Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [55]
“Yes.”
Driscoll wore a gray pinstripe suit, starched white shirt, solid burgundy tie, and highly polished black wingtip shoes. Broadhurst was in his “uniform”—gray slacks, gray tweed jacket, blue button-down shirt, floppy yellow bow tie, and brown leather shoes with thick soles, adding an inch to his height.
Driscoll had remained standing. Now, he sat, carefully crossed one leg over the other, leaned back, and made a face as though he had bitten into something sour. “So, Cale,” he said, “have you made any progress on lining up funds?”
The question threw Broadhurst for a moment because he’d been poised to ask the first question: Are the Las Casas diaries and map really in hand—and for sale?
He answered Driscoll’s question: “Yes, although much of it is tentative. I’m at a disadvantage in not knowing how much money will be needed, but I do have expressions of support. Senator Menendez says he’s willing to introduce a resolution to fund, at least in part, the acquisition of the diaries.”
Driscoll drew a breath. “Naturally, I’m willing to put up the money to buy the diaries, if that becomes necessary. Frankly, I’d prefer that the only other source of money be Congress, not private parties. The people of the United States should be the ones who bring such important documents into the Library of Congress.”
The people, and David Driscoll, Broadhurst thought.
“Is there something to buy, David?”
“I believe there will be,” he said, his coffee cup at eye level.
“Care to share the source with me?” Broadhurst asked.
A thin smile crossed Driscoll’s lips.
“I understand you’re reluctant to do that at this juncture, but it will be necessary—eventually.”
“Of course. But let’s explore this question of sources for a moment. You’re no stranger to valuable manuscripts and books coming to the library from—what shall we say?—from unconventional, unexpected sources.”
Broadhurst narrowed his eyes.
“The Lucas collection I managed to obtain for you is one good case in point.”
“True.”
“Precious books, rare maps, indeed entire collections lie submerged for generations, for centuries, then find their way to the surface through a fissure created by need or greed, human tragedy or simple dumb luck.”
“And which of the above applies to Las Casas?”
“A little of each, I suppose. You know, putting one’s hands on something as valuable as the Las Casas materials isn’t easy. It’s a very competitive market out there, Cale, not competition in the traditional business sense, but every bit as fierce, perhaps more so.”
Broadhurst said, “Are you saying we’re facing serious competition for Las Casas?”
“Of course. You didn’t expect otherwise, did you?”
“No, but it’s a matter of degree. If the diaries and map—Is there a map?”
“I believe so.”
“If the diaries and map do exist—and I take it from what you’ve said that they do—then the matter of origin becomes important. I have the feeling they’re not about to be offered through traditional channels.” Broadhurst’s raised eyebrows asked for verification.
“Let’s just say, Cale, that in order to acquire Las Casas for the Library of Congress, I will have had to take unusual steps.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I’m unable to be more specific.”
“We can’t expect Menendez to propose a Senate resolution to purchase materials through less than savory channels.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem. Two things will be needed from you.”
“Should I take notes?”
Driscoll ignored the sarcasm. “First, as I said, if I put up private money, there will have to be congressional involvement. This will be a national acquisition. I’ll be putting up the money in the first place—but the final purchasing must be done by the government.”
Driscoll waited for a response. Receiving none, he continued: “Second, I’ll expect a tangible expression of public recognition from Congress and LC.”
“In the form of?”
“As far as LC is concerned, a