal sat in a chair across the desk and folded his hands in a little steeple in front of his chin。 He was very deep in thought； and the President tried to ignore him。 They thought for a moment。
〃Voyles leaked it？〃 the President finally said。
〃Maybe； if it was leaked。 Grantham is known for bluffing。 We can't be certain he's seen the brief。 Maybe he heard about it； and he's fishing。〃
〃Maybe； my ass。 What if they run some crazy story about that damned thing？ What then？〃 The President slapped his desk and bolted to his feet。What then； Fletcher？ That paper hates me！〃 He moped to the windows。
〃They can't run it without another source； and there can't be another source because there's no truth to it。 It's a wild idea that's gone much further than it deserves。〃
〃The President sulked for a while and stared through the glass。How did Grantham find out about it？〃
Coal stood and began pacing； but much slower now。 He was still painfully in thought。 〃Who knows。 No one here knows about it but you and I。 They brought one copy； and it's locked away in my office。 I personally Xeroxed it once； and gave it to Gminski。 I swore him to secrecy。〃
The President sneered at the windows。
Coal continued。 〃Okay； you're right。 There could be a thousand copies out there by now。 But it's harmless； unless of course our friend actually did these dirty deeds； then〃
〃Then my ass is cooked。〃
〃Yes； I would say our asses are cooked。〃
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