Colin Forbes - Year of the Golden Ape

^ It was LeCat's ultimate demand. The time was exactly three o'clock. The Frenchman had spoken in a monotone, as though he were reading from a piece of paper. There was complete silence in MacGowan's office as the six men listened, knowing it was quite impossible to accept the ultimatum. Stark, the State Department official, scribbled a note and pushed it in front of the Governor, who brushed it aside without looking at it. As it happened, he asked the question Stark had written.

^ 'We have dispensed with that demand. We are not interested in money. Is the Greyhound bus in position?'

^ 'LeCat, if one single hostage is shot we shall immediately board the tanker…'

^ 'If one single hostage is shot,' MacGowan repeated, 'I will not transmit your message…'

^ The sound of a shot came over the speaker. The men inside the room froze. MacGowan sat with fists clenched on the table. Gen. Lepke quietly picked up a phone which now had a direct line to the Presidio. Somewhere, a long way off, the sound of a foghorn came through the open office window. Karpis checked the exact time by his watch. The speaker crackled.

^

^ The hysteria in his voice shook the men in the room. LeCat had played the same trick a second time. The impact had been just as shattering as on the previous occasion. MacGowan's voice was steady, aggressive, giving not an inch.

^ 'Now I want to speak to Mackay again before I'll take any action at all – certainly before I think of transmitting the demand you just made…'

^ 'The man who will be killed,' LeCat screamed, 'is Engine-Room Artificer Donald Foley who lives in Newcastle, England. Tell that to his parents, to his wife…'

^ MacGowan fought for self-control, his facial muscles tensed with cold fury, his wide mouth tight. He waited for a moment while the others watched him. He said – quite calmly-'I'm waiting…'

^ ^ ^ for a few hours since they last communicated, MacGowan wondered. 'That shot went through the window. Miss Cordell is stili alive and well…' The captain was talking fast, as though any second he expected to be dragged away from the ship-to-shore. 'All my crew are alive and well. We hope that…' They didn't get to hear what he hoped; they heard LeCat's voice say, 'No more The speaker went off the air.

^ The city had been in a turmoil since one o'clock when the first bridge was closed. Men who lived in Marin County knew they would not get home that night; it was too far to drive right round the Bay and they hadn't the gas. Then the Bay bridge was closed, then the BART system. Foreseeing what was coming, MacGowan installed a traffic controller, a man called Lipsky in one of his outer offices. Those who could, left early, driving to their homes, or the homes of friends, south of the city. By 2.30pm, as Lipsky relayed the traffic reports to MacGowan, it seemed as though the whole of San Francisco was on the move.

^ 'On Highway One and One-o-One. Steady build-up of traffic coming north – into the city. They must be using up the last of their gas…'

^ It went on growing through the afternoon. Soon it became clear that despite the exodus and the influx the majority of citizens were staying inside the city, were refusing to get caught up in the cauldron. Then a fresh movement began – towards the waterfront, to try and see the terrorist tanker.

^ Seeing what was happening, MacGowan reacted quickly with the mayor. A huge cordon of police was thrown round the waterfront, was extended across the top of Nob Hill, along the full length of California Street. Patrol cars formed barriers. The cable cars were stopped. Van Ness Avenue was closed. The bus station was open only for outgoing traffic, with orders that no bus must stop this side of Daly City.

^ The direction of the movement changed: people remembered the high-rise buildings. There was a concerted rush for any ^ ^ building higher than ten storeys which overlooked the waterfront. Men and women crammed inside elevators, headed for the top floors. The premium positions were the tallest buildings – with windows facing the Bay. MacGowan issued a fresh order which was phoned round the city by a corps of telephone operators, talking non-stop.

^ 'Close the high-rises, put guards on the street doors… close off the high-rises…'

^ The ingenuity of human beings determined to get somewhere was endless. Those with money in their pockets decided to take a hotel room. 'Providing it faces the Bay… as high as you can go…' The great towers on Nob Hill sold out their accommodation within fifteen minutes. The desire to see the terror ship had increased when news of the latest demand became public. LeCat had radioed his ultimate demand to the UP wire service.

^ MacGowan became more and more grim-faced as the news poured in. He had hoped people would leave the city when he was compelled to close the bridges; now they were flooding into San Francisco. And he dare not make a broadcast, appealing for them to stay away – if LeCat picked up the broadcast when it was repeated in news bulletins he might guess the reason for it, he might press the button…

^ Eight thousand miles away from San Francisco the British supertankers, ^ York ^ and ^ Chester, ^ were moving through the Strait of Hormuz, leaving behind the Gulf of Oman, steaming into the heart of the Persian Gulf, heading towards the Saudi Arabian coastline. The huge crates which had intrigued American photo-analysts were still on deck. There was one odd aspect about their apparently innocent passage. Against all regulations, they were proceeding at seventeen knots through the darkness without any navigation lights.

^ Within one hour of LeCat making his ultimate demand – that the United States should stop supplying arms to Israel, Sheikh Gamal Tafak heard the news in Baalbek where it was lam. He immediately made a phone call, triggering off a series of messages summoning all Middle Eastern oil ministers to an emergency ^ ^ session of OAPEC (Organisation of Arab Petrol Exporting Countries). The climax was near.

^ At 5.10pm on Thursday January 23 dusk descended on San Francisco and then it was dark. At 5.10pm the cluster of lights near the top of the foremast on the ^ Challenger's ^ main deck were switched on, illuminating the forepart of the ship. The information was relayed to MacGowan within a few minutes by observers with powerful night-glasses. He told Gen. Lepke.

^ 'That means the assault team can't get from the fo'c'sle to the bridge along the main deck without being seen – unless we have very thick fog.'

^ The US Weather Bureau man gave them a qualified report. There might be fog; then again, the Bay area might remain clear all night. 'You don't bet on horses, do you?' MacGowan said savagely. 'I'm just glad Ike didn't have you on D-Day.'

^ MacGowan was in an evil mood. Stark, the State Department man who had taken up permanent residence over his shoulder, was in the other room on the line to Washington. He'd be back soon, with more urgent advice the Governor could do without. And MacGowan had just had his third session with Major Peter Russell, British military attache in Washington, who had also taken up permanent residence in the Transamerica building. There was something odd about Russell's attitude.

^ Russell, who was acting as liaison with the British Ambassador in Washington because he happened to be on the West Coast when the ^ Challenger ^ entered the Bay, had probed MacGowan about his intentions. 'I suppose,' he said, 'your policy is to spin out the negotiations as long as possible in the hope that the situation will break your way?'

^ 'Deeply appreciate all you are doing.' Russell had paused, looking at Gen. Lepke. 'I imagine this will go on for days. No chance it will all blow up in our faces, say tonight?'

^ Blow up in our faces? MacGowan had managed to retain a blank expression; Russell, of course, had no idea there was a ^ ^ nuclear device not one mile from where he was sitting. MacGowan couldn't rid himself of the feeling that Russell, worried as he was about the lives of the twenty-eight Britishers on board, was even more anxious that the negotiations should drag on for a few more days. It was odd.