Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

Branson approached Kowalski, just as Richards and Hendrix turned towards their waiting police car. ‘Well?’

‘My life on it, Mr Branson. I had my eye on Hendrix and the Vice-President every second. At no time did Revson approach within twenty yards of either man.’

Branson was aware that Kowalski, a very bright youngster indeed, was looking at him with an expression of barely restrained curiosity. Branson gave his usual faint and empty smile.

‘You wondering what’s bugging me about Revson?’

‘Not wondering, sir. Interested. I’ve known you for three years now, sir. I shouldn’t imagine you see many fairies at the bottom of your garden.’

‘Don’t you, now?’ Branson turned and called to Richards. ‘Wait.’ To Kowalski: ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well. Revson. He’s been searched to pieces. He’s passed every test. Maybe if the boys and I knew what you are–’

‘Every test. With flying colours. Perhaps his flag flies too high. Would you have sampled those charming botulinus dinners?’

‘My oath and I wouldn’t.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, if it was a direct order from you–’

‘And with a gun in your back?’

Kowalski said nothing.

Branson said: ‘Revson doesn’t take orders from me. And he had no gun in his back.’

‘Maybe he takes orders from someone else.’

‘Maybe he does at that. Just a very close eye, Kowalski.’

‘If I have to stay awake all night.’

‘You know, I think I’d rather appreciate that.’ Branson walked away towards the police car. Kowalski looked after him very thoughtfully indeed.

The Vice-President and Hendrix were standing impatiently by the opened doors of the police car. Branson came up and said: ‘You will not have forgotten the deadline, gentlemen?’

‘Deadline?’

Branson smiled. ‘Do not be so deliberately obtuse, Mr Vice-President. The transfer of certain monies to Europe. Half a billion dollars – plus, of course, my quarter million expenses. Noon. Tomorrow.’

Richards’s chilling glare should have petrified Branson on the spot. Branson remained unaffected.

‘And don’t forget the escalation clause. Two million dollars for every hour’s delay. And, of course, the free pardon. I expect that will take some time, I suppose your Congress will be a little stuffy about that. But we – your friends and I – can rest comfortably in the Caribbean till that comes through. I bid you good evening, gentlemen.’

He walked away and stopped at the opened door of the rear coach. Revson was there, slinging over his shoulder the strap of the camera which Chrysler had just handed back to him. Chrysler smiled at Branson.

‘Clean as a whistle, Mr Branson. My word, I wish I had one of those.’

‘You can have a dozen very soon. You had another camera, Revson.’

‘Yes.’ Revson sighed. ‘Do you want me to fetch it for you?’

‘I’d rather not. Will you get it, Chrysler?’

‘Five back, inside seat,’ Revson said helpfully. ‘It’s on the seat.’

Chrysler returned with the camera, showed it to Branson. ‘An Asahi-Pentax. I have one myself. Those things are so jammed with miniaturized electronic equipment that you couldn’t hide a pea inside it.’

‘Assuming, of course, that it is not just an empty shell.’

‘Ah.’ Chrysler looked at Revson. ‘Loaded?’ Revson shook his head. Chrysler opened the back just as Van Effen joined them and displayed the rear of the camera. ‘The genuine article.’ He snapped the back closed.

Revson took his camera back. He spoke to Branson, his tone as cold as his face. ‘Maybe you’d like to look at my watch. Could be a transistorized two-way radio. All the best investigators in the comic strips wear one.’

Branson said nothing. Chrysler took Revson’s wrist, pressed a knob on either side of the watch. Illuminated red figures appeared, one set giving the date, the other the time. Chrysler dropped the wrist.

‘Pulsar digital. You couldn’t hide a grain of sand inside one of those things.’

Revson turned with deliberate contempt on his heel and walked away. Chrysler went inside the coach. Van Effen said: ‘Still bugged, Mr Branson? So he’s annoyed. Wouldn’t you be if you’d been put through the hoop the way you’ve put him through the hoop? Besides, if he’d anything to hide he wouldn’t let his animosity show so plain, he’d keep a very low profile indeed.’

‘Maybe that’s the way he expects us to react. Or maybe he’s clear.’ Branson looked thoughtful almost to the extent of being worried. ‘But I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something wrong, and it’s a feeling that’s never let me down before. I’m convinced, don’t ask me how, that someone on the bridge has some means of communicating with someone on land. I want every inch of every person – and that includes our illustrious guests – searched, and to hell with the ladies’ feelings. Every inch of their personal belongings, every inch of every coach.’

‘Immediately, Mr Branson.’ There was acquiescence in the tone but no great enthusiasm. ‘And the rest-rooms?’

‘Those too.’

‘And the ambulance?’

‘Yes. I think I’ll attend to that myself.’

O’Hare looked up in mild surprise as Branson entered the ambulance. ‘Don’t tell me that the botulinus has struck again?’

‘No. I’m here to search this ambulance.’

O’Hare rose from his stool, his face tight. ‘I don’t allow civilians to touch my medical supplies.’

‘You’re going to allow this one. If necessary, I’ll call one of my men and have you held either at pistol-point or tied up while I conduct my search.’

‘And just what in the hell do you think you’re looking for?’

‘That’s my concern.’

‘So I can’t stop you. I just warn you that we carry quite a lot of dangerous drugs and surgical equipment here. If you poison yourself or slice an artery, here’s one doctor who’s not going to help you.’

Branson nodded to April Wednesday who was sleeping peacefully on the side bunk. ‘Lift her off.’

‘Lift her – what do you think–’

‘Do it immediately or I call a guard.’

O’Hare lifted the slight form in his arms. Branson pummelled every inch of the thin mattress, lifted it, looked under it and said: ‘Tut her back.’

Branson carried out a thorough search of all the medical equipment in the ambulance. He knew exactly what he was looking for and nothing he examined looked even remotely like what he hoped to find. He looked around, picked up a torch suspended from one side of the ambulance, switched it on and twisted the top, opening and then narrowing the hooded shutter. ‘A peculiar flashlight, O’Hare.’

O’Hare said wearily: ‘It’s an ophthalmic torch. Every physician carries one. You can diagnose a dozen different diseases by the dilation of the pupils of the eyes.’

‘This can be useful. Come with me.’ He went down the rear steps of the ambulance, went round to the front and jerked open the driver’s door. The driver, peering at a lurid magazine in the now fading light, looked round in surprise.

Branson said: ‘Out!’ The man descended and Branson, offering no explanation, searched him comprehensively from head to foot. He then climbed inside the driving compartment, examined the upholstery, opened various lockers and shone the torch inside. He descended and said to the driver: ‘Open the engine hood.’

This was done. Again with the aid of the torch he carried out a thorough inspection of the compartment and found nothing worthy of his attention. He went round to the rear of the ambulance and re-entered. O’Hare followed, politely removed the torch from Branson’s hand and replaced it. Branson indicated a metal canister held in place by a spring clip. He said: ‘What’s that?’