The Pelican Brief

here, and alive, for the moment.”

“Where are you?”

“Tabard Inn on N Street. I saw an old friend on Sixth Avenue yesterday. Remember Stump, who was grievously wounded on Bourbon Street? Did I tell you that story?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s walking again. A slight limp, but he was wandering around Manhattan yesterday. I don’t think he saw me.”

“Are you serious! That’s scary, Darby.”

“It’s worse than scary. I left six trails when I left last night, and if I see him in this city, limping along a sidewalk somewhere, I intend to surrender. I’ll walk up to him and turn myself in.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say as little as possible, because these people have radar. I’ll play private eye for three days, and I’m out of here. If I live to see Wednesday morning, I’m on a plane to Aruba or Trinidad or some place with a beach. When I die, I want to be on a beach.”

“When do we meet?”

“I’m thinking about that. I want you to do two things.”

“I’m listening.”

“Where do you park your car?”

“Close to my apartment.”

“Leave it there, and go rent another one. Nothing fancy, just a generic Ford or something. Pretend someone’s watching you through a rifle scope. Go to the Marbury Hotel in Georgetown and get a room for three nights. They’ll take cash—I’ve already checked. Do it under another name.”

Grantham took notes and shook his head.

“Can you sneak out of your apartment after dark?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“Do it, and take a cab to the Marbury. Have them deliver the rental car to you there. Take two cabs to the Tabard Inn, and walk into the restaurant at exactly nine tonight.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Bring clothes. Plan to be away from your apartment for at least three days. And plan to stay away from the office.”

“Really, Darby, I think the office is safe.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue. If you’re going to be difficult, Gray, I’ll simply disappear. I’m convinced I’ll live longer the sooner I get out of the country.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“I assume there’s a master plan rattling around somewhere in your brain.”

“Maybe. We’ll talk about it over dinner.”

“Is this sort of like a date?”

“Let’s eat a bite and call it business.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m hanging up now. Be cautious, Gray. They’re watching.” She was gone.

She was sitting at table thirty-seven, in a dark corner of the tiny restaurant when he found her at exactly nine. The first thing he noticed was the dress, and as he walked to the table he knew the legs were under it but he couldn’t see them. Maybe later when she stood. He wore a coat and tie, and they were an attractive couple.

He sat close to her in the darkness so they could both watch the small crowd. The Tabard Inn appeared old enough to have served food to Thomas Jefferson. A rowdy crowd of Germans laughed and talked on the patio outside the restaurant. The windows were open and the air was cool, and for one brief moment it was easy to forget why they were hiding.

“Where’d you get the dress?”

“You like it?”

“It’s very nice.”

“I shopped a little this afternoon. Like most of my recent wardrobe, it’s disposable. I’ll probably leave it in the room the next time I flee for my life.”

The waiter was before them with menus. They ordered drinks. The restaurant was quiet and harmless.

“How’d you get here?” he asked.

“Around the world.”

“I’d like to know.”

“I took a train to Newark, a plane to Boston, a plane to Detroit, and a plane to Dulles. I was up all night, and twice I forgot where I was.”

“How could they follow that?”

“They couldn’t. I paid with cash, something I’m running out of.”

“How much do you need?”

“I’d like to wire some from my bank in New Orleans.”

“We’ll do it Monday. I think you’re safe, Darby.”

“I’ve thought that before. In fact, I felt very safe when I was getting on the boat with Verheek, except it wasn’t Verheek. And I felt very safe in New York. Then Stump waddled down the sidewalk, and I haven’t eaten since.”

“You look thin.”

“Thanks. I guess. Have you eaten here?” She looked at her menu.

He looked at his. “No, but I hear the food is great. You changed your hair again.” It was light brown, and there was a trace of mascara and blush. And lipstick.

“It’s going to fall out if I keep seeing these people.”

The drinks arrived, and they ordered.

“We expect something in the Times in the morning.” He would not mention the New Orleans paper because it had pictures of Callahan and Verheek. He assumed she’d seen it.

This didn’t seem to interest her. “Such as?” she asked, looking around.

“We’re not sure. We hate to get beat by the Times. It’s an old rivalry.”

“I’m not interested in that. I know nothing about journalism, and don’t care to learn. I’m here because I have one, and only one, idea about finding Garcia. And if it doesn’t work, and quickly, I’m out of here.”

“Forgive me. What would you like to talk about?”

“Europe. What’s your favorite place in Europe?”

“I hate Europe, and I hate Europeans. I go to Canada and Australia, and New Zealand occasionally. Why do you like Europe?”

“My grandfather was a Scottish immigrant, and I’ve got a bunch of cousins over there. I’ve visited twice.”

Gray squeezed the lime in his gin and tonic. A party of six entered from the bar and she watched them carefully. When she talked her eyes darted quickly around the room.

“I think you need a couple of drinks to relax,” Gray said.

She nodded but said nothing. The six were seated at a nearby table and began speaking in French. It was pleasant to hear.

“Have you ever heard Cajun French?” she asked.

“No.”

“It’s a dialect that’s rapidly disappearing, just like the wetlands. They say it cannot be understood by Frenchmen.”

“That’s fair. I’m sure the Cajuns can’t understand the French.”

She took a long drink of white wine. “Did I tell you about Chad Brunei?”