Goodbye California

CHAPTER EIGHT

Delage was with a man the Ryders hadn’t seen before, a young man, fair-haired, broad, wearing a grey flannel suit cut loose to conceal whatever weaponry he was carrying and a pair of dark glasses of the type much favoured by Secret Service men who guard Presidents and heads of State.

‘Leroy,’ Dunne said. ‘San Diego. He’s liaising with Washington on LeWinter’s codes. He’s also in touch with the AEC plant in Illinois, checking on Carlton’s past contacts and has a team working on the lists of the weirdoes. Anything yet, Leroy?’

Leroy shook his head. ‘Late afternoon, hopefully.’

Dunne turned to Delage. ‘So what didn’t you want to tell me over the phone? What’s so hush-hush?’

‘Won’t be hush-hush much longer. The wire services have it but Barrow told them to sit on it. When the director tells people to sit on something, it’s sat on.’ He nodded to a taperecorder. ‘We recorded this over the direct line from Los Angeles. Seems that Durrer of ERDA was sent a separate recording.’

He pressed a switch and a smooth educated voice began to speak, in English but not American English. ‘My name is Morro and I am, as many of you will know by this time, the person responsible for the San Ruffino reactor break-in. I have messages to you from some eminent scientists and I suggest you all listen very carefully. For your own sakes, please listen carefully.’ The tape stopped as Dunne raised a hand.

He said: ‘Anyone recognize that voice?’ Clearly no one did. ‘Anyone identify that accent? Would it give you any idea where Morro comes from?’

Delage said: ‘Europe? Asia? Could be any place. Could be an American with a phoney accent.’

‘Why don’t you ask the experts?’ Ryder said. ‘University of California. On one campus or another, anywhere between San Diego and Stanford, you’ll find some professor or lecturer who’ll recognize it. Don’t they claim to teach every major and most of the important minor languages in the world somewhere in this State?’

‘A point. Barrow and Sassoon may already have thought of it. We’ll mention it.’ He nodded to Delage who flipped the switch again.

A rasping and indignant voice said: ‘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. This blackhearted bastard Morro —’ And so Burnett continued until he had finished his wrathful tirade. Dr Schmidt, who followed him on the tape, sounded just as furious as Burnett. Healey and Bramwell were considerably more moderate, but all four men had one thing in common — they were utterly convincing.

Dunne said to no one in particular: ‘We believe them?’

‘I believe them.’ Delage’s certainty was absolute. ‘That’s the fourth time I’ve heard that played and I believe it more every time. You could tell they weren’t being coerced, under the influence of drugs, physical intimidation, anything like that. Especially not with Professor Burnett. You can’t fake that kind of anger. Provided, of course, that those four men are who they claim to be — and they have to be: they’ll be on TV and radio any time and there must be hundreds of colleagues, friends, students who can confirm their genuineness. A megaton? That’s the equivalent of a million tons of TNT, isn’t it? Downright nasty.’

Ryder said to Dunne: ‘Well, that’s part of the answer to what we were talking about back in Donahure’s house. To confirm the existence of those plans and scare the living daylights out of us. Us and everybody in California. They’re going to succeed, wouldn’t you say?’

Leroy said: ‘What gets me is that they haven’t given the faintest indication as to what they’re up to.’

‘That’s what’s going to get everyone,’ Ryder said. ‘That’s part of his psychological gambit. Scare the living daylights out of everyone.’

‘And speaking of scaring the living daylights, I’m afraid there is more to come.’ Dunne flicked the ‘On’ switch again and Morro’s voice came through once more.

‘A postscript, if you please. The authorities claim that the earthquake felt in the southern part of the State this morning came from White Wolf Fault and, as I have already said, this is a lie. As already said, I was responsible. To prove that the State authorities are lying, I will detonate another nuclear device at exactly ten a.m. tomorrow morning. The device is already in place in a site specially chosen so that I can have it under permanent surveillance: any attempt to locate or approach this device will leave me no alternative other than to detonate it by radio control.

‘People are advised not to approach within five miles of the site. If they do, I shall not be responsible for their lives. If they don’t, but are still foolish enough not to wear specially darkened lenses I shall not be responsible for their sight.

‘The chosen site is in Nevada, about twelve miles northwest of Skull Peak, where Yucca Flat adjoins Frenchman’s Flat.

‘This device is in the kiloton range, of the approximate destructive power of those which destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.’

Delage switched off. After about thirty seconds’ silence, Dunne said thoughtfully: ‘Well, that’s a nice touch, I must say. Going to use the United States’ official testing ground for his purposes. As you ask, what the devil is the man up to? Does anyone here believe what we’ve just heard?’

‘I do,’ Ryder said. ‘I believe it absolutely. I believe it’s in position, I believe it will be detonated at the time he says it will, and I believe there is nothing we can do to stop him. I believe all you can do is to prevent as many rubber-neckers as possible from going there and having themselves incinerated or radiated or whatever. A traffic problem of sorts.’

Jeff said: ‘For a traffic problem you require roads. No major roads there. Dirt-tracks, that’s all.’

‘Not a job for us,’ Dunne said. ‘Army, National Guard, tanks, armoured cars, jeeps, a couple of Phantoms to discourage air-borne snoopers — there should be no problems in cordoning the area off. For all I know everybody might be more interested in running in the other direction. All that concerns me is why, why, why? Blackmail and threats, of course, but again, what, what, what? A man feels so damned helpless. Nothing you can do, nothing you can go on.’

‘I know what I’m going to do,’ Ryder said. I’m going to bed.’

The Sikorsky cargo helicopter landed in the courtyard of the Adlerheim but none of those seated in the refectory paid it any attention: the helicopter, which ferried in nearly all the supplies for the Adlerheim, was constantly coming and going, and one just learned to live with its deafening clatter. That apart, the few guards, the hostages, Morro and Dubois were considerably more interested in what was taking place on the big TV screen before them. The announcer, arms folded in a form of noble resignation and his features arranged with a gravity appropriate to the occasion, had just finished the playing of the tape-recordings of the four physicists and had embarked upon Morro’s postscript. The pilot of the helicopter, clad in a red plaid mackinaw, entered and approached Morro but was waved to a seat: Morro was not concerned with listening to his own voice but appeared to derive interest and amusement from listening to the comments and watching the expressions of the others.

When Morro had finished his postscript, Burnett turned to Schmidt and said loudly: ‘Well, what did I tell you, Schmidt? Man’s a raving lunatic’

The remark seemed to cause Morro no offence: nothing ever seemed to. ‘If you are referring to me, Professor Burnett, and I assume you are, that’s a most uncharitable conclusion. How do you arrive at it?’

‘In the first place you don’t have an atom bomb —’

‘And even worse, that’s a stupid conclusion. I never claimed it was an atom bomb. It’s an atomic device. Same effect, though. And eighteen kilo-tons is not to be regarded lightly.’

Bramwell said: ‘There is just your word —’

‘At one minute past ten tomorrow morning you and Burnett will doubtless have the courtesy to apologize to me.’

Bramwell was no longer so certain. ‘Even if such a thing did exist what would be the point in detonating it out in the desert?’

‘Simple, surely. Just to prove to people that I have nuclear explosive power available. And if I can prove that, what is to prevent them from believing that I have unlimited nuclear armament power available? One creates a climate first of uncertainty, then of apprehension, then of pure fear, finally of outright terror.’

