The Cauldron (57 page)

43

There is nothing more frightening than a panic-stricken mob stampeding out of sheer terror. As they left the Chinook, climbing down the ladder, the sound of the rotors whirling ceased. It was replaced by another sound. The howl and yells of the vast crowd fighting to board the Boeing. It was every man - and woman - for themselves. The thin veneer of civilization had vanished - the mob was like a mass of savages, pressing against the two lines of armed State troopers forming a narrow aisle leading to the British Airways plane.

'Follow me!' shouted Alvarez.

He led the way, flourishing his CIA folder in the faces of the troopers. Behind him came Mrs Benyon, clutching only one of her suitcases. Tweed had hold of one of her arms, Paula gripped the other. Mrs Benyon was remarkably calm. She used her bulk to press her way forward after Alvarez between the backs of troopers struggling to hold back the seething crowd, holding their automatic rifles in both hands, parallel to the ground, to act as a makeshift barrier.

One American woman, her face contorted with fury, broke through behind Alvarez. A trooper hoisted his weapon to hit her with the butt. Paula grabbed his arm with her free hand.

'Don't! Please don't hit her.'

Her voice carried. At that moment the ground under the airport had shuddered briefly, silencing the crowd for a short time. The trooper looked, surprised, then heaved the intruding woman back with his body. She yelled at Paula.

'Friggin' Brit. You'll get away. You're OK!'

Paula felt guilty because what the woman had screamed at her was true. If they ever reached the Boeing she would get away while the woman would be left behind. Tweed sensed her reaction.

'Concentrate on getting Mrs Benyon to safety.' he rapped out.

The struggle to reach the aircraft went on. At times Alvarez was able to walk a few yards along a clear aisle as Tweed and Paula hurried Mrs Benyon after him. Then the protecting line would give way and Alvarez had to wait as the troopers fought to clear the way. Then he would press forward as control was - briefly - regained. The mob began baying in rising unison.

'Kill the troopers! Kill the troopers! Kill them!'

This is turning very ugly, Tweed thought, but he kept the reaction to himself as the nightmare movement forward continued. Paula saw one woman among the crowd in tears. A tall handsome Negro next to her, obviously a stranger, put one arm round her and she buried her face in his large chest. The Negro saw Paula's expression. He waved to her with his free arm, grinned. Paula wanted to burst into tears herself. Then a fresh horror occurred.

A white man, with a bony, skull-like head, had produced a knife. He was stabbing people at random, forcing his way forward to where the troopers stood. Several of his victims collapsed. He was close to the Negro, who turned round, saw what he was doing. He clenched a huge fist, using his free arm, smashed it against the jaw of the man with the knife. The attacker slumped out of sight, was trampled underfoot.

'Oh, my God!' she let out.

'Keep moving,' ordered Tweed.

The file of troopers, originally forming a straight line to the waiting aircraft, were now bent into a conga-like formation, but still stood shoulder to shoulder. Glancing back, Paula saw Newman close behind, gripping Vanity's arm as he pushed her forward. Her face was twisted in an expression of strain. Lord, I'll bet I'm looking like that, thought Paula. Newman grinned at her, motioned her to keep moving.

Quite suddenly, Paula was aware of something huge looming above them. It was the Boeing. They had almost reached the plane. Ahead she saw troopers desperately attempting to keep the mob back from the mobile staircase alongside the fuselage. Mrs Benyon gave her bulk an extra heave to force their way through between the backs of troopers.

'Be careful on the steps.' Tweed shouted in her ear.

Mrs Benyon reached the foot of the mobile staircase. She mounted them rapidly, one hand still clutching her suitcase, the other holding on to a rail. Paula followed, careful not to look down. Tweed did look down as he climbed the steps. He estimated there must be forty troopers, half on one side, half on the other, keeping the mobile staircase in place.

Suddenly Paula found herself inside the aircraft, guided to First Class by the female purser who had managed to greet her with a smile. Only then did she realize she was still holding the ticket Tweed had handed her aboard the Chinook, that the purser had checked it swiftly before leading the way. Exhausted, she sank into the aisle seat, determined not to look out of the window. Tweed took the window seat, stared out.

The seething, frightened mob seemed to hem in the plane, but then he observed a fresh line of troopers, holding back the huge crowd of people desperate to board. A woman sat in the aisle seat opposite Paula, several feet away since in First Class the aisle was spacious. The purser was examining her ticket.

'You are Hiram Bellenger? Hiram is a man's name.'

'I'm Hiram.'

A tall heavily built man had slipped aboard and stood by the purser. He smiled broadly.

'This is my sister. She's taking my seat. I insisted. I can catch the next flight tomorrow. Let me have the ticket.'

Pulling it from the purser's hand, he took out a fountain pen, crossed out his Christian name, leaving only the letter 'H'. He handed back the ticket to the purser.

'Her name is Harriet, so now everything is in order. I guess I'd better leave now.' He caught Paula's expression, patted his large bulk. 'Don't look like that, lady. I'll have a few beers in the city, then, as I just said, catch a flight tomorrow. With my bulk aboard the plane would be overloaded.' He smiled again, squeezed Paula's shoulder. 'Safe flight

Then he was gone and again Paula had trouble controlling her emotions. Tomorrow's flight? Would there be a tomorrow for Hiram? She felt sick. Tweed grasped her hand.

"The bad and the very good. We've seen them all today.' He looked back. 'Mrs Benyon has fallen asleep. Everyone else is with us. Bob, Marler, Nield, Butler - and Alvarez.'

'I don't understand the number of times Alvarez has got away with waving his CIA folder.'

