Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

He and Chrysler made their way towards the lead coach. There was a half-dimmed light up front and they could see the glow of Bartlett’s cigar. Branson said: ‘Well, at least all the guards seem to be on the alert – which makes it all the more difficult to understand Van Effen’s disappearance.’

Bartlett said briskly: “Morning, Mr Branson. Making your rounds? All’s well here.’

‘Have you seen Van Effen? In the past half hour?’

‘No. You can’t find him?’

‘Let’s say he’s missing.’

Bartlett thought. ‘I won’t ask stupid questions like “How can he be missing?” Who saw him last?’

‘Peters. Not that that helps. Anybody left this coach in the past half hour?’

‘Nobody’s left this coach since we came in after the fire.’

Branson walked back to Revson’s seat. April Wednesday was wide awake. Revson, eyes closed, was breathing deeply, heavily. Branson shone the torch in his eyes. There was no reaction. Branson lifted an eyelid. There was no involuntary twitching or muscular resistance in the eyelid which is invariable when the eyelid of a conscious person is raised. Branson concentrated his beam on one eye. A rather glazed eye looked out unseeingly, unblinkingly. Branson dropped the eyelid.

Branson said: ‘Out like a light. That’s for sure.’ If there was disappointment in his voice he concealed it well. ‘How long have you been awake, Miss Wednesday?’

‘I haven’t been to sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back to the bridge.’ She smiled tremulously. ‘I’m just a cowardy-custard, Mr Branson. I hate thunderstorms.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Wednesday’ He reached out a hand and ran a finger gently across her lips while she looked at him in perplexity. Her lips were as dry as dust. Branson remembered O’Hare’s summing up of her emotional and nervous stability or lack of it.

‘You are scared.’ He smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘Not to worry. The storm’s almost passed away’ He left.

She was scared, but not for the reasons given. She’d been terrified that Branson would try to shake or even slap Revson awake and find it impossible to arouse him.

Twenty minutes later Branson and Chrysler stood by the doorway of the rear coach. Chrysler said: ‘There’s no way he can be on the bridge, Mr Branson.’

‘I agree. Let me hear you think aloud, Chrysler.’

Chrysler made a deprecating gesture. ‘I’m a follower, not a leader.’

‘Nevertheless.’

‘I’ll try. I can speak freely?’ Branson nodded. ‘First, Van Effen didn’t jump. Not only is he the last person I’d ever associate with suicide, but he was also only days away from a seven-figure fortune. He didn’t defect. You said I could speak freely. Again he stood to lose a fortune, he was totally loyal and to defect he’d have had to walk two thousand feet towards either tower and Johnson couldn’t have missed that. So he’s met with an accident. You’re sure it couldn’t have been the doctor?’

‘Positive.’

‘And it wasn’t Revson. The only other person I could think of is General Cartland. He could be dangerous. But Peters–’ Chrysler broke off and thought. ‘You know, Mr Branson, I don’t think this would have happened if Kowalski had been on the prowl tonight.’ He paused. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if Kowalski’s accident really was an accident.’

‘I have wondered. Your conclusions, Chrysler?’

‘Somewhere in this barrel there’s another rotten apple. It could be one of us.’

‘A disquieting thought but one that has to be considered. Although why anyone should throw away a fortune–’

‘Maybe the Government, some way, somehow, has promised someone to double their cut if–’

‘This is just idle speculation.’ Branson’s creased brow gave the lie to his words. ‘Suspecting everyone in sight only leads to hysteria and hysterics is one thing we can’t afford. And your final conclusion on Van Effen?’

‘The same as yours. He’s at the bottom of the Golden Gate.’

Van Effen was, in fact, seated in the communications wagon ashore. Hagenbach and Hendrix were seated across the table from him. Two policemen with drawn guns stood by the doorway. Van Effen wasn’t quite his usual expressionless self. He looked slightly dazed, whether from the shock of finding himself in the predicament he was in or because he was still suffering from the after-effects of the gassing was difficult to say.

Van Effen said: ‘So I underestimated Revson?’

‘When you get up to San Quentin you’ll find quite a few others who will endorse your views.’ Hagenbach looked at Van Effen. ‘Speaking of San Quentin, you appreciate you can’t hope for less than ten years with no hope of remission.’

‘There’s an occupational hazard in every job.’

‘There doesn’t have to be.’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘We can do a deal.’

‘No deal.’

‘You’ve nothing to lose and a great deal to gain. Ten years of your life, to be precise.’

‘No deal.’

Hagenbach sighed. ‘I rather thought that might be your attitude. Admirable but misguided.’ He looked at Hendrix. ‘You would agree?’

Hendrix said to the policemen: ‘Handcuff him and take him to the maximum security wing of the military hospital. Tell the doctors that Mr Hagenbach will be along in a few minutes. Make sure the recorders are working.’

Van Effen said: ‘Hospital? Recorders? You mean drugs.’

‘If you won’t co-operate with us we’ll just have to settle for your unwilling co-operation. Unconscious co-operation, if you wish.’

Van Effen cracked his moonface in an almost contemptuous smile. ‘You know that no court will accept a confession made under duress.’

‘We don’t need any confession from you. We already have enough on you to put you away for as long as we wish. We just want a little helpful information from you. A judicious mixture of sodium pentothal and a few other choice herbs will make you sing like a lark.’

‘That’s as maybe.’ The contempt was still in Van Effen’s face. ‘Even you have to obey the law of the land. Lawmen who extract information by illegal means are subject to automatic prosecution and automatic imprisonment.’

Hagenbach was almost genial. ‘Dear me, dear me. I thought even you, Van Effen, would have heard of a Presidential pardon. Or have you forgotten that you kidnapped a President?’

At ten minutes to three that morning an Air Force lieutenant on the south shore twirled two knobs on a highly sophisticated piece of equipment until the cross-hairs on his ultraviolet telescopic sights were lined up dead centre on the centre of Branson’s southern-facing searchlight. He jabbed a button, just once.

At five minutes to three, three men climbed into a strangely shaped low-slung vehicle which was concealed from the bridge by the communications truck. A rather nondescript individual in a grey coat climbed behind the wheel while the other two sat in the back seat. They were clad in grey overalls and looked curiously alike. Their names were Carmody and Rogers. They were both in their mid-thirties and looked tough and competent in a rather gentlemanly way. Whether they were gentlemen or not was not known: whether they were tough and competent was beyond dispute. They didn’t look like explosives experts but they were that too. Both carried pistols and both carried silencers for those pistols. Carmody carried a canvas bag containing a toolkit, two aerosol gas cans, a ball of heavy cord, adhesive tape and a torch. Rogers had a similar bag with a walkie-talkie, Thermos and sandwiches. They were obviously well-equipped for whatever task they had in mind and prepared for a stay of some duration.