The Hammer of Eden (44 page)

She got in the car and turned the key. It started right away. She said: “Where are we headed?”

“Perpetua Diaries warehouse.”

“Okay.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Who are you going to call? Not the FBI.”

“No, just the radio station.”

She handed over her phone.

As they were about to leave, there was a huge explosion in the distance. Priest looked back toward Felicitas and saw a jet of flame shoot high in the sky.

Melanie said: “Wow, what’s that?”

The flame receded and became a bright glow in the evening sky.

“I guess the gas pipeline just caught on fire,” Priest said. “Now, that’s what I call fireworks.”

*  *  *

Michael Quercus was sitting on a patch of grass at the side of the road, looking shocked and helpless.

Judy went over to him. “Get up,” she said. “Pull yourself together. People die every day.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not the killings—although they’re enough. It’s something else.”

“What?”

“Did you see who was in the car?”

“The ’Cuda? There was a black guy driving it.”

“But in the back?”

“I didn’t notice anyone else.”

“I did. A woman.”

“Did you recognize her?”

“I sure did,” he said. “It was my wife.”

*  *  *

It took twenty minutes of redialing on Melanie’s cell phone before Priest got through to the John Truth show. By the time he heard the ringing tone, he was on the outskirts of San Francisco.

The show was still on the air. Priest said he was from the Hammer of Eden and got connected right away.

“You have done a terrible thing,” Truth said. He was using his most portentous voice, but Priest could tell that underneath the solemn tone the man was exultant. The earthquake had practically happened on his show. This would make him the most famous radio personality in America. Move over, Howard Stern.

“You’re wrong,” Priest told him. “The people who are turning California into a poison wasteland have done a terrible thing. I’m just trying to stop them.”

“By killing innocent people?”

“Pollution kills innocent people. Automobiles kill innocent people. Call that Lexus dealer that advertises on your show and tell him he did a terrible thing selling five cars today.”

There was a moment’s silence. Priest grinned. Truth was not sure how to answer him. He could not start discussing the ethics of his sponsors. He quickly changed the subject. “I appeal to you to turn yourself in, right now.”

“I have one thing to say to you and the people of California,” Priest said. “Governor Robson must announce a statewide freeze on power plant building—otherwise there will be another earthquake.”

“You would do this
again?”
Truth sounded genuinely shocked.

“You bet I would. And—”

Truth tried to interrupt him. “How can you claim—”

Priest overrode him. “—the next earthquake will be worse than this one.”

“Where will it strike?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can you say when?”

“Oh, sure. Unless the governor changes his mind, another earthquake will take place in two days’ time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Exactly,” he added.

He hung up.

“Now, Mister Governor,” he said aloud. “Tell the people not to panic.”

PART THREE

Forty-eight Hours

18

J
udy and Michael got back to the emergency operations center a few minutes before midnight.

She had been awake for forty hours, but she did not feel sleepy. The horror of the earthquake was still with her. Every few seconds she would see, in her mind’s eye, one of the nightmare pictures of those few seconds: the train wreck, the screaming people, the helicopter bursting into flames, or the old Chevy tumbling over and over in the air. She was spooked and jittery as she walked into the old officers’ club.

But Michael’s revelation had given her new hope. It was a shock to learn that his wife was one of the terrorists, but it was also the most promising lead yet. If Judy could find Melanie, she could find the Hammer of Eden.

And if she could do it in two days, she could prevent another earthquake.

She went into the old ballroom that had become the command post. Stuart Cleever, the big shot from Washington who had taken control, stood at the head shed. He was a neat, orderly guy, immaculately dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and a striped tie.

Beside him stood Brian Kincaid.

The bastard has wormed his way back onto the case. He wants to impress the guy from Washington
.

Brian was ready for her. “What the hell went wrong?” he said as soon as he saw her.

“We were too late, by a few seconds,” she said wearily.

“You told us you had all the sites under surveillance,” he snapped.

“We had the likeliest. But they knew that. So they picked a secondary site. It was a risk for them—more chance of failure—but their gamble paid off.”

Kincaid turned to Cleever with a shrug, as if to say,
“Believe that and you’ll believe anything.”

Cleever said to Judy: “As soon as you’ve made a full report, I want you to go home and get some rest. Brian will take charge of your team.”

I knew it. Kincaid has poisoned Cleever against me
.

Time to go for broke
.

Judy said: “I’d like a break, but not just yet. I believe I will have the terrorists under arrest within twelve hours.”

Brian let out an exclamation of surprise.

Cleever said: “How?”

“I’ve just developed a new lead. I know who their seismologist is.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Melanie Quercus. She’s the estranged wife of Michael, who’s been helping us. She got the information about where the fault is under tension from her husband—stole it off his computer. And I suspect she also stole the list of sites we had under surveillance.”

Kincaid said: “Quercus should be a suspect, too! He could be in cahoots with her!”

Judy had anticipated this. “I’m sure he’s not,” she said. “But he’s taking a lie detector test right now, just to make sure.”

“Good enough,” Cleever said. “Can you find the wife?”

“She told Michael she was living in a commune in Humboldt County. My team are already searching our databases for communes there. We have a two-man resident agency in that neighborhood, in a town called Eureka, and I’ve asked them to contact the local police.”

Cleever nodded. He gave Judy an appraising look. “What do you want to do?”

