‘Splendid. I’ll send my cord down again. Moment, please. I’ll have to get a weight for it first.’ He strap-hung the radio round his neck to leave his hands free and his eye lighted almost immediately on Van Effen’s machine-pistol. He secured the cord to the trigger-guard and immediately began to lower away. He spoke into the radio.
‘The line’s on the way down. It’s weighted with Van Effen’s machine-pistol and the cord is tied to the trigger-guard. I mean, I wouldn’t like anyone to shoot themselves by accident.’
‘The Navy is accustomed to the handling of offensive weapons, Mr Revson.’
‘No offence, Captain. When I get the rope up I’ll pass it over a rail and secure it to Van Effen. Double bowline round the thighs, a turn round his waist and his hands tied behind his back so that the rope can’t slip over his shoulders.’
‘We have openings in the Service for resourceful young men like you.’
‘I’m afraid the age qualification cut-off lies far behind me. When I have him ready can you have two or three of your men lower him down over the rail? Damned if I’m going to try myself. As I said, it’s my age.’
‘You wouldn’t believe how modernized today’s Navy is. We’ll use a winch.’
Revson said apologetically: ‘I’m just a landlubber.’
‘We have your cord and gun and nobody’s shot down anybody’ There was a brief pause. ‘Haul away.’
Revson brought in the rope. It looked hardly thicker than a clothes-line, but Revson didn’t doubt that Pearson knew what he was about. He trussed Van Effen in the manner he’d described then dragged him to the edge. He said into the radio: ‘Ready to take the strain?’
‘Ready.’
Revson eased him over the edge. For a moment Van Effen dangled there, then disappeared downwards into the darkness. The rope over the rail went slack and Pearson’s voice came over the radio.
‘We have him.’
‘Intact?’
‘Intact. All for tonight?’
‘Yes. Thank you for your co-operation.’ Revson wondered briefly what Van Effen’s reaction would be when he found himself in a submarine, then spoke again into the radio. ‘Mr Hagenbach?’
‘Here.’
‘You heard it all?’
‘Yes. Not a bad job.’ Hagenbach was not much given to showering fulsome congratulations on his subordinates.
‘I’ve been lucky. The triggering mechanism for the explosives has been deactivated. Permanently’
‘Good. Very good.’ This, from Hagenbach, was the equivalent to the Roman tribute offered a highly successful general after he’d conquered his second or third country in succession. ‘Mayor Morrison will be pleased to know this.’
‘When he knows it. I suggest that in a couple of hours’ time you douse the bridge lights again and effect entry into the east side south tower. You have the men, sir?’
‘Hand-picked.’
‘Don’t forget to tell them to remove the detonators on the explosives. Just precautionary, you know.’
‘Ha!’ Hagenbach’s deflation was like a snowflake in the river. ‘Of course.’
‘And another thought. Before you cut the lights you might use the laser on their south-facing searchlight.’
‘We will, my boy, we will.’
‘Please don’t contact me at any time. I might be carrying the radio on me and might be in a very awkward position, such as talking to Branson, when the call-up buzzer goes off.’
‘We’ll keep a permanent listening watch for you.’
Hagenbach looked round his colleagues. His face almost broke into a smile but he just managed to keep his record intact. He looked at each one in turn, trying to conceal his complacency, but not trying too hard, then finally directed his attention towards the Vice-President.
‘“Mad” was the word you used, sir. “Quite mad.”’
Richards took it very well. ‘Well, perhaps a divine sort of madness. Deactivating that triggering device is a major step forward in itself. If only, as you say, Morrison knew.’
‘There do appear to be no limits to his resourcefulness,’ Quarry said. ‘The right man, in the right place, at the right time, if ever there was. But it still doesn’t solve the central problem of the plight of our hostages.’
‘I wouldn’t worry.’ Hagenbach leaned back comfortably in his chair. ‘Revson will think of something.’
ELEVEN
The only thing Revson was thinking about was how very pleasant it would be to have a few hours’ blissful sleep. He’d dragged an already stirring Johnson from his cramped position in front of the driver’s seat and propped him on the second step of the coach entrance, head and shoulders resting more or less comfortably against the handrail. A minute or two, Revson thought, and he would come to. Even Bartlett was beginning to stir restlessly in his drugged sleep. Different people reacted widely in the length of time it took them to recover from the effect of the knock-out needles. Johnson and Bartlett appeared to have very similar reaction times.
Revson moved silently down the aisle. April Wednesday was wide awake. She swung out to let him pass to the inside seat then sat again. Before removing his soaking coat and dumping it on the floor, he passed her the aerosol. She stooped and thrust it in the bottom of her carry-all. She whispered: ‘I didn’t think I’d see you again. How did it go?’
‘Well enough.’
‘What happened?’
‘You want to know? Really?’
She thought and shook her head. There were still visions of thumb-screws in her head. Instead, she said softly: ‘What’s that round your neck?’
‘Good God!’ From sleepiness Revson was jerked into immediate wide-awakeness. The little transceiver still dangled from his neck. What a sight for a roving Branson. He lifted the transceiver from his neck, undipped the straps, picked up his camera and inserted the radio in its base.
She said: ‘What’s that?’
‘Just a teeny-weeny hand camera.’
‘It’s not. It’s a radio.’
‘Call it what you like.’
‘Where did you get it from? I mean, this coach – everything – has been searched from top to bottom.’
‘From a passing friend. I have friends everywhere. You may well have saved my life there. I could kiss you for it.’
‘Well?’
When it came to kissing she was nowhere near as fragile as she looked. Revson said: ‘That was the nicest part of the whole evening. Of the whole day. Of a whole lot of days. Some day, some time, when we get off this damned bridge, we must try that again.’
‘Why not now?’
‘You’re a brazen -’ He caught her arm and nodded. Somewhere up front someone was stirring. It was Johnson. He rose to his feet with surprising quickness and looked up and down the bridge. Revson could just picture what was going on in his mind. His last recollection would have been of seeing the steps of the lead coach and his natural assumption would be that he had just sat down for a moment to rest. One thing was for sure, he would never admit to Branson that he’d slept for even a second. He stepped into the bus and prodded Bartlett with the muzzle of his machine-gun. Bartlett started awake and stared at him.
‘You asleep?’ Johnson demanded.
‘Me? Asleep?’ Bartlett was amazed, indignant. ‘Can’t a man rest his eyes for a moment without having accusations like that thrown at him?’
‘Just see that you don’t rest them for too long.’ Johnson’s voice was coldly self-righteous. He descended the steps and walked away.
Revson murmured to April: ‘I was sleepy but I’m not now. But I not only want to appear to be asleep, I want to be asleep if any turmoil breaks out in the very near future, which I strongly suspect might happen. Don’t happen to have any sleeping tablets on you, do you?’
‘Why on earth should I? This was supposed to be a day trip, remember.’
‘I remember.’ He sighed. ‘Well, there’s nothing else for it. Give me the aerosol can.’
‘Why?’
She hesitated.
‘Remember this dinner – those lots of dinners – I’m going to take you to just as soon as we get ashore.’
‘I don’t remember anything of the kind.’
‘Well, remember it now. But I can’t very well take you if I’m at the bottom of the Golden Gate, can I?’
She shuddered and reached reluctantly into her carry-all.
In the rear coach Chrysler put his hand on Branson’s shoulder and shook him gently. Branson, despite what must have been his exhaustion, was immediately awake, immediately alert. ‘Trouble?’
‘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 are 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 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, somehow, 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. Hagenbach 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 underestimated 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.’
The Golden Gate Page 21
