The Golden Gate (27 page)

'I'd have to go through the local exchange.'
'So what? By all means. Tell them to keep the line permanently open. I want a lead to where I'll be sitting when the TV is on. And can you get a radio-telephone link from the lead helicopter?'
Turn a knob, is all. What's that for, Mr Branson?'
We're going to need it some time. Better sooner than never.'
It was another glorious morning of blue and gold, a cloudless sky, a fairy-tale setting which achieved the impossible of making even the grim fortress of Alcatraz into an islet of shimmering beauty. As on the previous day a low deep bank of fog was approaching from the west. Out of all three coaches there was only one person who was not savouring the delights of the morning or, in the case of Branson's men, on duty.
Revson sat in his seat, elbow on the window ledge, hand cupped to his cheeks so that no one could see his lips moving.
Hagenbach said: 'Turn the volume down, put the transceiver to your ear.'
'Impossible. My head and shoulders are above window level. I can bend down for a few seconds. But be quick.'
Revson's camera was upside down on his knees, the transceiver nestling in the opened recess. He turned down the volume and put his head low. After about fifteen seconds he straightened and looked carelessly around. Nobody was paying any attention to him. He turned up the volume.
'Well?' Hagenbach's voice was querulous. 'Aren't you surprised?'
'Not all that much. Are you going to tell him?'
'Remember, you don't give any signal to go I'm all through at this end.'
'I'll remember. How about the CUBs?'
The experts aren't all that happy about the prospects.'
Then use a few of them only and make up for the rest in gas bombs. Are you in touch with the two men at the top of the tower?'
'Carmody and Rogers. Yes.'
Tell them if they nab anyone to take them down to the pier of the tower.'
'Why?'
'Look. I'm exposed. Is the Admiral there?'
Hagenbach refrained from questions though it must have cost him a considerable effort. Newson came through.
Revson said: 'Do you have any small, quiet boats, sir?'
'Electrically powered?"
'Ideally.'
'In abundance.'
'When the fog comes in, do you think you could get one alongside the pier of the south tower?'
'Consider it done.'
'With a breeches buoy pistol and suitable ropes?'
'No problem.'
Thank you, sir. Mr Hagenbach?'
'Yes. Secretive bastard, aren't you?'
'Yes, sir. The laser unit is ready for action? Ah, good. Would you have it lined up on the drive shaft of the rotor of the lead helicopter - that's to say, the one furthest from you. Have it locked in position so that it can tut its target even through dense smoke.'
'Why on earth -'
'Somebody coming."
Revson looked around. There was nobody coming, but he'd no desire to bandy words with Hagenbach. He clipped the base of the camera, slung it over his shoulder and left the coach.
'A bit of trouble, sir.' Chrysler handed a walkie-talkie to Branson.
'Reston here, Mr Branson.' Reston and Harrison had set off less than ten minutes earlier for the south pier. The lift is out of order.'
'Damn. Wait' Branson looked at his watch. Eight twenty-five. His performance was due to start at nine. He crossed to the rear coach where Chrysler had already obtained a direct line to the communications centre ashore.
'Branson here.'
Hendrix. Don't tell me what you're after. I know. I was speaking to the bridge commissioners a few moments ago. They tell me that the breaker for the tower lifts was burnt out during the night.'
'Why isn't it repaired?'
They've been working on it for three hours.'
'And how much longer -'
'Half an hour. Perhaps an hour. They can't be certain.'
'Call me the moment it's fixed.'
He returned to his walkie-talkie. 'Sorry, you'll have to climb. The lift's being repaired.'
There was a silence then Reston said: 'Jesus. All that way?'
'All that way. It's not Everest. Should be straightforward. And you have your manual.' He laid down the walkie-talkie and said to Giscard: 'I don't envy them, myself. Another psychological pin-prick?'
'Could be. But after a night like last night, well-'
Revson joined O'Hare by the west barrier. He said without preamble: 'How hermetic is the rear door of your ambulance?'
O'Hare had ceased to be surprised at anything Revson said. 'Why?'
'Say oxygen were to be abstracted from the inside. How would you get on?'
'We've oxygen bottles, of course. Not to mention the oxygen in the cardiac unit.'
'You may need it. Ever heard of CUB-55s? Short for Cluster Bomb Units.' O'Hare shook his head. 'Well, there's liable to be a few around in the next hours - this morning, I shouldn't be surprised. They are lethal asphyxiation bombs, one of the more delightful of the recent advances in weaponry. They suck the oxygen from the air and leave not a mark on the victims.'
