endlessly toward a green and yellow banner with a central star-flecked blue orb. '… But the Brazilian embassy would not comment on the rumor that Salter's defection is connected with the sharp seismic jolt which struck Utah's Cotton-wood Canyon area earlier today. Now for the weather—'
But Ted Quantrill was on his feet, grinning. 'Cottonwood Canyon? Seismic, hell;
' He stood with arms spread, staring up as if to focus on something far above the low ceiling. 'Hear that, Sanger? Now you can sleep.' He turned, the light fading from his eyes, only half-aware of the startled looks from Sandy and Childe. Lowering his arms he said more softly to himself, 'We can all sleep.'
While searching for another newscast, Sandy bestowed a searching smile on him but murmured only,
'What — on — earth?'
He chuckled, breathing deeply as he watched the screen. 'I guess we missed the best part, but we can watch again at eleven. Now, if you'll turn that thing off awhile, I'd like to tell you about a girl named Marbrye Sanger.'
CHAPTER 74
Long before he had finished, Sandy knew that Sanger was the woman of whom Quantrill had only said,
'She died,' with quick incisiveness to block further inquiry. Ted Quantrill was no yarn-spinner, certainly not with a lump in his throat, and Sandy was forced to interpolate often. Intuition told her that she must not ask questions or make comments, that this account was Quantrill's memorial service for his closest friend. In his memory, Sanger had lain in state until her killers were accounted for. Now perhaps he could allow time to bury her.
When he completed his tale, Sandy was weeping quietly. 'I'm sorry,' he said with a touch on her arm.
'I've got no right to make you feel this way.'
'You told me some very important things, Ted — one thing that you probably don't realize.' She wiped her cheeks and went on, managing a smile for him. 'And it makes me very happy. You demanded justice for Marbrye Sanger, but you didn't demand it by your own hand.'
He thought of his plans, now fading, for a bloody surgical strike in case Ethridge failed. 'The thought crossed my mind,' he growled.
'But you place justice over revenge. If you can feel that way after all those devils did to you, then they failed in the most important thing. They didn't rob you of all decent human values.'
Muscles knotted at his jaw. He hesitated for a long moment and then forced himself to say it. 'I killed people, Sandy. Not all of them were guilty of any real crime. I don't want to mislead you about that. I was very good at it.'
She responded with a serious nod, and then surprised him as her grin broke through. 'I saw how good you must be, today. When you've known Ba'al awhile, you learn to read his expressions. I don't think he's ever seen a human move as fast and as far as you did in avoiding him today. He respects that.'
'Respect from the devil; I love it,' he said wryly. 'Well, we're two of a kind. Hey, you know what? I'm hungry.'
Sandy tucked Childe into bed and brewed strong bitter coffee to go with the coarse pecan pralines she kept on a Childe-proof shelf. In retrieving the candy she displaced the sketch which fluttered down, Quantrill catching it in midair, studying it in the firelight as they waited for the eleven o'clock news.
She might never have a better excuse for asking: 'If you ever do find that necklace, what will you do with it?'
Without hesitation: 'Hand it over to Jim Street. I can't think of anybody better-equipped to make decisions about a thing that could permanently alter the way people live.'
'Maybe you're right,' she said, doubting it. Nibbling and sipping, they wrangled over the uses to which a synthesizer might be put — if every home could have one. Medicines, fuels, gold — if any precious metal could be amassed in endless quantity, what would that do to a gold-based economy? If heroin were free, what then?
'Now you see why I'd drop the damn' thing in the Gov's lap,' Quantrill said, licking the last traces of praline from his hand.
'Instead of burying it somewhere,' she said almost hopefully.
'Not with a million bucks' worth of Venus opal I wouldn't — hey, watch that coffee…'
Sandy blamed the coffee spill for her agitation. The prospect of great wealth had never been real to her.
In some ways she equated wealth with evil — and whatever else it might do, it would change her life irrevocably. More than ever, now, she resolved to wait for the time when her wisdom might be equal to the problem. 'Uh, it's almost time for the news,' she said, and switched on the holo trying not to imagine a new expensive set two meters in width. Only later would she imagine a ranch of her own, ten kilometers in width.
FBN news led off with a brisk, business-as-usual list of topics: 'A deranged Search & Rescue official is charged with treason; President Young is under his physician's care with a mild stomach ailment; and Zion is briefly shocked by a small earthquake. All this and more—'
'Horseshit,' Quantrill snapped. 'Try the CBS Deadline News.'
Sandy complied in time to hear CBS anchorman Hal Kraft say,' — From several independent sources that the tremor was characteristic of an underground nuclear test, with a seismic signature all its own.
While Search & Rescue squads report no radiation leakage to the surface, CBS has received one report that a Utah State Police unit monitored significant radiation near the mouth of Cotton-wood Canyon an hour after the shock. Government sources confirm that the genealogical vaults have sustained some damage, but continue to insist that the public has no cause for alarm.'
Kraft's image was a small inset to a scene obviously filmed earlier in the day. Numerous hovervans and media vehicles flanked a highway barricade with Utah State Police vehicles behind. The highway leading into steep mountains was clear of traffic, and Quantrill saw the black bulk of a sprint chopper patrolling airspace over the canyon.
'At this hour, Cottonwood Canyon still remains under a complete news blockade. And therefore under a pall of mystery,' Kraft editorialized acidly.
'Meanwhile, the Brazilian embassy in Salt Lake City has released a statement concerning Lon Salter, who earlier today fled to the embassy to avoid prosecution for what one government source termed 'high crimes and misdemeanors'. Here's more, from Connie Bergson at the embassy.'
Flick. A slender wench in a smart trenchcoat stared into the camera, a high steel fence behind her and a low stone building floodlit in the background. 'Brazil has rejected a sharply-worded demand from the State Department for the return of Lon Salter, Director of the Federal Search & Rescue Administration, who is reportedly somewhere in the embassy behind me at this moment.
'At approximately two P.M. today, roughly an hour after the seismic shock Southeast of here, a Loring aircraft with S & R markings was» seen to land inside the Brazilian compound. A man fitting Salter's description fled into the building before the aircraft lifted. In reply to the American demand, Brazil's charge d' affairs stated that Mr. Salter fled for his life after a vidphone conversation with President Blanton Young.
'According to the Brazilian report, Mr. Salter contacted the President to report an S & R team's verification that the Cottonwood Canyon tremor was nuclear in origin. At that point, the President became incoherent with rage and threatened Salter's life while battering the vidphone screen with his bare hands.
'The Brazilians say their responsibility is clear in the face of conflicting reports about the nature of the tremor, as well as varying reports on President Young's state of health. At least for the present, Lon Salter is safe on what amounts to foreign soil here in Salt Lake City. Now back to you, Hal.'
Chortling, softly clapping his hands, Ted Quantrill applauded the Indy penetration raid. 'Notice that S & R both confirms and denies a nuke under that mountain,' he said to Sandy. 'Now that their central computer is trashed, they don't know what the hell they're doing. No coordination. I'm only sorry that sonofabitch Salter got free.'
'I wouldn't call him free,' Sandy replied. 'He might be cooped up inside that building for the rest of his
