`Time?’
`Nine fifty-one.’
`Beautiful.’
‘T’he black sedan drove back to the San Diego Freewa, and stopped at the on-ramp for Hackley Road. Peters got out. So did the other gunman. Peters went around to the trunk and removed the suitcase with the plastic packages. The other gunman placed the two radiation capsules into the blue canvas gym bag.
He stood with Peters until the sedan had pulled onto the freeway and disappeared. Then, his back to the road, he took off his mask. Peters took off his mask as well. The other man removed a paper American flag from the bag. With Peters’ help, he taped the flag onto the side of the suitcase.
Then Peters removed his black-haired wig and his moustache. The other man removed his blond wig and peeled away a reddish, new-looking scar on the side of his cheek.
The two men looked at each other and laughed.
`Well done, brother,’ Peters said, and clapped him on the back.
They waited five minutes, and then another black sedan, very dusty, pulled up. An older man leaned out and said, `Give you boys a lift?’
Peters said, `We’re going to Phoenix.’ As he said it, he glanced at his brother, who was frowning.
`Hell of along way,’ the old man said. `Anyhow, you want to go south. This is the north ramp.’
`We’re just resting a minute.’
The man looked at them as if they were peculiar, shrugged, and drove onto the ramp. His car rattled as he gathered speed, and then he was gone. They were left by the roadside.
His brother lit a cigarette.
`You know,’ his brother said, `this is going to create a hell of a mess.’
`That was the idea.’
`When are you leaving?’
`Four.’
`That’s cutting it awfully close. I’m getting out at three.’
`To Vegas?’
His brother nodded. `You?’
`Chicago.’
`You better hope nothing delays that plane on the ground.’
`There’s another flight at four thirty. I’m booked on that one as well.’
His brother nodded.
Down the road they saw a car approach. It was black and white, a sedan. They couldn’t see it clearly, but as it came closer they saw the configuration better. A police car.
`Shit,’ Peters said.
His brother lit another cigarette. `What if he wants to look in the suitcase? What if he -‘
`We haven’t done anything wrong,’ Peters said. He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. Where the hell was the pickup?
The police car came closer.
`I don’t like this at all,’ his brother said.
`We haven’t done anything wrong,’ Peters said again.
The police car approached them and put on its blinker.
`The bastard’s pulling over.’
But the car did not pull over. Instead, it drove onto the ramp and merged with traffic. The cop hardly glanced at them.
They sighed.
`What time is it?’
`I have ten, on the nose.’
In the distance a car got off the far ramp and made a U turn under the freeway. It was a Cadillac convertible with a woman driving. She came around and started up the ramp, going back the way she had come. She stopped when she saw them.
`I took the wrong turnoff. Can I give you fellows a lift?,
‘We’re going to Phoenix,’ Peters said.
`No kidding,’ the woman said. `That’s my home town.’
`No kidding,’ Peters said. `Which part?’
`The right part,’ she said.
The two men exchanged glances, then got into the car, placing the suitcases in the back seat. The woman said, `Sorry I’m late,’ and drove off. Nothing else was said.
HOUR 7
SAN DIEGO
10 AM PDT
The voice crackled over the telephone line. `Fucking around with the computers,’ Phelps said, `is not my idea of a. joke.’
Graves sat in the hotel phone booth and stared across the lobby at Lewis and a marshal. Lewis was gesturing to Graves to get off the phone. `It wasn’t intended as a joke.’
`How was it intended?’ Phelps said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
`It was intended as an attempt to recall my own file.’
`You’re not supposed to do that.’
`There are a lot of things I’m not supposed to do.’
`And you seem bent on doing all of them,’ Phelps said. `Have you picked up Wright yet?’
`No.’
`You’ve certainly had time; it’s ten -‘
`I want to play him a little. Besides, I have somebody else.’
`Oh?’
`Timothy Drew.’
`Where?’
`Upstairs. We’ve got him in a hotel on Third.’
`We’ve been looking for him for forty-eight hours,’ Phelps said. `And I mean looking hard. How did you find him?’
‘Wright led us to him,’ Graves said. That was the only thing that bothered Graves. It was too much like a setup, as if Wright were giving him Drew.
`How convenient,’ Phelps said. `When are you going to arrest him?’
`He’s already arrested. The federal marshals are up there with him.’
`I mean Wright.’
`Later in the day,’ Graves said.
`You and your goddamned poker games,’ Phelps said. `I want you to call me in an hour.’
`All right.’
`Stop agreeing with me. Just do it.’ And he hung up.
Graves left the phone booth. Lewis came over with his notebook open. They headed for the elevator.
`What’ve you got?’ Graves said.
`It’s pretty strange,’ Lewis said. `At Sanderson’s today, Wright bought a Model 477 scintillation counter. Retail price, two hundred forty-seven dollars.’
`A scintillation counter?’
`Yeah. It’s apparently a kind of high-grade Geiger counter. Reads radiation.’
