Just as he finished speaking there was a massive thunder' clap directly above, so close, so loud, that it was positively hurtful to the ear-drums. The reverberations took many long seconds to die away. O'Hare looked speculatively at Branson then said: 'Know something, Branson? That sounded to me just like the crack of doom.' He poured some whisky into a glass and added a little distilled water.
Branson said: 'I'll have some of that.'
'Help yourself,' O'Hare said agreeably.
From the comparative comfort of the lead coach — comparative, for his clothes were as soaked as if he had fallen into the Golden Gate — Revson watched another ambulance bear away Kowalski's stretchered form. For the moment Revson felt as reasonably content as was possible for a man in his slowly chilling condition. The main object of the exercise had been to get his hands on the cord, canister, torch and aerosol. All of those he had achieved. The first three were still under the bus by the kerb-side: the fourth nestled snugly in his pocket. That all this should have been done at the expense of Kowalski, the most relentlessly vigilant of all Branson's guards and by a long way the most suspicious, was just an added bonus. He bethought himself of the aerosol. He gave April Wednesday a gentle nudge and, because people were still talking in varying degrees of animation about the latest incident, he did not find it necessary to keep his voice especially low.
'Listen carefully, and don't repeat my words, no matter how stupid my question may appear. Tell me, would a young lady of — ah — delicate sensibilities — carry a miniature aerosol air-freshener around with her?'
Beyond a blink of the green eyes she showed no reaction. 'In certain circumstances I suppose so, yes.'
He placed the can between them. 'Then please put this in your carry-all. Sandalwood, but I wouldn't try sniffing it'
'I know very well what's in it.' The can disappeared. 'I suppose it doesn't matter very much if I'm caught with it? If they bring out those old thumb-screws — '
'They won't. They already searched your carry-all, and the person who made the search almost certainly wouldn't remember the contents of one of a dozen bags he's searched. No one's keeping an eye on you: I'm way out on my own as Suspect Number One.'
By ten o'clock silence and sleep had returned to the coach. The rain had eased, until it could be called no more than heavy, but still the lightning crackled and the thunder boomed with unabated enthusiasm. Revson glanced over his shoulder to the south-west. There were no signs of any unusual activities in the direction of Lincoln Park. He wondered if those ashore had misinterpreted his message or deliberately ignored it. Both possibilities he thought unlikely: more likely, because of the heavy rain, they were having difficulty in igniting a fire.
At seven minutes past ten a red glow appeared to the south-west. Revson was almost certainly the first person on the bridge to notice it but he thought it impolitic to draw attention to the fact. Within half a minute the dark oily flames were at least fifty feet high.
It was Bartlett who first called attention to this phenomenon and he did so in a very emphatic fashion. He stood in the open doorway behind the driver's seat and shouted: 'Jesus, would you look at that! '
Almost everyone immediately started awake and looked. They couldn't see much. Rain still lashed the outside of the windows and the insides were pretty well steamed up. Like a bunch of lemmings hell-bent on a watery suicide they poured out through the door. The view was certainly very much better from there and well worth the seeing. The flames, already a hundred feet high and topped by billowing clouds of oily smoke, were increasing by the second. Still of the same lemming-like mind and totally oblivious of the rain, they began to run across the bridge to obtain a better view. The occupants of the Presidential and rear coaches were doing exactly the same. Nothing attracts people more than the prospects of a good-going disaster.
Revson, though among the first out of the lead coach, made no attempt to join them. He walked unhurriedly round the front of the coach, walked back a few feet, stooped and recovered the oil-skin package. No one paid any attention to him, even had he been visible beyond the bulk of the coach, because they were all running in and looking towards the opposite direction. He removed the torch from the package, angled it forty-five degrees to his right and made his SOS signal, just once: he then pocketed the torch and made his more leisurely way across to the other side of the bridge, glancing occasionally over his left shoulder. Half-way across he saw a rocket, a not very spectacular one, curving up to the south-east.
He reached the far crash barrier and joined O'Hare who was standing some little way apart from the others. O'Hare said: 'You'd make quite an arsonist.'
'That's just by the way of introduction. Wait till you see the next one. Not to mention the fireworks. Sheer pyromania, that's what it is. Let's look at the front end of the rear coach.'
They looked. A full minute passed and nothing happened. O'Hare said: 'Hm. Worrisome?'
'No. Just running a little bit behind schedule, I should think. Don't even blink.'
O'Hare didn't and so he saw it — a tiny intense spark of bluish-white that could have lasted only milli- seconds. O'Hare said: 'You saw it too?'
'Yes. Far less than I thought it would be.'
'End of radio-wave scanner?'
'No question.'
'Would anyone inside the coach have heard it?'
'That's academic. There's no one inside the rear coach.
'They're all across here. But there is some sign of activity at the rear of the Presidential coach. A dollar gets a cent that Branson's asking some questions.'
Branson was indeed asking some questions. Chrysler by his side, he was talking forcefully into a telephone.
'Then find out and find out now.'
'I'm trying to.' It was Hendrix and he sounded weary. 'I can be held responsible for a lot of things but I can't be held responsible for the forces of nature. Don't you realize this is the worst lightning storm the city has had in years? There are dozens of outbreaks of small fires and the Firemaster tells me his force is fully extended.'
'I'm waiting, Hendrix.'
'So am I. And God only knows how you imagine this fire in Lincoln Park can affect you. Sure, it's giving off clouds of oil smoke, but the wind's from the west and the smoke won't come anywhere near you. You're jumping at shadows, Branson. Wait. A report.' There was a brief silence then Hendrix went on: 'Three parked road oil tankers. One had its loading hose partly on the ground so it was earthed. Witnesses saw this tanker being struck by lightning. Two fire engines are there and the fire is under control. Satisfied?'
Branson hung up without replying.
The fire was indeed under control. Firemen, taking their convincing time, were now smothering the barrels of blazing oil with foam extinguishers. Fifteen minutes after the fire had first begun — or been noticed-it was extinguished. Reluctantly, almost — they were now so wet that they couldn't possibly get any wetter — the watchers by the west barrier turned and made their way back to the coaches. But their evening's entertainment had only just begun.
Another fire bloomed to the north. It spread and grew with even greater rapidity than the previous one, becoming so bright and intense that even the lights in the concrete towers of down-town San Francisco seemed pale by comparison. Branson, who had made his way back to his own coach, now ran back to the Presidential coach. A bell was ringing in the communications section in the rear. Branson snatched the phone. It was Hendrix.
Hendrix said: 'Nice to forestall you for once. No, we are not responsible for this one either. Why in the hell should we set off a fire where all the smoke is being carried away from you east over the bay? The meteorological officer says that there's a lightning strike once every three or four seconds. And it's not cloud to cloud stuff, it's mainly cloud to earth. On the law of averages, he says, something combustible has to go in one in twenty. I'll keep you posted.'
For the first time, Hendrix hung the phone up on him. Branson slowly replaced his own. For the first time, lines of strain were beginning to etch themselves round the corners of his mouth.
The blue-veined flames were towering now to a height of six or seven hundred feet, as high as the highest
