Hagenbach sounded almost apologetic. 'Electric chair voltage.'
'I owe an apology to the shade of Attila.'
'Yes. One drawback to this is that someone, say the President, might be leaning his elbows on the side of the bridge or sitting on a crash barrier. That would mean a new Presidential election. I need expert advice. Or could we aim a laser beam at the charges when in position? The beam would certainly cut through the canvas. If the charge were to fall on to the bridge it would certainly detonate on impact but as most of the explosive force would be dissipated in thin air, damage to the roadway would not be severe. It is sure that it wouldn't bring the bridge down. Trouble is, the laser beam might detonate the charge instead Please advise.'
'Under suitable cover would it be possible to introduce men into the tower? Natural fog would be fine. Phoney oil fire depending on the direction of the wind? I don't know. But the thing is to get men to the top, return the lift and then cut off the power to the elevators. Any person who gets to the top after five hundred odd feet of ladders isn't going to be in much shape to do anything.'
'Is it possible to introduce some form of knock-out drugs in the food? Something that would lay them out for half an hour, maybe an hour and not too fast-acting? If anyone were to keel over with the first bite you can imagine Branson's reaction. The individual food trays would have to be marked so that seventeen of them would go to the seventeen for whom they were intended.'
Hagenbach looked at O'Hare. 'There are such drugs?'
'I'm sure of it. The concoction of Mickey Finns is not my speciality, but Dr Isaacs — he's the chief of the Drugs and Narcotic Section — knows as much about those brews as anyone in the country. Catherine de Medici could never have coped with him.'
'That's useful.' Hagenbach returned his attention to the final brief section of the transcript. ''Please let me have your suggestions. All I myself can really do at the moment is to try to deactivate the radio trigger that sets off the charges without leaving any signs that it has been tampered with. That in itself should be simple. It's getting at the damned thing that's difficult. It has, of course, to be in one of the helicopters and those are bathed in light both night and day and are heavily guarded. I'll try. That's all''
Newson said: 'You mentioned a second last resort. What's the last resort?'
'Your guess is as good as mine. If he has a last resort, he's keeping it to himself. Now, sooner than pass those notes around I'll have them Xeroxed. Minutes only and you'll each have a copy.' He left the room, approached Jacobs, the man who had handed him the typescript, and said quietly: have this Xeroxed. Ten copies.' He pointed to the last paragraph. 'Blank this off. And for God's sake make sure that this original gets back to me and not anyone else.'
Jacobs was back in the promised few moments. He distributed six and handed the remaining copies and the original to Hagenbach, who folded the original and stuck it in an inside pocket. Then all seven carefully studied the report. And again. And again.
General Carter said, almost complainingly: 'Revson certainly doesn't leave me very much for my imagination to work on. Candidly, he doesn't leave anything. Maybe it's just not one of my days.'
'Then it's not one of mine either,' Newson said. 'Your man seems to have covered the ground pretty comprehensively, Hagenbach. Sounds like a very useful man to have on our side.'
'He is. But even Revson requires room to manoeuvre. He has none.'
Quarry said, tentatively: 'I know this is not my field but it occurs to me that the key lies in the helicopters. We have the means to destroy those?'
Carter said: 'That's no problem. Planes, guns, rockets, wire-guided anti-tank missiles. Why?'
'That's the only way Branson and his men can leave. And as long as he remains on the bridge he can't detonate his charges. So what happens then?'
Carter looked at the Secretary of the Treasury without admiration.
'I can think of three things. First, Branson would call for a mobile crane, have it dump the choppers into the Golden Gate and demand two replacements within the hour or he'd send us a neat little parcel containing the President's ears. Second, whether it's a shell, rocket or missile, it's impossible to localize or contain the blast effect and some innocent bystanders might end up in the same condition as the choppers. Third, has it occurred to you that though the blast might well destroy the radio-activating device for the explosive charge, it might equally well trigger it off? Even with only one end of one cable gone that bridge is going to sag and assume a crazy angle in nothing flat, and nothing that is not nailed down would have a hope of remaining on that bridge. If that were to happen, Mr Secretary, and the President and his guests knew you were the man responsible, I don't think that their last thoughts of you, as they sat there in their coach at the bottom of the Golden Gate, would be very charitable ones.'
Quarry sighed. 'I'd better stick to counting my pennies. I told you this wasn't my field.'
Richards said: 'I suggest we all have twenty minutes' silent meditation and see what we come up with.'
They did just that and when the twenty minutes were up Hagenbach said: 'Well?'
All, apparently, was not well. The silence was profound. 'In that case, I suggest we start considering which are the less awful of Revson's options.'
The return of the ambulance to the centre of the bridge at about six o'clock in the evening was greeted with warmth and interest. Even being in the spotlight of the eyes of the world loses its dramatic effect if one has nothing to do. Branson's TV broadcasts apart, the middle of the bridge offered little in the way of entertainment.
When April, pale-faced and still apparently shaken, stepped from the ambulance, Branson was the first to greet her.
'How do you feel?'
'I feel such a fool.' She rolled up a sleeve to exhibit the punctures O'Hare had inflicted upon her earlier in the day. 'Two little pricks and I'm as right as rain.'
She walked away and sat down rather heavily on one of the many chairs scattered around her. Her colleagues gathered round.
Branson said to O'Hare: 'She doesn't look as right as rain to me.'
'If you mean she's still not back to normal, I agree. Same appearance, different causes. Last time you saw her she was on a high: now it's a low. My guess was right, it seems — just an emotional trauma. She's been sound asleep for the past two hours under heavy sedation. Dopey, that's all. Dr Huron, the psychiatrist, didn't want her to return, but she made such a damned noise about not getting back and this being her last chance or whatever that he decided that it might be better for her to return. No worry. I've brought back enough of the same sedative to last us for a week out here.'
'For the sake of all of us, let's hope you won't need a quarter of it.'
Revson waited until the last of April's welcomers had left her for the TV, a show of peculiar interest to all as the programme was devoted exclusively to a re-run of Branson's early afternoon broadcast. Nobody, Revson was unsurprised to observe, was more interested than Branson himself. But then Branson had no more to occupy his time than anyone else. The only person who seemed remotely active was Chrysler, who visited the rear coach at regular intervals. He wondered why.
Revson sat beside the girl. She looked at him coldly.
He said: 'What's the matter with you?' She remained silent. 'Don't tell me. Somebody's been turning you against me.'
'Yes. You. I don't like killers. Especially I don't like killers who plan their next murders cold-bloodedly in advance.'
'Come, come. That's putting it a bit strongly.'
'Is it? Cyanide guns? Lethal pens? Shot through the back, I should imagine.'
'My, my, we are bitter. Three things. First, those weapons are used only in acute emergency and then only to save lives, to stop bad people killing good people, although perhaps you would rather have it the other way round. Second, it doesn't matter to a dead man where he has been shot. Third, you have been eavesdropping.'
'I was invited to listen.'
'People make mistakes. Clearly, they invited the wrong person. I could be flippant and say I owe a duty to the taxpayer, but I'm not in the mood.' April looked at the hard face, listened to the voice from which all trace of the normal bantering warmth had vanished and realized with apprehension that indeed he was not in the mood. 'I have a job to do, you don't know what you're talking about, so we'll dispense with your moral strictures. I assume you
