SANDERSON SCIENTIFIC EQUIPMENT AND SUPPLY
Serving Hospitals and Laboratories
Since 1953
Graves had to smile. Only in California would a date like 1953 seem proof of ageless service to the consumer. `We’ll wait for him here,’ he said, and Lewis pulled over at the end of the block and cut the engine.
Graves checked his watch. It was 8:39. A moment later the limousine sped past them while he was making a note of the scientific supply company and its address. Lewis followed a short distance behind.
The limo again went uptown and pulled over in front of a machine shop. Wright got out and was met at the door by a man carrying a small paper bag. Wright shook hands with the man, who was dressed in dungarees and a blue work shirt. Then Wright opened the paper bag to look inside. He removed one small, shiny metal object, nodded, exchanged a few more words with the man, and got back into his car.
The limousine drove off.
As they passed the machine shop, Graves noted the address and the name. He stared at his list. `A plastics manufacturer, a scientific supply house, and now a machine shop.’
`He isn’t buying presents for his girls,’ Lewis said, and laughed.
`Did you check out that purchase last week?’ The week before, Wright had also visited several small industrial manufacturers.
`Yeah,’ Lewis said. `It was two twelve-foot lengths of flexible hosing. Very unusual.’
`What’s unusual about that?’
`It was stainless steel.’
`Meaning?’
Lewis shrugged. `The guy I talked to said that nobody bought flexible stainless steel hosing any more. People use either plastic or something like aluminium. Stainless is only used for piping very corrosive materials.’
`Such as?’
`Concentrated dyes, corrosive gases, that kind of thing. The guy said it was pretty uncommon. Most highly corrosive stuff is pumped through glass piping. But of course, glass isn’t flexible.’
`And Wright bought two lengths of flexible steel?’
`Right. Twelve-foot lengths. At eighty-three dollars a foot.’
Graves nodded and watched the car. `He’s buying a lot of specialized equipment. Why?’
`You mean, why is he doing it?’
`No,’ Graves said. `I mean, why is he doing it himself, in person?’
`I don’t follow you. Why shouldn’t he do it himself?’
`Because he’s too smart for that,’ Graves said.
The limousine went uptown twenty blocks and pulled over in front of another building. The sign said HARRELSON GARMENTS AND CUSTOM GOODS. They watched Wright get out of the limo and go inside.
`I’ll be goddamned,’ Graves said.
`What is it?’ Lewis said.
‘Harrelson was in the papers a year ago. They made rubber suits and whips and things like that; there was a minor scandal.’
Lewis shook his head: `It really is true, then.’
`What?’
`About your memory.’
Graves shook his head. He’d been through all this before. `I don’t have a photographic memory,’ he said. `I have a better than average memory, that’s all.’
`Are you trying to convince me?’
`No, just telling you.’
`You sound sore.’
`You better understand,’ Graves said, `that I don’t have any special powers. None at all. I just plod along, doing a job.’
`Here he comes,’ Lewis said. He pointed to Wright emerging from the store with an armful of packages wrapped in brown paper. George, the chauffeur, jumped out and came around to help carry the packages. Wright indicated that they were to go into the trunk of the car. George locked them there, then came around, shut Wright’s door, and drove off.
`I’d like to know what was in those packages,’ Graves said, making notes in his book.
`Bet you anything it’s kinky rubber clothing,’ Lewis said.
`What will you bet?’
At that, Lewis laughed. He knew you didn’t bet with Graves. Nobody bet with Graves. He might deny special skills until he was blue in the face, but the fact was that Graves was the best gambler, bettor, poker player that any of them had ever seen.
They followed the car for another five minutes. Then it pulled up in front of a sporting goods store. Wright again got out. He said something to George, who nodded and went across the street to a coffee shop. The car was left alone. It could not be seen easily from either the sports store or the coffee shop.
`Looks like we have our chance,’ Graves said. `Pull over.’
As Lewis pulled the sedan over, Graves opened the glove compartment and took out a large, circular key ring. On it were keys to Wright’s apartment in New York, his apartment in San Diego, his limousine, his Alfa sportscar, his summer house in Southampton, his winter house irr Jamaica. And several others as well. They were all neatly tagged.
