The Golden Gate

'The best vintages that money can buy.'

'Whose money?'

'Irrelevancies bore me.' Branson was regarding him with an appraising eye.

Revson stood and looked around him. 'Your honoured guests along there-'

'They are being informed.'

'You might have at least given them time to have their pre-dinner cocktail. Well, not the President's Arab friends-'

'Time for that. The food is in hot cupboards.' Branson did some more appraisal. 'You know, Revson, you interest me. You might even say you intrigue me. There's a certain — what shall I call it — intransigence about you. I still don't see you as a man behind a camera.'

'And I don't see you as the man behind the most massive hold-up of all time. Too late for you to go back to Wall Streef'

Branson clapped Revson on the shoulder. 'On behalf of the President, let's go and sample some of the superior vintages.'

'Explain yourself.'

'Who knows what our Medici friends in the Presidio might be up to?'

'I hadn't thought of that. You trust nobody?'

'No.'

'Me? A guinea-pig?'

'Yes. You and Cartland make me uneasy.'

'A weakness. You should never confess to them. Lead on, MacDuff.'

Arrived at the meal wagon Branson said to the white and blue striped attendant: 'Your name?'

The attendant gave an odd sort of sketchy salute. 'Tony, Mr Branson.'

'What wines do you have?'

'Three reds, three white, Mr Branson.'

'Array them before us, Tony. Mr Revson here is an internationally-known sommelier. A judge of wine, in other words.'

'Sir.'

Six bottles and six glasses appeared on the counter. Revson said: 'Just a quarter in each glass. I don't want to fall off the bridge during the night. Have you bread and salt?'

'Yes, Mr Revson.' Tony clearly regarded himself as being in the presence of lunatics.

Interspersed with the bread and salt Revson sampled all six vintages. At the end he said: 'All uniformly excellent. I must tell the French vintners about this. The best Californian matches up with the best French.'

Branson said: 'It would appear that I owe you an apology, Revson.'

'No way. Let's do it again. Or will you join me in one of the — ah — approved wines?'

'It would seem safe to do so.' Tony clearly considered himself in the presence of a couple of head cases.

'I suggest one of your own. A Camay Beaujolais from your Almaden vineyards.'

'Ah,' Branson pondered. 'Tony?'

'Mr Revson has excellent taste, sir.'

They consumed their wines in a leisurely fashion. Branson said: 'I agree with both of your assessments. You are ready to serve dinner, Tony?'

'Yes, sir.' He smiled. 'I have already served one. About twenty minutes ago, I'd say. Mr Hansen. He snatched a plate and said that as the energy czar he needed energy.'

'It figures.' Branson turned a lazy head. 'In the coach, I presume?'

'No, sir. He took his tray across to the east crash barrier. There.' He followed his pointing finger then softly said: 'Jesus!'

'Jesus what?'

'Look.'

They looked. Hansen, slowly toppling off the barrier, fell to the roadway and lay there, his body jerking. Branson and Revson crossed the six road lanes and reached him in as many seconds.

Hansen was vomiting violently. They spoke to him, but he seemed incapable of answering. His body went into strange and frightening convulsions.

Revson said: 'Stay here. I'll get O'Hare.'

O'Hare and April were together in the ambulance when he arrived. Understandably enough, he was welcomed with lifted eyebrows.

Revson said: 'Quickly. I think that Mr Hansen — hungry, it seems-picked up the wrong dinner tray. He looks in pretty bad shape to me.'

O'Hare was on his feet. Revson barred his way.

'I think your Dr Isaacs has stirred up a more powerful brew than he imagined. If this is the effect it has — well, I want you to go across there and diagnose some form of food poisoning. Call in some chemical analyst or whatever you call them. Nobody, but nobody, must touch that food again. I don't want wholesale murder on my hands.'

'I understand.' O'Hare picked up his emergency bag and left at speed.

April said: 'What's gone wrong, Paul?'

'I don't know. Some foul-up. Maybe I'm to blame. Stay here.'

When he arrived across the bridge Branson was standing upright and O'Hare slowly straightening. Revson looked at them both then addressed himself to O'Hare. 'Well?'

O'Hare let go the limp wrist he was holding. 'I'm afraid that Mr Hansen is dead.'

'Dead?' For once, Branson was clearly shocked. how can he be dead?'

'Please. For the moment, I'm in charge. This plastic centre plate is almost empty. I assume that Hansen ate it all.'

O'Hare bent over the dead man and breathed deeply. His nose wrinkled. Very slowly, he straightened again.

'Can't be salmonella. That takes time. Not even botulinus. It's quick, but not this quick.' O'Hare looked at Branson. 'I want to talk to the hospital.'

'I don't understand. Perhaps you'd like to talk to me first?'

O'Hare sounded weary. 'I suppose. The smell — it comes from the pancreas — is unmistakable. Some form of food poisoning. I don't know. Doctors have their specialities and this is not one of mine. The hospital, please.'

'You don't mind if I listen in?'

'Listen in all you want.'

O'Hare was on the phone in the rear end of the Presidential coach. Branson held the President's side-phone. Revson sat in the next deeply upholstered chair.

O'Hare said: 'How long will it take you to contact Hansen's private physician?'

'We're in contact now.'

'I'll wait.'

They all waited. They all looked at one another, while carefully not looking at one another. The phone became activated again.

'O'Hare?'

'Sir?'

'Hansen is — was — just recovering from his second — and almost fatal — heart attack.'

'Thank you, sir. That explains everything.'

'Not quite.' Branson was his old balanced self again. 'I want two analytical chemists out here to determine the source of this infection, if that's what you would call it. The food tray, I mean. Separate examinations. If they disagree, one of them is going to go over the side.'

O'Hare sounded even more weary. 'Such specialists we have in San Francisco. I know two of the top people. The only thing they have in common is their total disagreement with each other.'

'In which case they will both be thrown over the side. You will accompany them. Make contact now.'

O'Hare made contact. Revson said to Branson: 'Only an American would have this gift for making friends and