Free Murder at the Library of Congress by Margaret Truman Page B

on the Hill, I’d be considerably happier.”
    Along with his duties as the Librarian of Congress, Broadhurst found himself spending more and more timerecently making the case to Congress for library funds. Since 1950, the size of LC’s collections and staff had tripled, and its annual congressional appropriation had soared from $9 million to more than $360 million. Still, there was never enough money, it seemed, to handle more than a half-million research requests from members of Congress and their staffs each year; to keep up with mandatory cost-of-living increases for the four thousand employees; to move forward with the electronic cataloging of almost 114 million items in the collections, swelling each year through the copyright division; and to keep pace with the daily demands of the three glorious buildings and their four thousand inhabitants.
    “Somehow, Cale, I can’t see you begging for anything,” she said, looking toward the window. “Looks like rain.”
    “I hope it holds off for the reception. Always nice to have cocktails on the terrace.”
    Mullin’s laugh was gentle and knowing. “It wouldn’t dare rain on the senators,” she said. “What’s up?”
    “I just had a call from David Driscoll.”
    “What did he have to say?” She ran fingers through short, dark hair streaked with splendid slivers of gray; she looked like a woman who preferred sand and surf to the sterile atmosphere of a general counsel’s office. She wore just enough lipstick to make the subtle point that her lips were nicely formed. Dark suits and tailored blouses were slimming.
    “Driscoll was his usual taciturn self,” Broadhurst said.
    “With all that money he can afford to be taciturn.”
    “Yes, I suppose he can. And afford to be the supporter he’s been of the library, and the avid collector he is. He called to tell me he’s been in touch with someone who claims to have knowledge of where the Las Casas diaries might be.”
    Mullin wasn’t nearly as familiar with LC’s collections as Broadhurst, nor was she expected to be. She was the lawyer, more interested in keeping the Library out of legal trouble than in its more esoteric side. But she’d certainly heard enough about the legendary Columbus-era materials, and the search for them, to realize the importance of what her boss was saying.
    “That would be remarkable information. Did he specify?”
    “No. I tried to get more information from him but he deflected my questions. He’s good at that. He basically had one question for me. He wanted to know to what lengths we’d go to obtain the diaries if he was able to broker a deal for us.”
    “You mean how much would we pay.”
    “You might say that.”
    “What are the diaries worth, Cale?”
    “Depends on a number of factors. If they exist. Their condition. What they say. Whether the alleged map is included. And, of course, the source.”
    “The source?”
    “Yes. If they surface through a reputable dealer with a sense of honor, that’s one thing. If they’re offered up by a shady middleman, that’s another. Agree?”
    “Yes, of course. How did you leave it with Driscoll?”
    “I said I’d have to think about it.” His grin was impish. “I think you should think about it, too.”
    “It would have to be private money, wouldn’t it, with Congress continuing to tighten its belt?”
    “Ideally, private and public. Maybe not as tough a sell on the Hill as it appears at first blush. Sure, the military budget goes up every year, and the budgets for the so-called soft side of government go down. I’m considering slipping an aircraft carrier into our budget and hoping it goes unnoticed.”
    “Not a bad idea. You could call it the Santa Maria . What do you want me to do?”
    “Nothing specific at this point, maybe some informal asking around on the Hill. That congressman from Appropriations who’s always looking at you with adoring eyes at parties might be sympathetic if you brought it up with him. Is