Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

Revson sat on a seat not far from Branson and watched the last twenty minutes of the broadcast. The intercutting between the Presidential group and the top of the south tower had been most skilfully done and the overall impact was all that Branson could ever have wished. Branson watched it intently. His face betrayed no particular sign of satisfaction, but then Branson’s face registered precisely what he wanted it to and was no mirror of his inner thoughts and feelings. When the broadcast finished Branson rose and stopped briefly by Revson’s chair.

‘Revson, isn’t it?’ Revson nodded. ‘And how does all this strike you?’

‘Just the same as it strikes a million other people, I guess.’ This was it, Revson thought, this is one part of his Achilles heel. Branson knew he was a genius but he had no objection to people saying so. ‘A feeling of total unreality. This just can’t be happening.’

‘But it is, isn’t it? A very satisfactory beginning, don’t you think?’

‘I can quote?’

‘Certainly. Call it an exclusive if you want. How do you see the scenario developing?’

‘Just as you have programmed it. I can’t see anything to stop you. You have them, most unfortunately, at your total mercy.’

‘Most unfortunately?’

‘What else? I don’t want to overdo the American citizen bit and although you may be a master criminal, a genius in your own immoral fashion, to me you’re still a crook, a crook so bent as to make a spiral staircase look like a fireman’s ladder.’

‘I rather like that. I may quote you in turn?’ Branson seemed genuinely gratified. One could hardly have called him thin-skinned.

‘There’s no verbal copyright.’

‘Alas, universal disapproval, not to say disapprobation, would seem to be my lot.’ Branson didn’t sound too unhappy about it. ‘That’s a most unusual camera you have there.’

‘Almost, but not quite unique.’

‘May I have a look at it?’

‘If you wish. But if you want to examine it for the reasons I imagine you want to examine it then you’re about four hours too late.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that your very able lieutenant, Van Effen, has the same nasty suspicious mind as you have. He has already taken my camera apart.’

‘No radios? No offensive weapons?’

‘Look for yourself.’

‘That won’t be necessary now.’

‘A question. I don’t want to inflate your already super-expanded ego–’

‘Don’t you think you might be taking chances, Revson?’

‘No. You have the reputation of being a nonviolent criminal.’ Revson waved his arm. ‘Why all this? You could have made a fortune in any business you cared to enter.’

Branson sighed. ‘I tried it. Business is so dull, don’t you think? This at least gives me the opportunity to exercise most of my capacities.’ He paused. ‘You’re a bit odd, yourself. A cameraman. You don’t look, act or speak like one.’

‘How’s a cameraman supposed to look, act and speak? You look in the mirror when you shave. Do you see a criminal? I see a Wall Street Vice-President.’

‘Touché. What’s your paper or magazine?’

‘Freelance, but I’m accredited to the London Times.’

‘But you’re American?’

‘News has no boundaries. Not any longer. I prefer to work the foreign beat, where the action is.’ Revson smiled faintly. ‘At least, until today. That used to mean South-East Asia. Not any more. Europe and the Middle East.’

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘Pure happenstance. Just passing through, you might say, from New York to a special assignment in China.’

‘When are you due to leave for there?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow? You’ll want to get off the bridge tonight. As I’ve said, members of the media are free to leave whenever they choose.’

‘You, Branson, must be out of your mind.’

‘China can wait?’

‘China can wait. Unless, of course, you’re planning to kidnap Chairman Mao.’

Branson smiled the smile that never touched his eyes and walked away.

Revson, camera poised, stood outside the open front right door of the rear coach. He said: ‘Do you mind?’

Chrysler turned round. He looked at Revson in some surprise, then smiled. ‘Why me for this honour?’

‘Because my camera is tired of taking photographs of Branson and the assorted big-wigs. Mind? I’m now compiling a rogues’ gallery of Branson’s henchmen.’ Revson smiled to remove offence. ‘You’re Chrysler, aren’t you? The telecommunications expert?’

‘If that’s what they call me, yes.’

Revson took two or three shots, thanked Chrysler, and moved away. For good measure and local colour, he took some more pictures of Branson’s men. They all seemed to have been infected by Branson’s massive self-confidence and cheerfully, in some cases almost eagerly, acceded to Revson’s requests. After the last of those shots he crossed to the west side of the bridge, sat on the crash barrier and lit a ruminative cigarette.

After a few minutes O’Hare, hands thrust deep in his white coat, came strolling by. Hundreds of pictures and thousands of words of reports had already been dispatched by the south tower and there were at least twenty of the media men – and women – who now had nothing better to do who were strolling aimlessly up and down the centre of the bridge. Revson took a couple of routine shots of O’Hare, who came and sat beside him.

He said: ‘I saw you talking to Miss Wednesday. Suffering from a degree of pique, is she?’

‘Our April could be happier. You have it all?’

‘Both weapons and instructions.’

‘Everything I asked for is camouflaged?’

‘I would say so. The two pens are clipped to my medical clipboard, there for anyone to see. We doctors are models of efficiency. The gun with the tipped bullets is in the cardiac arrest unit. This is wax-sealed and the seal has to be broken before the unit can be opened. The unit is sealed. Not that it would matter very much if it were opened. The gun lies in a false bottom and you have to know how to open it. I mean, it can’t be done by accident. You have to know. I know.’

‘You seem to be positively enjoying yourself, Doctor.’

‘Well, yes. It makes a change from treating ingrowing toenails.’

‘I hope you’ll enjoy coming under the heading of “Classified” for the rest of your life. How come you carry those peculiar units in your hospital?’

‘We don’t. But your director appears to be on very close terms with his counterpart in the CIA. I tell you, we were completely taken over by experts.’

‘That means you’re double classified for life. My cord and containers?’ O’Hare seemed a mile away.

‘My cord and containers?’ O’Hare returned to the world.

‘Modesty compels me to admit that I came up with this one. Four containers. Empty. Lab. samples printed on the outside. Who’s going to question that? The cord is wrapped round a square wooden framework with two hooks and two lures attached to one end.’

‘You’re going fishing over the side of the bridge?’

‘I’m going fishing. It can get quite boring out here, you know.’

‘Something tells me it’s not going to be that way long. I suppose it’s unnecessary to ask you about the nerve gas?’

O’Hare smiled broadly. ‘I’d rather you did, actually.’

‘Must you speak English English?’

‘I told you. London educated. It’s an aerosol can, clamped just above my note-desk. Anyone can see it. Product, ostensibly, of a nationally known aerosol company. People called Prestige Fragrance of New York. Rather charming, really. The colour, I mean. Forest brown, I believe. A scaled-down version of their seven-ounce can. Freon pressure three times normal. Effective range ten feet.’