Goodbye California

CHAPTER SEVEN

At half past ten that morning Morro re-entered his study. Dubois was no longer at the observation window but was sitting at Morro’s desk, two revolving tape-recorders in front of him. He switched them off and looked up.

Morro said: ‘Deliberations over?’

‘Twenty minutes ago. They’re deliberating something else now.’

‘How to stop us, no doubt.’

‘What else? I gave up listening some time ago: they couldn’t stop a retarded five-year-old. Besides, they can’t even speak coherently, far less think rationally.’

Morro crossed to the observation window and switched on the speaker above his head. All four scientists were sitting — more accurately sprawling — round the table, bottles in front of them to save them the labour of having to rise and walk to the drinks trolley. Burnett was speaking, his face suffused with alcohol or anger or both and every other word was slurred.

‘Damn it to hell. All the way to hell. Back again, too. There’s the four of us. Look at us. Best brains in the country, that’s what we are supposed to be. Best nuclear brains. Is it beyond our capacity, gentlemen, beyond our intelligence, to devise a means whereby to circument — I mean circumvent — the devilish machinations of this monster Morro? What I maintain is —’

Bramwell said: ‘Oh, shut up. That makes the fourth time we’ve heard this speech.’ He poured himself some vodka, leaned back and closed his eyes. Healey had his elbows on the table and his hands covering his eyes. Schmidt was gazing into infinity, riding high on a cloud of gin. Morro switched off the speaker and turned away.

‘I don’t know either Burnett and Schmidt but I should imagine they are about par for their own particular courses. I’m surprised at Healey and Bramwell, though. They’re relatively sober but you can tell they’re not their usual selves. In the seven weeks they’ve been here — well, they’ve been very moderate.’

‘In their seven weeks here they haven’t had such a shock to their nervous system. They’ve probably never had a shock like this.’

‘They know? A superfluous question, perhaps.’

‘They suspected right away. They knew for certain in fifteen minutes. The rest of the time they’ve been trying to find a fault, any fault, in the designs. They can’t. And all four of them know how to make a hydrogen bomb.’

‘You’re editing, I take it. How much longer?’

‘Say twenty minutes.’

‘If I give a hand?’

‘Ten.’

‘Then in fifteen minutes we’ll give them another shock, and one that should have the effect of sobering them up considerably if not completely.’

And in fifteen minutes the four men were escorted into the study. Morro showed them personally to their deep armchairs, a glass on a table beside each armchair. There were two other berobed acolytes in the room. Morro wasn’t sure precisely what kind of reaction the physicists might display. The acolytes could have their Ingram sub-machine guns out from under their robes before any of the scientists could get half-way out of their chairs.

Morro said: ‘Well, now. Glenfiddich for Professor Burnett, gin for Dr Schmidt, vodka for Dr Bramwell, bourbon for Dr Healey.’ Morro was a great believer in the undermining of confidence. When they had entered Burnett and Schmidt had had expressions of scowling anger, Bramwell of thoughtfulness, Healey of something approaching apprehension. Now they all wore looks of suspicion compounded by surprise.

Burnett was predictably truculent. ‘How the hell did you know what we were drinking?’

‘We’re observant. We try to please. We’re also thoughtful. We thought your favourite restorative might help you over what may come as a shock to you. To business. What did you make of those blueprints?’

‘How would you like to go to hell?’ Burnett said.

‘We may all meet there some day. I repeat the question.’

‘And I repeat the answer.’

‘You will tell me, you know.’

‘And how do you propose to set about making us talk? Torture?’ Burnett’s truculence had given way to contempt. ‘We can’t tell you anything we don’t know about.’

‘Torture. Oh, dear me, no. I might — in fact, I shall be needing you later on. But torture? Hmm. Hadn’t occurred to me. You, Abraham?’

‘No, Mr Morro.’ Dubois considered. ‘It is a thought.’ He came to Morro and whispered something in his ear.

Morro looked shocked. ‘Abraham, you know me, you know I don’t wage war on innocents.’

‘You damned hypocrite!’ Burnett’s voice was a hoarse shout. ‘Of course that’s why you brought the women here.’

‘My dear fellow —’

Bramwell said in a weary voice: ‘It’s a bomb of some sorts. That’s obvious. It might well be a blueprint for a nuclear bomb, a thought that immediately occurred to us because of your propensity for stealing nuclear fuel. Whether it’s viable, whether it will work, we have just no idea. There are hundreds of nuclear scientists in this country. But the number of those who can make, actually make, a nuclear bomb is severely restricted. We are not among the chosen few. As for those who can actually design a hydrogen bomb — well I, personally, have never met one. Our science is devoted to exclusively peaceful nuclear pursuits. Healey and I were kidnapped while working in a laboratory where they produced nothing but electricity. Burnett and Schmidt, as we are well aware, were taken in the San Ruffino nuclear reactor station. God’s sake, man, you don’t build hydrogen bombs in reactor stations.’

