Arthur Hailey - Overload

"Why the bell," Harry London said to no one in particular, "did he take so long?"

Sharlett Underhill held out a hand. "Give that to me."

Van Buren passed her the questionnaire and the finance chief took it to the portable "black light" which Nim had seen used during his previous visit to the center. Mrs. Underhill snapped the light on and held the form under it. At the top of the sheet the number "9386" stood out.

She led the way to a computer terminal-a keyboard with a cathode ray screen above it-and sat down.

First, Mrs. Underhill trapped in her personal code: 44SHAUND. (It was her age and a corruption of her two names.)

The screen instantly signaled: READY. ENTER REQUEST.

She typed in the project name-NORTH CASTLE SURVEY followed by the secret code, known only to herself and one other, which would release the needed information. The words NORTH CASTHE SURVEY appeared on the screen; the secret code didn't the computer's precaution against others observing and memorizing it.

Immediately the computer signaled: ENTER QUESTIONNAIRE NUMBER.

Sharlett Underhill typed in: 93tle screen flashed back:

OWEN GRAINGER

12 WEXHAM RD, APT E

The city's name and a zip code followed.

"I got it," Harry London said. He was already running to a phone.

* * *

Slightly more than an hour later Harry London reported personally to Eric Humphrey and Nim, who were in the chairman's office suite.

"Archambault's flown the coop," London said. "If that woman had only opened the questionnaire when it came in this morning . . ."

Humphrey said sharply, "Recriminations will do us no good. What did the police find at that address?"

"A warm trail, sir. According to a neighbor, a man who's been seen occasionally before, drove away in a Volkswagen van half an hour before the place was raided. The police have issued an APB for the van, and they have the building staked out in case be comes back. But" -London shrugged-"that guy Archambault has slipped through their hands before."

"He must be getting desperate," Nim said.

Eric Humphrey nodded. "I was thinking that too." He considered, then told Nim, "I want an immediate warning sent to all our plant managers and security personnel. Give them a report of what has happened and repeat Archambault's description; also get a description of the vehicle he's driving. Instruct our people everywhere to increase their vigilance and to report anything suspicious or unusual. We've been that man's target before.

He may decide to make us one again."

"I'll get on it right away," Nim said, as he wondered: Was there no end to what could happen in a single day?

* * *

Georgos hummed a little tune and decided that today his luck was holding.

He had been driving for an hour and a quarter and was almost at the point, near La Mission, where he planned to launch the dinghy. Apparently his VW van had attracted no attention, probably-in part because he had driven carefully, observing traffic rules and speed limits. He had also avoided freeways where encountering a California Highway Patrol car would have been more likely. Now he was traversing a gravel road, his first objective less than a mile ahead.

A few minutes later he caught a glimpse of the Coyote River through a tangled growth of underbrush and trees which bordered it in this area. The river was wide at the point he had chosen and soon he could see much more of it. He stopped, where the gravel road ended, about thirty yards from the riverbank.

To Georgos' relief, no other vehicles or human beings were in sight.

As he began unloading the dinghy and supplies, carrying them in a half-dozen trips toward the river, his excitement and a sense of elation grew.

After the initial trip, be removed the dinghy from its container and inflated it with the pump which was in the package. No problem. Then be pushed the dinghy into the water, tying the painter to a tree, and transferred the equipment into it. There was a compressed-air tank and regulator-the tank filled with an hour's air supply, a face mask, fins, a snorkel for use if he was near the surface, a waterproof flashlight, a mesh belt, an inflatable balloon with a C02 cartridge to give him buoyancy because of the weight be was carrying, a hydraulic metal cutter, and wire cutters.

Last of all, Georgos loaded aboard the cylindrical Tovex bombs. He had brought eight of them, weighing five pounds each, and they would be fastened to his webbed belt. Georgos had decided that eight bombs were all he could carry; to attempt to take more would be inviting disaster. As it was, the bombs would destroy eight of the eleven water pumps-putting most, if not all, of La Mission's four operating generators out of action.

The fifth La Mission generator was the one they called Big Lil. Georgos had been sorry, in a way, to read in Sunday's newspapers that Big Lil was already disabled and would require several months of repairs. Well, maybe after today it would be several months more.

When everything was in the dinghy, and secure, Georgos, who had already discarded his clothing and changed into a wet suit untied the painter and eased himself aboard. The dinghy at once floated clear of the bank and began moving gently downstream. There was a small paddle, and he used it.

The day was warm and sunny and, in other circumstances, an excursion on the river would have been enjoyable. But he had no time for enjoyment now.

Staying fairly close to the shoreline, he kept a lookout for other people.

So far be had seen none. There were some boats in the distance, a long way downstream, but too far away for him to be observed.

In less than ten minutes be could see La Mission plant ahead, with its high smokestacks and the big, functional building which housed boilers and turbine-generators. In another five minutes he decided he was close enough, and paddled into shore. There was a small, shallowhater cove. On reaching it, he slipped out of the dinghy, then, wading in front, tied the painter once more to a tree. Now he donned the tank, mask, snorkel, belt and fins, and attached the remainder of his load. When everything was in place he took one last look around, turned on his air, then waded out toward midstream. Moments later he slipped into deep water and began swimming, ten feet below the surface.

He had already taken a sight on his objective the plant pump house, a long, low, concrete structure, projecting into the river. Georgos knew that the pump house had two levels. One, above the water and accessible from other portions of the plant, housed the electric motors which drove the pumps. The second level-mostly underwater-contained the pumps themselves. It was this second level he intended to penetrate. On the way into the plant, he surfaced twice, quickly, to check his bearings, then went under again to stay out of sight. Soon his forward progress was halted by a concrete wall; he had reached the pump house.

Feeling his way along, he began searching for the metal grating through which he would need to cut his way. Almost at once, the pull of the water guided him to it. The purpose of the grating was to prevent large objects from being drawn in with the cooling water and damaging the pumps. Behind the grating was a wire mesh screen, shaped into a large, horizontal cylinder. The cylinder caught smaller debris and was rotated occasionally to clean it.

Georgos began working on the grating with his hydraulic metal cutter, a compact tool about eighteen inches long and favored by underwater treasure hunters. Soon he had opened a large circle and pulled the metal bars away. The cutout portion dropped to the riverbed. There was no problem about seeing. ample daylight was coming in from above.

The wire mesh cylinder was now exposed. Georgos knew he would have to cut his way into it from the outside, then make a second bole on the far side to reach the interior pump bay. The distance between the two holes-the cylinder's diameter-would be about ten feet.