Lewis said, `Isn’t this a little risky ‘
`We’re going to arrest him today,’ Graves said. `It doesn’t matter now.’ He got out of the car, feeling the heat of the morning air. He walked forward to the limousine. It took just a moment to insert his key in the trunk and open it. He raised the trunk lid partway and looked at the brown paper packages. There were three, closed with strips of tape. He opened a c . -aer of one and peered inside.
The package contained black rubber belts, about six inches wide, formed into loops of varying diameters. He closed the package and squeezed the others. They all seemed to contain belts.
Frowning, he shut the trunk. And then, because he was in a gambling mood, he walked into the sporting goods store. As he went through the door he glanced back at Lewis. Lewis looked horrified.
The store was large and spacious; he did not see Wright immediately. Walking among the aisles of equipment, he finally spotted him in the water sports department. Wright was gesturing with his hands, forming a shape in the air.
Graves walked over and stood beside him at the counter. To do so gave Graves an immediate burst of excitement. He had never been so close to his subject before. Wright was smaller than he had thought -several inches shorter than Graves himself. And much finer-boned. A delicate man in an English-cut suit, dapper as Phelps, but without the vanity that made Phelps unbearable.
The salesman said, `I’ll be right with you, sir,’ and Graves nodded.
Wright glanced over at him and smiled vaguely. There was no recognition in the glance. None at all: Graves was sure of it. They were just two customers at the same counter.
Graves bent over, peering down at the glass case, which contained depth gauges and underwater watches. He could see Wright’s face reflected in the glass surface.
`Is this the one you mean, sir?’ the salesman asked.
Graves glanced up and saw the salesman holding a small air tank, painted yellow.
`That’s the one,’ Wright said.
`Now, do you understand about this tank?’ the salesman said. `It’s not the standard seventy-two cubic foot model. This one only has twenty-five minutes of air at -‘
`That’s the one I want.’ Wright said it quietly, but his voice cut the salesman off. Graves was impressed by the understated authority in the voice – and presumably in the man.
`Yes, sir. How many was that?’
`Three.’
`I think we have three in the storeroom,’ the salesman said. He turned to Graves: `Was there anything in particular?’
It seemed to Graves that the salesman was much less deferential to him than he was to Wright. But perhaps he was being paranoid.
`I need a depth gauge,’ Graves said.
`They’re all down there,’ the salesman said, pointing to the case. `Be with you in a minute. Three, was it, sir? I’ll get them.’
The salesman walked off.
After a moment Graves said, `I don’t know anything about this.’
There was a short, ambiguous pause. Finally Wright said, `Diving?’
`Yes. It’s a present for my son.’
`He does a lot of diving?’ Wright was being formal, polite, barely interested.
Wait until 1 put the handcuffs on, Graves thought. `Oh, he’s a nut about it, but he doesn’t really get much chance. Twice a year during school vacations we go down to Mexico. That’s really all.’
Wright said, `That one there is a good one.’ He pointed to a gauge in the case.
Graves nodded. `I really don’t know anything about this,’ he repeated.
`You don’t dive yourself?’
`No,’ Graves said. `It always seemed too dangerous to me.’
`There’s a certain thrill in danger, though.’
`Not for me. Not at my age.’
`You prefer golf?’
`Poker,’ Graves said, and looked directly at Wright for the first time.
Wright smiled. `Poker can be very challenging,’ he said. `But it’s like any other game. If you get too good, you’re limited in your opponents.’
`Yes, I’ve found that.’
`You’re good?’ There was just the slightest taunt in the voice, the slightest goading.
`Yes, I’m good,’ Graves found himself saying.
For a moment the two men exchanged a level, appraising look. Wright broke it; he looked down at the counter. `Still,’ he said, `I admire the young, with their exuberance in physical sports. It raises the stakes. You can be hurt, you can be injured. You can even be killed.’
`But when you’re young, you don’t think of that. It doesn’t matter.’
`Oh,’ Wright said, `I think it always matters. Dying always matters.’
The salesman came back. `You’re in luck, Mr Johnson,’ he said cheerfully. `You got the last three tanks. Shall I have them put in your car?’
`That will be fine,’ Wright said, smiling.
`You must be out of your mind,’ Lewis said. They were back in the car, following the limousine.