‘Very clever.’ Morro was almost approving. ‘You do think fast on your feet. In your armchair, rather. Enough. Abraham, that particular excerpt we selected. How long will it take?’

‘Thirty seconds.’

Dubois put a tape-recorder on a fast rewind, his eye on the counter, slowed and finally stopped it. He pressed a switch, saying: ‘Healey first.’

Healey’s voice: ‘So we are in no doubt then?’

Schmidt’s voice: ‘None. I haven’t been since the first time I clapped eyes on those hellish blueprints.’

Bramwell’s voice: ‘Circuitry, materials, sheathing, triggering, design. All there. Your final confirmation, Burnett?’

There was a pause here then came Burnett’s voice, strangely flat and dead. ‘Sorry, gentlemen, I need that drink. It’s the Aunt Sally, all right. Estimated three-and-a-half megatons — about four hundred times the power of the bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. God, to think that Willi Aachen and I had a champagne party the night we completed the design!’

Dubois switched off. Morro said: I’m sure you could even reproduce those plans from your head, Professor Burnett, if the need arose. A useful man to have around.’

The four physicists sat like men in a dream. They didn’t look stunned: they just weren’t registering anything. Morro said: ‘Come here, gentlemen.’

He led the way to the window, pressed an overhead switch and illuminated the room in which the scientists had examined the blueprints. He looked at the scientists but without satisfaction, gratification or triumph. Morro did not seem to specialize very much in the way of feelings.

‘The expressions on your faces were more than enough to tell us all we wanted to know.’ If the four men had not been overcome by the enormity of the situation in which they found themselves, the ludicrous ease with which they had been tricked, they would have appreciated that Morro, who clearly had further use for them, was doing no more than establishing a moral ascendancy, inducing in them a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. ‘But the recordings helped. That’s the first thing I would have expected. Alas, outside your own arcane specialities, men with abnormally gifted minds are no better than little children. Abraham, how long does the entire edited version take?’

‘Seven and a half minutes, Mr Morro.’

‘Let them savour it to the full. I’ll see about the helicopter. Back shortly.’

He was back in ten minutes. Three of the scientists were sitting in their chairs, bitter, dejected and defeated. Burnett, not unexpectedly, was helping himself to some more of the endless supply of Glenfiddich.

‘One further small task, gentlemen. I want each of you to make a brief recording stating that I have in my possession the complete blueprints for the making of a hydrogen bomb in the megaton range. You will make no mention whatsoever of the dimensions, no mention of its code name “Aunt Sally” — what puerile names you scientists give those toys, just another sign of how limited your imagination is outside your own field — and, above all, you will make no reference to the fact that Professor Burnett was the co-designer, along with Professor Aachen, of this bomb.’

Schmidt said: ‘Why should those damn things be kept so secret when you’ll let the world know everything else?’

‘You will understand well enough inside the next two days or so.’

‘You’ve trapped us, fooled us, humiliated us and above all used us as pawns.’ Burnett said all this with his teeth clenched, no mean feat in itself. ‘But you can push a man too far, Morro. We’re still men.’

Morro sighed, made a small gesture of weariness, opened the door and beckoned. Susan and Julie came in and looked curiously around them. There was no apprehension or fear on their faces, just puzzlement.

‘Give me that damned microphone.’ Without permission Burnett snatched it from the table and glared at Dubois. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

Burnett’s voice, though charged with emotion — pure, black rage — was remarkably clear and steady, without a trace of the fact that he had, since his non-existent breakfast, consumed the better part of a bottle of Glenfiddich, which said a great deal either for Professor Burnett or Glenfiddich.

‘This is Professor Andrew Burnett of San Diego. It’s not someone trying to imitate me — my voice-prints are in security in the University. The blackhearted bastard Morro has in his possession a complete set of plans for the construction of a hydrogen bomb in the megaton range. You had better believe me. Also you had better believe Dr Schmidt and Drs Healey and Bramwell — Drs Healey and Bramwell have been held captive in this damned place for seven weeks. I repeat, for God’s sake believe me. This is a step-by-step, fully composited, fully integrated plan ready to build now.’ There was a pause. ‘For all I know, the bastard may already have built one.’

Morro nodded to Dubois who switched off. Dubois said: ‘The first and last sentences, Mr Morro —’

‘Leave them in.’ Morro smiled. ‘Leave them. Eliminates the need for checking on voice-prints. They carry with them the normal characteristic flavour of the Professor’s colourful speech. You can cope, Abraham? Ridiculous question. Come, ladies.’