‘You have more of those devices available?’

‘I shall satisfy the scientific curiosity of you and your three physicist colleagues this evening.’

Schmidt said: ‘What in God’s name are you trying to play at, Morro?’

‘I am not trying, and I am not playing, as the citizens of this State and indeed of the whole world will soon know.’

‘Aha! And therein lies the psychological nub of the matter, is that it? Let them imagine what they like. Let them brood on the possibilities. Let them imagine the worst. And then tell them that the worst is worse than they ever dreamed of. Is that it?’

‘Excellent, Schmidt, quite splendid. I shall include that in my next broadcast. “Imagine what you like. Brood on the possibilities. Imagine the worst. But can you imagine that the worst is worse than you ever dreamed of?” Yes. Thank you, Schmidt. I shall take all the credit for myself, of course.’ Morro rose, went to the helicopter pilot, bent to listen to a few whispered words, nodded, straightened and approached Susan. ‘Come with me, please, Mrs Ryder.’

He led her along a passage. She said, curiously: ‘What is it, Mr Morro? Or do you want to keep it as a surprise for me? A shock, perhaps? You seem to delight in shocking people. First you shock us all by bringing us here, then you shock the four physicists with your hydrogen weapon plan, now you shock millions of people in the State. Does it give you pleasure to shock people?’

Morro considered. ‘No, not really. The shocks I have administered so far have been either inevitable or calculated to further my own designs. But a warped and sadistic pleasure, no. I’ve just been wondering how to tell you. You are in for a shock, but not a serious one, for there’s nothing serious to be worried about. I have your daughter here, Mrs Ryder, and she’s been hurt. Not badly. She’ll be all right.’

‘My daughter! Peggy? Here? What in God’s name is she doing here? And how hurt?’

For answer, Morro opened a door in one side of the passageway. Inside was a small private hospital ward. There were three beds but only one in use. The occupant was a pale-faced girl with long dark hair, in which point lay the only difference from her remarkable resemblance to her mother. Her lips parted and brown eyes opened wide in astonishment as she stretched out her right arm: the bandages round her left shoulder were clearly visible. Mother and daughter exchanged the exclamations, endearments, murmurs and sympathies which mothers and daughters might be expected to exchange in such circumstances while Morro considerately maintained a discreet distance, using his right hand mutely to bar the further progress of a man who had just entered: the newcomer wore a white coat, wore a stethoscope round his neck and carried a black bag. Even without the trappings he had indefinably the word ‘doctor’ written large upon him.

Susan said: ‘Your shoulder, Peggy. Does it hurt?’

‘Not now. Well, a little.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘I was shot. When I was kidnapped.’

‘I see. You were shot when you were kidnapped.’ Susan squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head and looked at Morro. ‘You, of course.’

‘Mummy.’ The girl’s face showed a complete lack of understanding. ‘What is all this? Where am I? What hospital —’

‘You’re not in hospital. This is the private residence of Mr Morro here. The man who broke into the San Ruffino refinery. The man who kidnapped you. The man who kidnapped me.’

‘You!’

Susan said bitterly: ‘Mr Morro is not a piker. He doesn’t do things on a small scale. He’s holding seven others hostage too.’

Peggy slumped back on her pillows. ‘I just don’t understand.’

The doctor touched Morro’s arm. ‘The young lady is overtired, sir.’

‘I agree. Come, Mrs Ryder. Your daughter’s shoulder requires attention. Dr Hitushi here is a highly qualified physician.’ He paused and looked at Peggy. ‘I am genuinely sorry about this. Tell me, did you notice anything peculiar about either of your attackers?’

‘Yes.’ Peggy gave a little shiver. ‘One of them — a little man — didn’t have a left hand.’

‘Did he have anything at all?’

‘Yes. Like two curved fingers, only they were made of metal, with rubber tips.’

‘I’ll be back, soon,’ Susan said and permitted Morro to guide her by the elbow out in the passageway where she angrily shook her arm free. ‘Did you have to do that to the poor child?’

‘I regret it extremely. A beautiful child.’

‘You don’t wage war on women.’ Morro should have shrivelled on the spot, but didn’t. ‘Why bring her here?’

‘I don’t hurt women or permit them to be hurt. This was an accident. I brought her here because I thought she’d be better with her mother with her.’

‘So you shock people, you tell lies and now you’re a hypocrite.’ Again Morro remained unshrivelled.

‘Your contempt is understandable, your spirit commendable, but you’re wrong on all three counts. I also brought her here for proper medical treatment.’

‘What was wrong with San Diego?’

‘I have friends there, but no medical friends.’

‘I would point out, Mr Morro, that they have fine hospitals there.’

‘And I would point out that hospitals would have meant the law. How many small Mexicans do you think there are in San Diego with a prosthetic appliance in place of a left hand? He’d have been picked up in hours and have led them to me. I’m afraid I couldn’t have that, Mrs Ryder. But I couldn’t leave her with my friends either because there she would be lonely, with no one capable of looking after her wound, and that would have been psychologically and physically very bad for her. Here she has you and skilled medical attention. As soon as the doctor has finished treating her I’m sure he’ll permit her to be wheeled to your suite to stay there with you.’

Susan said: ‘You’re a strange man, Mr Morro.’ He looked at her without expression, turned and left.

Ryder awoke at 5.30 p.m., feeling less refreshed than he should have done, because he had slept only fitfully. This was less because of worry about his family — he was becoming increasingly if irrationally of the opinion that they weren’t in as grave danger as he had at once thought — than because there were several wandering wisps of thought tugging at the corners of his mind: only he couldn’t identify them for what they were. He rose, made sandwiches and coffee, and consumed them while he ploughed through the earthquake literature he had borrowed from Pasadena. Neither the coffee nor the literature helped him any. He went out and called up the FBI office. Delage answered.

Ryder said: ‘Is Major Dunne around?’

‘Sound asleep. Is it urgent?’

‘No. Let him be. Got anything that might interest me?’

‘Leroy has, I think.’

‘Anything from eight-eight-eight South Maple?’

‘Nothing of interest. Local nosey neighbour, a rheumy-eyed old goat — I’m quoting, you understand — who would clearly like to know your Bettina Ivanhoe, if that’s her name, better than he does, says that she hasn’t been to work today, that she hasn’t been out all morning.’

‘He’s sure?’

‘Foster — that’s our stake-out man, spends most of his time round the back — says he believes him.’

‘Eternal vigilance, you’d say?’

‘Probably with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She went out this afternoon, but walking: there’s a supermarket on the corner and she came back with a couple of carry-bags. Foster got a good look at her. Says he hardly blames the old goat. While she was out Foster let himself in and put a bug on her phone.’

‘Anything?’

‘She hasn’t used the phone since. More interesting, our legal friend was on the phone twice today. Well, only the second conversation was interesting. The first was made by the judge himself to his chambers. Said he’s been stricken by a case of severe lumbago and could they get a deputy to stand in for him in court. The second was made to him. Very enigmatic. Told him to let his lumbago attack last for another couple of days and everything should be all right. That was all.’

‘Where did the call come from?’

‘Bakersfield.’

‘Odd.’

‘What?’

‘Hard by the White Wolf Fault where the earthquake was supposed to originate.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Education.’ Courtesy of the CalTech library, he’d learnt the fact only ten minutes previously. ‘Coincidence. Coin box, of course.’

