Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

‘Reston here, Mr Branson.’ Reston and Harrison had set off less than ten minutes earlier for the south pier. ‘The lift is out of order.’

‘Damn. Wait.’ Branson looked at his watch. Eight twenty-five. His performance was due to start at nine. He crossed to the rear coach where Chrysler had already obtained a direct line to the communications centre ashore.

‘Branson here.’

‘Hendrix. Don’t tell me what you’re after, I know. I was speaking to the bridge commissioners a few moments ago. They tell me that the breaker for the tower lifts was burnt out during the night.’

‘Why isn’t it repaired?’

‘They’ve been working on it for three hours.’

‘And how much longer–’

‘Half an hour. Perhaps an hour. They can’t be certain.’

‘Call me the moment it’s fixed.’

He returned to his walkie-talkie. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to climb. The lift’s being repaired.’

There was a silence then Reston said: ‘Jesus. All that way?’

‘All that way. It’s not Everest. Should be straightforward. And you have your manual.’ He laid down the walkie-talkie and said to Giscard: ‘I don’t envy them, myself. Another psychological pin-prick?’

‘Could be. But after a night like last night, well–’

Revson joined O’Hare by the west barrier. He said without preamble: ‘How hermetic is the rear door of your ambulance?’

O’Hare had ceased to be surprised at anything Revson said. ‘Why?’

‘Say oxygen were to be abstracted from the inside. How would you get on?’

‘We’ve oxygen bottles, of course. Not to mention the oxygen in the cardiac unit.’

‘You may need it. Ever heard of CUB-55s? Short for Cluster Bomb Units.’ O’Hare shook his head. ‘Well, there’s liable to be a few around in the next hours – this morning, I shouldn’t be surprised. They are lethal asphyxiation bombs, one of the more delightful of the recent advances in weaponry. They suck the oxygen from the air and leave not a mark on the victims.’

‘You should know. But – well, it’s far fetched.’

‘A pity you couldn’t ask the hundreds who died at Xuan Loc because of them. The Cambodian Government made frequent use of them in South-East Asia. The bombs, I regret to say, were supplied then by the United States Navy’

‘This classified information?’

‘No. Hanoi made plenty of noise about it at the time.’

‘And you’re going to use those bombs?’

‘Yes. I’m trying to have them denatured, you know, their lethal potential lessened. At least, the experts are.’

‘Can they do it?’

‘There’s a certain lack of optimism.’

‘Who thought this one up? You?’ Revson nodded, just once. ‘You, Revson, are a coldblooded bastard. Hasn’t it occurred to you that the innocent will suffer, maybe die, as well as the guilty?’

‘Not for the first time, I repeat that all doctors should be given an intelligence test before they’re allowed to practise. The innocent will not suffer. The innocent will be in their coaches and, because it’s going to be hot, they’ll have the air-conditioning on. That means closed doors and the recirculation of cleaned used air. When you see the first smoke bomb drop, make for cover.’

Revson walked away and touched Grafton on the arm. ‘May I have a word with you?’

Grafton hesitated, shook his head in puzzlement, then followed. When he judged they were out of earshot of the nearest person, Revson stopped.

Grafton said: ‘Do we have to take a walk to talk?’

‘In this case, yes. We haven’t been introduced. You’re Mr Grafton of AP, doyen of the newsmen on this bridge?’

‘If you want to flatter me, yes. And you’re Mr Revson, food-taster to Royalty.’

‘Just a sideline with me.’

‘You have another business. Don’t tell me.’ Grafton regarded him with cool grey, judicial eyes. ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation.’

‘Thank you for sparing me the trouble of convincing you. I’m glad your name’s not Branson.’

General Cartland said: ‘If you can’t have those CUB-55s denatured, as you call it, some local funeral parlour is in for a brisk bit of business.’

‘You prepared to use that cyanide pistol?’

‘Touché. ‘

Several minutes before nine Branson had his usual stage set. He seemed as calm and relaxed as ever, the only change in his normal behaviour being that he had been polite, almost deferential, in his seating of the President. At nine o’clock the cameras began to turn.

At nine o’clock, too, Reston and Harrison, sweating profusely and complaining bitterly of the pain in their legs, reached the top of their last ladder. Rogers, eyeing them over his silenced pistol, said sympathetically: ‘You must be exhausted after your long climb, gentlemen.’

Giscard whispered in Branson’s ear: ‘You better get on with it, Mr Branson. Looks as if that fog is coming in just about bridge level.’

Branson nodded, then carried on speaking into the microphone. ‘So I’m sure you will be all as delighted as I am to know that the Government has acceded to our very reasonable requests. However, until we receive final confirmation, we feel we might as well pass our time profitably and instruct and entertain you at the same time. In show-business jargon, there will be repeat performances at eleven and one o’clock. I really do urge you to watch those. You will certainly never see other performances like them in your lives.

‘As before, you can see the electric truck with its explosives and equipment leaving for the south tower. Now if we can have the zoom camera we shall be seeing two of my colleagues appearing on top of the south tower.’ The zoom camera obliged but the top of the tower was bereft of any sign of life. A minute later it was still bereft.

Branson said easily: ‘There seems to be a slight hold-up. A temporary delay. Please don’t go away.’ He was smiling the confident smile of one who knew that not one of his millions of watchers would have dreamed of going away when the phone on the road beside his chair rang. Branson smiled at the unseen millions, said: ‘Excuse me,’ covered the microphone with his hand and picked up the phone.

‘Hendrix here. Lift’s fixed.’

‘Now you tell me. Do you know how long it should take a man to climb up to the top?’

‘Don’t tell me your men have – rather are trying to climb to the top. They must be mad. You must be mad to have sent them.’

‘They have a manual.’

‘What manual?’

‘A copy of the original.’

‘Then they can be lost for days. Because of internal changes that manual was scrapped twenty years ago. They can be lost all day in there.’

Branson replaced the phone. Still covering the microphone he said to Giscard: ‘Lift’s working. Get Bartlett and Boyard here at the double. Tell them not to forget the weight.’ He spoke into the microphone again. ‘Sorry, viewers. A slight hitch.’

The viewers spent the next ten minutes being rewarded with a variety of panoramic shots of the Golden Gate and the marvellous surrounding scenery, with Branson giving an occasional commentary. After ten minutes he said: ‘Right. South tower again.’

Bartlett and Boyard were there, hands held high in salute. Then, along with Peters, they repeated their previous day’s performance and had the second strap of explosives alongside the first in a remarkably short space of time. Bartlett and Boyard waved again and disappeared inside the tower. Rogers eyed them over his silenced pistol. ‘You really are experts. What a pity. Now you’ve put us to the trouble of having to remove a second set of detonators.’

The phone by Branson rang as he was delivering a farewell speech to the camera. He picked it up.