The Hammer of Eden

“Nobody gives me a hard time. This is Raja, remember?”

It was true. He was a charmer. “Take the tape to Simon Sparrow and tell him I need something in the morning.”

“You got it.”

She broke the connection and turned John Truth up again. He was saying: “… a minor earthquake, by the way, magnitude five to six.”

How the hell did they do it?

“No one injured, no damage to buildings or other property, but a tremor that was quite definitely felt by the residents of Bishop, Bigpine, Independence, and Lone Pine.”

Some of those people must have seen the perpetrators within the last few hours, Judy realized. She had to get over there and start interviewing them as soon as possible.

Where exactly was the earthquake? She needed to talk to an expert.

The obvious choice was the state seismologist. However, he seemed to have a closed mind. He had already ruled out the possibility of a human-made earthquake. That bothered her. She wanted someone who was willing to entertain all possibilities. She thought of Michael Quercus. He could be a pain in the ass, but he was not afraid to speculate. Plus he was just across the bay in Berkeley, whereas the state seismologist was in Sacramento.

If she showed up without an appointment, he would refuse to see her. She sighed and dialed his number.

For a while there was no answer, and she thought he must be out. He picked up after six rings. “Quercus.” He sounded annoyed at the interruption.

“This is Judy Maddox from the FBI. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent, and I’d like to come to your place right away.”

“It’s out of the question. I’m with someone.”

I might have known you’d be difficult. “Maybe after your meeting is over?”

“It’s not a meeting, and it won’t be over till Sunday.”

Yeah, right.

He had a woman there, Judy guessed. But he had told her at the first meeting that he was not seeing anyone. For some reason she remembered his exact words: “I’m separated from my wife, and I don’t have a girlfriend.” Perhaps he had lied. Or perhaps this was someone new. It did not sound like a new relationship, if he was expecting her to stay the weekend. On the other hand, he was arrogant enough to assume that a girl would go to bed with him on the first date, and attractive enough that lots of girls probably would.

I don’t know why I’m so interested in his love life.

“Have you been listening to the radio?” she asked him. “There’s been an earthquake, and the terrorist group we talked about claims to have triggered it.”

“Is that so?” He sounded intrigued despite himself. “Are they telling the truth?”

“That’s what I need to discuss with you.”

“I see.”

Come on, you stubborn son of a gun — give in, for once in your life.

“This is really important, Professor.”

“I’d like to help you … but it’s really not possible tonight.… No, wait.” His voice became muffled as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand, but she could still distinguish his words. “Hey, have you ever met a real-live FBI agent?” She could not hear the reply, but after a moment he said to her: “Okay, my guest would like to meet you. Come on over.”

She did not like the idea of being paraded like some kind of circus freak, but at this point she was not going to say so. “Thanks, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She broke the connection.

As she drove over the bridge, she reflected that neither Raja nor Michael had seemed scared. Raja was excited, Michael intrigued. She, too, was electrified by the sudden reanimation of the case; but when she remembered the earthquake of 1989, and the television pictures of rescue workers bringing corpses out of the collapsed double-deck Nimitz Freeway right here in Oakland, and she contemplated the possibility of a terrorist group having the power to do that, her heart felt cold and heavy with foreboding.

To clear her mind she tried to guess what Michael Quercus’s girlfriend would be like. She had seen a picture of his wife, a striking redhead with a supermodel figure and a sulky pout. He seems to like the exotic. But they had broken up, so perhaps she was not really his type. Judy could see him with a woman professor, in fashionable thin-framed spectacles, with well-cut short hair but no makeup. On the other hand, that type of woman would not cross the street to meet an FBI agent. Most likely he had picked up a sexy airhead who was easily impressed. Judy visualized a girl in tight clothes, smoking and chewing gum at the same time, looking around his apartment and saying: “Have you read all these books?”

I don’t know why I’m obsessing about his girlfriend when I’ve got so much else to worry about.

She found Euclid Street and parked under the same magnolia tree as last time. She rang his bell, and he buzzed her into the building. He came to the apartment door barefoot, looking pleasantly weekendish in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. A girl could have fun spending the weekend fooling around with him. She followed him into his office-cum-living room.

There, to her astonishment, she saw a little boy of about five, with freckles and fair hair, dressed in pajamas with dinosaurs all over them. After a moment she recognized him as the child in the photograph on the desk. Michael’s son. This was his weekend guest. She felt embarrassed about the dumb blonde she had imagined. I was a little unfair to you, Professor.

Michael said: “Dusty, meet Special Agent Judy Maddox.”

The boy shook hands politely and said: “Are you really in the FBI?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wow.”

“Want to see my badge?” She took her shield from her shoulder bag and gave it to him. He held it reverently.

Michael said: “Dusty likes to watch The X-Files.”

Judy smiled. “I don’t work in the Alien Spacecraft Department, I just catch regular earth criminals.”

Dusty said: “Can I see your gun?”

Judy hesitated. She knew that boys were fascinated by weapons, but she did not like to encourage such an interest. She glanced at Michael, who shrugged. She unbuttoned her jacket and took the weapon out of its shoulder holster.

As she did so, she caught Michael looking at her breasts, and she felt a sudden sexual frisson. Now that he was not being curmudgeonly, he was kind of appealing, with his bare feet and his T-shirt untucked.

She said: “Guns are pretty dangerous, Dusty, so I’m going to hold it, but you can look.”

Dusty’s face as he stared at the pistol wore the same expression as Michael’s when she opened her jacket. The thought made her grin.

After a minute she holstered the gun.

Dusty said with elaborate politeness: “We were just going to have some Cap’n Crunch. Would you care to join us?”

Judy was impatient to question Michael, but she sensed he would be more forthcoming if she was patient and played along. “How nice of you,” she said. “I’m real hungry, I’d love some Cap’n Crunch.”

“Come into the kitchen.”

The three of them sat at a plastic-topped table in the little kitchen and ate breakfast cereal and milk out of bright blue pottery bowls. Judy realized she was hungry: it was past suppertime. “My goodness,” she said. “I’d forgotten how good Cap’n Crunch is.”

Michael laughed. Judy was amazed at the difference in him. He was relaxed and amiable. He seemed a different person from the grouch who had forced her to drive back to the office and phone him for an appointment. She was beginning to like him.

When supper was eaten, Michael got Dusty ready for bed. Dusty said to his father: “Can Agent Judy tell me a story?”

Judy suppressed her impatience. I’ve got seven days, I can wait another five