He ushered them out and closed the door. Susan said: ‘Do you mind enlightening us? I mean, what is going on?’

‘Certainly not, my dears. Our learned nuclear physicists have been doing a chore for me this morning. Not that they were aware of that fact: unknown to them I had their conversation recorded.

‘I showed them a set of plans. I proved to them that I am indeed in possession of the secrets of the manufacture of hydrogen bombs. Now they are proving that to the world. Simple.’

‘Is that why you brought the scientists here?’

‘I still have a further important use for them but, primarily, yes.’

‘Why did you bring us into that room, your study?’

‘See? You are an inquisitive person. I was just satisfying your curiosity.’

‘Julie here is not an inquisitive person.’

Julie nodded vigorously. For some reason she seemed close to tears. ‘I just want out of here.’

Susan shook her arm. ‘What is it?’

‘You know very well what it is. You know why he brought us in there. The men were turning balky. That’s why we were brought up here.’

‘The thought hadn’t escaped me,’ Susan said. ‘Would you — or that dreadful giant — have twisted our arms until we screamed? Or do you have dungeons — castles always have dungeons, don’t they? You know, thumb-screws and racks and iron maidens? Do you break people on the wheel, Mr Morro?’

‘A dreadful giant! Abraham would be hurt. A kind and gentle giant. As for the rest? Dear me. Direct intimidation, Mrs Ryder, is less effective than indirect. If people can bring themselves to believe something it’s always more effective than having to prove it to them.’

‘Would you have proved it?’ Morro was silent. ‘Would you have had us tortured?’

‘I wouldn’t even contemplate it.’

‘Don’t believe him, don’t believe him!’ Julie’s voice shook. ‘He’s a monster and a liar.’

‘He’s a monster all right.’ Susan was very calm, even thoughtful. ‘He may even be a liar. But in this case I believe him. Odd.’

In a kind of despair, Julie said: ‘You don’t know what you’re saying!’

‘I think I do. I think Mr Morro will have no further use for us.’

‘How can you say that?’

Morro looked at Julie. ‘Some day you may be as wise and understanding as Mrs Ryder. But first you will have to meet a great number of people and read a great number of characters. You see, Mrs Ryder knows that the person who laid a finger on either of you would have to answer to me. She knows that I never would. She will, of course, convince those disbelieving gentlemen we’ve just left and they will know I couldn’t use this threat again. I do not have to. You are of no more use to me.’ Morro smiled. ‘Oh, dear, that does sound vaguely threatening. Let us rather say that no harm will come to you.’

Julie looked at him briefly, the fear and suspicion in her eyes undimmed, then looked abruptly away.

‘Well, I tried, young lady. I cannot blame you. You cannot have heard what I said at the breakfast table this morning. “We do not wage war on women.” Even monsters have to live with their monstrous selves.’ He turned and walked away.

Susan watched him go and murmured: ‘And therein lies the seeds of his own destruction.’

Julie looked at her. ‘I–I didn’t catch that. What did you say?’

‘Nothing. I’m just rambling. I think this place is getting to me also.’ But she knew it wasn’t.

‘A complete waste of time.’ Jeff was in a black mood and didn’t care who knew it. He had almost to raise his voice to a shout to make himself heard above the clamorous racket of the helicopter engine. ‘Nothing, just nothing. A lot of academic waffle about earthquakes and a useless hour in Sassoon’s office. Nothing, just nothing. We didn’t learn a thing.’

Ryder looked up from the sheaf of notes he was studying. He said, as mildly as one could in a necessarily loud voice: ‘Oh, I don’t know. We discovered that even learned academics can tamper with the truth when they see fit. We learned — leastways I did — about earthquakes and this earthquake syndrome. As for Sassoon, nobody expected to learn anything from him. How could we? He knew nothing — how could he? He was learning things from us.’ He returned his attention to his notes.

‘Well, my God! They’ve got Susan, they’ve got Peggy and all you can do is to sit there and read that load of old rubbish just as if —’

Dunne leaned across. No longer as alert and brisk as he had been some hours ago, he was beginning to show the effects of a sleepless night. He said: ‘Jeff. Do me a favour.’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up.’

There was a pile of papers lying on Major Dunne’s desk. He looked at them without enthusiasm, placed his briefcase beside them, opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of Jack Daniels and looked interrogatively at Ryder and his son. Ryder smiled but Jeff shook his head: he was still smarting from the effects of Dunne’s particular brand of curtness.