“I’d like to drive up there now. I’ll sleep on the way. By the time I get there the local guys will have the addresses of all communes in the area. I’d like to raid them all at dawn.”

Brian said: “You don’t have enough evidence for search warrants.”

He was right. The mere fact that Melanie had said she was living in a commune in Del Norte County did not constitute probable cause. But Judy knew the law better than Brian. “After two earthquakes, I think we have exigent circumstances, don’t you?” That meant that people’s lives were in danger.

Brian looked baffled, but Cleever understood. “The legal desk can solve that problem, it’s what they’re here for.” He paused. “I like this plan,” he said. “I think we should do it. Brian, do you have any other comment?”

Kincaid looked sulky. “She better be right, that’s all.”

*  *  *

Judy rode north in a car driven by a woman agent she did not know, one of several dozen drafted in from FBI offices in Sacramento and Los Angeles to help in the crisis.

Michael sat beside Judy in the back. He had begged to come. He was worried sick about Dusty. If Melanie was part of a terrorist group causing earthquakes, what kind of danger might their son be in? Judy had got Cleever’s agreement by arguing that someone had to take care of the boy after Melanie was arrested.

Shortly after they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, Judy took a call from Carl Theobald. Michael had told them which of the five hundred or so American cell-phone companies Melanie used, and Carl had got hold of her call records. The phone company had been able to identify the general area from which each call had been made, because of roaming charges.

Judy was hoping most of them had been made from Del Norte County, but she was disappointed.

“There’s really no pattern at all,” Carl said wearily. “She made calls from the Owens Valley area, from San Francisco, from Felicitas, and from various places in between; but all that tells us is that she’s been
traveling all over the state, and we knew that already. There are no calls from the part of the state you’re headed for.”

“That suggests she has a regular phone there.”

“Or she’s cautious.”

“Thanks, Carl. It was worth a try. Now get some sleep.”

“You mean this isn’t a dream? Shit.”

Judy laughed and hung up.

The driver tuned the car radio to an easy-listening station, and Nat Cole sang “Let There Be Love” as they sped through the night. Judy and Michael could talk without being overheard.

“The terrible thing about it is that I’m not surprised,” Michael said after a thoughtful silence. “I guess I sort of always knew Melanie was crazy. I should never have let her take him away—but she’s his mother, you know?”

Judy reached for his hand in the dark. “You did your best, I guess,” she said.

He squeezed her hand gratefully. “I just hope he’s okay now.”

“Yeah.”

Drifting off to sleep, Judy kept hold of his hand.

*  *  *

They all met up at five
A.M
. in the Eureka office of the FBI. As well as the local resident agents, there were representatives from the town’s police department and the county sheriff’s office. The FBI always liked to involve local law enforcement personnel in a raid—it was a way of maintaining good relations with people whose help they often needed.

There were four residential communes in Humboldt County listed in
Communities Directory: A Guide to Cooperative Living
. The FBI database had revealed a fifth, and local knowledge had added two more.

One of the local FBI agents pointed out that the commune known as Phoenix Village was only eight miles from the site of a proposed nuclear power plant. Judy’s pulse accelerated when she heard that, and she led the group that raided Phoenix.

As she approached the location, in a Humboldt County sheriff’s cruiser at the head of a convoy of four cars, her tiredness fell away. She
felt keen and energetic again. She had failed to prevent the Felicitas earthquake, but she could make sure there was not another.

The entrance to Phoenix was a side turning off a country road, marked by a neat painted sign showing a bird rising from flames. There was no gate or guard. The cars roared into the settlement on a well-made road and pulled up around a traffic circle. The agents leaped out of the cars and fanned out through the houses. Each had a copy of the picture of Melanie and Dusty that Michael kept on his desk.

She’s here, somewhere, probably in bed with Ricky Granger, sleeping after the exertions of yesterday. I hope they’re having bad dreams
.

The village looked peaceful in the early light. There were several barnlike buildings plus a geodesic dome. The agents covered front and back entrances before knocking on the doors. Near the traffic circle, Judy found a map of the village painted on a board, listing the houses and other buildings. There was a shop, a massage center, a mailroom, and an auto repair shop. As well as fifteen houses, the map showed pasture, orchards, playgrounds, and a sports field.

It was cool in the morning this far north, and Judy shivered, wishing she had worn something heavier than her linen pantsuit.

She waited for the shout of triumph that would tell her an agent had identified Melanie. Michael paced around the traffic circle, his whole body stiff with tension.
What a shock, to learn that your wife has become a terrorist, the kind of person a cop would shoot and everyone would cheer. No wonder he’s tense. It’s a miracle he isn’t banging his head against the wall
.

Next to the map was a village notice board. Judy read about a folk dance workshop that was being organized to raise funds for the Expanding Light Fireplace fund. These people had an air of harmlessness that was remarkably plausible.

The agents entered every building and looked in every room, moving rapidly from house to house. After a few minutes a man came out of one of the larger houses and walked across to the traffic circle. He was about fifty, with disheveled hair and beard, wearing homemade leather sandals and a rough blanket around his shoulders. He said to Michael: “Are you in charge here?”

Judy said: “I’m in charge.”

He turned to her. “Would you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I’d be glad to,” she said crisply. “We’re looking for this woman.” She held out the photo.

The man did not take it from her. “I’ve already seen that,” he said. “She’s not one of us.”

Judy had a depressing feeling that he was telling the truth.