Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

‘You’re not up for re-election for six months yet. How?’

‘When I have consulted with the senior members of my cabinet–’

‘You’re through with consulting anyone, except on my say-so. A full and free pardon. If not, your stay on this tropical island may be indefinitely extended. Most of the island, as I say, is pretty close to paradise: but there’s a small stockaded section in one corner of the island that’s been modelled rather closely on the Devil’s Island that used to be. The Generalissimo has to have some place for his political dissidents, and as he doesn’t care for them overly much the majority of them never emerge again. It’s a combination of hard labour, fever and starvation. I somehow don’t see the King here with a pickaxe in his hand. Nor yourself for that matter.

‘And instead of waffling on about the nation’s moral rectitude, you might give thought to another possible predicament of your guests here. It is no secret that both the King and Prince have trusted Government ministers and relatives who are just yearning to try their thrones for size. If your friends’ stay in the Caribbean were to be unduly prolonged, one rather suspects that they would have neither kingdom nor sheikhdom to return to. You appreciate, of course, that American opinion would never let you deal with their usurpers – especially as you would be the one held to blame for it. Bang goes November. Bang goes San Rafael. Here comes either redoubled oil prices or a total embargo and, in either case, a disastrous recession. You won’t even rate a footnote in history. At best, if they ever get round to compiling a list of history’s most stupid and disastrous national leaders, then you have a fair chance of making the Guinness Book of Records. But history itself? No.’

‘You have quite finished?’ The President’s anger had seemingly evaporated and he had attained a curious sort of resigned dignity.

‘For the moment.’ Branson motioned to the TV cameramen that the performance was over.

‘May I have a word with the King, Prince, my governmental colleagues and the Chief of Police?’

‘Why not? Especially if it helps you to arrive at your decision more quickly.’

‘In privacy?’

‘Certainly. Your coach.’

‘In the strictest privacy?’

‘The guard will remain outside. As you know, the coach is soundproof. The strictest privacy, I promise you.’

They moved away, leaving Branson alone. He beckoned Chrysler, his telecommunications expert.

‘Is the bug in the Presidential coach activated?’

‘Permanently.’

‘Our friends are having a top-level secret discussion in there. Wouldn’t you care to have a rest in our coach? You must be tired.’

‘Very tired, Mr Branson.’

Chrysler made his way to the rear coach and sat by the driver’s seat in front of the console. He made a switch and lifted a single earphone. Apparently satisfied with what he heard he replaced the earphone and made another switch. A tape recorder started humming.

April Wednesday said to Revson: ‘Well, what did you make of that?’

‘I’d love to see the Nielsen ratings when they rerun that later in the day’ They were walking to and fro along the western or deserted side of the bridge. ‘What a cast. Rehearsals would have ruined it.’

‘You know I don’t mean that.’

‘I know. He’s quite a boy, our Peter Branson. Highly intelligent – but we know that already – all the angles figured, every eventuality taken care of far in advance, he’d have made an excellent general. You could – at least I could – almost like and admire the guy, except for the fact that, the odd half billion apart, he plainly does this for kicks, he’s a moral vacuum and the ordinary standards of right and wrong just do not hold good for him, they simply don’t exist. There’s something strangely empty about him.’

‘His bank-book isn’t going to be. But I didn’t mean that either.’

‘I know that too. In answer to your unspoken question, yes he has us helpless.’

‘Do you intend to do anything about it?’

‘Intentions are one thing, achievements another.’

‘Well, you just can’t walk up and down there doing nothing. After what you told me this morning–’

‘I know what I told you this morning. A little respectful silence, if you please. Can’t you see I’m thinking?’

After some little time he said: ‘I’ve thought.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Have you ever been sick?’

She lifted her brows which had the effect of making the huge green eyes larger than ever. With those eyes, Revson reflected, she could wreck a cardinals’ council in nothing flat. To keep his mind on the work in hand, he looked away. She said: ‘Of course I’ve been sick. Everybody’s been sick some time.’

‘I mean really sick. Hospital. Like that.’

‘No. Not ever.’

‘You’re going to be very soon. In hospital. Sick. If you’re still prepared to help, that is.’

‘I’ve told you that already.’

‘Asperity ill becomes a lovely lady. There’s quite an element of risk. If you’re caught, Branson would make you talk. Half a billion dollars is a lot of money to have at stake. You’d talk very quickly.’

‘Even more quickly than that. I’m not one of your wartime resistance heroines and I don’t like pain. Caught at what?’

‘Delivering a letter for me. Leave me alone for a few minutes, will you.’

Revson unshipped his camera and took some still shots, of the coaches, helicopters, anti-aircraft guns and guards, trying as much as possible to keep the southern tower and the San Franciscan skyline in the background, clearly a dedicated craftsman at work. He then turned his attention and lens towards the ambulance and the white-jacketed doctor leaning against it.

The doctor said: ‘Instant fame for me, is it?’

‘What else? Everyone wants to be immortalized.’

‘Not this doctor. And an ambulance you can film anywhere.’

‘You need psychiatric help.’ Revson lowered his camera. ‘Don’t you know that it’s positively anti-social in this country not to want to hog the camera lens? My name’s Revson.’

‘O’Hare.’ O’Hare was youthful, cheerful, red-haired and his Irish ancestry lay no more than a generation behind him.

‘And what do you think of this lovely little setup?’

‘For quotation?’

‘I’m a cameraman.’

‘Aw, hell, quote me if you want. I’d just love to belt smarty-pants’s ears off.’

‘It figures.’

‘What?’

‘The red hair.’

‘I’d feel the same if I were black, blond or bald as a coot. Arrogant smoothies do something to me. And I don’t like the way he needles the President and publicly humiliates him.’

‘You’re a President man, then?’

‘Hell, he’s a Californian, I’m a Californian, I voted for him last time and I’ll do so next time. Okay, so he’s stuffy and overdoes the kindly uncle bit but he’s the best we have. Not that that says a great deal – but, well, he’s really a decent old stick.’

‘Decent old stick?’

‘Don’t blame me, I was educated in England.’

‘Would you like to help him?’

O’Hare looked at Revson thoughtfully. ‘Funny question. Sure I would.’

‘Would you help me to help him?’

‘How can you help him?’

‘I’ll try and I’ll tell you how – if you say “yes”, that is.’

‘And what makes you think you can help more than anyone else?’

‘Special qualifications. I’m a Government employee.’

‘So what’s with the camera, then?’

‘And I always thought it took a fair amount of intelligence to qualify as a doctor. What do you expect me to be carrying – a foot-wide plaque on my chest saying “I am an FBI agent”?’