Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

“Well, I’ll be darned,” he said quietly. “Look at that.”

“It worked,” said Melanie.

“We did it,” Oaktree said. “Goddamn it, we caused a motherfucking earthquake!”

Priest grinned at them all. “That’s the truth,” he said.

He kissed Star, then Melanie; then Oaktree kissed them both; then Star kissed Melanie. They all laughed. Then Priest started to dance. He did a red Indian war hop, there in the middle of the broken valley, his boots kicking up the newly settled dust. Star joined in, then Melanie and Oaktree, and the four of them went round and round in a circle, shouting and whooping and laughing until the tears came to their eyes.

Judy Maddox was driving home on Friday at the end of the worst week in her FBI career.

She could not figure out what she had done to deserve this. Okay, she had yelled at her boss, but he had been hostile to her before she blew her cool, so there had to be another reason. She had gone to Sacramento yesterday with every intention of making the Bureau look efficient and competent, and somehow she had ended up giving an impression of muddle and impotence. She felt frustrated and depressed.

Nothing good had happened since her meeting with Al Honeymoon. She had been calling seismology professors and interviewing them by phone. She would ask whether the professor was working on locations of critically stressed points on fault lines. If so, who had access to their data? And did any of those people have connections with terrorist groups?

The seismologists had not been helpful. Most of today’s academics had been students in the sixties and seventies, when the FBI had paid every creep on campus to spy on the protest movement. It was a long time ago, but they had not forgotten. To them the Bureau was the enemy. Judy understood how they felt, but she wished they would not be passive-aggressive with agents who were working in the public interest.

The Hammer of Eden’s deadline ran out today, and there had been no earthquake. Judy was deeply relieved, even though it suggested she had been wrong to take the threat seriously. Maybe this would be the end of the whole thing. She told herself she should have a relaxing weekend. The weather was great, sunny and warm. Tonight she would make stir-fried chicken for Bo and open a bottle of wine. Tomorrow she would have to go to the supermarket, but on Sunday she could drive up the coast to Bodega Bay and sit on the beach reading a book like a normal person. On Monday she would probably be given a new assignment. Maybe she could make a fresh start.

She wondered whether to call her girlfriend Virginia and see if she wanted to go to the beach. Ginny was her oldest friend. Also the daughter of a cop, and the same age as Judy, she was sales director of a security firm. But, Judy realized, it was not feminine company she wanted. It would be nice to lie on the beach beside something with hairy legs and a deep voice. It was a year since she had split up with Don: this was the longest time she had been without a lover since her teens. At college she had been a little wild, almost promiscuous; working at Mutual American Insurance, she had had an affair with her boss; then she had lived with Steve Dolen for seven years and almost married him. She often thought about Steve. He was attractive and smart and kind — too kind, maybe, for in the end she came to think of him as weak. Maybe she asked the impossible. Perhaps all considerate, attentive men were weak, and all the strong ones, like Don Riley, ended up shtupping their secretaries.

Her car phone rang. She did not need to pick up the handset: after two rings it connected automatically in hands-free mode. “Hello,” she said. “This is Judy Maddox.”

“This is your father.”

“Hi, Bo. Will you be home for supper? We could have—”

He interrupted her. “Turn on your car radio, quick,” he said. “Tune to John Truth.”

Christ, what now? She touched the power switch. A rock music station came on. She jabbed at a preset button and got the San Francisco station that broadcast John Truth Live . His nasal twang filled the car.

He was speaking in the ponderously dramatic manner he used to suggest that what he had to say was world-shakingly important. “The California State seismologist has now confirmed that there was an earthquake today — the very day the Hammer of Eden promised it. It took place at twenty minutes after two P.M. in Owens Valley, just as the Hammer of Eden said when they called this show a few minutes ago.”

My God — they did it .

Judy was electrified. She forgot her frustration, and her depression vanished. She felt alive again.

John Truth was saying: “But the same state seismologist denied that this or any other earthquake could have been caused by a terrorist group.”

Was that true? Judy had to know. What did other seismologists think? She needed to make some calls. Then she heard John Truth say: “In a moment we will play you a recording of the message left by the Hammer of Eden.”

They’re on tape!

That could be a crucial mistake by the terrorists. They would not know it, but a voice on tape would provide a mass of information when analyzed by Simon Sparrow.

Truth went on: “Meanwhile, what do you think? Do you believe the state seismologist? Or do you think he’s whistling past the graveyard? Maybe you are a seismologist and you have an opinion on the technical possibilities here. Or maybe you’re just a concerned citizen and you think the authorities ought to be as worried as you are. Call John Truth Live on this number now to tell the world what you think.”

A commercial for a furniture warehouse came on, and Judy muted the volume. “Are you still there, Bo?”

“Sure.”

“They did it, didn’t they?”

“Sure looks like it.”

She wondered whether he was genuinely uncertain or just being cautious. “What does your instinct say?”

He gave her another ambiguous answer. “That these people are very dangerous.”

Judy tried to calm her racing heart and turn her mind to what she should do next. “I’d better call Brian Kincaid—”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“The news … Wait a minute.” Bo was making a point. “You don’t think I should call him.”

“I think you should call your boss when you can give him something he can’t get from the radio.”

“You’re right.” Judy began to feel calmer as she ran over the possibilities. “I guess I’m going back to work.” She made a right turn.

“Okay. I’ll be home in an hour or so. Call me if you want supper.”

She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. “Thanks, Bo. You’re a great daddy.”

He laughed. “You’re a great kid, too. Later.”

“Later.” She touched the button that terminated the call, then she turned up the volume on the radio.

She heard a low, sexy voice saying: “This is the Hammer of Eden with a message for Governor Mike Robson.”

The picture that came into her mind was of a mature woman with large breasts and a wide smile, likable but kind of off-the-wall.

That’s my enemy?

The tone changed, and the woman muttered: “Shit, I didn’t expect to be talking to a tape recorder.”

She’s not the organizational brain behind all this. She’s too ditzy. She’s taking instructions from someone else .

The woman resumed her formal voice and continued: “Like we promised, we caused an earthquake today, four weeks after our last message. It happened in Owens Valley a little after two o’clock, you can check it out.”

A faint background noise caused her to hesitate.