‘Yes.’

‘Thanks. Be down soon.’

He returned to the house, rang Jeff — he’d nothing to say to his son that a phone-tapper would find of any interest — and told him to call round but to wear different clothes from those he had been wearing the previous night. While he was waiting he himself went and changed.

Jeff arrived, looked at his father’s usual crumpled clothes, looked at his own well-creased blue suit and said: ‘Well, no one could accuse you of entering the sartorial stakes. We meant to be in disguise?’

‘Sort of. For the same reason I’m going to call up Sergeant Parker on the way in and have him meet us at the FBI office. Delage says they may have something for us, by the way. No, we’re going to have the pleasure of interviewing a lady tonight, although I doubt whether she’ll regard it as such. Bettina Ivanhoe or Ivanov or whatever. She’ll recognize the clothes we were wearing last night, which is more than we can say about her. She won’t recognize our faces, but she would our voices, which is why I’m having Sergeant Parker briefed and having him do the talking for us.’

‘What happens if something occurs to you — even me — and we want Sergeant Parker to ask a particular question?’

‘That’s why we are going along — just in case that possibility arises. We’ll arrange a signal then she’ll be told that we have to go out and check something with the station by the car radiophone. Never fails to panic the conscience-stricken. Might even panic her into making a distress call to someone. Her phone’s bugged.’

‘Coppers are a lousy lot.’

Ryder glanced at him briefly and said nothing. He didn’t have to.

‘Let’s start with Carlton,’ Leroy said. ‘The security chief at the reactor plant in Illinois never got to know him well. Neither did any of the staff there — the ones that are left, that is. That was two years or so ago and a good number have moved on elsewhere. Secretive kind of lad, it would appear.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Ryder said. ‘Nothing I like better than minding my own business — in off-duty hours, that is. But in his case? Who knows? Any leads?’

‘One, but it sounds more than fair. The security chief — name of Daimler — had traced his old landlady. She says Carlton and her son used to be very close, used to go away weekends quite a bit. Says she doesn’t know where they went. Daimler says it’s more likely that she didn’t care where they went. She’s well off — or was: her husband left her a good annuity but she takes in boarders because most of her money goes in gin and cards. Most of her time and interest, too, it would appear.’

‘Sensible husband.’

‘Probably died in self-defence. Daimler offered — he wasn’t too enthusiastic about the offer — to go and see her. I said thanks, we’d send one of our boys — an NFI card carries more weight. He’s going there this evening — boy still lives at home.

‘That’s all. Except for his mother’s comment about him — says he’s a religious nut and should be put away somewhere.’

‘It’s the maternal instinct. What else?’

‘LeWinter’s fancy codes. We’ve traced nearly all the telephone numbers — I think you’ve been told they were mainly Californian or Texan. Seem a respectable enough bunch — at least, preliminary enquiries haven’t turned up anything about the ones investigated so far — but on the face of it they would seem an odd lot for a senior judge like LeWinter to be associated with.’

‘I’ve got a lot of friends — well, friends and acquaintances — who aren’t cops,’ Jeff said. ‘But none of them, as far as I know, has ever seen the inside of a courtroom, far less a prison.’

‘Yes. But here’s an eminent lawyer — or what a cock-eyed world regards as an eminent lawyer — with a list of people who are primarily engineers, and not only that but specialists in the engineering field. Specializing in petro-chemicals and not only chemists, metallurgists, geologists, what you would expect to find, but also oil-rig owners, drillers and explosives experts.’

Ryder said: ‘Maybe LeWinter is figuring on moving into the oil exploration field — the old rogue has probably accumulated enough in the way of ill-gotten pay-offs to finance a stake in something of that nature. But I think that’s altogether too far-fetched. Much more likely that those names have something to do with cases that have come up before him. They could be people that have been called as expert witnesses.’

Leroy smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, but we thought of that all by ourselves. We turned up a list of his civil, as distinct from criminal, court cases over the years and he has been involved in quite a number of law-suits primarily involved with oil — exploration, leases, environmental pollution, marine trusts, Lord knows what. Before he became a judge he was a defending counsel, and a highly successful one — as you would expect from such a devious villain —’

‘Assumption, assumption,’ Ryder said.

‘So? You just called him an old rogue. As I was saying, he made quite a reputation for himself for protecting the legal interest of various oil companies who had quite clearly transgressed the law until LeWinter proved otherwise. In fact, the amount of oil litigation that goes on in this fair State of ours is quite staggering. But it would seem that that’s all irrelevant. To me, anyway. You, I don’t know. But one way or another he’s been swimming around in this oil business for close on twenty years: so I can’t see how it bears on this present business.’

‘Nor do I,’ Ryder said. ‘On the other hand, he could have been preparing for this day for all those years and is only now putting his knowledge to use. But again I think this is farfetched. If there’s any connection between oil-prospecting or oil-recovery I have never heard of it. How about this code-book-Ivanhoe thing? I was given to understand that the Washington Russian code-breakers were making progress on that.’

‘They may well be. Unfortunately they’ve come all over coy. The centre of their enquiries appears to have shifted to Geneva.’

Ryder was patient. ‘Could you enlighten me, or did they choose to enlighten you on just what the hell Geneva has to do with a nuclear theft in this State?’

‘No, I can’t enlighten you because they clammed up. It’ll be this damned inter-service jealousy, if you ask me. “Internecine” would be a better word.’

Ryder was sympathetic. ‘You’ll be telling me next that the accursed CIA are shoving their oar in again.’

‘Have shoved, it would appear. Bad enough to have them operating in friendly countries — allies, if you like — such as Britain and France, which they freely do without the permission of their hosts, but to start poking around in a strictly neutral Switzerland —’

‘They don’t operate there?’

‘Of course not. Those agents you see lurking around the UNO, WHO and Lord knows how many international agencies in Geneva are only figments of your imagination. Heady Alpine air, or something like that. The Swiss are so sorry for them they offer them chairs in the shade or under cover, depending on the weather.’

‘You sound bitter. Let’s hope you all resolve your differences in this particular case, and quickly. How have Interpol been doing with Morro?’

‘They haven’t. You have to remember that a good bit more than half the world has never even heard of the word “Interpol”. It might help if we had the faintest clue as to where this pest comes from.’

‘The copies of the tapes of his voice? The ones that were to be sent out to our learned scholars?’

‘There hasn’t been time yet for any significant amount of comments to come in. We have had only four replies yet. One is positive that he is the voice of a Middle Easterner. In fact, he’s positive enough to state categorically that the guy comes from Beirut. As Beirut is a hodge-podge of most of the nationalities in Europe, the Middle East, the Far East and a fair sprinkling of Africans, by which I mean people in African nations, it’s hard to see what he’s basing his conviction on. Another says, although not prepared to swear, that he’s Indian. A third says he’s definitely from the south-east of Asia. The last says that, as he’s spent twenty years in Japan, he’d recognize Japanese-learnt English anywhere.’

Ryder said: ‘My wife described Morro as being a broad-shouldered six-footer.’