`Does it have any other uses?’
`Nobody knows of any.’
`What else?’
`The machine shop ground three fittings for him to custom specifications. All high-grade stainless steel. Two of them are on-off pressure valves with special handles. The third is a T coupling which brings together two hoses into a common outlet.’
`What’s special about the valve handles?’
`The handles have a series of perforations, presumably so the valves can be turned on and off by some sort of machine.’
`Any information about what kind of machine would be used to turn the valves on and off?’
Lewis shook his head. `But they said the handles are spring-loaded. A moderate pressure will snap them from full shut to the full open position.’
`Now that’s really interesting,’ Graves said. `You mean there are no intermediate positions for the valves?’
`Yes. It’s either full shut or full open.’
The elevator came. Graves pressed the button for the sixth floor.
`When did Wright order these custom fittings?’
`Last week. Rush order.’
`Really interesting,’ Graves said. `What about the plastics store?’
Lewis scratched his head. `Three weeks ago Wright ordered two pressure-moulded plastic tanks from them. Long tanks roughly a foot in diameter and eight feet long. Specified as triple-laminate things able to withstand pressures up to five hundred pounds per square inch. The shop was surprised to get the order.’
`Well, the guy said nobody orders tanks like that in plastic. It’s too dangerous. All high-pressure tanks are metal and seamless. There’s no advantage to plastic, even in weight. Plastic tanks, if they’re triple-thickness, are heavier than metal.’
‘Wright wouldn’t order something that had no advantage.’
`Well,’ Lewis said, `the guy thought Wright was a pretty strange customer. Not only did he want these plastic tanks, but he wanted them made out of allacron.’
`Which is?’
`A very tough resilient plastic, but highly combustible. It burns like a bastard, so it isn’t used much.’
`Have the tanks been finished?’
`They were delivered a week ago to a private airfield hangar in El Cajon, about twelve miles from here.’
`You have the address?’
`Yeah. I tried to call; no telephone there.’
Graves frowned. He was more convinced than ever that Wright was playing with him, leading him on a chase, daring him to put the puzzle together.
Two high-pressure tanks of combustible plastic.
Special steel fittings, including a T nozzle.
Two steel hoses, flexible.
All that made a kind of sense. You had two tanks, and two hoses that joined in a T nozzle, so that the contents of the two tanks – liquid or gas, presumably – would come together at the T nozzle and then be expelled as a mixture.
That was easy to visualize.
But what was the point? And what was the point of the skin-diving tanks, and the rubber strips, and the Geiger counter?
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor. They both got out and walked to Drew’s room.
`Where is Wright now?’
`I just checked with 702. He’s in that apartment on Alameda.’
`The one he rented last week?’
`Right.’
The newly rented apartment was also a puzzle. Wright had apparently leased it on the spur of the moment. It seemed to coincide with nothing, except with the fact that one girl had been seen leaving his old apartment near the Cortez hotel three mornings in a row. This was unusual enough to suggest that Wright was going to set her up as his mistress.
`702 talked to the doorman. Wright told the doorman they’d be moving furniture into the apartment later in the day.’
`Hmmm.’ That seemed totally unreasonable to Graves. Wright wouldn’t spend time supervising domestic arrangements for a girl. It was beneath him.
Stopping in the hallway, Lewis said, `Does all this make sense to you?’
`No,’ Graves said. `Not yet. But I expect to get some help.’
Without knocking he opened the door and entered Drew’s room.
Timothy Drew sat in an overstuffed chair and said, `I want to see my lawyer.’ His voice was calm. The fact of his arrest, and the presence of two federal marshals standing by the doors with their hands resting on the butts of their revolvers, did not seem to disturb him at all.
Graves’ eyes swept the living-room. It was an expensive hotel suite, furnished in a heavily elegant style. Altogether, not bad for a man one year out of the Army. He sat down in a chair opposite Drew.
`I want to see my lawyer,’ Drew repeated. His eyes flicked once to Graves, then went back to the cops, as if he had decided Graves was unimportant.
`You’ll have that opportunity,’ Graves said.
Drew’s eyes snapped back, fixed on him.
`In due time,’ Graves added.
`I want to do it now.’
`We’re in a hurry,’ Graves said. His voice was not hurried at all. `We’d prefer to have a statement from you now.’
`I have nothing to say.’
Graves shrugged, and lit a cigarette. He never took his eyes off Drew. This was going to be a kind of chess game, he knew, and it was a game he could win if he kept his temper.
`I want to see my lawyer,’ Drew repeated.
Graves did not reply. He just stared. That was the simplest form of pressure, and he wanted to see if it would work.
`Listen,’ Drew said, `who are you guys, anyway? You haven’t got the right to push me around. You haven’t got a warrant -‘
`Did you show him the warrant?’ Graves said.
`Yeah, we showed him the warrant,’ one of the marshals said.
`Show him again.’
