Ted took another step as Belcher, almost involuntarily, retreated until his back was pressed against the door frame.
“Ted! Don’t!”
It was the critical moment. Ted could see George’s eyes begin to narrow, a signal that he was about to shut them tight and pull the trigger, commit an act that he couldn’t bear to watch. An act of desperation.
Ted moved with the quickness of a panther, his left hand lashing out at the gun hand just as Belcher pressed the trigger. The room was filled with the sound of an exploding shell, the slug burying itself harmlessly in the ceiling. Then the gun clattered to the floor and again, as it had once before this day, Ted’s right hand, formed in a fist, came sweeping across and met the side of Belcher’s face.
This time, the blow was right on target. There was the sickening sound of bones cracking and a tortured, bloody scream came boiling out of the broken mouth of George Belcher. He bounced off the door frame and fell in a heap to the floor, unconscious.
Ted picked up the gun and stuck it in his belt. Then he turned to a thoroughly frightened Terry and said, “There’s no time to pack. Just gather up what you need.”
She seemed stuck fast to the couch, her hands pressed so tightly to her cheeks they seemed bloodless. Her eyes were fixed upon the immobile creature on the floor, the blood forming a small pool on the parquet.
“Shouldn’t I call an ambulance or something?” she gasped.
“No,” Ted said, sharply. “Somebody will have heard that shot. This place will be swarming with cops in no time. We have to move! Now!” It was a shout.
She jerked back against the couch and stared at him. Then, galvanized, she sprang to her feet and grabbed her handbag.
They were in the car and moving in less than a minute. Even then, with the apartment building visible in the rear-view mirror, they could hear the sirens howling in the distance.
On the way to Dr. Wickshire’s, Ted told Terry everything he’d learned. Throughout the short trip, she held one of his hands in both of hers, clutching it tightly, listening intently, shaking her head in disbelief from time to time.
“I can’t believe it!” she said, when he finally finished.
He didn’t know if he believed it himself. It seemed more a living nightmare than anything else.
When they arrived at the home of the scientist, something new had been added. A long motor home was parked in front of the small house. It was an older model, boxy and unattractive, bristling with antennae, the rear panel covered with colorful decals heralding various national parks and other well-known natural wonders.
For a moment, Ted thought the woman had received unexpected visitors until he saw the legend painted on the spare tire cover. It read, “Rock Doc.”
He parked the car and together, he and Terry went to the front door. Before Ted could ring the bell, the door flew open and Dr. Wickshire stood there, the poodle in her arms, a look of excitement in her eyes.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Well … I …”
She cut him off. “No matter.” Then she recognized Terry. “Theresa! How nice to see you. Come in, come in!” she said, unlocking the screen door and holding it open. Once they were inside, she put the dog down and Pierre went through his regular routine, checking both visitors out before heading back to his favorite corner. Then Ted and Terry sat down in the living room while Glenda Wickshire made a fresh pot of coffee.
As she came out of the kitchen, the coffee and the cups on a silver tray, she was all smiles. “I read a lot of detective novels,” she said, directing her attention to Ted. “From what I understand, you people drink a lot of coffee.”
Ted smiled back at her. “I’m afraid that’s true, Doctor,” he said. “I sometimes wonder if we’d be able to function without it.” Then he asked, “Are you planning a trip?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Where?”
“Hollister. I’m leaving almost immediately. According to Thomas’s report, he expects an earthquake tomorrow in Hollister. I want to be there when it happens. If it happens.”
“You doubt it?” he asked.
She rubbed her chin for a moment and said, “To be perfectly honest with you … I don’t know what to think. There is so much that is confusing.”
“Like?”
“Well, to begin with, there’s the peculiarity of Hollister itself. As many people, even those outside the scientific community, know, Hollister is a town that lies right along a very active part of the San Andreas fault line. Because of its unique location, it suffers earthquakes more than almost any other place in the world.
“You see,” she continued, “the San Andreas fault is a wonderful example of a strike-slip fault line. And Hollister, being where it is, is besieged by scientists and tourists alike. We — by that I mean the scientific community — have blanketed the area with every conceivable monitoring device. Seismometers, magnetometers, strain gauges, geodolites, tilt-meters … all in an effort to learn as much about earthquakes as possible. Have you ever been there?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s quite something to see. The town is literally being torn apart by the constant stresses created by the fault. Streets and buildings are gradually being ripped asunder because they straddle the fault lines, either the San Andreas itself or one of the many small tributaries. The movement of the plates, which averages about a centimeter every year, is inexorable. On one side, the plate is being pushed northward. On the other, southward. It’s really quite fascinating. That’s why there’s so much interest in the place.
“But — and this is but one problem I have with Thomas’s report — it isn’t just we, by that I mean Americans, who have research facilities in the region. There are expeditionary groups from many countries, primarily those experiencing regular earthquake activity. Japan, Mexico, Chile … actually, a score of countries. And almost all of the information gathered is shared quite freely. It’s been that way all along.”