‘And Japanese answering to that description are not thick on the ground. I’m beginning to lose faith in the University of California.’ Leroy sighed. ‘Well, with the possible — and I’m now beginning to regard it as only faintly possible — exception of Carlton, we don’t appear to have been making much headway. However, we may have something more encouraging for you in the way of those odd-ball organizations you wanted us to enquire about. You specified a year in existence and a large group. We’re not saying you’re wrong, but it did occur to us that it could conceivably be a smaller group, or one that has been in existence for a considerably longer period than a year and that may have been infiltrated or taken over by Morro and his friends. Here’s the list. I’m not saying that it’s a complete one: there’s no State law that says you have to register yourself, or yourself and your like-minded friends as a nut or nuts. But I should imagine it’s as complete as we can get, certainly within the limited time available.’

Ryder glanced at the list, handed it to Jeff, turned to say a few words to Sergeant Parker, who had just entered, then returned his attention to Leroy.

‘List’s fine as far as it goes, dates and existence, approximate numbers, but it doesn’t tell me what they’re nutty about.’

‘Could that be important?’

‘How should I know?’ Ryder was understandably a mite irritable. ‘Might give me an idea, even an inkling, just the shadow of a clue just by looking at such a list. God knows, I can’t come up with one by myself.’

With the air of a conjurer producing a rabbit from a hat, Leroy produced another sheet of paper. ‘And here we have what you want.’ He looked at the paper with some disfavour. ‘They’re so damned long-winded about their reasons, their motivations for existence as groups, that it was impossible to get it all on one sheet. They tend to be a forthcoming, not to say garrulous, lot about their ideals.’

‘Any religious nuts among them?’

‘Why?’

‘Carlton is said to be associated, or have associated, with one. Okay, so it’s a far-out connection, but any straw for a drowning man.’

‘I think you’re mixing your metaphors,’ Leroy said kindly. ‘But I see what you mean.’ He eyed the sheet. ‘Well, most of them are religious organizations. I think one would expect that. But quite a number have been established too long — long enough to achieve a measure of respectability — to be classified as nuts. The followers of Zen Buddhism, the Hindu Guru groups, the Zoroastrians and some home-grown Californian groups — at least eight of those — you can’t go around calling them nuts without having a lawsuit slapped on you.’

‘Call them what you want.’ Ryder took the sheet, and examined it more in hope than expectation. He said in complaint: ‘Can’t pronounce half of them, far less understand them.’

‘This is a very cosmopolitan State, Sergeant Ryder.’ Ryder looked at him in suspicion but Leroy’s face was perfectly straight.

‘Borundians,’ Ryder went on. ‘Corinthians. The Judges. The Knights of Calvary. The Blue Cross. The Blue Cross?’

‘Not the hospital insurance people, Sergeant.’

‘The Seekers?’

‘Not the singing group.’

‘Nineteen-ninety-nine?’

‘That’s the day the world ends.’

‘Ararat?’

‘Splinter group of nineteen-ninety-nine. Where Noah’s ark fetched up. Working with a group called the Revelations, high up in the Sierras. Building a boat for the next flood.’

‘They could be right. According to Professor Benson of CalTech a large chunk of California is going to disappear into the Pacific. They may have to wait a bit though — million years, give or take. Ah, now. This is more like it. Group over a hundred strong. Established only eight months. The Temple of Allah.’

‘Muslims. Also operating out of Sierra Nevada, but not quite so high up. Forget them. They’ve been checked out too.’

‘Still. Carlton’s a religious nut —’

‘You call a Muslim a nut, you have to call a Christian one too.’

‘Carltom’s landlady’s phrase. She probably thinks anyone who crosses a church door a nut. Morro could come from Beirut. Muslims there.’

‘And Christians. Spent nineteen-seventy-six wiping each other out. I’ve been up that blind alley, Sergeant. Morro could be Indian. Carlton’s been in New Delhi. Hindu, not Muslim. Or Morro could be south-east Asia. So Carlton’s been to Singapore, Hong Kong and Manila. First two — if anything — are Buddhist, third is Catholic. Or Japan — Carlton’s been there, Morro may have been. Shintoism. You can’t just pick the religion that fits your theory — and there’s no record of Carlton ever having been in Beirut. I told you, this place has been checked out. Chief of Police swears by them —’

‘That’s enough for an immediate arrest warrant.’

‘Not every police chief is a Donahure. This man — Curragh — is widely respected. The Governor of California is their patron. They’ve given two million — I repeat, two million — to charity. Open to the public —’

Ryder held up a hand. ‘All right, all right. Point taken. Where does this bunch of paragons hang out?’

‘Some kind of castle. Adlerheim, it’s called.’

‘I know it. Been there, in fact. Brainchild of some wealthy crank called Von Streicher.’ He paused. ‘Muslim or not anybody who lives there has to be a nut.’ He paused again, longer this time, made as if to speak then clearly changed his mind.

Leroy said: ‘Sorry I can’t help you more.’

‘Thanks. I’ll take those lists if I may. Along with my earthquake studies — they’re bound to lead me to point zero.’

Parker led the way to the car. In a quiet voice Jeff said to Ryder: ‘Come on, out with it. What were you about to say in there that you didn’t?’

‘When you consider the size of this State the Adlerheim is only a stone’s throw from Bakersfield. That’s where LeWinter’s mysterious phone call came from.’

‘Could mean something?’

‘Could mean that I’m still in a far-fetched mood tonight. Be interesting to find out whether there’s a direct line from the castle to Bakersfield.’

On the way out to the suburbs Ryder briefed Parker as exhaustively as he could.

South Maple was short, straight, tree-lined, pleasant and quiet, all the houses of the pseudo-Spanish-Moroccan architectural design so popular in the south. Two hundred yards short of his destination Ryder pulled up behind a black unmarked car, got out and walked forward. The man sitting behind the wheel glanced interrogatively at Ryder.

Ryder said: ‘You must be George Green.’

‘And you must be Sergeant Ryder. Office called me.’

‘Listen in to her phone all the time?’

‘Don’t have to. Very educated little bug.’ He tapped the square base of his telephone. ‘When she lifts her phone this little box goes tinkle-tinkle. Automatic recorder, too.’

‘We’re going to have a word with her and going to find an excuse to leave her for a minute. She may put a panic call through in our absence.’

‘I’ll have it for you.’

Bettina Ivanhoe lived in a surprisingly nice house, small, not on the scale of Donahure’s or LeWinter’s homes, but large enough to provoke the thought that for a twenty-one-year-old secretary she was doing surprisingly well for herself — or someone was doing surprisingly well for her. She answered the door bell and looked apprehensively at the three men.

‘Police officers,’ Parker said. ‘Could we have a word with you?’

‘Police officers? Yes, I suppose so. I mean, of course.’

She led the way to a small sitting-room and tucked her legs under her while the three men took an armchair apiece. She looked sweet and demure and proper, but that wasn’t anything much to go by; she’d looked sweet and demure if hardly proper when she’d been lying chained to LeWinter in his bed.

‘Am I — am I in any kind of trouble?’

‘We hope not.’ Parker had a deep booming voice, one of those rare voices that could sound hearty, reassuring and ominous all at the same time. ‘We’re just looking for any information that will help us. We’re investigating allegations — they’re more than that, I’m afraid — of widespread and illegal bribery involving foreigners and several high-placed individuals in public services in this State. A year or two back the South Koreans were giving away millions, seemingly out of the goodness of their hearts.’ He sighed. ‘And now the Russians are at it. You will understand that I can’t be more specific’

‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’ Clearly she didn’t understand at all.

