by Ken Follett
It was cool in the morning this far north, and Judy shivered, wishing she had worn something heavier than her linen pantsuit.
She waited for the shout of triumph that would tell her an agent had identified Melanie. Michael paced around the traffic circle, his whole body stiff with tension. What a shock, to learn that your wife has become a terrorist, the kind of person a cop would shoot and everyone would cheer. No wonder he's tense. It's a miracle he isn't banging his head against the wall.
Next to the map was a village notice board. Judy read about a folk dance workshop that was being organized to raise funds for the Expanding Light Fireplace fund. These people had an air of harmlessness that was remarkably plausible.
The agents entered every building and looked in every room, moving rapidly from house to house. After a few minutes a man came out of one of the larger houses and walked across to the traffic circle. He was about fifty, with disheveled hair and beard, wearing homemade leather sandals and a rough blanket around his shoulders. He said to Michael: "Are you in charge here?"
Judy said: "I'm in charge."
He turned to her. "Would you please tell me what the hell is going on?"
"I'd be glad to," she said crisply. "We're looking for this woman." She held out the photo.
The man did not take it from her. "I've already seen that," he said. "She's not one of us."
Judy had a depressing feeling that he was telling the truth.
"This is a religious community," he said with mounting indignation. "We're law-abiding citizens. We don't use drugs. We pay our taxes and obey local ordinances. We don't deserve to be treated like criminals."
"We just have to be sure this woman is not hiding out here."
"Who is she, and why do you think she's here? Or is it just that you assume people who live in communes are suspect?"
"No, we don't make that assumption," Judy said. She was tempted to snap at the guy, but she reminded herself that she had woken him up at six o'clock in the morning. "This woman is part of a terrorist group. She told her estranged husband she was living in a commune in Humboldt County. We're sorry we have to wake up everyone in every commune in the county, but I hope you can understand that it is very important. If it wasn't, we wouldn't have disturbed you, and, frankly, we wouldn't have put ourselves to so much trouble."
He looked at her keenly, then nodded, his attitude changing. "Okay," he said. "I believe you. Is there anything I can do to make your job easier?"
She thought for a moment. "Is every building in your community marked on this map?"
"No," he said. "There are three new houses on the west side just beyond the orchard. But please try to be quiet--there's a new baby in one of them."
"Okay."
Sally Dobro, a middle-aged woman agent, came up. "I think we've checked every building here," she said. "There's no sign of any of our suspects."
Judy said: "There are three houses west of the orchard--did you find those?"
"No," Sally said. "Sorry. I'll do it right away."
"Go quietly," Judy said. "There's a new baby in one."
"You got it."
Sally went off, and the man in the blanket nodded his appreciation.
Judy's mobile phone rang. She answered and heard the voice of Agent Frederick Tan. "We've just checked out every building in the Magic Hill commune. Zilch."
"Thanks, Freddie."
In the next ten minutes the other raid leaders called her.
They all had the same message.
Melanie Quercus was not to be found.
Judy sank into a pit of despair. "Hell," she said. "I screwed it up."
Michael was equally dismayed. He said fretfully: "Do you think we've missed a commune?"
"Either that, or she lied about the location."
He looked thoughtful. "I'm just remembering the conversation," he said. "I asked her where she was living, but he answered the question."
Judy nodded. "I think he lied. He's smart like that."
"I've just remembered his name," Michael said. "She called him Priest."
19
On Saturday morning at breakfast, Dale and Poem stood up in the cookhouse in front of everyone and asked for quiet. "We have an announcement," Poem said.
Priest thought she must be pregnant again. He got ready to cheer and clap and make the short congratulatory speech that would be expected of him. He felt full of exuberance. Although he had not yet saved the commune, he was close. His opponent might not be out for the count, but he was down on the canvas, struggling to stay in the fight.
Poem hesitated, then looked at Dale. His face was solemn. "We're leaving the commune today," he said.
There was a shocked silence. Priest was dumbstruck. People did not leave, not unless he wanted them to. These folk were under his spell. And Dale was the oenologist, the key man in winemaking. They could not afford to lose him.
And today of all days! If Dale had heard the news--as Priest had, an hour ago, sitting in a stationary car listening to the radio--he would know that California was in a panic. The airports were mobbed, and the freeways were jammed with people fleeing the cities and all neighborhoods close to the San Andreas fault. Governor Robson had called out the National Guard. The vice president was on a plane, coming to inspect the damage at Felicitas. More and more people--state senators and assemblymen, city mayors, community leaders, and journalists--were urging the governor to give in to the demand made by the Hammer of Eden. But Dale knew nothing of all this.
Priest was not the only one to be shocked by the announcement. Apple burst into tears, and at that Poem started crying, too. Melanie was the first to speak. She said: "But Dale--why?"
"You know why," he said. "This valley is going to be flooded."
"But where will you go?"
"Rutherford. It's in Napa Valley."
"You have a regular job?"
Dale nodded. "In a winery."
It was no surprise that Dale had been able to get a job, Priest thought. His expertise was priceless. He would probably make big money. The surprise was that he wanted to go back to the straight world.