Glass in hand, Dunne opened a side door. In the tiny cubicle beyond was a ready-made-up camp bed. Dunne said, I’m not one of your superhuman FBI agents who can go five nights and days without sleep. I’ll have Delage’ — Delage was one of his juniors — ‘man the phones here. I can be reached any time, but the excuse had better be a good one.’

‘Would an earthquake do?’

Dunne smiled, sat and went through the papers on his desk. He pushed them all to one side and lifted a thick envelope which he slit open. He peered at the contents inside and said: ‘Guess what?’

‘Carlton’s passport.’

‘Damn your eyes. Anyway, nice to see someone’s been busy around here.’ He extracted the passport, flipped through the pages and passed it to Ryder. ‘And damn your eyes again.’

‘Intuition. The hallmark of the better-class detective.’ Ryder went through the pages, more slowly than Dunne. ‘Intriguing. Covers fourteen out of the fifteen months when he seemed to have vanished. A bad case of wander-bug infection. Did get around in that time, didn’t he? Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore, Manila, Hong Kong, Manila again, Singapore, Manila yet again, Tokyo, Los Angeles.’ He passed the passport to Jeff. ‘Fallen in love with the mysterious East, it would seem. Especially the Philippines.’

Dunne said: ‘Make anything of it?’

‘Not a thing. Maybe I did have some sleep but it wasn’t much. Mind seems to have gone to sleep. That’s what we need, my mind and myself — sleep. Maybe when I wake I’ll have a flash of inspiration. Wouldn’t bet on it, though.’

He dropped Jeff outside the latter’s house. ‘Sleep?’

‘Straight to bed.’

‘First one awake calls the other. Okay?’

Jeff nodded and went inside — but he didn’t go straight to bed. He went to the bay-fronted window of his living-room and looked up the street. From there he had an excellent view of the short driveway leading to his father’s house.

Ryder didn’t head for bed either. He dialled the station house and asked for Sergeant Parker. He got through at once.

‘Dave? No ifs, no buts. Meet me at Delmino’s in ten minutes.’ He went to the gas fire, tilted it forwards, lifted out a polythene-covered green folder, went to the garage, pushed the folder under the Peugeot back seat, climbed in behind the wheel and backed the car down the driveway and into the road. Jeff moved as soon as he saw the rear of the car appearing, ran to his garage, started the engine and waited until Ryder’s car had passed by. He followed.

Ryder appeared to be in a tearing hurry. Halfway towards the first intersection he was doing close on seventy, a speed normally unacceptable in a 3 5 mph limit, but there wasn’t a policeman in town who didn’t know that battered machine and its occupant and would ever have been so incredibly foolish as to detain Sergeant Ryder when he was going about his lawful occasions. Ryder got through the lights on the green but Jeff caught the red. He was still there when he saw the Peugeot go through the next set of lights. By the time Jeff got to the next set they too had turned to red. When he did cross the intersection the Peugeot had vanished. Jeff cursed, pulled over, parked and pondered.

Parker was in his usual booth in Delmino’s when Ryder arrived. He was drinking a Scotch and had one ready for Ryder who remembered that he’d had nothing to eat so far that day. It didn’t, however, affect the taste of the Scotch.

Ryder said without preamble: ‘Where’s Fatso?’

‘Suffering from the vapours, I’m glad to say. At home with a bad headache.’

‘Shouldn’t be surprised. Very hard thing, the butt of a ‘thirty-eight. Maybe I hit him harder than I thought. Enjoyed it at the time, though. Twenty minutes from now he’s going to feel a hell of a sight more fragile. Thanks. I’m off.’

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute. You clobbered Donahure. Tell me.’

Briefly and impatiently, Ryder told him. Parker was suitably impressed.

‘Ten thousand bucks. Two Russian rifles. And this dossier you have on him. You have the goods on him all right — our ex-Chief of Police. But look, John, there’s a limit to how far you can go on taking the law into your own hands.’

‘There’s no limit.’ Ryder put his hand on Parker’s. ‘Dave, they’ve got Peggy.’

There was a momentary incomprehension then Parker’s eyes went very cold. Peggy had first sat on his knees at the age of four and had sat there at regular intervals ever since, always with the mischievously disconcerting habit of putting her elbow on his shoulder, her chin on her palm and peering at him from a distance of six inches. Fourteen years later, dark, lovely and mischievous as ever, it was a habit she had still not abandoned, especially on those occasions when she wanted to wheedle something from Ryder, labouring under the misapprehension that this made her father jealous. Parker said nothing. His eyes said it for him.

Ryder said: ‘San Diego. During the night. They gunned down the two FBI men who were looking after her.’

Parker stood up: ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No. You’re still an officer of the law. You’ll see what I’m going to do with Fatso and you’ll have to arrest me.’