`Not at all.’
`I suppose you went up and talked to him.’
`As a matter of fact, I did.’
Lewis smiled. `I know you’ve been doing this a long time, but still. . .’
`Look,’ Graves said, `we’re picking him up later today.’
`But you’re teasing him, playing a game . . .’
`Of course,’ Graves said.
The limousine went up Avenue D and pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel. A man came out, bent over the limo, and talked to Wright in the back seat. The conversation lasted several minutes. Finally the man turned and went inside. The limousine pulled away from the kerb.
Graves snatched up the microphone. `701 to 702.’
`702 here.’
`He’s all yours from now on. Stick to him. Out.’ Lewis looked stunned. `What the -‘
Graves pointed to the figure of the man going back into the hotel. `Follow that man and see where he goes. His name is Timothy Drew.’
HOUR 8
SAN DIEGO
9 AM PDT
`Hold out your hands.’
Peters held out his hands and waited while the supervisor ran the Geiger counter over them. It made a soft clicking sound in the cavernous warehouse garage.
`Stand still.’
He stood and watched as the counter probe was passed over his chest, his abdomen, his legs. It was a little like being frisked.
`Turn around.’
He turned. He heard the counter clicking as it was passed down his spine to his feet.
`Okay. Next.’
Peters stepped aside, and the driver moved forward. As the driver was being checked by the Geiger counter, the dispatcher said to Peters, `First run?’
`Yes,’ Peters said.
`Ever done a DC before?’
Peters pointed to the counter. `Not like this.’
`What’ve you done, explosives?’
`Yes.’
`This is easier than explosives or flammables,’ the dispatcher said. `We’ve got a regulation for two men in the cab, and another for staying under forty-five miles an hour. That’s it. We can take all the roads, all the tunnels and bridges. Much easier than explosives.’
Peters nodded. `What exactly is it?’
The dispatcher consulted his clipboard. `Mostly hospital supplies. Cases of intravenous saline, twelve quarts to the case, thirty cases in all. Cases of pennicillin G, forty-eight ampoules to the case, fifteen cases in all. And two rad cartridges.’
`Rad cartridges?’
`Two bars of plutonium-238 oxide. That’s a radioactive isotope. One thousand grammes each – they’re packed in lead cylinders.’
`That’s our dangerous cargo?’ Peters asked.
`You bet,’ the dispatcher said.
The driver finished his check and came over to join them. `What was that all about?’
`Insurance,’ the dispatcher said. `You have to be cleared before exposure to the cargo., in order for our coverage to be effective. We should also do a blood test, but we don’t bother.’ He turned to Peters. `Reeves, this is your rider, Peters. Peters, Reeves.’
Reeves shook hands with Peters. As he did so he gave him a slightly surprised look, as if something were mildly wrong.
The dispatcher nodded across the warehouse. `Truck’s over there,’ he said. `Have a good trip.’
Peters blinked in the sun and put on his sunglasses. Beside him, Reeves sighed. `Bright day,’ he said.
`Sure is.’
`You new at this?’
`Yeah.’
`What’d you do before?F
‘Aeroplane tail assembly. Lockheed, in Palmdale.’
`Tail assembly, huh?’ Reeves said, and laughed loudly.
`They laid me off.’
Reeves stopped laughing and nodded sympathetically. `Rough,’ he said. And then after a moment, `Laid off the tail assembly.’ And he chuckled some more.
Peters smiled. He felt confident about Reeves, who was fat and sloppy and casual – and fifteen years his senior. There wouldn’t be any difficulty.
`Well,’ Reeves said, `since you’re new at this, you might as well learn the ropes.’. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a plastic bottle of yellow pills. He handed it to Peters.
`What’s this?’ Peters asked.
`Dex. Go ahead, take one. Feel terrific.’
Peters shook a pill into his hand and paused. Reeves took one, then reached into his leather jacket and produced a flask.
`Wash it down with this,’ he said. `Vodka. No smell.’ He handed Peters the flask.
Peters dropped the pill from his hand, letting it roll down between the seats. He pretended to swig from the flask, then returned it to Reeves.
`You’ll learn,’ the driver said, and smiled.