She paused and sipped her coffee for a moment, then continued. “Thomas contends that the research carried out by himself and Mr. Gifford was classified by this … government agency. He further contends that the new techniques developed by Mr. Gifford have been proved effective. I really find that most difficult to believe.”
“Why?”
She pursed her lips for a moment and then said, “If Hollister was a closed area, inaccessible to all but a chosen few, I could understand it. But such is not the case. It’s open to anyone. If there’d been a breakthrough of this magnitude, I think I would have known about it. All of us would have, in fact. Much of the data available to Thomas and Mr. Gifford was available to others. I don’t understand why some of the others haven’t made a similar prediction.”
“But,” Ted said, “didn’t he write that they were using new techniques … new equipment? New interpretations of existing data?”
“Yes, he did,” she said. “It’s the interpretations that are different here. The methodology.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, listen to me! I’m the archetypical scientific doubting Thomas!”
As soon as she said it, she realized the strangeness of the remark. Her hand flew to her mouth and she said, “Oh my!”
They all laughed.
“I guess,” she went on, “I’m no different than the rest. We scientists hate to accept new ideas at first. We’re always looking for solid evidence. And the older we are, the harder we are to convince.” She took a deep breath and placed her hands in her lap. “However, if there is an earthquake in Hollister tomorrow, I’ll be completely convinced of the veracity of the report.”
“What about the other four earthquakes?” Ted asked. “Why would they mean nothing to you and this one …?”
“You must understand,” she said, “that data can sometimes be created to fit the desired results. In the case of the other four earthquakes that were predicted, I have no real evidence that the quakes occurred after the predictions.”
“But …?”
> She waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes. I know what you’re about to say.” She fixed her unwavering gaze upon him. “I’m a scientist, Mr. Kowalczyk. I deal in facts. I have in my hands a report that predicts an earthquake in Hollister tomorrow. If such an earthquake occurs, I will have my evidence. That will suffice. Nothing less.
“As for Los Angeles …” She stopped talking and stared at the floor for a moment. Then, her eyes began to cloud over and she put her hands to her face. Terry moved to her side and put an arm around her.
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “It’s just such a shock. All of those people!” She patted Terry’s arm and said, “I’m so sorry about Thomas.”
Terry looked at Ted, her eyes bespeaking the question.
“Yes,” Ted said. “You had better tell her. Tell her everything.”
The old lady with the young spirit looked up and asked, “Tell me what? What is going on?”
Ted grinned. “Quite a bit. Terry will fill you in. But before she does, I need to use a telephone and I also need to hide my car.”
“Hide your car?”
“Yes. I’m afraid … Would it be possible for us to travel with you in the motor home?”
Dr. Wickshire looked confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “If you want to use a phone, there’s one in the kitchen. But why would you need to hide a car? Hide it from whom?”
Ted stood up. “I thought that, in the interests of time, Terry could tell you everything while I went out and made my phone call. May I use your car?”
“Yes … of course. It’s an old one. In the garage.”
She fished out the keys from her handbag and handed them to him.
“Do you drink, Doctor?” Ted asked.
She looked at him sharply. “On occasion. Why do you ask?”
Ted looked at Terry and smiled. “I think you better give her a stiff belt before you tell her everything.”
While Terry was left to brief Dr. Wickshire, Ted switched cars. The doctor’s car was, of all things, an old, beat-up ’56 Chevy. At long last, he was able to sit up straight again. He felt right at home.
He found a phone booth about ten blocks away from the house. It being Saturday, he expected to find Frank Leach at home. He wasn’t. He was at his office.
“Anything new?” Ted asked.
Leach was almost beside himself. “Listen, babe. I talked to some people. I got some information. But I’m not giving you anything over the phone. Damn it, Ted! I’m coming out there!”
It was useless to argue any further. From the sound of the man’s voice, it was a total waste of time.
“OK, Frank. Come on out.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“How the hell are we going to get together?”
“I don’t know that we can, Frank. There are some people looking for me. They may tail you all the way out here. You might lead them right to me.”
He could almost hear the man’s mind clicking as he considered the problem. Then he heard, “I had the place swept. They didn’t find any bugs.”
“Frank,” Ted said, almost casually, “the ones they have now you’d never find. Trust me.”
“Jesus.”
“That’s why I don’t think we can get together.”
The line was silent for a moment. Then Frank said, “OK, babe. I got the picture. I know what to do. You remember a case we worked on last year? Good-lookin’ broad with the bad back?”
Ted remembered. She’d claimed disability for a bad back. The medical workup had been inconclusive, but that wasn’t unusual in cases of back pain. X-rays were almost useless and even MRI’s were of no help unless there was damage to a disk. They’d watched her for a while and finally found her in a motel in Santa Barbara, enjoying herself in a way that no bad back would tolerate.
“I remember,” Ted said.
“That’s where I’ll be. I’ll register under her last name. You remember?”
“Yes.”
“OK. You contact me there. I’ll shake any tails. Don’t you worry yourself about that. OK, babe?”