‘I’ve just come all over blind.’

‘Please, Dave. I may be breaking the law but I’m still on the side of the law and I need at least one person inside the law I can trust. There’s only you.’

‘Okay. But if any harm comes to her or Susan I’m out of a job.’

‘You’ll be welcome in the ranks of the unemployed.’

They left. As the door swung to behind them a lean Mexican youth with a straggling moustache that reached his chin rose from the next booth, inserted his nickel and dialled. For a full minute the phone rang at the other end without reply. The youth tried again with the same result. He fumbled in his pockets, went to the counter, changed a bill for loose change, returned and tried another number. Twice he tried, twice he failed, and his mounting frustration, as he kept glancing at his watch, was obvious; on the third time he was lucky. He started to speak in low, hurried, urgent Spanish.

There was a certain lack of aesthetic appeal about the way in which Chief of Police Donahure had arranged his sleeping form. Fully clothed, he lay face down on a couch, his left hand on the floor clutching a half-full glass of bourbon, his hair in disarray and his cheeks glistening with what could have been perspiration but was, in fact, water steadily dripping down from the now melting ice-bag that Donahure had strategically placed on the back of his head. It was to be assumed that the loud snoring was caused not by the large lump that undoubtedly lay concealed beneath the ice-bag but from the bourbon, for a man does not recover consciousness from a blow, inform the office that he’s sorry but he won’t be in today and then relapse into unconsciousness. Ryder laid down the polythene folder he was carrying, removed Donahure’s Colt and prodded him far from gently with its muzzle.

Donahure groaned, stirred, displaced the ice-bag in turning his head and managed to open one eye. His original reaction must have been that he was going down a long, dark tunnel. Wher the realization gradually dawned upon his befuddled brain that it was not a tunnel but the barrel of his own.45 his Cyclopean gaze travelled above and beyond the barrel until Ryder’s face swam into focus. Two things happened: both eyes opened wide and his complexion changed from its normal puce to an even more unpleasant shade of dirty grey.

Ryder said: ‘Sit up.’

Donahure remained where he was. His jowls were actually quivering. Then he screamed in agony as Ryder grabbed his hair and jerked him into the vertical. Clearly, no small amount of that hair had been attached to the bruised bump on his head. A sudden scalp pain predictably produces an effect on the corneal ducts and Donahure was no exception: his eyes were swimming like bloodshot gold-fish in peculiarly murky water.

Ryder said: ‘You know how to conduct a cross-examination. Fatso?’

‘Yes.’ He sounded as if he was being garrotted.

‘No you don’t. I’m going to show you. Not in any textbook, and I’m afraid you’ll never have an opportunity to use it. But, by the comparison, the cross-examination you’ll get in the accused’s box in court will seem almost pleasant. Who’s your paymaster, Donahure?’

‘What in God’s name —’ He broke off with a shout of pain and clapped his hands to his face. He reached finger and thumb inside his mouth, removed a displaced tooth and dropped it on the floor. His left cheek was cut both inside and out and blood was trickling down his chin: Ryder had laid the barrel of Donahure’s Colt against his face with a heavy hand. Ryder transferred the Colt to his left hand.

‘Who’s your paymaster, Donahure?’

‘What in the hell —’ Another shout and another hiatus in the conversation while Donahure attended to the right hand side of his face. The blood was now flowing freely from his mouth and dripping on to his shirt-front. Ryder transferred the revolver back to his right hand.

‘Who’s your paymaster, Donahure?’

‘LeWinter.’ A strangely gurgling sound: he must have been swallowing blood. Ryder regarded him without compassion.

Donahure gurgled again. The ensuing croak was unintelligible.

‘For looking the other way?’

A nod. There was no hate in Donahure’s face, just plain fear.

‘For destroying evidence against guilty parties, faking evidence against innocent parties?’ Another nod. ‘How much did you make, Donahure? Over the years, I mean. Blackmail on the side of course?

‘I don’t know.’

Ryder lifted his gun again.

‘Twenty thousand, maybe thirty.’ Once more he screamed. His nose had gone the same way as Raminoff’s.

Ryder said: ‘I won’t say I’m not enjoying this any more than you are, because I am. I’m more than prepared to keep this up for hours yet. Not that you’ll last more than twenty minutes and we don’t want your face smashed into such a bloody pulp that you can’t talk. Before it comes to that I’ll start breaking your fingers one by one.’ Ryder meant it and the abject terror on what was left of Donahure’s face showed that he knew Ryder meant it. ‘How much?’

‘I don’t know.’ He cowered behind raised hands. ‘I don’t know how much. Hundreds.’