The marshal snapped open the warrant in front of Drew, then took it away.
`Signed by a federal district court judge at nine thirty this morning,’ Graves said. `All in order, all perfectly legal. You’re arrested on a charge of conspiracy to steal classified information. It carries a mandatory twenty-year prison sentence if you’re convicted. Parole is not granted for such charges. Do you know what that means?’
`I want to see my lawyer.’
`I’m trying to help you,’ Graves said quietly. `Keep your mouth shut and listen: You were observed tampering with the computer terminals at Southern California Underwriters. You tapped into classified data banks at known times which coincide with your access to the terminals in question. We have traced back the lines. Furthermore, you utilized certain codes known to you but outdated. This gives you away. It’s quite straightforward. You’ll get out of prison when you’re about fifty.’
Graves stood up. `Now think carefully, Mr Drew. Is it worth it?’
Drew’s face went blank, neutral, composed. `I want to see my lawyer.’
Graves sighed and walked around the living-room, looking idly at details. He glanced into the bedroom and saw a packed suitcase next to the bed.-He looked back at Drew. `Planning a trip?’
`I want to see my lawyer.’
Graves walked into the bedroom and opened the suitcase. The bottom half was filled with lightweight clothing, bathing trunks, sports clothes.
The top was packed with money, neat stacks of twenty-dollar bills held tight in paper sleeves. Fresh from the bank. He counted the stacks: it came to roughly twenty thousand dollars.
In a corner of the bedroom draped over a chair was a sports coat. He found a ticket for the noon plane to Acapulco in the pocket. A first-class ticket, one-way.
He returned to the living-room. Drew watched him, wary now.
`Planning a trip, Mr Drew?’
`I want to see my lawyer.’
`That’s a lot of money in there, Mr Drew.’
`I have nothing to say.’
`From your ticket, it looks like you were planning to stay down there. Not come back.’
Drew shook his head. He did not speak. He was sweating, but still in control; he showed no sign of cracking.
`Can you account for all that money?P
‘No comment. I want to see -‘
`All right,’ Graves said. He sighed and turned to the marshals. `Okay, lock him up.’
The marshals grabbed Drew roughly, each taking an arm. For the first time Drew became excited: `What’s going on?’
Graves found the reaction interesting. Was Drew afraid of jail? Was he homosexual? Did he need drugs? Graves decided to play on the jail fear. `We don’t have many options, Mr Drew. I know it’s not pleasant, but we’ve got to put you in jail. You know, there’s a lot of paperwork, and sometimes people get lost. Inadvertently deprived of their rights. I mean, people have spent a day or two in jail, and their papers get mixed up. So they don’t get any food, or water, or anything. But you see, nobody knows you’re there. For a while.’
`Where are you taking me?’ Drew’s voice was strained now, very tense.
`Downtown. We’ll be talking to you again in a day or so, when you’re more . . . relaxed.’
`Downtown San Diego?’
`Yes,’ Graves said. And he suddenly realized that Drew wasn’t afraid of jail at all. He didn’t want to stay in the city. That was what he was afraid of.
`You can’t do that!’
`Just watch it happen,’ Graves said, lighting a cigarette.
`I’ve got to leave,’ Drew said. He was now openly agitated. `I have to leave. I have to leave.’
`Why?’
`It’s my sister. She’s sick, in Mexico. That’s why I have the money, I need it ‘
`You don’t have a sister,’ Graves said. `You have one brother two years older than you, who sells insurance in Portland, Oregon. Your father is still alive and lives in Michigan. Your mother died two years ago of a heart attack.’
Drew’s body sagged.
`Put him down,’ Graves said to the marshals. They dropped him back into the chair. `Now listen to me,’ Graves said. `You aren’t going anywhere without giving us some help.’
Drew stared at him. `I want a cigarette.’
Graves gave him one.
`What time is it now?’ Drew asked dully.
`Ten thirty.’ Graves lit the cigarette for him and watched as Drew sat back and inhaled.
`Listen,’ Drew said, `I have to catch that plane at noon.’
`Why is that?’ Graves said.
`I don’t know,’ Drew said. `I swear to God I don’t know.’
`What do you know?’
`I know I have to get out of San Diego today, because . . . something is going to happen.’
`How do you know this?’
`John told me.’
`John Wright?’
`Yes.’
`What did he say?’
`He said that the binary would go off today. In San Diego.’
`And what is the binary?’
`I don’t know.’ He sucked on the cigarette.
`Mr Drew, you’re going to have to do better ‘
`I swear to you, I don’t know.’
Graves paused. He let Drew sweat, and let him smoke. Finally he said, `How is the binary related to the information you tapped from the data banks?’
`I can’t be sure. The information was in two areas. One was easy to get, the other was hard. First, John wanted supply routings. I spent a couple of days learning how to plug into the subroutines to release the information. I kept getting “no authorization” printouts, but finally I managed to plug in.’