Ted smiled to himself. It was OK. For a lot of reasons. Frank Leach was a man he could trust completely. He was also a man with a powerful mind. Right now, Ted Kowalczyk needed all of the help he could find.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“See ya, babe.”
By the time Ted got back to Glenda Wickshire’s place, the woman had been fully briefed. It was clear, from the expression on her face, that Terry had spared no details. The scientist seemed dazed and upset.
“It’s incredible!” Dr. Wickshire said. “I’m no child. I’ve always known that there were things going on in this country that were being kept from us. But this! This is monstrous!”
She would get no argument from Ted on that. “What do you plan to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
And he didn’t. Not really. An idea was formulating in his mind. But it wasn’t set yet. There were bits and pieces floating around, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle.
For a few moments, the three of them sat lost in their own thoughts, saying nothing. Then Ted said, “I guess it’s like you said earlier. If there’s an earthquake in Hollister tomorrow or the next day, then it would make Tommy’s report even more viable. If there isn’t …”
Dr. Wickshire held up a hand. “Clearly, it doesn’t make any sense for this … NADAT … to be doing what they’re doing unless they’re certain the report is accurate. The risk they’re prepared to take … it could actually trigger … my God! It’s beyond me!
“In any case, you mentioned coming with me. You’re quite welcome to do so. I assume you want to use the motor home as a hideout. Is that the right word?”
Ted smiled. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. You can both help load up the vehicle. We’ll stop on the way and get some groceries. I wasn’t expecting company, but I welcome it. We’ll be quite comfortable. The motor home is old but efficient. It sleeps six.”
“If you’d …”
She smiled. “No … it’s fine. I welcome you. I welcome anyone who can get to the bottom of this mess. I don’t think I’ve ever been so upset in all my life.”
Ted smiled at her. He admired her spunk, her guts. But, at the same time, it concerned him. “I want you to realize,” he said, “that by helping us, you may be involving yourself in something that could land you in jail … or worse. It’s possible you could even lose your life, Doctor. Are you aware of that?”
She looked at him with eyes that were filled with sadness. “The fact that what you say is true causes me much pain, Mr. Kowalczyk. Not because of the danger, but because somehow, somewhere, the wrong people have been allowed too much power.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help you. I imagine it’s much the same with you.”
He nodded.
“No … Don’t worry about me. Besides, I haven’t had this much excitement since … I don’t know when. I’d suggest we get started immediately.”
“When we stop for groceries, I need to pick up some other … things,” Terry said. “I didn’t exactly have time to pack.”
Dr. Wickshire smiled. “There’s a shopping plaza on the way to the highway. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need there.”
They loaded the motor home with blankets and towels and other essentials.
And then they were on their way.
Eighteen
* * *
Robert Graves hung up the telephone, removed his glasses and rubbed both sides of his nose. The glasses he wore were heavy and formed deep indentations in the skin that caused his nose to ache almost constantly. He’d heard that there were newer, lighter glasses available, but that would require a visit to the doctor. Graves, for all his brilliance, had a phobia about doctors. He’d gone though the last ten years of his life with a number of medical problems that could have ea
sily been attended to. But he’d delayed and avoided and finally conceded that he’d never willingly see a doctor unless his life depended on one.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Shubert had contacted him with a far more important problem. A problem that had not been entirely unforeseen. Graves had anticipated that there would be those involved in the project who might yield to pressures brought about by conscience or some other ill-defined value system. It was a sign of the times. The country suffered from a paucity of true patriots willing to put the needs of the country ahead of personal considerations. There were too many who questioned too much. A vast proletariat with neither the breeding nor the training to allow them to make proper decisions was represented by shallow men with little wisdom.
Weak men representing spoiled, even weaker men. It was killing the country, just as it had brought an end to other great cultures.
He rubbed his nose once more.
He had undertaken this mission, the gravest he had ever encountered, with the knowledge that it could well be his last. He had determined to proceed with due caution. Those in critical positions had been carefully interviewed and given a series of psychological tests before being assigned their tasks, but even then, there was always the chance they’d crack. No test was foolproof. Not all human reactions were predictable. Just most of them.
For that reason, among others, there were only a few of the project workers who knew the details of the entire undertaking. Most were carefully monitored. Not all of them would suffer pangs of guilt, thank God. But the weak ones were like grains of sand thrown in the oil of a magnificently engineered engine. If not properly eliminated, the tiny grains of sand could bring the most powerful engine to a shuddering stop. There were weak minds everywhere.
There was the FBI man, Belcher, supposedly a professional, who’d been told to deal with the Polack and hadn’t. Instead, he’d probably blabbed everything he knew. It was something not unanticipated, in light of the information contained in Kowalczyk’s file. Belcher had allowed the Polack to gain the upper hand and now lay in the hospital, his broken jaw wired shut, refusing to communicate by other means the circumstances surrounding his injuries. But he’d been found in the home of the ex-wife of Thomas Wilson. Graves could almost visualize what had happened.
The Big One Page 18
