Arthur Hailey - Overload

Nim laughed aloud. "By golly! You should have seen Ray's face when he came back to the convention with Eric Humphrey, thinking the chairman was going to chew my balls off because of what I said this morning, and instead Eric did the opposite."

"What did he actually say?"

"Something about having received so many complimentary remarks about my speech, how could he be in a minority and take exception? So he congratulated me instead."

"If Eric has come around that much, do you think there could be a change in policy now-to more outspokenness, the way you've wanted?"

Nim shook his head. "I'm not sure. The don't-rock-the-boat faction, led by Ray, is still strong. Besides which, only a few people in our organization understand that a future electric power crisis is almost a certainty." He stretched, yawning. "But no more worrying tonight!"

"It's early morning," Ruth corrected him. "Nearly one o'clock. Anyway, yesterday was a good day for you, and I'm pleased you got a fair press."

She motioned to a late afternoon edition of the California Examiner beside her.

"That was a fat surprise." Nim had read the Examiner's report of his speech several hours ago. "Can't figure out that Molineaux dame. I was certain she'd stick in the knife again, and twist it."

"Don't you know by now that we women are unpredictable?" Ruth said, then added mischievously, "I should have thought all your research would have shown you that."

"Maybe I'd forgotten. Perhaps you noticed I've restricted my research lately." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the neck, then sat down in a facing chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Normal most of the time. I tire easily, though, compared with the energy I used to have."

“There's something I want to ask you about." Nim described his conversation with Leah, and his conviction that the children ought to be told about Ruth's health in case a sudden change for the worse should find them unprepared. "I hope it won't happen, just as much as you do, but it's something we should consider."

"I've been thinking much the same thing," she told him. "You can leave it to me. In the next few days I'll pick a time and tell them."

He supposed he should have known. Ruth, with her good judgment, her ability to cope, would always do what was best for the family.

"Thank you," he said.

They went on talking-quietly, easily, enjoying each other's company -until Nim reached out and took Ruth's hands. "You're tired and so am I. Let's go to bed."

They went, band in hand, into the bedroom where, just before turning out the lights, he noticed the time: 1:30 am.

They fell asleep, almost at once, in each other's arms.

* * *

A quarter mile from the hotel, Georgos Winslow Archambault was seated alone in the red "Fire Protection Service, Inc." truck. He could hardly wait for 3 am and the explosions to begin. Georgos' excitement simmered like a cauldron, arousing him sexually, so that a few minutes ago he had had to masturbate.

It was almost unbelievable how well and smoothly everything had gone. From the moment when the police cleared a way for the Friends of Freedom truck to reach the hotel's service entrance-and, oh, what a priceless joke that was only twice had the freedom fighters been stopped as they moved around the hotel. Ute was queried briefly by a plainclothes security man, Georgos by an assistant manager whom be encountered in a service elevator. Both incidents gave Ute and Georgos some nervous moments, but the work orders they promptly showed were glanced at and passed back without further questioning. In neither case was the letter on hotel stationery needed or produced.

The general-and predictable-thinking seemed to be: Who would want to stop a fire extinguisher being put in place? The few who might think about it at all would assume that someone else had ordered or approved the extra fire precautions.

Now there was merely the waiting-the hardest part of all. He had deliberately parked some distance from the hotel, partly to avoid the possibility of being noticed, partly to get away quickly when be needed to. He would go closer, on foot, for a better view just before the fun began.

As soon as the hotel was well ablaze, with people trapped inside, Georgos intended to phone a radio station with the communiqué he had already drafted. It contained his new demands-the old ones, plus some more. His orders would be obeyed instantly, of course, when the fascist power structure at last grasped the strength and resourcefulness of Friends of Freedom. In his mind, Georgos could see those in authority groveling before him . . .

Only one small matter bothered him. That was the sudden disappearance of Yvette; he felt uneasy about it, conscious that where his woman was concerned be had been guilty of weakness. He ought to have eliminated her weeks ago. When she returned, as he was sure she would, he would do it immediately. He was glad, though, that he had kept from Yvette his plans for this latest valiant battle.

Oh, what a day for history to remember!

For what must be the twentieth time since coming here, Georgos checked his watch: 1:40 am Another hour and twenty minutes to go.

* * *

Just as a precaution, though he didn't really believe it necessary, Davey Birdsong was giving himself an alibi.

He was outside the city, twenty-odd miles from the Christopher Columbus Hotel, and he intended to keep that distance until the action was over.

Several hours ago he had delivered (for a fee) an hour-long lecture to an adult study group on “The Socialist Ideal." Discussion afterward consumed another ninety minutes. Now he was with a dozen or so tedious, boring people from the group who had adjourned to the house of one of their number to go on gabbing about international politics, of which their knowledge was marginal. As well as talking, there was much drinking of beer and coffee and clearly, Birdsong thought, the whole deal could go on until dawn. Fine, let it! He contributed something himself occasionally, making sure everyone noticed he had stayed.

Davey Birdsong, too, had a typewritten statement he would issue to the press. A copy was in his pocket and it began:

The popular consumer’s organization, power & light for people, reaffirms its stand against all violence.

"We deplore violence at all times, and especially the bombing at the Christopher Columbus Hotel last night," Davey Birdsong, the p & lfp leader, stated.

p & lfp will continue its peaceful efforts on behalf of. Birdsong smiled as he thought about it and surreptitiously checked his watch: 1:45 am

* * *

Nancy Molineaux was still at her late night party, which had been a good one, but she was ready to leave. For one thing, she was tired; it had been one of those crammed-full days when she scarcely had a minute to herself. For another, her jaw was aching. The goddam dentist had probed a cavity like he was excavating for a new subway, and when she told him be only laughed.

Despite the ache, Nancy was sure she would sleep well tonight and looked forward to climbing in between her silky Porthault sheets.

After saying good night to her host and hostess, who lived in a penthouse not far from the city center, she took the elevator down to where the doorman already had her car waiting. After she tipped him, Nancy checked the time: 1:50 am Her own apartment block was less than ten minutes' drive. With luck, she could be in bed a few minutes after two.

She remembered, out of nowhere, that she was going to listen tonight to those cassette tapes the girl, Yvette, had given her. Well, she had been working on that story a long time and one more day wouldn't make any difference. Maybe she would get up early, before going to the Examiner, and listen to them then.

Nancy Molineaux enjoyed life's luxuries and her apartment, in an exclusive, modern high-rise, reflected it.