The Pelican Brief

Thirty-Seven

Matthew Barr had never experienced a speedboat before, and after five hours of a bone-jarring voyage through the ocean he was soaked and in pain. His body was numb, and when he saw land he said a prayer, the first in decades. Then he resumed his nonstop cursing of Fletcher Coal.

They docked at a small marina near a city that he believed to be Freeport. The captain had said something about Freeport to the man known as Larry when they left Florida. No other word was spoken during the ordeal. Larry’s role in the journey was uncertain. He was at least six-six, with a neck as thick as a utility pole, and he did nothing but watch Barr, which was okay at first but after five hours became quite a nuisance.

They stood awkwardly when the boat stopped. Larry was the first one out, and he motioned for Barr to join him. Another large man was approaching on the pier, and together they escorted Barr to a waiting van. The van was suspiciously short of windows.

At this point, Barr preferred to say good-bye to his new pals, and simply disappear in the direction of Freeport. He’d catch a plane to D.C., and slap Coal the moment he saw his shining forehead. But he had to be cool. They wouldn’t dare hurt him.

The van stopped moments later at a small airstrip, and Barr was escorted to a black Lear. He admired it briefly before following Larry up the steps. He was cool and relaxed; just another job. After all, he was at one time one of the best CIA agents in Europe. He was an ex-Marine. He could take care of himself.

He sat by himself in the cabin. The windows were covered, and this annoyed him. But he understood. Mr. Mattiece treasured his privacy, and Barr could certainly respect that. Larry and the other heavyweight were at the front of the cabin, flipping through magazines and completely ignoring him.

Thirty minutes after takeoff, the Lear began its descent, and Larry lumbered toward him.

“Put this on,” he demanded as he handed over a thick, cloth blindfold. At this point, a rookie would panic. An amateur would start asking questions. But Barr had been blindfolded before, and while he was having serious doubts about this mission, he calmly took the blindfold and covered his eyes.

The man who removed the blindfold introduced himself as Emil, an assistant to Mr. Mattiece. He was a small, wiry type with dark hair and a thin mustache winding around the lip. He sat in a chair four feet away and lit a cigarette.

“Our people tell us you are legitimate, sort of,” he said with a friendly smile. Barr looked around the room. There were no walls, only windows in small panes. The sun was bright and pierced his eyes. A plush garden surrounded a series of fountains and pools outside the room. They were in the rear of a very large house.

“I’m here on behalf of the President,” Barr said.

“We believe you.” Emil nodded. He was undoubtedly a Cajun.

“May I ask who you are?” Barr said.

“I’m Emil, and that’s enough. Mr. Mattiece is not feeling well. Perhaps you should leave your message with me.”

“I have orders to speak directly to him.”

“Orders from Mr. Coal, I believe.” Emil never stopped smiling.

“That’s correct.”

“I see. Mr. Mattiece prefers not to meet you. He wants you to talk to me.”

Barr shook his head. Now, if push came to shove, if things got out of hand, then he would gladly talk to Emil if it was necessary. But for now, he would hold firm.

“I am not authorized to talk to anyone but Mr. Mattiece,” Barr said properly.

The smile almost disappeared. Emil pointed beyond the pools and fountains to a large gazebo-shaped building with tall windows from floor to ceiling. Rows of perfectly manicured shrubs and flowers surrounded it. “Mr. Mattiece is in his gazebo. Follow me.”

They left the sun room and walked slowly around a wading pool. Barr had a thick knot in his stomach, but he followed his little friend as if this was simply another day at the office. The sound of falling water echoed through the garden. A narrow boardwalk led to the gazebo. They stopped at the door.

“I’m afraid you must remove your shoes,” Emil said with a smile. Emil was barefoot. Barr untied his shoes and placed them next to the door.

“Do not step on the towels,” Emil said gravely.

The towels?

Emil opened the door for Barr, who stepped in alone. The room was perfectly round, about fifty feet in diameter. There were three chairs and a sofa, all covered with white sheets. Thick cotton towels were on the floor in perfect little trails around the room. The sun shone brightly through skylights. A door opened, and Victor Mattiece emerged from a small room.

Barr froze and gawked at the man. He was thin and gaunt, with long gray hair and a dirty beard. He wore only a pair of white gym shorts, and walked carefully on the towels without looking at Barr.

“Sit over there,” he said, pointing at a chair. “Don’t step on the towels.”

Barr avoided the towels and took his seat. Mattiece turned his back and faced the windows. His skin was leathery and dark bronze. His bare feet were lined with ugly veins. His toenails were long and yellow. He was crazy as hell.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly to the windows.

“The President sent me.”

“He did not. Fletcher Coal sent you. I doubt if the President knows you’re here.”

Maybe he wasn’t crazy. He spoke without moving a muscle in his body.

“Fletcher Coal is the President’s chief of staff. He sent me.”

“I know about Coal. And I know about you. And I know about your little Unit. Now, what do you want?”

“Information.”

“Don’t play games with me. What do you want?”

“Have you read the pelican brief?” Barr asked.

The frail body did not flinch. “Have you read it?”

“Yes,” Barr answered quickly.

“Do you believe it to be true?”

“Perhaps. That’s why I’m here.”

“Why is Mr. Coal so concerned about the pelican brief?”

“Because a couple of reporters have wind of it. And if it’s true, then we need to know immediately.”

“Who are these reporters?”

“Gray Grantham with the Washington Post. He picked it up first, and he knows more than anyone. He’s digging hard. Coal thinks he’s about to run something.”

“We can take care of him, can’t we?” Mattiece said to the windows. “Who’s the other one?”

“Rifkin with the Times.”

Mattiece still had not moved an inch. Barr glanced around at the sheets and towels. Yes, he had to be crazy. The place was sanitized and smelled of rubbing alcohol. Maybe he was ill.

“Does Mr. Coal believe it to be true?”

“I don’t know. He’s very concerned about it. That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mattiece. We have to know.”

“What if it’s true?”

“Then we have problems.”

Mattiece finally moved. He shifted his weight to the right leg, and folded his arms across his narrow chest. But his eyes never moved. Sand dunes and sea oats were in the distance, but not the ocean.

“Do you know what I think?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I think Coal is the problem. He gave the brief to too many people. He handed it to the CIA. He allowed you to see it. This really disturbs me.”

Barr could think of no response. It was ludicrous to imply that Coal wanted to distribute the brief. The problem is you, Mattiece. You killed the justices. You panicked and killed Callahan. You’re the greedy bastard who was not content with a mere fifty million.

Mattiece turned slowly and looked at Barr. The eyes were dark and red. He looked nothing like the photo with the Vice President, but that was seven years ago. He’d aged twenty years in the last seven, and perhaps gone off the deep end along the way.

“You clowns in Washington are to blame for this,” he said, somewhat louder.

Barr could not look at him. “Is it true, Mr. Mattiece? That’s all I want to know.”

Behind Barr, a door opened without a sound. Larry, in his socks and avoiding the towels, eased forward two steps and stopped.

Mattiece walked on the towels to a glass door, and opened it. He looked outside and spoke softly. “Of course it’s true.” He walked through the door, and closed it slowly behind him. Barr watched as the idiot shuffled along a sidewalk toward the sand dunes.

What now? he thought. Perhaps Emil would come get him. Perhaps.

Larry inched forward with a rope, and Barr did not hear or feel anything until it was too late. Mattiece did not want blood in his gazebo, so Larry simply broke the neck and choked him until it was over.