Several of the women were crying now. Song said: "Can't you wait and hope, like the rest of us?"
Poem answered her tearfully. "We have three children. We have no right to take risks with their lives. We can't stay here, hoping for a miracle, until the waters start rising around our homes."
Priest spoke for the first time. "This valley is not going to be flooded."
"You don't know that," Dale said.
The room went quiet. It was unusual for someone to contradict Priest so directly.
"This valley is not going to be flooded," Priest repeated.
Dale said: "We all know that something's been going on, Priest. In the last six weeks you've been away more than you've been home. Yesterday four of you were out until midnight, and this morning there's a dented Cadillac up there in the parking circle. But whatever you're up to, you haven't shared it with us. And I can't risk the future of my children on your faith. Shirley feels the same."
Poem's real name was Shirley, Priest recalled. For Dale to use it meant he was already detaching himself from the commune.
"I'll tell you what will save this valley," Priest said. Why not tell them about the earthquake--why not? They should be pleased--proud! "The power of prayer. Prayer will save us."
"I'll pray for you," Dale said. "So will Shirley. We'll pray for all of you. But we're not staying."
Poem wiped her tears on her sleeve. "I guess that's it. We're sorry. We packed last night, not that we have much. I hope Slow will drive us to the bus station in Silver City."
Priest stood up and went to them. He put one arm around Dale's shoulders and the other around Poem's. Hugging them to him, he said in a low, persuasive voice: "I understand your pain. Let's all go to the temple and meditate together. After that, whatever you decide to do will be the right thing."
Dale moved away, detaching himself from Priest's embrace. "N
o," he said. "Those days are gone."
Priest was shocked. He was using his full persuasive power, and it was not working. Fury rose inside him, dangerously uncontrollable. He wanted to scream at Dale's faithlessness and ingratitude. He would have killed them both if he could. But he knew that showing his anger would be a mistake. He had to maintain the facade of calm control.
However, he could not summon up the grit to bid them a gracious farewell. Torn between rage and the need for restraint, he walked silently, with as much dignity as he could muster, out of the cookhouse.
He returned to his cabin.
Two more days and it would have been okay. One day!
He sat on the bed and lit a cigarette. Spirit lay on the floor, watching him mournfully. They were both silent and still, brooding. Melanie would follow him in a minute or two.
But it was Star who came in.
She had not spoken to him since she and Oaktree had driven away from Felicitas last night in the Toyota minivan. He knew she was angered and distressed by the earthquake. He had not yet had time to talk her down.
She said: "I'm going to the police."
Priest was astonished. Star loathed cops passionately. For her to enter a precinct house would be like Billy Graham going to a gay club. "You're out of your mind," he said.
"We killed people yesterday," she said. "I listened to the radio on the drive back. At least twelve people died, and more than a hundred were hospitalized. Babies and children were hurt. People lost their homes, everything they had--poor people, not just rich. And we did that to them."
Everything is falling apart--just when I'm about to win!
He reached for her hand. "Do you think I wanted to kill people?"
She backed away, refusing to take his hand. "You sure as hell didn't look sad when it happened."
I've got to hold it together for just a little longer. I must.
He made himself look penitent. "I was happy the vibrator worked, yes. I was glad we were able to carry out our threat. But I didn't intend to hurt anyone. I knew there was a risk, and I decided to take it, because what was at stake was so important. I thought you made the same decision."
"I did, and it was a bad decision, a wicked decision." Tears came to her eyes. "For Christ's sake, can't you see what's happened to us? We were the kids who believed in love and peace--now we're killing people! You're just like Lyndon Johnson. He bombed the Vietnamese and justified it. We said he was full of shit, and he was. I've dedicated my whole life to not being like that!"
"So you feel you made a mistake," Priest said. "I can understand that. What's hard for me to dig is that you want to redeem yourself by punishing me and the whole commune. You want to betray us to the cops."
She was taken aback. "I hadn't looked at it that way," she said. "I don't want to punish anyone."
He had her now. "So what do you really want?" He did not give her time to answer for herself. "I think you need to be sure it's over."
"I guess so, yeah."
He reached out to her, and this time she let him hold her hands. "It's over," he said softly.
"I don't know," she said.
"There will be no more earthquakes. The governor will give in. You'll see."
*
Speeding back to San Francisco, Judy was diverted to Sacramento for a meeting at the governor's office. She grabbed another three or four hours' sleep in the car, and when she arrived at the Capitol Building she felt ready to bite the world.
Stuart Cleever and Charlie Marsh had flown there from San Francisco. The head of the FBI's Sacramento office joined them. They met at noon in the conference room of the Horseshoe, the governor's suite. Al Honeymoon was in the chair.
"There's a twelve-mile traffic jam on I-80 with people trying to get away from the San Andreas fault," Honeymoon said. "The other major freeways are almost as bad."
Cleever said: "The president called the director of the FBI and asked him about public order." He looked at Judy as if all this was her fault.
