Colin Forbes - Year of the Golden Ape

^ At seven o'clock in the evening MacGowan, whose ration of sleep during the past twenty-four hours had consisted of no more than a few catnaps, heard that his secret had leaked – it was spreading through the city that there was a nuclear device aboard the tanker lying half a mile from Pier 31.

^ It was a switchboard operator who passed the night hours listening in to calls who alerted MacGowan. Pretending she had someone on the line who could give vital information – 'He says he won't speak with anyone except the Governor…' – she found herself with MacGowan at the other end.

^ 'It's not that I listen in to calls,' she explained, 'but I just caught…'

^ 'I thought you ought to know there's a lot of unusual activity

… more calls than I can remember at this hour…' She took a deep breath. "They're all saying there's an atom bomb aboard that British ship out in the Bay…'

^ MacGowan thanked her, told her it was a ridiculous rumour, nothing more, then Police Commissioner Bolan came running in from another room. Reports were flooding in from all over the city, a mass exodus was under way; for the moment it was confined to certain districts, but it was spreading.

^ People began moving out of Telegraph Hill first, out of the packed rabbit warren below the hilltop where wealthy men paid a fortune for houses overlooking the Bay. It began to look as though the money had been badly spent – because Telegraph Hill now overlooked the British tanker anchored offshore. Here it was a quiet exodus. Taking any valuables they could grab, the inhabitants got into their cars and drove up Nob Hill to where the barricades had been erected along California Street. They were allowed through – but no one was allowed to go back. One woman who had taken the wrong jewel case – the one with paste gems – had a hysterical scene with an Irish cop. 'Officer, I have to go back – I've left a fortune in my bedroom…'

^ 'Lady, that tanker is half a mile from where we stand now – you see yourself wearing rubies – stretched out in the morgue?'

^ Some people with cooler heads exploited the situation. A gas truck, which had been parked in a garage before the barricades went up on California Street, prowled the lower slopes of Russian Hill. Three armed men sat in the cab as they watched for expensive cars parked by the kerb. They found a fresh victim standing by a Cadillac with an antique vase in his hands, loading up the car. The driver of the truck pulled up, lowered his window. 'Need any gas, buddy?'

^ 'We got the pipe that will stick it into your car,' the driver said coarsely. 'Top grade…'

^ 'Why the hell do you think I'm leaving? I'll pay you twenty-five …'

^ The driver made a lot of noise loosening his brake and the man ran up to the cab, shouting hysterically. 'Fifty is OK., fifty is OK…'

^ If you have only a few hours left to live, what do you do with those hours? Arthur Snyder, insurance salesman, knew he'd never get out of the city: at this moment his car was stripped down in a repair shop a mile away. The nagging wife he'd come to hate over the years was upstairs in the bedroom, still screaming at him. 'Do something, you bum, do something…' He slammed the front door and made his way down the hill. It was convenient to have your mistress on the same street; it was a bloody life-saver now. Reaching the right door, he stuck his ringer on the bell and kept it there until Linda, in pyjamas and robe – she had been going to bed early – opened the door on the chain. 'Who is it…'

^ He guessed she hadn't heard about the nuclear device – she'd have mentioned it by now, probably lost her fool head and phoned him. He went inside the dimly-lit hall and pressed the ^ ^ door shut behind him. 'Art…!' He practically raped her in the hallway while she gasped, first with alarm, then with pleasure as he shoved her hard against the wall. Snyder had thought it out while he hurried to her doorstep. She might go off the idea if she heard the news first. So, this was it. Fuck now, talk later…

^ Haight-Ashbury and the Western Addition were on the move. Haight-Ashbury is to San Francisco what the East End is to London, and here the panic was more brutal. But it was still the same instinct for self-survival which had infected Telegraph Hill; it simply took a different way out. A Greyhound bus, full of people, found itself blocked by a barrier of trucks – out of gas and dragged across the street. The driver got out of his seat opened the door and stared at a man holding a Colt. 45. 'Get out,' the man said. The driver protested. The man shot him in the stomach and jumped aside to let him fall to the sidewalk. He got back inside the bus and waved the Colt around.

^ 'We need this bus to get clear. Get off this goddamn bus – all of you. Anyone stays on it gets a pill in the guts – like the driver…'

^ There was a scramble to leave the bus and the ordeal heightened as they reached the sidewalk. A huge crowd of evil-looking youths crowded round the exit, leaving only a narrow passage for the passengers to move through. As they left the bus hands grabbed for their bags, their wrist-watches. 'For Christ's sake…' one male passenger protested. An iron bar descended on his skull, his bag was grabbed, his body hauled out of sight. Someone spat on it.

^ The reports continued flooding into MacGowan's office as he presided over a meeting of the action committee, for once letting others do the talking while he turned the decision over in his mind. On the far side of the room Karpis was watching the TV set in case something came through they ought to know about. Once again the TV cameras played over the illuminated Boeing 747 waiting at San Francisco International. 'This is the escape plane…' They switched to the waterfront, showing the Greyhound bus with black-painted windows waiting on the deserted Pier 31. "This is the escape bus waiting for the terrorists to board it…' Finally they showed the large police launch moored at the end of the pier in the darkness. To MacGowan it had the look of a funeral launch waiting to transport corpses.

^ He took his decision in a few minutes – because it was the only one to take. They had, in any case, reached the stage where San Francisco was in a state of siege. Many hours ago all shipping approaching the port from as far away as Australia had been diverted to other anchorages – to Canada, to Seattle, to Los Angeles. No planes at all were landing at San Francisco any more. Amtrak passenger and freight trains on the east side of the Bay had been stopped.

^ The problem was as simple as it was enormous. If word got through to LeCat that they knew about the nuclear device he might instantly press the button. Occasionally, the news media do not hear about a major development as soon as it happens, and MacGowan had already personally phoned local radio and TV stations asking them to clamp down on this item. But it would be broadcast soon – by someone – if they had the facilities. 'I've decided, gentlemen,' MacGowan said suddenly. 'It has to be done.'

^ 'We already have one. We have to buy every minute of time we can, hoping Cassidy's assault team can make it…' MacGowan gave the order. He blacked out the whole of central California, cutting all communications.

^ The Reuter news flash, dated January 23, came through just before the TV screens went blank.

^ It ^ ^ has just been reported that Russian airborne troops are boarding their transports all over Roumania…

^ 'The negotiations between LeCat and the American authorities will break down… it will be reported that American Marines attempted to storm the ship… the hostages… will all be killed.'

^ Remarks made by Sheikh Carnal Tafak during meeting with Arab terrorist leaders, January 15.

^ 'You will recall instantly the Marine boat coming towards this ship or all the hostages will be shot now! I tell you, MacGowan, I will shoot them all and throw the bodies down on to your men… You hear me? You hear me? You hear me?'