Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

Newson said: ‘You mentioned a second last resort. What’s the last resort?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. If he has a last resort, he’s keeping it to himself. Now, sooner than pass those notes around I’ll have them Xeroxed. Minutes only and you’ll each have a copy.’ He left the room, approached Jacobs, the man who had handed him the typescript, and said quietly: ‘Have this Xeroxed. Ten copies.’ He pointed to the last paragraph. ‘Blank this off. And for God’s sake make sure that this original gets back to me and not anyone else.’

Jacobs was back in the promised few moments. He distributed six and handed the remaining copies and the original to Hagenbach, who folded the original and stuck it in an inside pocket. Then all seven carefully studied the report. And again. And again.

General Carter said, almost complainingly: ‘Revson certainly doesn’t leave me very much for my imagination to work on. Candidly, he doesn’t leave anything. Maybe it’s just not one of my days.’

‘Then it’s not one of mine either,’ Newson said. ‘Your man seems to have covered the ground pretty comprehensively, Hagenbach. Sounds like a very useful man to have on our side.’

‘He is. But even Revson requires room to manoeuvre. He has none.’

Quarry said, tentatively: ‘I know this is not my field but it occurs to me that the key lies in the helicopters. We have the means to destroy those?’

Carter said: ‘That’s no problem. Planes, guns, rockets, wire-guided anti-tank missiles. Why?’

‘That’s the only way Branson and his men can leave. And as long as he remains on the bridge he can’t detonate his charges. So what happens then?’

Carter looked at the Secretary of the Treasury without admiration.

‘I can think of three things. First, Branson would call for a mobile crane, have it dump the choppers into the Golden Gate and demand two replacements within the hour or he’d send us a neat little parcel containing the President’s ears. Second, whether it’s a shell, rocket or missile, it’s impossible to localize or contain the blast effect and some innocent bystanders might end up in the same condition as the choppers. Third, has it occurred to you that though the blast might well destroy the radio-activating device for the explosive charge, it might equally well trigger it off? Even with only one end of one cable gone that bridge is going to sag and assume a crazy angle in nothing flat, and nothing that is not nailed down would have a hope of remaining on that bridge. If that were to happen, Mr Secretary, and the President and his guests knew you were the man responsible, I don’t think that their last thoughts of you, as they sat there in their coach at the bottom of the Golden Gate, would be very charitable ones.’

Quarry sighed. ‘I’d better stick to counting my pennies. I told you this wasn’t my field.’

Richards said: ‘I suggest we all have twenty minutes’ silent meditation and see what we come up with.’

They did just that and when the twenty minutes were up Hagenbach said: ‘Well?’

All, apparently, was not well. The silence was profound.

‘In that case, I suggest we start considering which are the less awful of Revson’s options.’

The return of the ambulance to the centre of the bridge at about six o’clock was greeted with warmth and interest. Even being in the spotlight of the eyes of the world loses its dramatic effect if one has nothing to do. Branson’s TV broadcasts apart, the middle of the bridge offered little in the way of entertainment.

When April, pale-faced and still apparently shaken, stepped from the ambulance, Branson was the first to greet her.

‘How do you feel?’

‘I feel such a fool.’ She rolled up a sleeve to exhibit the punctures O’Hare had inflicted upon her earlier in the day. ‘Two little pricks and I’m as right as rain.’

She walked away and sat down rather heavily on one of the many chairs scattered around her. Her colleagues gathered round.

Branson said to O’Hare: ‘She doesn’t look as right as rain to me.’

‘If you mean she’s still not back to normal, I agree. Same appearance, different causes. Last time you saw her she was on a high: now it’s a low. My guess was right, it seems – just an emotional trauma. She’s been sound asleep for the past two hours under heavy sedation. Dopey, that’s all. Dr Huron, the psychiatrist, didn’t want her to return, but she made such a damned noise about not getting back and this being her last chance or whatever that he decided that it might be better for her to return. No worry. I’ve brought back enough of the same sedative to last us for a week out here.’

‘For the sake of all of us, let’s hope you won’t need a quarter of it.’

Revson waited until the last of April’s welcomers had left her for the TV, a show of peculiar interest to all as the programme was devoted exclusively to a rerun of Branson’s early afternoon broadcast. Nobody, Revson was unsurprised to observe, was more interested than Branson himself. But then Branson had no more to occupy his time than anyone else. The only person who seemed remotely active was Chrysler, who visited the rear coach at regular intervals. He wondered why.

Revson sat beside the girl. She looked at him coldly.

He said: ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She remained silent. ‘Don’t tell me. Somebody’s been turning you against me.’

‘Yes. You. I don’t like killers. Especially I don’t like killers who plan their next murders coldbloodedly in advance.’

‘Come, come. That’s putting it a bit strongly.’

‘Is it? Cyanide guns? Lethal pens? Shot through the back, I should imagine.’

‘My, my, we are bitter. Three things. First, those weapons are used only in acute emergency and then only to save lives, to stop bad people killing good people, although perhaps you would rather have it the other way round. Second, it doesn’t matter to a dead man where he has been shot. Third, you have been eavesdropping.’

‘I was invited to listen.’

‘People make mistakes. Clearly, they invited the wrong person. I could be flippant and say I owe a duty to the taxpayer, but I’m not in the mood.’ April looked at the hard face, listened to the voice from which all trace of the normal bantering warmth had vanished and realized with apprehension that indeed he was not in the mood. ‘I have a job to do, you don’t know what you’re talking about, so we’ll dispense with your moral strictures. I assume you brought the equipment I asked for. Where is it?’

‘I don’t know. Dr O’Hare does. For some reason he didn’t want me to know in case we were questioned and the ambulance searched.’

‘For some reason! For an obvious and excellent reason. O’Hare is no fool.’ A flush touched the pale cheeks but he ignored it. ‘All of it?’

‘So I believe.’ She tried to speak stiffly.

‘Never mind your wounded pride. And don’t forget you’re in this up to your lovely neck. Hagenbach have any instructions for me?’

‘Yes. But he didn’t tell me. He told Dr O’Hare.’ Her voice was acid or bitter or both. ‘I suppose that makes Mr Hagenbach no fool either.’

‘Don’t take those things so much to heart.’ He patted her hand and smiled warmly. ‘You’ve done an excellent job. Thank you.’

She tried a tentative smile. ‘Maybe you are a little bit human after all, Mr Revson.’

‘Paul. One never knows.’ He smiled again, rose and left. At least, he thought, he was semi-human enough not to inflict further damage upon her amour propre by telling her that the last little bit of by-play had been purely for the benefit of Branson who had momentarily lost interest in the screen – he was not then on camera – and was casting a speculative look at them. Not that that necessarily meant anything suspicious or sinister. Branson was much given to casting speculative looks at everybody. April was beautiful and he may well have thought that she was wasting this beauty on the wrong company.