Goodbye California (14 page)

Starting from the south he tapped out a number of spots on the map. ‘Ten bore-holes in all. The scientists are experimenting with various mixtures of water and oil for lubricating purposes. Well, not quite mixtures, for oil and water don’t readily mix. First oil, then stuff they call mud, the whole pushed further down and through cracks in the rocks by water under high pressure.’

He stopped, looked at the camera for a dramatic five seconds, turned, placed the tip of the cane against a spot at the southern tip of the San Joaquin Valley, then, holding the cane in position, turned to face the camera again.

‘And here – if I may coin a phrase – we seem to have struck oil at one-twenty-five a.m. today. Twenty, thirty miles southeast of Bakerfield. Exactly where a massive earthquake struck a quarter of a century ago. And exactly where the sixth borehole from the south is located. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the villain of the piece – the White Wolf Fault.’ The newscaster relaxed and smiled boyishly. ‘And now, folks, you know as much about it as I do, which I’m afraid isn’t very much. But have no fear: I’m sure the real seismo-logical experts will be busy lecturing you on this for days to come.’

Wordlessly, Dubois and Morro rose from their seats, looked at each other then went to the map still spread on Morro’s table. Morro said: ‘You are quite certain that the triangulation is correct?’

‘Our three seismologists will swear to it.’

‘And our three bright boys place the epicentre in the Garlock Fault, not the White Wolf Fault?’

‘They should know. Not only are they highly experienced but we’re practically sitting on top of the Garlock Fault.’

‘The Seismology Field Survey, Caltech, the Geological Survey and God knows how many other scientific bodies – how could they all possibly – especially when they were all certainly working in collaboration – come up with the same mistake?’

‘They didn’t.’ Dubois was positive. ‘For earthquakes, this is the best monitored area in the world and those are among the world’s top experts.’

‘They lied?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why should they lie?’

Dubois was almost apologetic. ‘I’ve had a little time to think about this. I think there are two reasons. California is today obsessed with the fear, the certainty almost, that some day, maybe quite soon according to a few eminent earthquake researchers, the big one is going to strike, one that will make the San Francisco nineteen-o-six look like a firecracker: it’s more than possible that State officials are trying to allay this fear by stating that this ‘quake was man-made. Secondly, all those clever seismologists may be living with a brand-new fear which particularly affects themselves –
that they may have been dabbling in murky waters, that they may not really know what they were doing, that by messing around with those various faults they may have inadvertently triggered off something they didn’t expect – a movement in the Garlock Fault where they
don’t
have a bore-hole. But they do have a drilling rig sitting fair and square in the middle of the Tejon Pass on the San Andreas Fault – and at Frazier Park, near Fort Tejon, the San Andreas and the Garlock Faults intersect.’

‘I suppose it
is
a possibility. And if that were correct it might happen again, perhaps even on a major scale, and I don’t think we’d like that at all.’ Morro compressed his lips then slowly smiled. ‘You
have
had more time to think about this than I have. I seem to recall your saying that we might just possibly turn this to our advantage.’ Dubois smiled in return and nodded. ‘Ten past three in the morning and what better time for a glass of that splendid Glenfiddich. Don’t you agree?’

‘For inspirational purposes.’

‘Indeed. You think perhaps we should relieve those prestigious seismological institutes of the fear that the public may come to associate unexpected earthquakes – ‘quakes in the wrong place, that is – with their indiscriminate tampering with seismic faults? If the public were to know the truth, that is?’

‘Something like that.’

Morro smiled again. ‘I look forward to writing this communiqué’

Ryder wasn’t smiling when he woke up. He cursed, quietly but with considerable feeling, as he reached out for his bedside phone. It was Dunne.

‘Sorry to wake you, Ryder.’

‘No worry. I’ve had almost three hours’ sleep.’

‘I’ve had none. Did you see that newscast shortly before three this morning?’

‘The one about the White Wolf Fault? Yes.’

‘There’ll be another and even more interesting newscast in less than five minutes. Any channel should do.’

‘What’s it this time?’

‘I think the impact will be greater if you watch for yourself. Call me afterwards.’

