The Golden Gate

'I don't know. I'm worried, Mr Branson. Van Effen left here just, he said, to make a normal check on things. He hasn't come back.'

'How long ago was that?'

'Half an hour, sir.'

'God. Chrysler, why didn't you wake me before now?'

'Two things. I knew you needed sleep and we all depend on you. And if ever I knew a man who could take care of himself it's Van Effen.'

'He was carrying his machine-pistol?'

'Have you ever seen him without it since we came on this bridge?'

Branson rose from his seat, picked up his own gun and said: 'Come with me. Did you see which way he went?'

'North.'

They walked to the Presidential coach. Peters, the guard, was sitting sideways in the driver's seat, smoking. He turned quickly as a gentle tap came on the door, removed a key from an inner pocket and turned it in the lock. Branson opened the door from the outside and said quietly: have you seen any signs of Van Effen?' He could, in fact, have raised his voice a couple of dozen decibels and it would have made no difference: when it comes to the terms of stertorous snoring, presidents, royalty, generals, mayors and assorted government ministers are no different from the common run of mankind.

'Yes, Mr Branson. Must have been about half an hour ago. I saw him walk towards the nearest rest room there.'

'Did you see him come out again?'

'No. Quite frankly, I wasn't looking outside. I don't bother much. My job is to see that none of those gentlemen makes for the communications desk or rushes me and takes away my gun and key. I don't much fancy having my own gun pointed at my own head. I keep my eyes for what goes on inside this coach not what goes on outside it.'

'And right you are. No reflections on you, Peters.' Branson closed the door and heard the key turn in the lock. They made for the nearest rest room. A very brief search indicated that it was empty. So was the other rest room. They made their way to the ambulance. Branson opened the rear door, used a small torch to locate a switch and flooded the ambulance with light. A shirt-sleeved O'Hare covered with a single blanket, was sound asleep on the side-hinged cot. Branson shook him awake. It took some shaking.

O'Hare opened the rather bleary eyes, winced at the bright overhead light, looked at the two men then at his watch.

'Quarter to one! What the hell do you want at this time of the morning?'

'Van Effen's missing. Have you seen him?'

'No, I haven't seen him.' O'Hare showed a faint stirring of what could have been professional interest. 'Was he sick or something?'

'No.'

'Then why bother me? Perhaps,' O'Hare said hopefully,'he's fallen over the side.'

Branson studied the doctor briefly. O'Hare's eyes were slightly puffy, but Branson was experienced enough to realize that it was the puffiness of sleepiness not of sleeplessness. He gestured Chrysler to leave, followed, switched out the light and closed the door behind him.

Johnson, machine-gun slung, was walking towards them. He came up to them, stopped and said: 'Evening, Mr Branson. 'Morning rather.'

'Have you seen Van Effen?'

'Van Effen? When?'

'Inside the past half hour.'

Johnson shook his head positively. 'Definitely not.'

'But he was out on the bridge. You were on the bridge. If he was here, then you must have.'

'Sorry. No. It's possible he was and possible that I didn't see him. I walk to and fro all the time — it's the best way of keeping awake. I don't keep glancing over my shoulder all the time.' Johnson thought or appeared to think. 'He may have been on the bridge but he may have left it. By that I mean he may for reasons best known to himself have chosen to walk on the other side of the buses.'

'Why should he do that?'

'How should I know? Maybe he wanted to keep in concealment. Maybe anything. How should I know what goes on in Van Effen's mind?'

'True.' Branson had no particular wish to antagonize Johnson, who, apart from being an ex-naval officer, was a highly experienced helicopter pilot and an essential part of his escape plans. He said mildly: 'I just suggest that you stand in the middle here and look around from time to time. You're hardly likely to go to sleep on your feet — you're due for relief in fifteen minutes.'

He and Chrysler made their way towards the lead coach. There was a half-dimmed light up front and they could see the glow of Bartlett's cigar. Branson said: 'Well, at least all the guards seem to be on the alert — which makes it all the more difficult to understand Van Effen's disappearance.'

Bartlett said briskly. 'Morning, Mr Branson. Making your rounds? All's well here.'

'Have you seen Van Effen? In the past half hour?'

'No. You can't find him?'

'Let's say he's missing.'

Bartlett thought. 'I won't ask stupid questions like 'How can he be missing?' Who saw him last?'

'Peters. Not that that helps. Anybody left this coach in the past half hour?'

'Nobody's left this coach since we came in after the fire.'

Branson walked back to Revson's seat. April Wednesday was wide awake. Revson, eyes closed, was breathing deeply, heavily. Branson shone the torch in his eyes. There was no reaction. Branson lifted an eyelid. There was no involuntary twitching or muscular resistance in the eyelid which is invariable when the eyelid of a conscious person is raised. Branson concentrated his beam on one eye. A rather glazed eye looked out unseeingly, unblinkingly. Branson dropped the eyelid.

Branson said: 'Out like a light. That's for sure.' If there was disappointment in his voice he concealed it well. 'How long have you been awake. Miss Wednesday?'

'I haven't been to sleep Maybe I shouldn't have come back to the bridge.' She smiled tremulously. 'I'm just a cowardy-custard, Mr Branson. I hate thunderstorms.'

'I'm not going to hurt you, Miss Wednesday.' He reached out a hand and ran a finger gently across her lips while she looked at him in perplexity. Her lips were as dry as dust.

Branson remembered O'Hare's summing up of her emotional and nervous stability or lack of it.

'You were scared.' He smiled and patted her shoulder. 'Not to worry. The storm's almost passed away.' He left.

She was scared, but not for the reasons given. She'd been terrified that Branson would try to shake or even slap Revson awake and find it impossible to arouse him.

Twenty minutes later Branson and Chrysler stood by the doorway of the rear coach. Chrysler said: There's no way he can be on the bridge, Mr Branson.'

'I agree. Let me hear you think aloud, Chrysler.'

Chrysler made a deprecating gesture. 'I'm a follower, not a leader.'

'Nevertheless.'

'I'll try. I can speak freely?' Branson nodded. 'First, Van Effen didn't jump. Not only is he the last person I'd ever associate with suicide, but he was also only days away from a seven-figure fortune. He didn't defect. You said I could speak freely. Again he stood to lose a fortune, he was totally loyal and to defect he'd have had to walk two thousand feet towards either tower and Johnson couldn't have missed that. So he's met with an accident You're sure it couldn't have been the doctor?'

'Positive.'

'And it wasn't Revson. The only other person I could think of is General Cartland. He could be dangerous. But Peters — ' Chrysler broke off and thought. 'You know, Mr Branson, I don't think this would have happened if