‘How long have you lived here?’ The hearty reassurance in his voice had gone all diminuendo.

‘Five months.’ The apprehension was still there but it had been joined by a certain wariness. ‘Why?’

‘Asking questions is my job.’ Parker looked around leisurely. ‘Very nice place you have here. What’s your job, Miss Ivanhoe?’

‘I’m a secretary.’

‘How long?’

‘Two years.’

‘Before that?’

‘School. San Diego.’

‘University of California?’ A nod. ‘You left?’ Another nod.

‘Why did you leave?’ She hesitated. ‘Don’t forget, we can check all this out. Failed grades?’

‘No. I couldn’t afford to —’

‘You couldn’t afford to?’ Parker looked around again. ‘Yet in two years, a secretary, a beginner, really, you can afford to live here? Your average secretary has to make do with a single room in the beginning. Or live with her parents.’ He tapped his forehead lightly. ‘Of course. Your parents. Must be very understanding folk. Not to say generous.’

‘My parents are dead.’

‘I am sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry. ‘Then somebody must have been very generous.’

‘I haven’t been charged with anything.’ She compressed her lips and swung her feet to the floor. ‘I’ll not answer another question until I’ve talked to my lawyer.’

‘Judge LeWinter is not answering the phone today. He’s got lumbago.’ This got to her. She sunk back against the cushions, looking oddly vulnerable and defenceless. She could have been acting but probably was not. If Parker felt a twinge of pity he didn’t show it. ‘You’re Russian, aren’t you?’

‘No. No. No.’

‘Yes, yes, yes. Where were you born?’

‘Vladivostok.’ She’d given up.

‘Where are your parents buried?’

‘They’re alive. They went back to Moscow.’

‘When?’

‘Four years ago.’

‘Why?’

‘I think they were called back.’

‘They were naturalized?’

‘Yes. A long time.’

‘Where did your father work?’

‘Burbank.’

‘Lockheed, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you get your job?’

‘Box number ad. For an American secretary who could speak Russian and Chinese.’

‘There wouldn’t be many of those around?’

‘Only me.’

‘Judge LeWinter has private clients, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Including Russian and Chinese?’

‘Yes. Sometimes they need a translator in court.’

‘Does he require any translation done for him out of court?’

She hesitated. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Military stuff. Russian, of course. In code.’

Her voice was low now, barely above a whisper. ‘Yes.’

‘Anything about weather at any time?’

Her eyes were wide. ‘How do you know —’

‘Don’t you know it’s wrong? Don’t you know it’s treason? Don’t you know the penalty for treason?’

She put her forearm on the side of the couch and laid her blonde head on it. She made no reply.

Ryder said: ‘You like LeWinter?’ His voice didn’t seem to register with her as the one she’d heard the previous night.

‘I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!’ The voice was shaking but the vehemence left no room for disbelief.

Ryder stood and jerked his head to the door. Parker said: ‘We’re going to the car to call the station. Back in a minute or two.’ The three men went outside.

Ryder said: ‘She hates LeWinter and I, Dave, hate you.’

‘That makes two of us.’

‘Jeff, go see if the FBI man is intercepting a phone call. I know I’m just wasting your time.’ Jeff left.

‘Poor bloody kid.’ Parker shook his head. ‘Imagine if that were Peggy.’

‘Just what I am meaning. Old man a spy, probably an industrial one. Called back to Russia to report and now being held over her head — along with her mother, probably. Being blackmailed to hell and back. One thing: we can probably tell our super-spies in Geneva what they can do with themselves. She’s intelligent. I’ll bet she has total recall about this Russian weather report or whatever.’

‘Hasn’t she had enough, John? And what will happen to her parents?’

‘Nothing, I should imagine. Not if the report leaks out that she has been arrested or disappeared or held incommunicado. That’s the way they’d act themselves.’

‘Not the way we act in our great American democracy.’

‘They don’t believe in our great American democracy.’

They waited until Jeff returned. He looked at them and shook his head.

‘It figures,’ Ryder said. ‘Our poor little Bettina has no place left to go.’

They went back inside. She was sitting straight again, looking at them without expectation. Her brown eyes were dulled and there were tear stains on her cheeks. The men didn’t bother to sit down. She looked at Ryder.

‘I know who you are.’

‘You have the advantage over me. I’ve never seen you before in my life. We are going to take you into protective custody, that’s all.’

‘I know what that means. Protective custody. Spying, treason, a morals charge. Protective custody.’

Ryder caught her wrist, pulled her to her feet, and held her by the shoulders. ‘You’re in California, not Siberia. Protective custody means that we’re going to take you in and keep you safe and unharmed until this blows over. There will be no charges preferred against you because there are none to prefer. We promise that no harm will come to you, not now, nor later.’ He led her towards the door and opened it. ‘If you want to, you can go. Pack some things, take them to your car and drive off. But it’s cold out there and dark and you’ll be alone. You’re too young to be alone.’

She looked through the doorway, turned back, made a movement of the shoulders that could have been a shrug or a shiver and looked at Ryder uncertainly. He said: ‘We know of a safe place. We’ll send a policewoman with you, not a battle-axe to guard you but a young and pretty girl like yourself to keep you company.’ He nodded to Jeff. ‘I know my son here will take the greatest care, not to say pleasure, in picking out just the girl for you.’ Jeff grinned and it was probably his smile more than anything else that convinced her. ‘You will, of course, have an armed guard outside. Two or three days, no more. Just pack enough for that. Don’t be a dope; we just want to look after you.’

She smiled for the first time, nodded and left the room. Jeff grinned again. ‘I’ve often wondered how you managed to trap Susan, but now I’m beginning to —’

Ryder gave him a cold look. ‘Green’s all through here. Go and explain to him why.’

Jeff left, still smiling.

Healey, Bramwell and Schmidt had foregathered in Burnett’s sitting-room after dinner, excellent as was all the food in the Adlerheim. It had been a sombre meal, as most meals were, and the atmosphere had not been lightened by the absence of Susan who had been eating with her injured daughter. Carlton had not been there either, but this had hardly been remarked upon, because the deputy chief of security had become a highly unsociable creature — gloomy, withdrawn, almost secretive: it was widely assumed that he was brooding over his own defects and failures in the field of security. After a meal eaten quickly and in funereal silence all had left as soon as they decently could. And now Burnett was dispensing his post-prandial hospitality — in this case an excellent Martell — with his customary heavy hand.

‘Woman’s not normal,’ Burnett was speaking and, as usual, he wasn’t saying something, he was announcing it.

Bramwell said cautiously: ‘Which one?’

‘Which woman is?’ Burnett would have gone over big with the women’s lib. ‘But I was referring to Mrs Ryder, of course.’

Healey steepled judicious fingers. ‘Charming, I thought.’

