The Hammer of Eden

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Have a photographer there with one of them instant cameras. I want a picture of him handing me the letter of immunity, for proof. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“You better play this straight. No tricks. My seismic vibrator is already in place, ready to trigger another earthquake. This one will strike a major city. I’m not saying which one, but I’m talking thousands of deaths.”

“I understand.”

“If the governor doesn’t appear today at three o’clock … bang.”

He broke the connection.

“Wow,” said Melanie. “A meeting with the governor. Do you think it’s a trap?”

Priest frowned. “It might be,” he said. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

* * *

Judy could not fault the setup. Charlie Marsh had worked on it with the Sacramento FBI. There were at least thirty agents within sight of the white garden table with the umbrella that sat prettily on the lawn, but she could not see any of them. Some stood behind the windows of the surrounding government offices, others crouched in cars and vans on the street and in the parking lot, more lurked in the pillared cupola of the Capitol Building. All were heavily armed.

Judy herself was playing the part of the photographer, with cameras and lenses around her neck. Her gun was in a camera bag slung from her shoulder. While she waited for the governor to appear, she looked through her viewfinder at the table and chairs, pretending to frame a shot.

In the hopes Granger wouldn’t recognize her, she wore a blond wig. It was one she kept permanently in her car. She used it a lot on surveillance work, especially if she spent several days following the same targets, to reduce the risk that she might be noticed and recognized. She had to put up with a certain amount of teasing when she wore it. Hey, Maddox, send the cute blonde over to my car, but you can stay where you are.

Granger was watching, she knew. No one had spotted him, but he had called, an hour ago, to protest against the erection of crowd barriers around the block. He wanted the public using the street, and visitors touring the building, just as normal.

The barriers had been taken away.

There was no other fence around the grounds, so tourists were wandering freely across the lawns, and tour parties were following their prescribed routes around the Capitol, its gardens, and the elegant government buildings on adjacent streets. Judy surreptitiously studied everyone through her lens. She ignored superficial appearances and concentrated on features that could not easily be disguised. She scrutinized every tall, thin man of middle age, regardless of hair, face, or dress.

At one minute to three she still had not seen Ricky Granger.

Michael Quercus, who had met Granger face-to-face, was also watching. He was in a surveillance van with blacked-out windows parked around the corner. He had to stay out of sight, for fear Granger would recognize him and be spooked.

Judy spoke into a little microphone under her shirt, clipped to her bra. “My guess is that Granger won’t show until after the governor appears.”

A tiny speaker behind her ear crackled, and she heard Charlie Marsh reply. “We were just saying the same thing. I wish we could have got this done without exposing the governor.”

They had talked about using a body double, but Governor Robson himself had nixed that plan, saying he would not allow someone else to risk dying in his place.

Now Judy said: “But if we can’t …”

“So be it,” said Charlie.

A moment later the governor emerged from the grand front entrance of the building.

Judy was surprised that he was a little below average height. Seeing him on television, she had imagined him a tall man. He looked bulkier than usual on account of the bulletproof vest under his suit coat. He walked across the lawn with a relaxed, confident stride and sat at the little table under the umbrella.

Judy took a few pictures of him. She kept her camera bag slung from her shoulder so that she could get to her weapon quickly.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

An old Chevrolet Impala was approaching slowly on Tenth Street.

It had a faded two-tone paint job, sky blue and cream, rusting around the wheel arches. The face of the driver was in shade.

She darted a glance around. Not a single agent was in sight, but everyone would be watching the car.

It stopped at the curb right opposite Governor Robson.

Judy’s heart beat faster.

“I guess this is him,” said the governor in a remarkably calm voice.

The door of the car opened.

The figure that stepped out wore blue jeans, a checked workshirt open over a white T-shirt, and sandals. When he stood upright, Judy saw that he was about six feet tall, maybe a little more, and thin, with long, dark hair.

He wore large-framed sunglasses and a colorful cotton scarf as a headband.

Judy stared at him, wishing she could see his eyes.

Her earpiece crackled. “Judy? Is it him?”

“I can’t tell!” she said. “It could be.”

He looked around. It was a big lawn, and the table had been placed twenty or thirty yards back from the curb. He started toward the governor.

Judy could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her sign.

She moved, placing herself between him and the governor. The man noticed her move, hesitated, then continued walking.

Charlie spoke again. “Well?”

“I don’t know!” she whispered, trying not to move her lips. “Give me a few more seconds!”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I don’t think it’s him,” Judy said. All the pictures had shown a nose like the blade of a knife. This man had a broad, flat nose.

“Sure?”

“It’s not him.”

The man was within touching distance of Judy. He stepped around her and approached the governor. Without pausing in his stride, he put his hand inside his shirt.

In her earpiece Charlie said: “He’s reaching for something!”

Judy dropped to one knee and fumbled for the pistol in her camera bag.

The man began to pull something out of his shirt. Judy saw a dark-colored cylinder, like the barrel of a gun. She yelled: “Freeze! FBI!”

Agents burst out of cars and vans and came running from the Capitol Building.

The man froze.

Judy pointed her gun at his head and said: “Pull it out real slow and pass it to me.”

“Okay, okay, don’t shoot me!” The man drew the object out of his shirt. It was a magazine, rolled up into a cylinder, with a rubber band around it.

Judy took it from him. Still pointing her gun at him, she examined the magazine. It was this week’s Time. There was nothing inside the cylinder.

The man said in a frightened voice: “Some guy gave me a hundred dollars to hand it to the governor!”

Agents surrounded Mike Robson and bundled him back into the Capitol Building.

Judy looked around, scanning the grounds and the streets. Granger is watching this, he has to be. Where the hell is he? People had stopped to stare at the running agents. A tour group was coming down the steps of the grand entrance, led by a guide. As Judy watched, a man in a Hawaiian shirt peeled off from the group and walked away, and something about him caught Judy’s eye.