Алистер Маклин - Goodbye California

Sassoon spoke for the first time. ‘I’ve heard enough not to make a clown of myself. You will, of course, have your pointers, Mr Ryder.’ He smiled as he said it.

‘None that you don’t all have. In that rather cryptic note my wife left when she was kidnapped she said that Morro referred to their destination as having bracing air and a place where they wouldn’t get their feet wet. Mountains. It’s been taken over by a group of Muslims, quite openly: this would be typical of Morro’s effrontery – and his over-confidence. It’s called the “Temple of Allah” or some such name. It’s got official police protection to ensure its privacy – a fact which would again appeal to Morro’s ironic – if warped – sense of humour. It’s virtually impregnable to outside assault. It’s close to Bakersfield, where LeWinter had a telephone contact. I should think the chances are high that they have a helicopter – we’ll soon know. A guess you might say, and too damned obvious. The clever investigator overlooks the obvious. Me, I’m stupid – I’d go for the obvious which is the last thing that Morro would expect us to do.’

Barrow said: ‘You don’t actually know this Morro?’

‘Unfortunately, no.’

‘You seem to have got inside his mind pretty well. I only hope you haven’t taken any wrong turnings.’

Parker said in a mild tone: ‘He’s quite good at getting inside minds, actually. No pun intended, but ask anyone inside. Ryder’s put away more felons than any intelligence officer in this State.’

‘Let’s hope his luck doesn’t run out. That’s all, Mr Ryder?’

‘Yes. Two thoughts. When this is all over you might make out a citation to my wife. If she hadn’t thought she’d seen a black eye-patch and suspected there was something wrong with his hands we’d still be back in square one. We still don’t know for certain if she was right. The second thought is just amusing and irrelevant except that it probably again has a bearing on Morro’s twisted sense of humour. Anyone know why Von Streicher built the Adlerheim where he did?’

Nobody knew.

‘I’ll bet Morro did. Von Streicher had a phobia about tidal waves.’

Nobody said anything because, for the moment, they had nothing to say. After some time, Barrow stirred and pressed a bell twice. The door opened, two girls entered and Barrow said: ‘We’re thirsty.’ The girls moved to one wall and slid back a wooden panel.

A few minutes later Barrow laid down his glass. ‘I wasn’t really thirsty. I just wanted time to think. Neither the time nor the Scotch has helped any.’

‘We go for the Adlerheim?’ Mitchell’s aggression was in abeyance: this was just a doubtful suggestion put up for discussion.

‘No.’ Ryder gave a negative shake of the head in a very positive way. ‘I think I’m right; I could be wrong. Either way I wouldn’t give a damn about proof and legality, and I don’t think anyone else here would either. It’s the physical factor. You can’t storm the place. I told you it’s impregnable. If Morro’s there he’ll have it guarded like Fort Knox. If we did attack the place and there was armed resistance then we’d know for sure he’s there. What then? You can’t use tanks and artillery up a mountain-side. Planes with rockets, missiles, bombs? What a lovely idea with thirty-five megatons of hydrogen bombs in there.’

‘It would be a bang,’ Mitchell said. He seemed almost human. ‘And what a bang. How many dead? Tens of thousands? Hundreds? Millions? With the radio-active fall-out all over the western States? Yes, millions.’

Ryder said: ‘Not to mention blasting a hole through the ozone layer.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s out of the question, anyway,’ Barrow said. ‘Only the Commander-in-Chief could authorize such an attack, and whether he’s motivated by political cynicism or humanity no President is going to let himself go down in history as the man directly responsible for the deaths of millions of his fellow citizens.’

‘That apart,’ Ryder said, ‘I’m afraid we’re all missing the point, which is that those bombs will be triggered by radiowave and Morro will be sitting up there all the time with his thumb on the button. If he had the bombs sited – which he could well have by now – he has only to press that button. They could be in transit – and he has still only to press that button. Even if he’s sitting on top of the damn things he’d still do the same. It would be a splendid way to pay the Americans back for the billion or more dollars and military aid they’ve given Marcos’s government to use to crush the Muslims. American lives are nothing to them and, in a holy war, neither are theirs. They can’t lose: the gates of Paradise are standing wide.’

There was a long pause then Sassoon said: ‘It’s a bit chilly in here. Anyone join me in a Scotch or bourbon or something?’

Everyone, it seemed, was conscious of a drop in the temperature. There was another and equally long pause, then Mitchell said, almost plaintively: ‘How do we get at those damned bombs?’

‘You can’t.’ Ryder said. ‘I’ve had more time than you to think this out. Those bombs will be under constant surveillance all the time. Go anywhere near any of them and it’ll blow up in your face. I wouldn’t fancy having a three-and-a-half megaton bomb blow up in my face.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘Well, I don’t know. No worry, really. In my vaporized state I wouldn’t be likely to know much about it. Forget the bombs. We want to get to that button before Morro presses it.’

Barrow said: ‘Infiltration?’

‘How else?’

‘How?’

‘Using his over-confidence and colossal arrogance against him.’

‘How?’

‘How?’ Ryder showed his first irritation. ‘You forget that I’m just an unofficial interferer.’

‘As far as I’m concerned – and, in those United States of ours, I’m the only one who is concerned – you’re now a fully accredited, paid-up and charter member of the FBI.’

‘Well, thanks very much.’

‘How?’

‘I wish to God I knew.’

The silence was profound. By and by Barrow turned to Mitchell. ‘Well, what are we going to do?’

‘That’s the FBI all over.’ Mitchell was scowling heavily, but not at anyone in particular. ‘Always trying to beat us to it. I was about to ask you the same question.’

‘I know what I’m going to do.’ Ryder pushed back his chair. ‘Major Dunne, you will recall that you promised me a lift out to Pasadena.’

A knock came at the door and a girl entered, an envelope in her hand. She said: ‘Major Dunne?’ Dunne stretched out an arm, took the envelope, withdrew a sheet of paper and read it. He looked across at Ryder.

‘Cotabato,’ he said.

Ryder pulled his chair back in. Dunne rose, walked to the head of the table and handed the letter to Barrow, who read it, handed it across to Mitchell, waited until he had finished, took it back and began to read aloud.

‘Manila. Chief of Police, also countersigned by a General Huelva, whom I know. It says: “Description referring to person called Morro tallies exactly with that of a wanted criminal well known to us. Confirm he has two badly damaged hands and the sight of only one eye. Injuries sustained when one of group of three participating in aborted attempt to blow up Presidential holiday retreat. One accomplice – a man of enormous stature and known as Dubois – unscathed. The third, small man, lost left hand. Shot way out”.’ He paused and looked at Ryder.

‘A small world. Our large friend again. The other is probably the lad with the prosthetic appliance who put the arm on my daughter in San Diego.’

‘Very likely. “Morro’s real name is Amarak. Enquiry confirms our belief that he is in your country. Enforced exile. There is one million US dollars on his head. Native of Cotabato, focal point for Muslim insurgents in Mindanao.