‘Of thousands?’ A nod. Ryder picked up the polythene folder and extracted the folder, which he showed to Donahure. ‘Total of just over five hundred and fifty thousand dollars in seven banks under seven different names. That would be about right.’ Another nod. Ryder returned the papers to the polythene folder. If this represented only Donahure’s rake-off, how much did LeWinter have safe and sound in Zurich?

‘The last pay-off. Ten thousand dollars. What was that for?’ Donahure was now so befuddled with pain and fright that it never occurred to him to ask how Ryder knew about it.

‘Cops.’

‘Bribes to do what?’

‘Cut all the public phones between here and Ferguson’s house. Cut Ferguson’s phone. Wreck, his police band radio. Clear the roads.’

‘Clear the roads? No patrols on the hi-jack van’s escape route?’

Donahure nodded. He obviously felt this easier than talking.

‘Jesus. You are a sweet bunch. I’ll have their names later. Who gave you those Russian rifles?’

‘Rifles?’ A frown appeared in the negligible clearance between Donahure’s hairline and eyebrows, sure indication that at least part of his mind was working again. ‘You took them. And the money. You —’ He touched the back of his head.

‘I asked a question. Who gave you the rifles?’

‘I don’t know.’ Donahure raised defensive hands just as Ryder lifted his gun. ‘Smash my face to pieces and I still don’t know. Found them in the house when I came back one night. Voice over the phone said I was to keep them.’ Ryder believed him.

‘This voice have a name?’

‘No.’ Ryder believed that also. No intelligent man would be crazy enough to give his name to a man like Donahure.

‘This the voice that told you to tap LeWinter’s phone?’

‘How in God’s name —’ Donahure broke off not because of another blow or impending blow but because, swallowing blood from both mouth and nose, he was beginning to have some difficulty with his breathing. Finally he coughed and spoke in a gasp. ‘Yes.’

‘Name Morro mean anything to you?’

‘Morro? Morro who?’

‘Never mind.’ If Donahure didn’t know the name of Morro’s intermediary he most certainly didn’t know Morro.

Jeff had first tried the Redox in Bay Street, the unsavoury bar-restaurant where his father had had his rendezvous with Dunne. No one answering to either of their descriptions had been there, or, if they had, no one was saying.

From there he went to the FBI office. He’d expected to find Delage there, and did. He also found Dunne, who clearly hadn’t been to bed. He looked at Jeff in surprise. ‘So soon. What’s up?’

‘My father been here?’

‘No. Why?’

‘When we got home he said he was going to bed. He didn’t. He left after two or three minutes. I followed him, don’t know why, I had the feeling he was going to meet someone, that he was stepping into danger. Lost him at the lights.’

‘Worry about the other guy.’ Dunne hesitated. ‘Some news for you and your father, not all that good. Both shot FBI men were under heavy sedation during the night, but one’s clear now. He says that the first person shot last night was neither him nor his partner but Peggy. She got it through the left shoulder.’

‘No!’

‘I’m afraid so, boy. I know this agent well. He doesn’t make mistakes.’

‘But — but — if she’s wounded, I mean medical attention, hospital, she must have —’

‘Sorry, Jeff. That’s all we know. The kidnappers took her away, remember.’

Jeff made to speak, turned and ran from the office. He went to Delmino’s, the station officers’ favourite hang-out. Yes, Sergeants Ryder and Parker had been there. No, the barman didn’t know where they had gone.

Jeff drove the short distance to the station house. Parker was there along with Sergeant Dickson. Jeff said: ‘Seen my father?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Yes. Again why?’

‘Just tell me!’

‘I’m not rightly sure I should.’ He looked at Jeff, saw the urgency and intensity and was not to know it was because of the news Jeff had just heard. He said reluctantly: ‘He’s at Chief Donahure’s. But I’m not sure —’ He stopped. Jeff had already gone. Parker looked at Dickson and shrugged.

Ryder said, almost conversationally: ‘Heard that my daughter has been kidnapped?’

‘No. I swear to God —’

‘All right. Any idea how anyone might have got hold of her address in San Diego?’

Donahure shook his head — but his eyes had flickered, just once. Ryder broke open the revolver: the hammer was lined up against an empty cylinder, one of two. He closed the gun, shoved the stubby finger of Donahure’s right hand through the trigger guard, held the Colt by barrel and butt and said: ‘On the count of three I twist both hands. One —’

‘I did, I did.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘Week or two ago. You were out for lunch and —’

‘And I’d left my address book in my drawer so you kind of naturally wrote down a few names and addresses. I really should break your finger for this. But you can’t sign a statement if I break your writing forefinger, can you?’

‘A statement?’

‘A statement?’