‘Charming? To be sure, to be sure. Charming. Quite beautiful. But deranged.’ He waved a vague arm around. ‘All this, I suppose. Women can’t take it. Went along to see her after dinner, pay respects, commiserate with injured daughter, you know. Damn pretty young girl that. Lying there, all shot up.’ To listen to Burnett, one would have assumed that the patient had been riddled with machine-gun fire. ‘Well, I’m a pretty even-tempered fellow’ — he seemed to be genuinely unaware of his own reputation — ‘but I must say I rather lost my temper. Said that Morro was at worst a cold-blooded monster that should be destroyed, at best a raving lunatic that should be locked up. Would you believe it, she didn’t agree at all.’ He briefly contemplated the enormity of her error in character assessment, then shook his head at its being beyond normal comprehension. ‘Admitted that he should be brought to justice, but said he was kind, considerate and even thoughtful of others at times. An intelligent, I had thought highly intelligent, woman.’ Burnett shook his head again, whether in self-reproach at his own character assessment or because he was sadly figuring out what the rest of womankind might be like it was hard to say. He drank his brandy, clearly not savouring it at all. ‘I ask you, gentlemen. I simply ask you.’

‘He’s a maniac, all right. That I grant you.’ Bramwell was being cautious again. ‘But not amoral as a madman should be. If he really wanted an impressive debut for this atom bomb of his — assuming he has one, and none of us here doubts it — he’d detonate it without warning in the Wilshire Boulevard instead of with warning out in the desert.’

‘Balderdash. The extreme cunning of extreme madness. Wants to convince people that they’re dealing with a rational human being.’ Burnett examined his empty glass, rose and made for the bar. ‘Well, he’ll never convince me of that. I detest clichés but, gentlemen — mark my words.’

They marked his words in silence and were still sitting in silence when Morro and Dubois entered. He was either oblivious of or ignored the thunder on Burnett’s face, the gloom on that of the others.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but the evenings are a bit dull here and I thought you might care to see something to titillate your scientific curiosity. I do not want to sound like a showman in a circus, but I’m sure you will be astonished — dumb-founded, I might almost say — by what Abraham and I are about to show you. Would you care to accompany me, gentlemen?’

Burnett wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to exercise his truculence. ‘And if we refuse?’

‘Your privilege. And I mean yours, Professor. I somehow think your colleagues might be quite interested, and would take great pleasure in telling you afterwards. Of course, you may all choose to refuse. I will bring no pressure to bear.’

Healey rose. ‘I was born nosey. Your food is excellent but the entertainment factor is zero. Nothing on the TV — not that there ever is much — except the precautions being taken to keep people away from the Yucca Flat tomorrow and the fearful speculation as to what the next threat is going to be and what is the motivation behind it all. What is the motivation, Morro?’

‘Later. Meantime, those of you who care —’

They all cared, even Burnett. Two white-robed acolytes were waiting in the passage. This didn’t worry the four physicists: there was nothing new in this, nor in the certain knowledge that they would be carrying their Ingrams in the folds of their robes. What was unusual was that one of them was carrying a tape-recorder. Burnett, as ever, was the first and principal objector.

‘What’s your devious mind planning on now, Morro? What’s the damned recorder for?’

Morro was patient. ‘To make a recording. I thought you might like to be the first to inform your fellow citizens of what I have here and, by implication, what’s in store for them. We will bring to an end what you, Dr Healey, call their “fearful speculations” and let them know the dreadful reality. Their fears, almost certainly, will be replaced by a mindless panic such as a people have never known before. But it is justifiable. It is justifiable because it will enable me to achieve what I wish — and, more importantly from your point of view, to achieve it without the loss of the lives of perhaps millions of people. That loss is just conceivable — if you refuse to co-operate.’

The quiet voice carried total conviction, but when a mind is confronted by the inconceivable it takes refuge in disbelief and non-acceptance.

‘You are quite, quite mad.’ For once Burnett was neither furious nor truculent but he carried as much conviction as Morro had done. ‘If we refuse to, as you say, co-operate? Torture? The threat to the women?’

‘Mrs Ryder will have told you that they are safe from me. You really can be tedious at times, Professor. No torture, except that of your own consciences, the thought that will haunt you as long as you may live — you could have saved countless lives but have chosen not to.’

Healey said: ‘What you are saying in effect is that while people might not believe you and take a chance that you are bluffing they would believe us and take no such chance.’

Morro smiled. ‘It wounds what passes for my amour propre but, yes, precisely.’

‘Let’s go and see just how mad he is.’

The lift was an extraordinary construction. Its floor measured about four feet by six but, in height, it must have been at least fourteen feet. The faces of the four physicists reflected their puzzlement. As the lift whined down Morro smiled again. ‘It is peculiar, I admit. You will understand the reason for its unique design in a very few moments.’

The lift stopped, the door opened and the eight men moved out into a large chamber about twenty feet square. The walls and roofs were as they had been when cut from the solid rock, the floor of smooth concrete. On one side were vertically stacked sheets of steel, whether hardened or stainless it was impossible to judge: on the other were unmistakable sheets of aluminium. For the rest, it was no more or less than a comprehensively-equipped machine shop, with lathes, machine presses, drills, guillotines, oxy-acetylene equipment and racks of gleaming tools. Morro waved a hand.

‘In an automobile plant, what you would call the “body shop”. Here we make the casings. I need say no more.’

Running along the length of the roof of the chamber was a heavy metal rail from which were suspended travelling chain blocks. This extended into the next compartment. Morro led the way in. There was a long table, again running the length of the chamber: a table fitted with circular metal clamps. On either side were racked storage compartments, wire-net fronted, both containing metal drums well separated at calculated intervals.

Morro didn’t even break stride. ‘Plutonium to the left, Uranium-235 to the right.’ He carried straight on to a smaller room. ‘The electrical shop, gentlemen. But that wouldn’t interest you.’ He kept on walking. ‘But this next room should fascinate you. Again in auto-manufacturing parlance, this is what you would call the “assembly shop”.’

Morro had made no mistake. The four physicists were, beyond question, fascinated as they had never been in their lives. But not in the details of the assembly shop. What caught and held fast their disbelieving and horrified attention was the rack bolted to the right-hand wall. More precisely, what the rack held. Clamped vertically, side by side, were ten twelve-feet-high cylinders, each four-and-a-half inches in diameter. They were painted in matt black with the exception of two red bands, each an inch thick, that circled the cylinders one third and two thirds the way up their height. At the further end of the row were two more sets of clamps which held nothing. Morro looked at each of the four physicists in turn. Each face held the same expression, a profound dismay coupled with a sick and shocked certainty. Morro’s face registered nothing — no humour, no triumph, no satisfaction, nothing. The silence dragged on for a seemingly interminable time, but then in circumstances sufficiently appalling a few seconds cannot be measured in the normally accepted units of time. In the accepted units of seconds, twenty had passed before Healey broke the silence. His face was grey, his voice husky as he broke from his thrall and turned to look at Morro.

‘This is a nightmare.’

‘This is no nightmare. From a nightmare you wake up. Not from this, for this is the dreadful reality. A waking nightmare, if you will.’

Burnett was as hoarse as Healey had been. ‘The Aunt Sally!’

Morro corrected him. ‘The Aunt Sallies. Ten of them. You, Professor, are an excellent designer of hydrogen weapons. Your brainchild in its final physical form. One could wish that you could have viewed it under happier circumstances.’

There was something very close to hate in Burnett’s eyes.

‘You, Morro, are an evil and vindictive bastard.’

‘You can save your breath. Professor, and for two reasons. Your statement is untrue for I derive no gloating pleasure from this; and, as you should know by now, I am impervious to insults.’

With a Herculean effort Burnett brought his temper and outrage under control, and regarded Morro with an expression of suspicious thought-fulness. He said slowly: ‘I have to admit they look like Aunt Sallies.’