Peters nodded and leaned forward slightly in his seat. That way he could see out the side-view mirror and keep an eye on the black Ford sedan that had been following them for the past fifteen minutes.
Ten minutes later they were on the San Diego Freeway, moving down the far right lane. They passed a green and silver sign: HACKLEY RD EXIT 1 MILE. Peters shifted in his seat. Reeves was talking about his children.
`They’re good kids,’ he was saying, `but they don’t show proper respect. All this screaming about the President, all this revolution talk, it makes me want to -,
‘We get off at the next exit,’ Peters said.
`No,’ Reeves said, `we don’t stop for another -‘ He broke off.
Peters had taken the pistol from the pocket of his leather jacket.
`Hackley Road,’ Peters said quietly. `Turn off the ramp and go half a mile east. You’ll see a small dirt road. Turn right onto that.’
`I’ll be goddamned,’ the driver said.
They came to Hackley Road and turned off on the exit ramp. They drove east. Peters glanced in the side mirror and saw that the Ford sedan was still following.
`I should have known,’ Reeves said.
`How’s that?’
`I should have known something was wrong when I shook hands. It’s your hands.’
`What about them?’
`They’re as soft as a baby’s ass,’ Reeves said. `You never worked in your life.’
`Turn right, up here,’ Peters said.
It went smoothly. Reeves pulled the truck onto the dirt road and stopped in a clump of eucalyptus trees. Peters made Reeves get out and lie on his stomach on the ground, with his hands over his head.
Reeves said nothing for a long time. Finally he said, `You going to shoot me?’
`Not if you stay quiet,’ Peters said.
The Ford sedan drew up behind the truck and three men, all wearing children’s Halloween masks, jumped out. A driver remained at the wheel. Nobody spoke as the men opened the back of the truck, climbed up on the hydraulic tailgate, and went into the cargo area.
`Nice and easy,’ Peters said, standing near Reeves with the gun. `Nice and easy.’
Reeves did not move.
The men emerged from the truck carrying two small, extremely heavy boxes. Peters could see the triple-blade radiation symbol on the boxes. The men closed the truck and started to load the boxes into the car. One of them came over and expertly tied and gagged Reeves with adhesive tape.
Then, speaking for the first time, the man said, `bet’s go.’
Peters was confused. `I thought you were going to take -‘
`Let’s go.’
Peters went with the man, who wore a Donald Duck mask, and got into the car. The sedan backed out of the road and drove off.
The men all left their masks on. One of them said, `What’s the time?’
`Nine thirty-two.’
`Perfect.’
Peters was given a mask of his own, a witch’s mask with day-glo pink cheeks and wild eyes. He pulled it on ` and said, `I thought we were taking the penicillin too.’
`The plan was changed,’ somebody said.
`But if we just take the capsules -‘
`The plan was changed this morning. We were told to take only the capsules.’
Peters frowned and said nothing. He felt the change in plan was a terrible mistake. By stealing the penicillin they would have confused the issue; it might have taken the truckers several days to discover the theft of the radiation capsules. But now they’d find only the capsules gone . . . It was too obvious, too simple. Why had the change been made?
`Time?’
`Nine thirty-six.’
The driver nodded and pulled over to the side of the road. The men sat quietly, not removing their masks. Peters looked at the backs of their necks, noticing the length of their hair, the condition of their collars, the way they were dressed. Several minutes gassed.
`Time?’
`Nine forty.’
The driver put the car in gear. He drove down the road through gently rolling farm country. The morning air was still cool.
`There it is.’
Up ahead was another dirt road turnoff, with another truck pulled off the road and another man standing over the driver.
`Remember, we want twenty pounds of it.’
The black sedan pulled up behind the truck. Peters was given the spool of inch-wide adhesive tape; he quickly tied and gagged the driver. Meanwhile the others opened the truck and removed several small packages. They were wrapped in clear plastic and looked like bread dough: a whitish, puttylike substance. The men carried two packages each, bringing them around to the trunk of the sedan, setting them in carefully, then going back for more.
Peters gave a mask to the man standing over the driver with the gun. The gunman did not speak. Then Peters went around to the trunk of the sedan and began counting the plastic packages. When there were twenty, he placed them in a suitcase, locked the case, and closed the trunk.
The men climbed back into the sedan and drove off.