The Chancellor Manuscript: A Novel by Robert Ludlum

Author:Robert Ludlum [Ludlum, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller, Mystery, Suspense, Adventure
ISBN: 9780307813817
Google: ljHn11clcvUC
Amazon: 080371274X
Barnesnoble: 080371274X
Goodreads: 15823202
Publisher: The Dial Press
Published: 1977-06-27T05:00:00+00:00

23

Peter walked into the office, nodding his thanks to the uniformed guard, who closed the door and left. Behind the desk in front of the window a stocky man with reddish brown hair got to his feet and extended his hand. Chancellor approached and took it; the grip was strange. It was cold, physically cold, and abrupt.

“I’m Senior Agent O’Brien, Mr. Chancellor. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your coming here at this hour is highly irregular.”

“The circumstances are irregular.”

“You sure you don’t want the police? Our jurisdiction is limited.”

“I want you.”

“Whatever it is can’t wait until morning?” asked O’Brien, still standing.

“No.”

“I see. Sit down, please.” The agent gestured to one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

Peter hesitated. “I’d prefer to stand, at least for now. To tell you the truth, I’m very nervous.”

“Suit yourself.” OBrien returned to his chair. “At least take your overcoat off. That is, if you intend to be here long.”

“I may be here for the rest of the night,” said Chancellor, removing his coat and draping it over a chair.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said O’Brien, watching him.

“I’ll let you decide. Is that fair?”

“I’m an attorney, Mr. Chancellor. Elliptical responses, especially when phrased as questions, are pointless and irritating. They also bore me.”

Peter stopped and looked at the man. “An attorney? I thought you said you were an agent. A senior agent”

“I did. Most of us are lawyers. Or accountants.”

“I forgot.”

“Now I’ve reminded you. But I can’t imagine it’s pertinent.”

“No, it isn’t,” replied Chancellor, forcing his concentration back to the issue. “I’ve got a story to tell you, Mr. O’Brien. When I’m finished, IH go with you to whoever you think should hear it, and repeat it. But I have to start at the beginning; it won’t make sense otherwise. Before I do, I’d like to ask you to make a telephone call.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted the agent. “You came here voluntarily and refused our suggestion that you return in the morning for a formal appointment. I won’t accept any preconditions, and I won’t make any phone calls.”

“I’ve a good reason for asking you to.”

“If it’s a precondition, I’m not interested. Come back in the morning.”

“I can’t. Among other reasons, there’s a man flying in from Indianapolis who says he’s going to kill me.”

“Go to the police.”

“Is that all you can say? That, and ‘Come back in the morning’?”

The agent leaned back in his chair; his eyes conveyed his growing suspicion. “You wrote a book called Counterstrike!, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s not—”

“I remember now,” interrupted O’Brien. “It came out last year. A lot of people thought it was true; a lot of other people were upset. You said the CIA was operating domestically.”

“I happen to think it’s true.”

“I see,” continued the agent warily. “Last year it was the agency. Is it the FBI this year? You come off the street in the middle of the night trying to provoke us into doing something you can write about?”

Peter gripped the back of the chair.

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