‘You are suggesting something. Professor Burnett?’

‘Yes. I’m suggesting this is a hoax, a gigantic bluff. I’m suggesting that all this fancy machinery you have down here, the steel and aluminium sheets, the nuclear fuel, the electrical shop, this so-called assembly shop, is just window-dressing on an unprecedented scale. I suggest you are trying to trick my colleagues and myself into convincing the world at large that you really are in possession of those nuclear weapons, whereas in fact, they are only dummies. You could have those cylinders made in a hundred places in this State alone without arousing any suspicion But you couldn’t have the components, the very intricate and sophisticated components made without providing very complex and highly sophisticated plans, and that would have aroused suspicion. I’m afraid, Morro, that you are no engineer. To make those components here you would have required highly-skilled pattern-cutters, template-makers, turners and machinists. Such men are very hard to come by and are highly-paid professionals who most certainly would not jeopardize their careers by working for a criminal.’

Morro said: ‘Well spoken. Interesting but, if I may say so, merely amusing observations. You have quite finished?’

When Burnett made no reply Morro crossed to a large steel plate let into one wall and pressed a button by its side. The steel plate slid sideways with a muted whine to reveal a square wire-meshed door. Behind the mesh were seated six men, two watching TV, two reading and two playing cards. All six men looked towards the mesh door. Their faces were pale and gaunt and held expressions of what could be called neither hatred nor fear but were compounded of both.

‘Those may be the men you are looking for, Professor?’ Again there was neither satisfaction nor triumph in Morro’s voice. ‘One template-maker, one pattern-cutter, two lathe specialists, one machinist and one electrician, or perhaps I should say, a specialist in electronics.’ He looked at the six men and said: ‘Perhaps you would confirm that you are indeed the skilled practitioners of the arts that I have claimed you to be?’

The six men looked at him and said nothing, but their tightened lips and the loathing in their faces said it for them.

Morro shrugged. ‘Well, well. They do get like this occasionally — an irritating, if momentary, lack of co-operation. Or, to put it another way, they simply never learn.’ He crossed the chamber, entered a booth-like office and lifted a phone. His voice was inaudible to the watchers. He remained inside till a newcomer, a stranger to the physicists, entered the chamber. Morro met him and together they approached the waiting group.

‘This is Lopez,’ Morro said. Lopez was a short tubby man with an appropriately chubby face, a low hair-line, dark moustache and what appeared to be a permanently good-humoured smile. He nodded and kept on smiling as Morro made introductions but said nothing.

‘Lopez, I am just a little disappointed in you.’ Morro spoke severely but his smile matched Lopez’s own. ‘And to think I pay you such a handsome salary.’

‘I am desolate, Señor.’ If he was he didn’t look it; the smile remained firmly in place. ‘If you would let me know in what way I have fallen short —’

Morro nodded at the six men behind the mesh. Fear, not hatred, was now the dominant expression on their faces. Morro said: ‘They refuse to talk to me.’

Lopez sighed. ‘I do try to teach them manners, Señor Morro — but even Lopez is no magician.’ He pressed another button and the mesh gate slid open. He smiled with even greater good humour and beckoned. ‘Come, Peters. We’ll go to my room and have a little talk, will we?’

The man addressed as Peters said: ‘My name is John Peters and I am a lathe operator.’ There was no mistaking the abject terror in his face and his voice shook. The four physicists looked at one another with a dimly comprehending shock on their faces.

A second man said: ‘I am Conrad Bronowski. I am an electrician.’ And in a precisely similar fashion each of the other four in turn gave his name and occupation.

‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ Morro touched both buttons in succession and looked enquiringly at the four scientists as both gate and door closed. But they weren’t looking at him, they were staring at Lopez.

Schmidt said: ‘Who is this man?’

‘Lopez? Their guide and mentor. You could see how well they responded to his friendliness, his kindly good humour. Thank you, Lopez.’

‘My pleasure, Señor Morro.’

With considerable difficulty Burnett removed his eyes from Lopez and looked at Morro. ‘Those men in there. They — they look like men I have seen in a concentration camp. Forced labour. And this man — he is their guard, their torturer. I have never seen such fear in men’s faces.’

‘You are both unkind and unjust. Lopez has a deep concern for his fellow man. Those six men, I have to confess, are here under restraint but they will be —’

‘Kidnapped, you mean?’

‘As you will. But, as I was about to say, they will very shortly be returned unharmed to their families.’

‘You see?’ Burnett turned to his three colleagues. ‘Just as Mrs Ryder said. Kind, considerate and thoughtful of others. You’re a goddamned hypocrite.’

‘Sticks and stones, Professor Burnett, sticks and stones. Now, perhaps, we can get on with this recording?’

‘One minute.’ An expression of puzzlement had replaced the revulsion in Healey’s face. ‘Accepting that those men in there are what they claim they are or what this monster made them claim to be’ — Lopez continued to smile his genial smile: he was clearly as impervious to insults as Morro himself — ‘it’s still impossible that they could have assembled this mechanism without the guidance of a first-class nuclear physicist. Which leads me to believe that those men in there have simply been brain-washed into saying what they have just said.’

‘Astute,’ Morro said, ‘but only superficially so. If I just wanted six men to say what those six just have then I would surely have rehearsed six of my own men who would have required neither persuasion nor incarceration to play the parts. Not so, Dr Healey?’ Healey’s crestfallen expression showed that it was indeed so. Morro sighed resignedly. ‘Lopez, if you would be so kind as to remain in the office?’ Lopez smiled, this time as if in anticipation, and walked across to the booth from which Morrow had telephoned. Morro led the others to a second steel door, pressed a button to open it then another to open the cage gate behind.

The cell was dimly lit but bright enough to show an old man slumped in a tattered armchair, the only item of furniture there with the slightest semblance of comfort. He had frizzy white hair, a haggard and unbelievably lined face and wore shabby clothes that hung loosely on a frame as emaciated as the face. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Were it not for the occasional twitching of thin blue-veined hands he could equally well have been dead.

Morro gestured towards the sleeping man. ‘Recognize him?’

The four men studied him without recognition, then Burnett said contemptuously: ‘This is your trump card? This your mastermind behind the alleged nuclear weapons? You forget, Morro, that I know every top-ranking nuclear physicist in the country. I’ve never seen this man before.’

‘People can change,’ Morro said mildly. He shook the old man by the shoulder until he started and opened his eyelids to reveal clouded and bloodshot eyes. With a hand under a thin arm, Morro persuaded him to his feet and urged him out into the brighter light of the assembly room. ‘Perhaps you recognize him now?’

‘What kind of try-on is this?’ Burnett peered closely and shook his head. ‘I repeat, I have never seen this man.’

Morro said: ‘It’s sad how one can forget old friends. You know him very well, Professor. Imagine if he were, say, seventy pounds heavier. Imagine if the lines had gone from his face and his hair was as black as it now is white. Think, Professor, think.’

Burnett thought. Suddenly his searching gaze changed to a stare, his face drained of expression just as his complexion drained of blood. He seized the old man by the shoulders.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty! Willi Aachen! Willi Aachen! What in God’s name have they done to you?’

‘My old friend Andy!’ The voice matched the appearance, a voice old and faint and quavering. ‘How good to see you again.’

‘What have they done to you?’