"He called Governor Robson, too," Honeymoon said.
"As of this moment, we do not have a serious public order problem," Cleever said. "There are reports of looting in three neighborhoods in San Francisco and one in Oakland, but it's sporadic. The governor has called out the National Guard and stationed them in the armories, although we don't need them yet. However, if there should be another earthquake ..."
The thought made Judy feel ill. "There can't be another earthquake," she said.
They all looked at her. Honeymoon made a sardonic face. "You have a suggestion?"
She did. It was a poor one, but they were desperate. "There's only one thing I can think of," she said. "Set a trap for him."
"How?"
"Tell him Governor Robson wants to negotiate with him personally."
Cleever said: "I don't believe he'd fall for it."
"I don't know." Judy frowned. "He's smart, and any smart person would suspect a trap. But he's a psychopath, and they just love controlling others, calling attention to themselves and their actions, manipulating people and circumstances. The idea of personally negotiating with the governor of California is going to tempt him mightily."
Honeymoon said: "I guess I'm the only person here who's met him."
"That's right," Judy said. "I've seen him, and spoken to him on the phone, but you spent several minutes in a car with him. What was your impression?"
"You've summed him up about right--a smart psychopath. I believe he was angry with me for not being more impressed by him. Like I should have been, I don't know, more deferential."
Judy suppressed a grin. Honeymoon did not defer to many people.
Honeymoon went on: "He understood the political difficulties of what he was asking for. I told him the governor could not give in to blackmail. He'd thought of that already, and he had his answer prepared."
"What was it?"
"He said we could deny what really happened. Announce a freeze on power plant building and say it had nothing to do with the earthquake threat."
"Is that a possibility?" Judy said.
"Yes. I wouldn't recommend it, but if the governor put it to me as a plan, I'd have to say it could be made to work. However, the question is academic. I know Mike Robson, and he won't do it."
"But he could pretend," Judy said.
"What do you mean?"
"We could tell Granger the governor is willing to announce the freeze, but only under the right conditions, as he has to protect his political future. He wants to talk personally with Granger to agree to those conditions."
Stuart Cleever put in: "The Supreme Court has ruled that law enforcement personnel may use trickery, ruse, and deceit. The only thing we're not permitted to do is threaten to take away the suspect's children. And if we promise immunity from prosecution, it sticks--we can't prosecute. But we can certainly do what Judy suggests without violating any laws."
"Okay," Honeymoon said. "I don't know if this is going to work, but I guess we have to try. Let's do it."
*
Priest and Melanie drove into Sacramento in the dented Cadillac. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the town was thronged with people.
Listening to the car radio soon after midday, Priest had heard the voice of John Truth, although it was not time for his show. "Here is a special message for Peter Shoebury of Eisenhower Junior High," Truth had said. Shoebury was the man whose identity Priest had borrowed for the FBI press conference, and Eisenhower was the imaginary school attended by Flower. Priest realized the message was for him. "Would Peter Shoebury please call me at the following number," Truth had said.
"They want to make a deal," he had said to Melanie. "That's it--we've won!"
While Melanie drove around downtown, surrounded by hundreds of cars and thousands of people, Priest made the call from her mobile phone. Even if the FBI was tracing the call, he figured, they would not be able to pick one car out of the traffic.
His heart was in his mouth as he listened to t
he ringing tone. I won the lottery and I'm here to pick up my check.
The call was answered by a woman. "Hello?" She sounded guarded. Maybe she had received a lot of crank calls in response to the radio spot.
"This is Peter Shoebury from Eisenhower Junior High."
The response was instant. "I'm going to connect you with Al Honeymoon, the governor's cabinet secretary."
Yes!
"I just need to verify your identity first."
It's a trick. "How do you propose to do that?"
"Would you mind giving me the name of the student reporter who was with you a week ago?"
Priest remembered Flower saying, "I'll never forgive you for calling me Florence."
Warily he said: "It was Florence."
"Connecting you now."
No trick--just a precaution.
Priest scanned the streets anxiously, alert for a police car or a bunch of FBI men bearing down on his car. He saw nothing but shoppers and tourists. A moment later the deep voice of Honeymoon said: "Mr. Granger?"
Priest got right to the point. "Are you ready to do the sensible thing?"
"We're ready to talk."
"What does that mean?"
"The governor wants to meet with you today, with the object of negotiating a resolution to this crisis."
Priest said: "Is the governor willing to announce the freeze we want?"
Honeymoon hesitated. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "But there must be conditions."
"What kind?"
"When you and I spoke in my car, and I told you that the governor could not give in to blackmail, you mentioned spin doctors."
"Yes."
"You're a sophisticated individual, you understand that the governor's political future is at risk here. The announcement of this freeze will have to be handled very delicately."
Honeymoon had changed his tune, Priest thought with satisfaction. The arrogance was gone. He had developed respect for his opponent. That was gratifying. "In other words, the governor has to cover his ass and he wants to make sure I won't blow it for him."
"You might look at it that way."
"Where do we meet?"
"In the governor's office here at the Capitol Building."