‘I’m not a law officer any more. It’s a citizen’s arrest. Just as legal. I arrest you, Donahure, for larceny, corruption, bribery, the acceptance of bribes — and for murder in the first degree.’

Donahure said nothing. His face, greyer than ever, had slumped between his sagging shoulders. Ryder sniffed the muzzle. ‘Fired recently.’ He broke open the gun. ‘Two bullets gone. We only carry five in a cylinder, so one’s been fired recently.’ He eased out one cartridge and scraped the tip with a nail. ‘And soft-nosed, just like the one that took off Sheriff Hartman’s head. A perfect match for this barrel, I’ll be bound.’ He knew that a match-up was impossible, but Donahure either didn’t know or was too far gone to think. ‘And you left your fingerprints on the door handle, which was a very careless thing to do.’

Donahure said dully: ‘It was the man on the phone —’

‘Save it for the judge.’

‘Freeze,’ a high-pitched voice behind Ryder said. Ryder had survived to his present age by knowing exactly the right thing to do at the right time and at the moment the right thing appeared to be to do what he was told. He froze.

‘Drop that gun.’

Ryder obediently dropped the gun, a decision which was made all the easier for him by the fact that he was holding the gun by the barrel anyway and the cylinder was hinged out.

‘Now turn round nice and slow.’ Brought up on a strict diet of B movies, Ryder reflected, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He turned round — nice and slow. The visitor had a black handkerchief tied below his eyes, wore a dark suit, dark shirt, white tie and, of all things, a black fedora. B movies, late 1930s.

‘Donahure ain’t going to meet no judge.’ He’d the dialogue right, too. ‘But you’re going to meet your maker. No time for prayers, mister.’

‘You drop that gun,’ said a voice from the doorway.

Obviously the masked man was considerably younger than Ryder, for he didn’t know the right thing to do. He whipped round and loosed off a snap shot at the figure in the doorway. In the circumstances it was a pretty good effort, ripping the cloth on the upper right sleeve of Jeff’s coat. Jeff’s reply was considerably more effective. The man in the mask folded in the middle like a collapsing hinge and crumpled to the floor. Ryder dropped to one knee beside him.

‘I tried for his gun-hand,’ Jeff said uncertainly. ‘Reckon I missed.’

‘You did. Didn’t miss his heart, though.’ Ryder plucked off the handkerchief mask. ‘Well. The shame of it all. Lennie the Linnet has gone riding off across the great divide.’

‘Lennie the Linnet?’ Jeff was visibly shaken.

‘Yes. Linnet. A song-bird. Well, wherever Lennie’s singing now you can take long odds that it won’t be to the accompaniment of a harp.’ Ryder glanced sideways, straightened, took the gun from Jeff’s lax hand and fired, all in seemingly slow motion. For the fifth time that night Donahure cried out in pain. The Colt he’d picked up from the floor spun across the room. Ryder said: ‘Do be quiet. You can still sign the statement. And to the charge of murder we’ll now add one of attempted murder.’

Jeff said: ‘One easy lesson, is that it?’

Ryder touched his shoulder. ‘Well, thanks, anyway.’

‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘Shed no sad tears for Lennie. A heroin pusher. You followed me?’

‘Tried to. Sergeant Parker told me where you were. How did he get here?’

‘Ah, now. If you want Detective Sergeant Ryder at his brilliant best, ask him after the event. I thought our line was tapped so I phoned Parker to meet me at Delmino’s. Never occurred to me they’d put a stake-out there.’

Jeff looked at Donahure. ‘So that’s why you didn’t want me along. He ran into a truck?’

‘Self-inflicted injuries. Now on, you’re welcome along anytime. Get a couple of towels from the bathroom. Don’t want him to bleed to death before his trial.’

Jeff hesitated: he had to tell his father and actively feared for Donahure’s life. ‘Some bad news, Dad. Peggy was shot last night.’

‘Shot?’ The lips compressed whitely. Ryder’s eyes switched to Donahure, the grip on Jeff’s gun tightened, but he was still under his iron control. He looked back at Jeff. ‘Bad?’

‘Don’t know. Bad enough, I should think. Left shoulder.’

Get the towels.’ Ryder lifted the phone, got through to Sergeant Parker. ‘Come out here, will you, Dave? Bring an ambulance, Doc Hinkley’ — Hinkley was the police surgeon — ‘and young Kramer to take a statement. Ask Major Dunne to come. And, Dave — Peggy was shot last night. Through the shoulder.’ He hung up.

Parker passed on the requests to Kramer then went up to see Mahler. Mahler viewed him as he was viewing life at the moment, with a harassed and jaundiced eye.

Parker said: I’m going out to Chief Donahure’s place. Some trouble out there.’