'I'll explain later. And Vanity is seated next to Bob. She looks washed out, but she's chatting to Newman.'

'I don't understand why you were so anxious to wait for her back at Spanish Bay.'

'I'll explain later.'

All the passengers were aboard. Tweed secretly wondered how on earth the plane would ever take off. Peering out of the window he saw American organization in a crisis at its best. The pilot had ordered the cabin crew over the tannoy to lock the doors, take their seats. The jet engines were humming, rising to a crescendo.

'They're clearing a path for us.' Tweed informed Paula as he pressed his face close to the window.

'How are they doing that? They'll never get us through the crowd.'

'They are doing it...'

Alongside and ahead of the aircraft motorized open cargo trolleys carried troopers with their rifles. As the pilot edged the huge machine forward the trolley-loads of troopers were driving aside the mob, which was shaking fists, shouting abuse.

Two men in the mob, crazed with fear and rage, ran ahead of the moving aircraft, lay down in its path. At the risk of their lives four troopers dived off the lead trolley, ran ahead, grabbed hold of the prone men, dragged them out of the way. Inwardly, Tweed heaved a sigh of relief. Then he felt the shudder of the second tremor coming.

A slitlike crack appeared across the runway. Tweed compelled himself to show no reaction for fear of upsetting Paula. She had also felt the movement.

'What was that?' she asked.

'The pilot testing his brakes,' Tweed said quickly.

In the moonlight he could see the crack. Were they heading for total disaster at the last moment? The pilot increased speed, sped over the crack before it widened. The plane was roaring down the runway and then Tweed felt it lift off, become airborne. He squeezed Paula's hand.

'We've taken off.'

"Thank Heaven. I'm drained of emotion.'

Tm sure we all are.'

Climbing steeply, the aircraft curved over towards the ocean. The manoeuvre gave Tweed a bird's-eye view of the magnificent city of San Francisco. As he gazed down he blinked. The cone-shaped AMBECO building was moving. The huge rollers it had been erected on to make it earthquake proof differed in design from those beneath the TransAmerica building. The giant cone began to spin slowly, then it keeled over, toppling slowly before the entire structure collapsed.

The plane continued its great curving sweep, climbing all the time, giving Tweed a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. The most famous bridge in the world was shaking from side to side. Awestruck, Tweed watched as a gap appeared in its centre and the highway crossing it fell into the moonlit waters below, sending up a massive splash. There had been no traffic on the bridge. It vanished from view as the aircraft went on gaining altitude, eventually levelling out at thirty-five thousand feet as it headed Polar Route for Heathrow.

44

Flying over the Canadian North-West Territories, the Lear jet sped onward through the night. In the luxurious passenger cabin Moloch sat alongside his new British personal assistant, Heather Lang. He had summoned her from her job at the Des Moines explosives plant to fly to San Francisco aboard another of his jets. She had been waiting for him in the cabin when he had landed from Black Ridge aboard the helicopter. After delivering her, the second jet had immediately returned to Des Moines.

'When we get to Heathrow.' Moloch was explaining, 'we fly by Brymon Airways to Newquay in Cornwall. A car will be waiting to drive us from there to Mullion Towers.'

'Your headquarters in Britain,' she had replied. 'Is that our new base?'

Heather Lang, in her thirties, was an attractive brunette who had drive and competence. She wore a pale grey power suit over a white blouse. The suit showed off her good figure, had a short skirt revealing her long shapely legs. She had a Roman nose under blue eyes and good bone structure, tapering to a determined chin. She was a woman of great ambition.

'No.' Moloch replied to her question. 'Soon we board my floating palace, the
Venetia
, lying off Falmouth. Then we sail for Beirut in the Lebanon. I have an exotic house high up in the Lebanon mountains. It is cool up there the whole year round.'

'It sounds exciting.' Heather replied.

'I am transferring my whole operation to the Middle East.' Moloch went on, after a swift glance at her. He was amused to see she was impressed by the description he had just given her - language he rarely used. 'Incidentally.' he went on casually, 'I am doubling your salary.'

"That's very generous of you, VB. Thank you.'

Yes, it was generous, he was thinking. But it was worth it. You bought loyalty in the crazy world which was emerging. He gave her the file he had been glancing through as he spoke. The name on the front had been erased earlier by his felt-tip pen - the name Ethan Benyon.

'Shred that for me now, please.'

The teleprinter, recording a bulletin from Reuters beamed to the jet by satellite, had spewed out a reel of paper. When she had finished shredding papers which meant nothing to her, she detached the Reuters report, brought it to Moloch.

He read it quickly. More news about the great San Moreno earthquake. An item caught his attention and he smiled to himself.

Among the devastated plants destroyed in Silicon Valley, California, were fifteen of the world's most advanced electronic companies...

He checked the names and saw that the list included the five competitors who had combined to destroy his first business venture in the States years before. It gave him great satisfaction to read their names a second time.

Also it meant that, with the two extra companies he had just bought up in the Thames Valley, he had three key companies which could almost monopolize the world supply of advanced microchips and other advanced equipment. His assistant sat beside him again. They had both recently eaten the excellent meal supplied by the chef included in the crew. He laid a hand on her knee.

'If you are loyal to me - completely loyal - you could go a long way and earn a great deal of money.'

She glanced at him without a hint of enticement on her pale face. He removed his hand.

'I'm only interested in hard work.' she replied.

"Then go and tell the radio op. to send a message to Heathrow. First, book two seats on the Brymon Airways flight to Newquay. One-way tickets. Then tell the pilot when we arrive at Heathrow he is to wait for two passengers he will fly to Newquay when they arrive from San Francisco. A Colonel Grenville and a Maurice Prendergast.'