Arthur Hailey: Overload

"Yes?"

"You sound tired."

"I am," he admitted. "I guess we all are over here. It hasn't been the best of times, not lately."

"Take care of yourself," she told him. "And Nimrod, dear bless you!"

After Nim hung up, he thought of something else and dialed his home number.

Ruth answered. He told her about Old Desperado, the geothermal cutoff, and the doubtful capacity situation.

She said sympathetically, "Things do seem to happen all at once."

"I guess that's the way life works. Anyway, with all this, and rolling blackouts starting tomorrow, I'd better not come home tonight. I'll sleep on a cot in the office."

"I understand," Ruth said. "But be sure you get some rest, and 3remember that the children and I all need you for a long time to come."

He promised to do both.

* * *

The special staff which had been assembled to process the so-called Consumer Survey in North Castle had been totally disbanded two weeks earlier. The basement room at GSP&L headquarters, where returned questionnaires had at first flooded in, was now in use for another purpose.

Sporadically, a few completed questionnaires straggled in. Some days there were one or two, on other days none.

Those that did arrive were routed by the mailroom to an elderly secretary in public relations, Elsie Young, who had been on the special staff but had since returned to her regular job. The questionnaires, in their distinctive postage-paid envelopes, were placed on her desk and, when she had time and inclination, she opened and inspected them, still comparing each with a sample of the handwriting from Georgos Archambault's journal.

Miss Young hoped the damn things would stop coming soon. She found them tedious, time-wasting, and an intrusion on more interesting work.

On Tuesday, around midmorning, Elsie Young observed that one of the special Consumcr Survey envelopes had been dropped into her in-tray by a messenger, along with a sizable batch of interoffice mail. She decided to deal with the interoffice stuff first.

* * *

Seconds after Karen concluded her conversation with Nim by touching the phone microswitch with her head, she remembered something she forgot to tell him.

She and Josie had planned to go shopping this morning. Should they still do the shopping, and afterward go to Redwood Grove, or should they cancel the shopping trip and leave for the hospital now?

Karen was tempted to call Nim back and ask his advice, then remembered the strain in his voice and the pressures he must be working under. She would make the decision herself.

What was it be had said about a possible power cut before tomorrow's scheduled one? "It may not happen, in fact it probably won't”. And later: "It's just a long-shot precaution."

Well . . . obviously! the sensible thing was to go shopping first, which Karen and Josie both enjoyed. Then they would come back briefly and afterward leave for Redwood Grove. They could still be there by early afternoon, perhaps sooner.

"Josie, dear," Karen called out in the direction of the kitchen. "I just had a call from Nimrod, and if you'll come in I'll tell you about our new plans."

* * *

Georgos Archambault possessed a certain animal instinct about danger. In the past, the instinct had served him well and he had learned to rely on it.

Near noon on Tuesday, as he paraded back and forth restlessly in the confined North Castle apartment, the same instinct warned him that danger was close. A crucial question was: Should he obey the instinct and, taking a large chance, leave immediately and head for La Mission and the cooling pumps he planned to destroy? Alternatively, should be disregard the instinct and remain until darkness, then leave as originally planned?

A second question, equally important: Was his present instinct genuine or the product of a heightened nervousness?

Georgos wasn't sure as he debated, within himself, the pros and cons.

He intended to make his final approach to the La Mission plant pump house underwater. Therefore, if he could get safely on the river and reasonably close to the plant, be would submerge and, from then on, the likelihood of his being seen was minimal, even in daylight. In fact, daylight, filtering downward, would help him locate his underwater point of entry more easily than in total darkness.

But could he launch the dinghy and get into it, wearing scuba gear, unobserved? Although the spot he had chosen as a launch-point-a half-mile from La Mission-was normally deserted, there was always the possibility of someone being there and seeing him, especially during the daytime. Georgos assessed that particular risk as: fair.

The really big hazard in daylight-a horrendous one-was to drive his Volkswagen van through North Castle, and then to La Mission, another fifty miles. A description of the van, and undoubtedly its license number, was in the possession of police, sheriff's departments and the Highway Patrol. If he were spotted, there was no way he could outrun pursuit. On the other hand, it was eight weeks since the description had been issued and the pigs could have forgotten, or be inattentive. Something else in his favor: there were a lot of beat-up VW vans around and the sight of one more would not be unusual.

Just the same, Georgos assessed the first part of his mission, if undertaken now, as: high risk.

He continued pacing and debating, then abruptly made up his mind. He would trust his instincts about danger. The decision was to go!

Georgos left the apartment at once and went into the adjoining garage.

There he began what he had intended doing tonight: Checking his equipment carefully before departure. He hurried, however, the sense of danger still persisting.

“There's a telephone call for you, Mrs. Van Buren," a waitress announced, "and I was told to tell you it's important."

"Everybody thinks their call is important," the PR director grumbled, "and most times they're dead wrong."

But she got up from the table in the GSP & L officers' dining room where she was lunching with J. Eric Humphrey and Nim Goldman, and went to the telephone outside.

A minute or two later she returned, excitement in her eyes. "One of those Consumer Surveys came back and we've got a match on the Archambault handwriting. A half-wit in my department has been sitting on the thing all morning. I'll ream her out later, but she's on the way to the Computer Center with it now. I said we'd meet her there."

"Get Sharlett," Eric Humphrey said, rising from the table. "Tell her to leave her lunch." the executive vice president of finance could be seen a few tables away.

While Van Buren did so, Nim went outside to the telephone and called Harry London. The Property Protection chief was in his office and, when informed of what was happening, said he would go to the Computer Center too.

Nim knew that Oscar O'Brien, the only other member of the "think group," was out of town for the day.

He joined the others-the chairman, Sharlett Underhill and Van Buren-at the elevator outside the dining room.

* * *

They had gone through the usual security formalities in entering the Computer Center. Now, the four who had interrupted lunch, plus Harry London, gathered around a table as Teresa Van Buren opened out the Consumer Survey form and a photographed handwriting sample which a chastened Elsie Young had delivered to her a few minutes ago.

It was Eric Humphrey who expressed what was obvious to everyone. “There's no doubt of it being the same handwriting. Absolutely none."

Even if there were, Nim thought, what was written was a giveaway.

The terrorists you presumptuously describe as small-time, cowardly and ignorant are none of those things. They are important, wise and dedicated heroes. You are the ignoramuses, as well as criminal exploiters of the people. Justice shall overtake you! Be warned there will be blood and death . . .