'You should know. But - well, it's far fetched.'
'A pity you couldn't ask the hundreds who died at Xuan Loc because of them. The Cambodian Government made frequent use of them in South-East Asia. The bombs, I regret to say, were supplied then by the United States Navy.'
'This classified information?'
'No. Hanoi made plenty of noise about it at the time.'
'And you're going to use those bombs?'
'Yes. I'm trying to have them denatured, you know, their lethal potential lessened. At least, the experts are.'
'Can they do it?'
There's a certain lack of optimism.'
'Who thought this one up? You?' Revson nodded, just once. 'You, Revson, are a cold-blooded bastard. Hasn't it occurred to you that the innocent will suffer, maybe die, as well as the guilty?'
'Not for the first time, I repeat that all doctors should be given an intelligence test before they're allowed to practise. The innocent will not suffer. The innocent will be in their coaches and, because it's going to be hot, they'll have the air-conditioning on. That means closed doors and the recirculation of cleaned used air. When you see the first smoke bomb drop, make for cover.'
Revson walked away and touched Grafton on the arm. 'May I have a word with you?' Grafton hesitated, shook his head in puzzlement, then followed. When he judged they were out of earshot of the nearest person, Revson stopped.
Grafton said: 'Do we have to take a walk to talk?'
'In this case, yes. We haven't been introduced. You're Mr Grafton of UP. doyen of the newsmen on this bridge?'
'If you want to flatter me, yes. And you're Mr Revson, food-taster to Royalty.'
'Just a sideline with me.'
'You have another business. Don't tell me.' Grafton regarded him with cool grey, judicial eyes. 'Federal Bureau of Investigation.'
Thank you for sparing me the trouble of convincing you. I'm glad your name's not Branson.'
General Cartland said: 'If you can't have those CUB-55s denatured, as you call it, some local funeral parlour is in for a brisk bit of business.'
'You prepared to use that cyanide pistol?'
'Touche.'
Several minutes before nine Branson had his usual stage set. He seemed as calm and relaxed as ever, the only change in his normal behaviour being that he had been polite, almost deferential, in his seating of the President. At nine o'clock the cameras began to turn.
At nine o'clock, too, Reston and Harrison, sweating profusely and complaining bitterly of the pain in their legs, reached the top of their last ladder. Rogers, eyeing them over his silenced pistol, said sympathetically: 'You must be exhausted after your long climb, gentlemen.'
Giscard whispered in Branson's ear: "You better get on with it, Mr Branson. Looks as if that fog is coming in just about bridge level.'
Branson nodded, then carried on speaking into the microphone. 'So I'm sure you will be all as delighted as I am to know that the Government has acceded to our very reasonable requests. However, we receive final confirmation, we feel we might as well pass our time profitably and instruct and entertain you at the same time. In show-business jargon, there will be repeat performances at eleven and one o'clock. I really do urge you to watch those. You will certainly never see other performances like them in your lives.
'As before, you can see the electric truck with its explosives and equipment leaving for the south tower. Now if we can have the zoom camera we shall be seeing two of my colleagues appearing on top of the south tower.' The zoom camera obliged hut the top of the tower was bereft of any sign of life. A minute later it was still bereft
Branson said easily: 'There seems to be a slight hold-up. A temporary delay. Please don't go away.' He was smiling the confident smile of one who knew that not one of his millions of watchers would have dreamed of going away when the phone on the road beside his chair rang. Branson smiled at the unseen millions, said: 'Excuse me", covered the microphone with his hand and picked up the phone.
'Hendrix here. Lift's fixed.'
'Now you tell me. Do you know how long it should take a man to climb up to the top?'
'Don't tell me your men have-rather are trying to climb to the top. They must be mad. You must be mad to have sent them."
They have a manual.'
'What manual?'
'A copy of the original.'
Then they can be lost for days. Because of internal changes that manual was scrapped twenty years ago. They can be lost all day in there.'
Branson replaced the phone. still covering the microphone he said to Giscard: 'Lift's working. Get Bartlett and Boyard here at the double. Tell them not to forget the weight.' He spoke into the microphone again. 'Sorry, viewers. A slight hitch.'
