Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

Judy was surprised that he was a little below average height. Seeing him on television, she had imagined him a tall man. He looked bulkier than usual on account of the bulletproof vest under his suit coat. He walked across the lawn with a relaxed, confident stride and sat at the little table under the umbrella.

Judy took a few pictures of him. She kept her camera bag slung from her shoulder so that she could get to her weapon quickly.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

An old Chevrolet Impala was approaching slowly on Tenth Street.

It had a faded two-tone paint job, sky blue and cream, rusting around the wheel arches. The face of the driver was in shade.

She darted a glance around. Not a single agent was in sight, but everyone would be watching the car.

It stopped at the curb right opposite Governor Robson.

Judy’s heart beat faster.

“I guess this is him,” said the governor in a remarkably calm voice.

The door of the car opened.

The figure that stepped out wore blue jeans, a checked workshirt open over a white T-shirt, and sandals. When he stood upright, Judy saw that he was about six feet tall, maybe a little more, and thin, with long, dark hair.

He wore large-framed sunglasses and a colorful cotton scarf as a headband.

Judy stared at him, wishing she could see his eyes.

Her earpiece crackled. “Judy? Is it him?”

“I can’t tell!” she said. “It could be.”

He looked around. It was a big lawn, and the table had been placed twenty or thirty yards back from the curb. He started toward the governor.

Judy could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her sign.

She moved, placing herself between him and the governor. The man noticed her move, hesitated, then continued walking.

Charlie spoke again. “Well?”

“I don’t know!” she whispered, trying not to move her lips. “Give me a few more seconds!”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I don’t think it’s him,” Judy said. All the pictures had shown a nose like the blade of a knife. This man had a broad, flat nose.

“Sure?”

“It’s not him.”

The man was within touching distance of Judy. He stepped around her and approached the governor. Without pausing in his stride, he put his hand inside his shirt.

In her earpiece Charlie said: “He’s reaching for something!”

Judy dropped to one knee and fumbled for the pistol in her camera bag.

The man began to pull something out of his shirt. Judy saw a dark-colored cylinder, like the barrel of a gun. She yelled: “Freeze! FBI!”

Agents burst out of cars and vans and came running from the Capitol Building.

The man froze.

Judy pointed her gun at his head and said: “Pull it out real slow and pass it to me.”

“Okay, okay, don’t shoot me!” The man drew the object out of his shirt. It was a magazine, rolled up into a cylinder, with a rubber band around it.

Judy took it from him. Still pointing her gun at him, she examined the magazine. It was this week’s Time . There was nothing inside the cylinder.

The man said in a frightened voice: “Some guy gave me a hundred dollars to hand it to the governor!”

Agents surrounded Mike Robson and bundled him back into the Capitol Building.

Judy looked around, scanning the grounds and the streets. Granger is watching this, he has to be. Where the hell is he? People had stopped to stare at the running agents. A tour group was coming down the steps of the grand entrance, led by a guide. As Judy watched, a man in a Hawaiian shirt peeled off from the group and walked away, and something about him caught Judy’s eye.

She frowned. He was tall. Because the shirt was baggy and hung loose around his hips, she could not tell whether he was thin or fat. His hair was covered by a baseball cap.

She went after him, walking fast.

He did not seem to be in a hurry. Judy did not raise the alarm. If she got every agent here chasing some innocent tourist, that might permit the real Granger to get away. But instinct made her quicken her pace. She had to see this man’s face.

He turned the corner of the building. Judy broke into a run.

She heard Charlie’s voice in her earpiece. “Judy? What’s up?”

“Just checking someone out,” she said, panting a little. “Probably a tourist, but get a couple of guys to follow me in case I need backup.”

“You got it.”

She reached the corner and saw the Hawaiian shirt pass through a pair of tall wood doors and disappear into the Capitol Building. It seemed to her that he was walking more briskly. She looked back over her shoulder. Charlie was talking to a couple of youngsters and pointing at her.

On the side street across the garden, Michael jumped out of a parked van and came running toward her. She pointed into the building. “Did you see that guy?” she yelled.

“Yes, that was him!” he called back.

“You stay here,” she shouted. He was a civilian; she did not want him involved. “Keep the hell out of this!” She ran into the Capitol Building.

She found herself in a grand lobby with an elaborate mosaic floor. It was cool and quiet. Ahead of her was a broad carpeted staircase with an ornately carved balustrade. Did he go left or right, up or down? She chose left. The corridor dog-legged right. She raced past an elevator bank and found herself in the rotunda, a circular room with some kind of sculpture in the middle. The room extended up two floors to a richly decorated dome. Here she faced another choice: had he gone straight ahead, turned right toward the Horseshoe, or gone up the stairs on her left? She looked around. A tour group stared fearfully at her gun. She glanced up to the circular gallery at second-floor level and caught a glimpse of a brightly colored shirt.

She bounded up one of the paired grand staircases.

At the top of the stairs she looked across the gallery. On the far side was an open doorway leading to a different world, a modern corridor with strip lighting and a plastic-tiled floor. The Hawaiian shirt was in the corridor.

He was running now.

Judy went after him. As she ran, she spoke into her bra mike, panting. “It’s him, Charlie! What the hell happened to my backup?”

“They lost you, where are you?”

“On the second floor in the office section.”

“Okay.”

The office doors were shut, and there was no one in the corridors: it was Saturday. She followed the shirt around a corner, then another, and a third. She was keeping him in view but not gaining on him.

The bastard is very fit .

Coming full circle, he returned to the gallery. She lost sight of him momentarily and guessed he had gone up again.

Breathing hard, she went up another ornate staircase to the third floor.

Helpful signs told her that the senate gallery was to her right, the assembly to her left. She turned left, came to the door of the gallery, and found it locked. No doubt the other would be the same. She returned to the head of the staircase. Where had he gone?

In a corner she noticed a sign that read “North Stair — No Roof Access.” She opened it and found herself in a narrow functional stairwell with plain floor tiles and an iron balustrade. She could hear her quarry clattering down the stairs, but she could not see him.

She hurtled down.

She emerged at ground level in the rotunda. She could not see Granger, but she spotted Michael, looking around distractedly. He caught her eye. “Did you see him?” she called.

“No.”

“Stay back!”

From the rotunda, a marble corridor led to the governor’s quarters. Her view was obscured by a tour party being shown the door to the Horseshoe. Was that a Hawaiian shirt beyond them? She was not sure. She ran after it, along the marble hall, past framed displays featuring each county in the state. To her left, another corridor led to an exit with a plate-glass automatic door. She saw the shirt going out.