‘Well. You can see. Kidnapped.’ He shivered and tried to smile at the same time. ‘They persuaded me to work for them.’

Burnett flung himself on Morro but didn’t get within halfway. Dubois’s great hands closed on his upper arms from behind. Burnett was a powerful man and his fury gave him a momentarily berserker strength, but he had no more chance of freeing himself from that monstrous grip than the wasted and shrunken Aachen would have had.

‘It’s no use, Andy.’ Aachen sounded sad. ‘No use. We are powerless.’

Burnett stopped his futile struggling. Breathing heavily, he said for the third time: ‘What have they done to you? How? Who did it?’

Lopez, certainly in answer to some unseen signal from Morro, appeared at Aachen’s elbow. Aachen saw him and took an involuntary step backwards, flinging up an arm as if to protect a face suddenly contorted with fear. Morro, still holding him by the arm, smiled at Burnett.

‘How naïve, how childlike and unthinking even the highest intelligences can be. There are in existence, Professor Burnett, only two copies of plans for the Aunt Sally, drawn up by yourself and Professor Aachen, and those are in the vaults of the Atomic Energy Commission. You must know that they are still there, so I could have obtained those plans from only two men in America. They are both with me now. Do you understand?’

Burnett was still having difficulty with his breathing. ‘I know Professor Aachen. I know him better than anyone. No one could have made him work for you. No one! No one!’

Lopez broadened his ever-genial smile. ‘Perhaps, Señor Morro, if I had a friendly little chat in my room with Professor Burnett here. Ten minutes would suffice, I think.’

‘I agree. That should be sufficient to convince him that anyone on earth would work for me.’

‘Don’t, don’t, don’t!’ Aachen was close to hysteria. ‘For God’s sake, Andy, you’ve got to believe Morro.’ He looked in loathing at Lopez. ‘This monster knows more awful, more fiendish tortures than any sane man can conceive of. In the name of heaven, Andy, don’t be mad: this creature will break you as he broke me.’

‘I’m convinced.’ Healey had stepped forward and taken Burnett by the arm just as Dubois released his grip. He looked at Schmidt and Bramwell, then turned back to Burnett. ‘The three of us are convinced. Absolutely. What’s the point of being broken on the modern equivalent of the rack if it’s going to prove nothing? We have the proof. God’s sake, you couldn’t recognize an old friend you last saw ten weeks ago. Isn’t that proof? And those six zombie technicians. Isn’t that proof?’ He looked at Morro. ‘There could, of course, be a final proof. If those Aunt Sallies are for real you must have some way of triggering them off, and the only ways can be either by a time device or radio. It wouldn’t be the former, because then you would have committed yourself to an irrevocable decision, and I can’t see a man like you committing yourself to the irrevocable: so I assume you have elected for a controllable radio impulse.’

‘Well, well.’ Morro smiled. ‘This time you have not been just superficially obtuse. You are correct, of course. Follow me, gentlemen.’

He led the way to the small booth from which he had telephoned. Its inner wall held yet another steel door. There was no press button to open this: instead, alongside the door was a small brass panel, highly polished, measuring about ten inches by six. Morro placed his flat palm and fingers against it. The door slid smoothly open.

Inside was a tiny room, not more than six feet by six. On the wall opposite the door was a metal table which supported a simple radio transmitter, smaller than an attaché case, with calibrated dials and tuning knobs. On top of the case was a perspex-covered red button. Clamped to one side of the table was an eight-inch cylinder with a diameter about half that. At one end of the cylinder was a cranking handle: at the other end an insulated lead to a socket in one side of the transmitter. There were two other sockets close by that one. From one, a lead reached down to a lead-acid battery on the floor: the third socket was connected to a wall socket.

‘An almost childishly simple device, gentlemen,’ Morro said. ‘A perfectly ordinary radio transmitter, but one serving a most extraordinary purpose. It is programmed with a specific code on a pre-set wave-length. The chances of anyone duplicating both the wave-length and the code are so astronomically remote they can be said to be non-existent. We have, as you see, guarded against any chance of a power failure: we have mains, battery and the hand-cranked generator.’ He touched the perspex-covered red button on top. ‘To operate, one simply unscrews the plastic dome, turns the button through ninety degrees and presses.’ He ushered them out, laid his hand against the brass panel and watched the door slide close. ‘One cannot very well have buttons for this purpose. Some careless person might accidentally lean against them.’

Healey said: ‘Only your handprint can open that door?’

‘You didn’t imagine that plate was simply an elaborate press-button? Well, gentlemen, the recording.’

‘One last thing,’ Burnett said. He nodded towards the row of Aunt Sallies. ‘There are two empty sets of clamps there. Why?’

‘Well, now.’ Morro smiled his empty smile. ‘I thought you might ask me that.’

The four physicists sat round the table in Burnett’s room, contemplating both their brandies and the future with an understandably profound gloom.

‘Well, I said it, didn’t I?’ Burnett said heavily. ‘“Mark my words”, I said. Didn’t I say that?’

No one said whether he’d said it or not. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.

‘Even that control room could have been part of a massive hoax.’ Schmidt was grasping at nonexistent straws.

No one said anything to that either, and for the same reason.

‘And to think that we said he wasn’t amoral as a madman should be,’ Burnett said. ‘That if he were really mad he’d set off his atomic bomb in the Wilshire Boulevard.’

No one had anything to say to that either. Burnett rose and said: ‘Back shortly, gentlemen.’

Peggy was still in bed but looked considerably better than she had done on her arrival at the Adlerheim. Her mother sat in an armchair to one side. Burnett had a brandy glass in his hand. He hadn’t brought his own with him; he’d gone straight behind Susan’s wet bar the moment he had arrived. He was still behind it, his elbows on the counter, bending an apocalyptic gaze upon his audience and addressing them in apocalyptic tones. Armageddon, it was clear, was at hand, and the dark angel was there to announce the fact.

‘You will not, ladies, doubt our unanimous conclusion that we are sitting atop enough nuclear explosive power to blast the biggest man-made crater of all time, enough to send us all into orbit — in a vaporized state, that is? The equivalent of thirty-five million tons of conventional explosive. It should cause quite a bang, don’t you think?’

It was a night for silences, for unanswered questions. Burnett’s doom-laden gaze homed in on Susan.

‘“Kindly, gentle, humane, considerate” — that’s what you said Morro was. He may very well go down in history as the most cold-blooded, calculating monster ever. Seven broken men down in the vaults there whom he has tortured — or has had tortured — beyond the breaking point of screaming agony. “Humane, considerate.”

‘And this kindly gentleman — where has he put the missing hydrogen bomb? It’s a rather scaled-down version of the Aunt Sally — a trifling one-and-a-half megatons, about seventy-five times as powerful as the ones that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Released at a height of between ten and twenty thousand feet it could destroy half the population of Southern California. Those whom the blast didn’t get radiation and fire-storms would. But as this bomb is already in position it must be on or below ground level. The results will still be unimaginably dreadful. So, tell me, where do you think this gentle Christ-like figure placed this hydrogen device so that no harm will come to any of God’s children?’

He was still looking fixedly at Susan but she wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze; her mind, like those of the others, was numbed with shock and incomprehension: she just wasn’t seeing anything.

‘So must I tell you?’

It was still a night for silences.

‘Los Angeles.’