The viewers spent the next ten minutes being rewarded with a variety of panoramic shots of the Golden Gate and the marvellous surrounding scenery, with Branson giving an occasional commentary. After ten minutes he said: 'Right. South tower again.'
Bartlett and Boyard were there, hands held high in salute. Then, along with Peters, they repeated their previous day's performance and had the second strap of explosives alongside the first in a remarkably short space of time. Bartlett and Boyard waved again and disappeared inside the tower. Rogers eyed them over his silenced pistol. 'You really are experts. What a pity. Now you've put us to the trouble of having to remove a second set of detonators.'
The phone by Branson rang as he was delivering a farewell speech to the camera. He picked it up.
'Hagenbach here. Sorry to have to cut in and cut you off but we have our own little show to watch. You're off the air now and your viewers are now seeing and watching us. Same channel. We've just watched your splendid production. Now, perhaps, you'd like to watch our little show.'
The screen's picture changed to a close-up of Hagenbach. To San Franciscans, at least, his background was unquestionably that of the Presidio.
Hagenbach said: There seems little we can do to prevent this criminal Branson from achieving his criminal ends. But from all this, some good might yet come. I give you Mr Richards, the Vice-President of the United States.'
Richards made an imposing figure at the microphone. A convivial and highly articulate man at the best of times, years of dominating conferences and campaigning across the nation had honed his natural abilities as a speaker he had reached a stage where he could have recited the alphabet backwards and still held his audience spell-bound. But he put his gifts into cold storage that morning: this was a moment that was neither for conviviality nor rhetoric. As became a man at the very heart of a national crisis, he was stern, quiet and, exceptionally for him, brief and to the point
'Unfortunately, what you have just heard is correct. No matter how distasteful and humiliating this present situation may be, there is no possibility in the world of endangering the President, his royal guests and the good name of America. We submit to blackmail. This criminal Branson would appear to have got away with the blackmailing equivalent of murder but I wish him to listen to me very carefully. On information I have received this morning, information, as I shall shortly prove, of the most reliable kind, I believe that Branson is very near the end of his road. I believe he will very soon be alone and friendless. I believe he will have no one left in the world to turn to. I believe every man's hand will be against him. And I believe that those hands that will be reaching out most eagerly to strike him down, as they most surely will, are the hands of his devoted criminal followers who misguidedly imagine their leader to be a man of honour and integrity.' Richards lapsed into momentary rhetoric. Those are hands that will literally cut him down just as he, figuratively, intends to stab them all in the back.'
Some of Branson's men were looking at him in a vague and baffled incomprehension. Revson and O'Hare exchanged enquiring glances. Only Branson seemed entirely at his ease, lounging back in his chair, a faintly contemptuous smile on his lips.
'I said that I had information of the most reliable kind. As your Vice-President, I have been accused more than once of not exactly being given to understatement. In this case I was. What I have is impeccable proof. Ladies and gentlemen and, indeed, viewers, throughout the world, may I present to you the man who, until the early hours of this morning, was Branson's most devoted lieutenant. Mr Johann Van Effen.'
The camera changed to a picture of five men in medium shot sitting in adjoining chairs. The man in the centre was unquestionably Van Effen, who appeared to be his normal relaxed self and to be chatting with seeming amiability to his companions. The picture wasn't close enough to show the glazed eyes, the fact that he was still under the influence of drugs, the drugs which had made him talk his head off during three long hours of probing by a skilled police psychiatrist who, in turn, had received continual prompting from Hagenbach.
Richards went on: 'From left to right: Admiral Newson, naval commander, west coast: San Francisco Chief of Police Hendrix: Mr Van Effen: Mr Hagenbach, head of the FBI: and General Carter, officer commanding, west coast. If I may be permitted a feeble joke, I doubt whether Van Effen has ever found himself in such law-abiding company in his life.'
Branson had very definitely stopped both lounging and relaxing. He was sitting far forward in his chair and for once his feelings were showing: the expression on his face could be described as nothing else other than stunned disbelief.
'Van Effen,' Richards said, 'defected in the very early hours of this morning. He defected for what he, and indeed I, believed to have been very compelling reasons. He departed for the excellent reason that he is still a comparatively young man and would like to live a little longer. Incidentally, as the acting Head of State, I have already guaranteed Van Effen immunity from the due processes of the law. His information has been invaluable, as has been his information of eight major robberies in the past three years in each of which - as we now know - Branson was the leader.