Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

They watched the explosive safely negotiate the second top cross-strut. Cartland said: ‘So it’s one strap there, one on the opposite cable and the other two at the north tower?’

‘No. We’ve changed our minds on that. We suspect that the suspension cables – and don’t forget that there are over twenty-seven thousand spun wires inside that steel sheath – may be considerably stronger than the mock-up we used for the test. So we’re going to use all four explosive straps at the south tower, a pair on each cable. That will leave no margin for doubt. And if the south end of the bridge falls into the Golden Gate it seems reasonable to expect that the north end will follow suit. Whether the north tower – don’t forget it will then be bearing most of the weight of the four-thousand-two-hundred-feet span – will be pulled down too we haven’t been able to determine but it seems pretty close to a certainty.’

Van Effen took two quick steps forwards and clicked off the safety-catch on his machine-pistol. Mayor Morrison, half out of his seat, slowly subsided back into it but his fists were still tightly clenched, his eyes still mad.

By now, Bartlett and Boyard had the boat-hook round the rope and were steadily, cautiously and without too much trouble, overhanding the explosives in towards themselves. Soon it disappeared out of the range of the telephoto TV camera. So, immediately afterwards, did all of Bartlett except for head and shoulders.

‘Inserting the detonators?’ Cartland asked. Branson nodded and Cartland gestured to the section of the cable nearest them. At that point, in the centre of the bridge, the cable dipped until it was almost within arm’s length. ‘Why go to all that immense labour? Wouldn’t it have been easier just to fix the charges here?’

‘Easier, yes, but there’s no guarantee that severing the cables in mid-bridge would bring the bridge down. There’s no way of knowing: what’s for sure is that no one has ever carried out a control test or experiment on this sort of thing. Suspension bridges come expensive. If the cables were severed here the towers, as far as weight is concerned, would still be in a fair state of equilibrium. Bridge might sag a little or a lot, it might break but it wouldn’t drop the whole span clear into the water. My way, success is guaranteed. You wouldn’t expect me to charge two hundred million for a botched-up job, would you?’

General Cartland didn’t say whether he would or he wouldn’t.

‘Besides, if things go wrong, that is, if you turn out to be stingy with the money, I intend to trigger off the explosives immediately we take off. I don’t want to be within half a mile of six hundred pounds of high explosives when it goes up.’

The President said carefully: ‘You mean the triggering device is aboard one of those helicopters?’

Branson gave a patient sigh. ‘I’ve always maintained that all Presidential candidates should undergo an IQ test. Of course it is. In the nearest one. What did you expect me to do? Press a button inside a coach and then go down with the coach and bridge to the bottom of the Golden Gate?’

Branson removed his disbelieving gaze from the President and returned it to the TV screen before him. Bartlett, with Boyard steadying him, had the canvas strip wrapped round the cable, hard up against the saddle and was buckling tight the second of the two straps that held the strap securely in position. That done, he moved back along with Boyard to admire their handiwork. The camera then left them and zeroed in on the section of cable wrapped in the lethal embrace of the high explosive.

Branson smiled broadly: ‘Well, now, isn’t that a perfectly splendid sight?’

Cartland remained poker-faced. ‘It all depends upon your point of view.’

Vice-President Richards switched off the TV set. He looked thoughtful, shocked and concerned all at one and the same time. When he spoke, those emotions were reflected in his voice.

‘That was a remarkably effective performance. One has to confess that our villainous friend appears to know exactly what he is about and has the total ability to carry out his numerous threats. At least, that is how I see it, but I’m just a newcomer to the scene. Do you gentlemen see it any differently?’

The Vice-President was a tall, genial, loquacious southerner, much given to slapping – one could not call it clapping – the unwary rather painfully on the back and was an internationally known gourmet, a fact amply testified to by his ample figure. He was far from being the nincompoop Hagenbach had alleged – Hagenbach’s opinion stemmed from the fact that theirs were two totally differing personalities: he was forceful, shrewd, intelligent and was remarkably well informed on a very wide range of topics: if he had one fault it was that he had, unlike Hagenbach, a consuming desire for power. Branson had hardly been exaggerating when he had suggested that a yearning look came into Richards’s eyes whenever he entered the Oval Office in the White House.

Richards looked, without much hope, around the company assembled in the office of the hospital supervisor. Hagenbach, Hendrix and the two Secretaries sat around a small table. Newson and Carter, as if to demonstrate the exclusivity of the highest echelons of the military, sat at a second and smaller table. O’Hare, arms folded and leaning against a radiator, wore the wry, slightly amused, slightly condescending expression that most doctors reserve for all those who are not also doctors. April Wednesday sat, quietly and alone, in a corner chair.

From the silence that followed it was clear that none of the gentlemen present saw it any differently.

Richards’s geniality yielded to a certain amount of testiness. ‘You, Hagenbach, what do you propose to do?’

Hagenbach restrained himself. Even though he was the head of the FBI he had to pay his due respect, albeit lip-service respect, to the Vice-President.

‘I suggest we await the transcription of Revson’s message, sir.’

‘Transcription! Transcription! Was it necessary for this man of yours to complicate things by sending in code?’

‘On the face of it, no. Revson has a near-mania for secrecy, that must be admitted, and is extraordinarily security-conscious. The same might be said about myself. Agreed, the message came through with safety and ease. On the other hand, as Miss Wednesday here has testified, Branson did contemplate searching the ambulance. With the proverbial toothcomb, he might have come up with something. But not with this microfilm.’ He looked up as a young man, dressed in the immaculate conservative grey of a Wall Street broker, came through the doorway and handed him two typed sheets of paper.

‘Sorry it took so long, sir. It was a bit difficult.’

‘So is Revson.’ Hagenbach read quickly through the papers, totally oblivious of the impatience of the others. He looked up at the young man. ‘You like and you value your position in our organization, Jacobs?’

‘You don’t have to say that, sir.’

Hagenbach tried to smile but, as ever, failed to crack the ice barrier. ‘I apologize.’ It was a measure of Hagenbach’s concern over the matter in hand that he had never previously been heard to say sorry to anyone.

‘You don’t have to say that either, sir.’ Jacobs left the room.

Hagenbach said: ‘This is what Revson says. “To give you the maximum time to obtain what I require for my immediate needs, I will state those first of all.” ’

Admiral Newson coughed. ‘Do your subordinates usually address you in such a peremptory tone?’

‘Not usually. He goes on: “I want four hundred yards of blue or green thin cord, cylindrical waterfront containers for written messages and a variably hooded Morse-flashlight. Then I would like an aerosol, two pens – one white, one red – and a CAP air pistol. Please order those immediately. Without them, I cannot hope to operate.” ’