The Golden Gate

Branson?'

Branson saw what he saw. Not much more than half a mile away the fog-bank came to an abrupt end as if it had been sliced off by a cleaver. Less than a mile beyond that again could be seen the superstructure of a very large vessel indeed. Although the hull of the vessel was still hidden by the fog-bank there was, from what could be seen of it, very little doubt as to its identity. Branson stood still for a second or two, ran for the Presidential coach, entered, hurried down the aisle oblivious to curious stares of the seated men and said quickly to Boyann: 'Hendrix. Hurry!' He indicated a phone in a recess beside the console. 'That one.'

Hendrix was on the line immediately. When Branson spoke his voice was cold, almost savage, a marked departure from the norm: even Branson had defences that could be breached.

'Hendrix. Want I should send the President's ears now?'

'What the hell do you mean?'

'What do you mean? Or is that little paddleboat just out there by happenstance? Call it off.'

'God's sake, call what off?'

Branson spoke his words clearly and spaced them distinctly.

'There is a very large battleship approaching the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't want it to approach. I don't know what you have in mind but I don't think I would like it. Call it off!'

'I just don't know what you're talking about. Hold on.' While the line was silent Branson beckoned to Van Effen, who approached down the aisle.

Branson said quickly: 'There's a battleship approaching the bridge. Trouble? I don't know. What I do know is I want everybody under cover at once, the press in their own coach, our men in ours. Doors to be closed. Then come back at once.'

Van Effen nodded to where a red-haired young man was standing by the driver's seat, his hand resting on a pistol that was stuck in his belt Think Bradford can manage?'

Branson pulled out his own pistol and laid it in the telephone recess. 'I'm here too. Hurry.' He was vaguely disappointed in Van Effen. Bradford could have carried out his warder duties just as effectively by going outside and standing near the door but for the creation of the properly threatening climate of menace and intimidation it was better that he remain in the full view of the captives. Then Hendrix was on the phone again.

'That is the battleship USS New Jersey. San Francisco is her home base for several months of the year. This is one of her regular fuel and food reprovisioning returns to base. She's coming at this particular time because she can only get under the bridge at low tide.'

That much, Branson knew, was true. The tide, he had observed, was out and it seemed highly unlikely that the authorities could whistle up a battleship at such short notice — less than two hours. And it was difficult to see what use could be made of it — certainly they were unlikely to blow up the bridge with the President on it. But Branson had a profound distrust of his fellow man, which was one of the reasons he had survived so long. He said: 'Stop it. It's not to come under the bridge. Want I should throw one of your oil boys on to its bridge as it passes beneath?'

'For God's sake, are you a nut, a complete madman?' Branson smiled to himself, the sharp edge of anxiety in Hendrix's voice was unmistakable. 'We're trying to raise him.'

Correspondents and guards alike were crowding the western side of the bridge fascinated by the approach of the giant battleship. Although reason said that there was no danger in the battleship's passing under the bridge there was a growing degree of tension among the spectators. The superstructure towered so high that it seemed certain that some sections of it must inevitably strike the bridge and this feeling existed in spite of the elementary reasoning which would have reassured them that the ship must have made the same passage many times in the past and the Navy was not in the habit of putting at risk some hundred million dollar battleship in a let's-try-it-and- see effort.

One person showed no apparent interest in the approach of the New Jersey. Revson, alone in the front coach, was intent on securing a considerable length of green cord, so slender as to be hardly more than the thickness of a stout thread, to a black cylinder about eight inches in length and one in diameter. He thrust both cylinder and cord into the capacious pocket of his bush jacket, left the bus, took a bearing on the approaching superstructure of the battleship and wandered casually round to the right-hand side of the coach. As he did so he could see Van Effen hurrying across to the far side of the bridge where the spectators were grouped. What Van Effen's purpose was he couldn't be sure but there was an urgency behind his half-trot that told Revson that the time at his own disposal might be very short.

He forced himself not to hurry but sauntered towards the east side of the bridge. No one took any notice of him because there was no one there to do so. He leant casually against the side and as casually withdrew cylinder and cord from his pocket. He glanced, seemingly aimlessly, around him, but if he were arousing cause for suspicion no one was giving any indication of this. Swiftly, without moving either hands or elbows, he let some hundred feet slide through his fingers then secured the cord to a strut. He trusted his estimate of length was reasonably accurate then dismissed the thought: what was done was done. He returned leisurely to the coach, took his seat and transferred what was left of the green cord to the bottom of April Wednesday's carry-all. If his dangling cord were discovered and a search of their personal belongings carried out he would rather that the cord be discovered elsewhere than in his possession. Even if it were found in her bag he doubted whether she would come to any harm. She'd been on the other side of the bridge since the New Jersey had first appeared behind the bank of cloud and there would be sufficient witnesses to attest to that: April Wednesday was the sort of person whose absence would not go lightly unremarked. Even if she were to find herself in trouble that he could bear with fortitude: he didn't care who came under suspicion as long as it was not himself,

'You have to believe me, Branson.' Hendrix's voice could hardly have been said to carry a note of pleading, an alien exercise to a man of his nature, but there was no questioning the earnestness, the total sincerity in the tone. 'The New Jersey's captain has heard no news of what happened and he thinks it all an elaborate joke at his expense. You can't blame him. He sees the damned bridge standing safe and sound as it's stood for forty years. Why should anything be wrong?'

'Keep trying.'

Van Effen entered and closed the door of the Presidential coach securely behind him. He approached Branson.

'All safely corralled. Why?'

'I wish I knew. Almost certainly Hendrix is right and this is just sheer coincidence. But on the one chance in a hundred that it isn't? What would they use? Not shells, no kind of high explosive. Gas Shells.'

'No such things.'

'Wrong. There are. They wouldn't mind temporarily knocking out the President and a few oil sheiks if they could saturate the centre of the bridge with some knock-out gas and lay us all low. Then the troops and police, like enough with gas-masks, could come and take us at their leisure. But the insulation is tight in those air-conditioned coaches.'

'It's pretty far-fetched.'

'And what we are doing is not? Wait' Hendrix was on the phone again.

'We've tried, Branson, and at last he agrees with us. But he refuses to do anything. Says he has too much way on and to try to take turning or reversing action at this stage would endanger both the battleship and the bridge. And he says his money would be on the New Jersey if it hit a tower. A forty-five- thousand-ton battering ram takes a lot of stopping.'

'You'd better pray, Hendrix.' Branson hung up and moved towards the centre of the coach, Van Effen behind him, and peered through the right-hand windows, waiting for the battleship's superstructure to reappear from under the bridge.

The President's voice was nothing if not testy. 'Just what is happening, Branson?'

'You know. The USS New Jersey is passing beneath us.'

'So? Doubtless going about its lawful occasions.'

'You'd better hope so. You'd better hope the captain doesn't start throwing things at us.'

'At us?' The President paused and pondered the possibility of an awful lese-majesty. 'At me?'

'We all know you're the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. At the moment, however, you're a bit