Ryder replaced the receiver, lifted it again, told a querulous Jeff that there was something worth watching on TV, cursed again and went through to his living-room. The newscaster – the same cheerful youngster whom he’d seen just over three hours previously – came to the point without preamble.

He said: ‘We have received a further communication from the same Mr Morro who claimed last night to have been responsible for the break-in at the San Ruffino nuclear power station and theft of nuclear fuel. We had no reason to doubt that claim as the amounts claimed as stolen corresponded precisely to the amounts that were
stolen. This station cannot guarantee the authenticity of this communication, that is to say, that it is from the same man. It may be a hoax. But as the various communications media received this message in exactly the same way as the previous one we regard this as
prima facie
evidence that the message is genuine. Whether the information it contains is also genuine is not, of course, for us to say. The message reads:

‘“The people of California have been subjected to a hoax in that they have been deliberately lied to by the State’s leading seismological authorities. The earthquake which took place at one-twenty-five this morning did not, as so falsely alleged, take place in the White Wolf Fault, and I am sure this can easily be verified by consulting the owners of scores of privately owned seismographs throughout the State. None of them would alone dare challenge the authority of the State’s official institutes but their combined testimony would make it clear that those State institutes are lying. I expect this statement to bring in massive confirmation of what I am saying.

‘“The reason why the institutes put out this untrue statement lies in their hope of allaying the people’s increasing fear of imminent earthquake activity on an unprecedented scale and their own fear that the citizens of this State might come to associate fresh earthquakes, in areas other than those in which they are operating their ESPP plan,
with their controversial attempts to tamper with the earth’s crust.

‘“I can allay their latter fear. They were not responsible for this seismic shock. I was. The epicentre lay not in the White Wolf Fault but in the Garlock Fault, which, next to the San Andreas, is the largest in the State and is parallel and so close to the White Wolf Fault that seismologists may easily have been deceived into believing that they had misread their instruments or that their instruments were in error.

‘“To be honest, I did not expect to trigger off this minor shock as there has been no earthquake in recorded history that would help explain the existence of this huge fracture. The small atomic device
I
exploded at one-twenty-five this morning was for purely experimental purposes – to see, in effect, whether it worked or not. The results were gratifying.

‘“It is possible that there will be many in the State who will disbelieve my claim. There will be none in the State, or in the nation, who will have any doubts remaining when I explode a second nuclear device tomorrow at a place and time to be announced later. This device is already in position and is in the kiloton range of that which destroyed Hiroshima.’

‘That’s it, then.’ This time there was no trace of the boyish grin he’d permitted himself in the earlier newscast. ‘It
could
be a hoax. If not, the prospect is at best sobering, at worst chilling. It
would be interesting to speculate on the effects and intentions of –’

Ryder switched off. He was quite capable of doing his own speculating. He made and drank several cups of coffee while he showered, shaved and dressed for what promised to be a very long day ahead. He was into his fourth cup of coffee when Dunne rang and apologized for the delay in calling him back.

Ryder said: ‘The impact was guaranteed. There’s only one question I can see: has the State, in the persons of our seismologists, been lying to us?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘I have.’

‘That’s as maybe. Fact is, we have no closed line to Pasadena. But we have to our Los Angeles office. Sassoon is very unhappy, not least about you, and wants to see us. Nine o’clock. Bring your son. As soon as may be.’

‘Now? It’s only six-forty.’

‘I have things to tell you. Not over an open line.’

‘Tapping phones here, tapping phones there,’ Ryder complained. ‘Man’s got no privacy left in this State.’

Ryder and his son arrived at Dunne’s office a few minutes after seven. Dunne, his alert, precise and efficient self, showed no trace of his sleepless night. He was alone.

Ryder said: ‘This room isn’t bugged?’

‘When I leave two suspects alone in it, yes. Otherwise, no.’

‘Where’s the big white chief?’

‘Sassoon’s still in LA. He’s staying there. He is, as I said, unhappy. First, because this is happening in his own back yard. Second, the director of the FBI is winging his merry way from Washington. Third, the CIA have got wind of this and want into the act. As everybody must be very well aware, the FBI and the CIA are barely speaking to each other these days, and even when they do speak you can hear the ice crackling.’