‘What trouble?’

‘Something that calls for an ambulance.’

‘Who said so?’

‘Ryder.’

‘Ryder!’ Mahler pushed back his chair and rose. ‘What the hell is Ryder doing out there?’

‘Didn’t say. I think he wanted a talk with him.’

‘I’ll have him behind bars for this. I’ll take charge of this personally.’

‘I’d like to come, Lieutenant.’

‘You stay here. That’s an order, Sergeant Parker.’

‘Nothing personal, Lieutenant.’ Parker put his badge on the desk. ‘I’m not taking orders any more.’

All five of them arrived together — the two ambulance men, Kramer, Major Dunne and Dr Hinkley. As befitted the occasion Dr Hinkley was in the lead. A small wiry man with darting eyes, he was, if not exactly soured by life, at least possessed of a profoundly cynical resignation. He looked at the recumbent figure on the floor.

‘Good lord! Lennie the Linnet. A black day for America.’ He peered more closely at the white tie with the red-rimmed hole through it. ‘Heart damage of some kind. Gets them younger every day. And Chief of Police Donahure!’ He crossed to where a moaning Donahure was sitting on his couch, his left hand tenderly cradling the blood-soaked towel round his right hand. None too gently, Hinkley unwrapped the towel. ‘Dear me. Where’s the rest of those two fingers?’

Ryder said: ‘He tried to shoot me. Through the back, of course.’

‘Ryder.’ Lieutenant Mahler had a pair of handcuffs ready. ‘I’m placing you under arrest.’

‘Put those things away and don’t make more a fool of yourself than you can help if you don’t want to be charged with obstructing the course of justice. I am making, I have made, a perfectly legal citizen’s arrest. The charges are larceny, corruption, bribery, the acceptance of bribes, attempted murder and murder in the first degree. Donahure will admit to all of them and I can prove all of them. Also, he’s an accessory to the wounding of my daughter.’

‘Your daughter shot?’ Oddly, this seemed to affect Mahler more than the murder accusation. He had put his handcuffs away. A disciplinary martinet, he was nonetheless a fair man.

Ryder looked at Kramer. ‘He has a statement to make, but as he’s suffering from a minor speech impairment right now I’ll make it for him and he’ll sign it. Give the usual warnings, of course, about legal rights, that his statement can be used in evidence, you know the form.’ It took Ryder only four minutes to make the statement on Donahure’s behalf, and by the time he had finished the damning indictment there wasn’t a man in that room, Mahler included, who wouldn’t have testified that the statement had been voluntary.

Major Dunne took Ryder aside. ‘So fine, so you’ve cooked Donahure’s goose. It won’t have escaped your attention that you’ve also cooked your own goose. You can’t imprison a man without preferring charges and the law of the land says those charges must be made public’

‘There are times when I admire the Russian legal system.’

‘Quite. So Morro will know in a couple of hours. And he’s got Susan and Peggy.’

‘I don’t seem to have many options open. Somebody has to do something. I haven’t noticed that the police or the FBI or the CIA have been particularly active.’

‘Miracles take a little time.’ Dunne was impatient. ‘Meantime, they still have your family.’

‘Yes. I’m beginning to wonder about that. If they are in danger, I mean.’

‘Jesus! Danger? Course they are. God’s sake man, look at what happened to Peggy.’

‘An accident. They could have killed her if they came that close. A dead hostage is no good to anyone.’

‘I suppose I could call you a cold-blooded bastard but I don’t believe you are. You know something I don’t?’

‘No. You have all the facts that I have. Only I have this feeling that we’re being conned, that we’re following a line that they want us to follow. I told Jablonsky last night that I didn’t think the scientists had been taken in order to force them to make a bomb of some kind. They’ve been taken for some other purpose. And if I don’t think that then I no longer think that the women were taken to force them to build a bomb. And not for a lever on me either — why should they worry about me in advance?’

‘What’s bugging you, Ryder?’

I’d like to know why Donahure has — had — those Kalashnikovs in his possession. He doesn’t seem to know either.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t follow myself.’

Dunne remained in silent thought for some time. Then he looked at Donahure, winced at the sight of the battered face and said: ‘Who’s next in line for your kindly ministrations? LeWinter?’

‘Not yet. We’ve got enough to pull him in for questioning but not enough to hold him on the uncorroborated word of an unconvicted man. And unlike Donahure he’s a wily bird who’ll give away nothing. I think I’ll call on his secretary after an hour or two’s sleep.’

The phone rang. Jeff answered and held it out to Dunne, who listened briefly, hung up and said to Ryder: ‘I think you’ll have to postpone your sleep for a little. Another message from our friends.’