The Pelican Brief

Horton was dull but sincere. He was not dumb or slow, he just thought carefully about everything before he acted. He thought about each word before he said it. He was loyal to the President, and could be trusted for sound judgment.

“We are seriously considering a formal grand jury investigation into the deaths of Rosenberg and Jensen,” he a

“The FBI is investigating,” the President said. “They’ve got three hundred agents on the case. Why should we get involved?”

“Are they investigating the pelican brief?” Horton asked. He knew the answer. He knew Voyles was in New Orleans at this moment with hundreds of agents. He knew they had talked to hundreds of people, collected a pile of useless evidence. He knew the President had asked Voyles to back off, and he knew Voyles was not telling the President everything.

Horton had never mentioned the pelican brief to the President, and the fact that he even knew about the damned thing was exasperating. How many more knew about it? Probably thousands.

“They are pursuing all leads,” Coal said. “They gave us a copy of it almost two weeks ago, so we assume they’re pursuing it.”

Exactly what Horton expected out of Coal. “I feel strongly that the Administration should investigate this matter at once.” He spoke as though this was all memorized, and this irritated the President.

“Why?” asked the President.

“What if the brief is on target? If we do nothing, and the truth eventually surfaces, the damage will be irreparable.”

“Do you honestly believe there’s any truth to it?” the President asked.

“It’s awfully suspicious. The first two men who saw it are dead, and the person who wrote it has disappeared. It is perfectly logical, if one is so inclined to kill Supreme Court Justices. There are no other compelling suspects. From what I hear, the FBI is baffled. Yes, it needs to be pursued.”

Horton’s investigations leaked worse than the White House basement, and Coal was terrified of this clown impaneling a grand jury and calling witnesses. Horton was an honorable man, but the Justice Department was filled with lawyers who talked too much.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit premature?” Coal asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you seen the papers this morning?” Coal asked.

Horton had glanced at the front page of the Post, and read the sports section. It was Saturday, after all. He had heard that Coal read eight newspapers before dawn, so he didn’t like this question.

“I’ve read a couple of them,” he said.

“I’ve looked at several,” Coal said modestly. “And there’s not a word anywhere about those two dead lawyers or the girl or Mattiece or anything related to the brief. If you start a formal investigation at this point, it’ll be front-page news for a month.”

“Do you think it will simply go away?” Horton asked Coal.

“It might. For obvious reasons, we hope so.”

“I think you’re optimistic, Mr. Coal. We don’t normally sit back and wait for the press to do our investigating.”

Coal gri

“What’s wrong with waiting a week?” asked the President.

“Nothing,” shot Coal.

Just that quick the decision was made to wait a week, and Horton knew it. “Things could blow up in a week,” he said without conviction.

“Wait a week,” the President ordered. “We’ll meet here next Friday, and go from there. I’m not saying no, Richard, just wait seven days.”

Horton shrugged. This was more than he expected. He’d covered his rear. He would go straight to his office and dictate a lengthy memo detailing everything he could remember about this meeting, and his neck would be protected.

Coal stepped forward and handed him a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“More names. Do you know them?”

It was the bird-watcher list—four judges who were much too liberal for comfort, but Plan B called for radical environmentalists on the Court.

Horton blinked several times and studied it hard. “You must be kidding.”

“Check ‘em out,” said the President.

“These guys are off-the-wall liberals,” Horton mumbled.

“Yes, but they worship the sun and moon, and trees and birds,” Coal explained helpfully.

Horton caught on, and suddenly smiled. “I see. Pelican lovers.”

“They’re almost extinct, you know,” the President said.

Coal headed for the door. “I wish they’d been wiped out ten years ago.”

She hadn’t called by nine when Gray arrived at his desk in the newsroom. He’d read the Times and there was nothing in it. He spread the New Orleans paper over the clutter and skimmed it. Nothing. They had reported all they knew. Callahan, Verheek, Darby, and a thousand unanswered questions. He had to assume the Times and maybe the Times-Picayune in New Orleans had seen the brief or heard about it, and thus knew of Mattiece. And he had to assume they were clawing like cats to verify it. But he had Darby, and they would find Garcia, and if Mattiece could be verified, they would do it.

At the moment, there was no alternative plan. If Garcia was gone or refused to help, they would be forced to explore the dark and murky world of Victor Mattiece. Darby would not last long at that, and he didn’t blame her. He was uncertain how long he would last.

Smith Keen appeared with a cup of coffee and sat on the desk. “If the Times had it, would they hold off until tomorrow?”

Gray shook his head. “No. If they had more than the Times-Picayune, it would’ve run today.”

“Krauthammer wants to run what we’ve got. He thinks we can name Mattiece.”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s leaning on Feldman. His angle is that we can run the whole story about Callahan and Verheek getting killed over this brief, which happens to name Mattiece who happens to be a friend of the President’s, without directly accusing Mattiece. He says we can be extremely cautious and make sure the story says Mattiece is named in the brief, but not named by us. And since the brief is causing all this death, then it has been verified to some extent.”

“He wants to hide behind the brief.”

“Exactly.”

“But it’s all speculation until it’s confirmed. Krauthammer’s losing it. Assume for a second that Mr. Mattiece is in no way involved with this. Completely i

“He wants someone else to write it.”

“If this paper runs a pelican story not written by me, the girl is gone, okay? I thought I explained that yesterday.”

“You did. And Feldman heard you. He’s on your side, Gray, and I am too. But if this thing’s true, it’ll blow up in a matter of days. We all believe that. You know how Krauthammer hates the Times, and he’s afraid those bastards’ll run it.”

“They can’t run it, Smith. They may have a few more facts than the Times-Picayune, but they can’t name Mattiece. Look, we’ll verify before anyone. And when it’s nailed down, I’ll write the story with everyone’s name along with that cute little picture of Mattiece and his friend in the White House, and the fat lady will sing.”

“We? You said it again. You said, ‘We’ll verify it.’”

“My source and I, okay?” Gray opened a drawer and found the photo of Darby and the Diet Coke. He handed it to Keen, who admired it.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I think she’s on her way here from New York.”

“Don’t get her killed.”

“We’re being very cautious.” Gray looked over both shoulders and leaned closer. “In fact, Smith, I think I’m being followed. I just wanted you to know.”