‘How did they get into the act?’

‘I’ll come to that in a moment. We’re going on a short trip by helicopter soon. Pasadena. Nine a.m. the boss says, and we meet him exactly at that time.’

Ryder was mild. ‘The FBI has no jurisdiction over a retired cop.’

‘I wouldn’t even bother saying “please”. Wild horses wouldn’t stop you.’ Dunne shuffled some papers into a neat pile. ‘While you and Jeff have been resting lightly we, as usual, have been toiling all through the night. Want to make some notes?’

‘No need. Jeff’s my memory bank. He can identify over a thousand licence plates within thirty miles of here.’

‘I wish it were only licence plates we were dealing with. Well, now, our friend Carlton, the security deputy taken along with the nuclear fuel.
A dossier of sorts. Captain, Army Intelligence, Nato, Germany. Nothing fancy. No cloak-and-dagger espionage or counter-espionage stuff. Seems he infiltrated a Communist cell among Germans working in the base camp. Unsubstantiated suspicion of having become too intimate with them. Offered transfer to regular tank battalion and refused. Resigned. He wasn’t cashiered, he wasn’t pressured to resign; let’s say the Army didn’t stand in his way. At least that’s what they say. Probably correct. No matter how unjustified the suspicions that hang over a man the Army understandably doesn’t take chances. End of that line. When the Pentagon decides to clam up, that’s it.’

‘Just a hint of a Communist tie-up?’

‘That would be enough for the CIA. You can’t move around the Pentagon without treading one of their agents underfoot. A whiff of a Red under the bed and they’re reaching for their cyanide guns or whatever before you know it.

‘His security references. Worked for an AEC plant in Illinois. Good record. Security chief checking on contacts. Then a reference from TVA’s twin Brown’s Ferry nuclear plants in Decator, Alabama. Man’s never been there. Certainly not under that name, certainly not in security. Some other capacity, some other name, but unlikely. Disastrous fire when he was there, incidentally, but not caused by him. Technician looking for an air leak with a lighted candle: he found it.’

‘How come the reference?’

‘Forged.’

Jeff said: ‘Wouldn’t Ferguson, the security chief, have checked out the reference?’

Briefly, Dunne sounded weary. ‘He admits he didn’t. Ferguson himself had been there and said that Carlton knew so many details about the place, including the details of the fire, that he thought a check-out pointless.’

‘How would he have known about the fire?’

‘Unclassified. It’s in the public domain.’

Ryder said: ‘How long was he supposed to have been there?’

‘Fifteen months.’

‘So he may just have dropped out of the scene for that time?’

‘Sergeant Ryder, a man with the know-how can go underground for fifteen years in this nation and never surface once.’

‘He may not have been in the country. He could have a passport at home.’

Dunne looked at him, nodded and made a note. ‘Washington checked out with the AEC at seventeen-seventeen H Street. They keep records there of those seeking information, those consulting card indices and dockets on nuclear facilities. No one had ever checked information on San Ruffino – there was none to check. I got Jablonsky out of bed over this one. He was reluctant to talk. Usual threatening noises from the FBI. Then he admitted they have advanced plans for building a
fast breeder reactor there. This comes under AEC control. Top secret. No records.’

‘So Carlton’s our man?’

‘Yes. Not that that’s going to help much now that he’s holed up with Morro.’ Dunne consulted another paper. ‘You wanted a list of all the organized and – “successful”, I think you said – cranks, weirdos, eccentrics or whatever in the State. This is it. I think I said two hundred. Actually, it’s a hundred and thirty-five. Even so, I’m told it would take for ever to investigate them all. Besides, if this lot are as clever and organized as they seem to be, they’ll have an unbreakable cover.’

‘We can narrow it down. To start with, it’ll have to be a large group. Also, a comparatively new group, formed just for this purpose. Say within the past year.’

‘Numbers and dates.’ Resignedly, Dunne made another note. ‘Don’t mind how hard we have to work, do you? Next comes our friend Morro. Not surprisingly, nothing is known about him, as a man, a criminal with an eye-patch and damaged hands, to us or to the police authorities.’