The Golden Gate

Kowalski had been on the prowl tonight.' He paused. 'I'm beginning to wonder if Kowalski's accident really was an accident.'

'I have wondered. Your conclusions, Chrysler?'

'Somewhere in this barrel there's another rotten apple. It could be one of us.'

'A disquieting thought but one that has to be considered. Although why anyone should throw away a fortune-'

'Maybe the Government, some way, some how, has promised someone to double their cut if — '

'This is just idle speculation.' Branson's creased brow gave the lie to his words. 'Suspecting everyone in sight only leads to hysteria and hysterics is one thing we can't afford. And your final conclusion on Van Effen?'

'The same as yours. He's at the bottom of the Golden Gate.'

Van Effen was, in fact, seated in the communications wagon ashore. Hageabach and Hendrix were seated across the table from him. Two policemen with drawn guns stood by the doorway. Van Effen wasn't quite his usual expressionless self. He looked slightly dazed, whether from the shock of finding himself in the predicament he was in or because he was still suffering from the after-effects of the gassing was difficult to say.

Van Effen said: 'So I under-estimated Revson?'

'When you get up to San Quentin you'll find quite a few others who will endorse your views.' Hagenbach looked at Van Effen. 'Speaking of San Quentin, you appreciate you can't hope for less than ten years with no hope of remission.'

'There's an occupational hazard in every job.'

'There doesn't have to be.'

'I don't understand you.'

'We can do a deal.'

'No deal.'

'You've nothing to lose and a great deal to gain. Ten years of your life, to be precise.'

'No deal.'

Hagenbach sighed. 'I rather thought that might be your attitude. Admirable but misguided.' He looked at Hendrix. 'You would agree?'

Hendrix said to the policemen: 'Handcuff him and take him to the maximum security wing of the military hospital. Tell the doctors that Mr Hagenbach will be along in a few minutes. Make sure the recorders are working.'

Van Effen said: 'Hospital? Recorders? You mean drugs.'

'If you won't co-operate with us we'll just have to settle for your unwilling co-operation. Unconscious co- operation, if you wish.'

Van Effen cracked his moonface in an almost contemptuous smile. 'You know that no court will accept a confession made under duress.'

'We don't need any confession from you. We already have enough on you to put you away for as long as we wish. We just want a little helpful information from you. A judicious mixture of sodium pentothal and a few other choice herbs will make you sing like a lark.'

'That's as maybe.' The contempt was still in Van Effen's face. 'Even you have to obey the law of the land. Lawmen who extract information by illegal means are subject to automatic prosecution and automatic imprisonment.'

Hagenbach was almost genial. 'Dear me, dear me. I thought even you, Van Effen, would have heard of a Presidential pardon. Or have you forgotten that you kidnapped a President?'

At ten minutes to three that morning an Air Force lieutenant on the south shore twirled two knobs on a highly sophisticated piece of equipment until the cross-hairs on his ultra-violet telescopic sights were lined up dead centre on the centre of Branson's southern-facing searchlight He jabbed a button, just once.

At five minutes to three, three men climbed into a strangely-shaped low-slung vehicle which was concealed from the bridge by the communications truck. A rather nondescript individual in a grey coat climbed behind the wheel while the other two sat in the back seat. They were clad in grey overalls and looked curiously alike. Their names were Carmody and Rogers. They were both in their mid-thirties and looked tough and competent in a rather gentlemanly way. Whether they were gentlemen or not was not known: whether they were tough and competent was beyond dispute. They didn't look like explosives experts but they were that too. Both carried pistols and both carried silencers for those pistols. Carmody carried a canvas bag containing a tool-kit, two aerosol gas cans, a ball of heavy cord, adhesive tape and a torch. Rogers had a similar bag with a walkie-talkie, Thermos and sandwiches. They were obviously well-equipped for whatever task they had in mind and prepared for a stay of some duration.

At three o'clock all the lights on the Golden Gate Bridge and the adjacent parts of the city blacked out. The man in the grey coat started up his flat truck and the electric vehicle whirred almost silently towards the south tower.

The duty policeman picked up the phone in the communications wagon. It was Branson and he wasn't in a jovial mood. 'Hendrix?'

'The Chief is not here.'

'Then get him.'

'If you could tell me what the matter — '

'The bridge lights have gone again. Get him.'

The policeman laid down his phone and walked to the rear of the wagon. Hendrix sat on a stool by the open door, a walkie-talkie in his hand, a cup of coffee in the other. The walkie-talkie crackled.

'Carmody here. Chief. We're inside the tower and Hopkins is half-way back with the electric cart already.'

'Thank you.' Hendrix put down the walkie-talkie. 'Branson? A mite anxious?'

Hendrix finished off his coffee in a leisurely fashion, crossed the wagon, picked up the phone and yawned.

'I was asleep. Don't tell me. The lights are out again. We've been having black-outs all over the city tonight. Hold on.'

In the Presidential coach, Branson held on. Chrysler came running down the aisle. The President looked at him wearily. The oil barons snored steadily on. Branson, phone still in hand, looked round. Chrysler said quickly: 'South searchlight is out of action.'

'It's not possible.' Branson's face was beginning to show deeper lines of strain. 'What's wrong?'

'God knows. It's black out there. Generator seems fine.'

'Then run for the north one and turn it round. No. Wait.' Hendrix was on the phone. 'One minute you say?' He turned to Chrysler. 'Forget it. The lights are coming on again.' Branson spoke into the phone again. 'Don't forget. I want Quarry on this phone at seven sharp.'

Branson replaced the phone and walked up the aisle. The President stopped him.

'When is this nightmare going to stop?'

'That's up to your Government.'

'I've no doubt the Government will accede to your requests. You interest me, Branson, you interest all of us here. Why this bitter grudge against society?'

Branson smiled his empty smile. 'Society I can take or leave.'

'Then why the grudge against me? Why the public humiliation? You've been invariably polite to everyone else. Isn't it enough to hold the nation to ransom without making a fool of me at the same time?'

Branson made no answer.

'You don't like my politics, perhaps?'

'Politics bore me.'

'I was speaking to Hendrix today. He tells me your father is an extremely wealthy banker back east. A