Year of the Golden Ape

16

^ 'From the point of view of the Red Army, if the western nations attempted to break the Arab stranglehold on their economies, then a favourable situation might arise whereby the Soviet Union could secure for itself certain oil reserves essential in the event of a future confrontation with the People's Republic of China…'

^ Extract from photostat of confidential report from Marshal Simoniev to First Secretary of Union of Soviet Socialist Republics handed to Ken Chapin of CIA by Soviet defector, Col Grigorienko.

^ 'After a night in bed with his wife, Peretti is the kind of guy who has to be helped out of it in the morning…'

^ 'Before this thing is finished I'm going to get a whole lot coarser,' the Governor assured his wife. He peered out of the window into the dark. 'Where the hell is the airport?'

^ The Boeing 707 was losing altitude rapidly, coming in to the San Francisco runway from the north-east – all planes had been routed away from their normal entry over the Pacific so they wouldn't pass over the tanker ^ Challenger. ^ It was the flying moment Miriam MacGowan hated most – the downward drop at speed towards a solid concrete avenue somewhere out of sight. MacGowan's attitude was more brutally fatalistic – either we hit the deck and cruise along it – or we burn. He was careful not to express the sentiment.

^ MacGowan was fuming. Half an hour ago, while the plane was flying over San Luis Obispo, he had received a radio message from an aide Col Cassidy had spoken to. Occasionally, in the States, when a military man does not agree with a decision, he has been known to leak the decision to a political friend whose views equate more closely with his own. MacGowan now knew that the terrorist ship he had heard about while changing planes at Los Angeles was going to be allowed inside the Bay. It was, of course, a typical Peretti decision. Milk in his spine and jello in his guts. MacGowan couldn't stomach the bloody matinee idol.

^ The wheels touched down, bumped. Miriam swallowed, waiting for the hideous thing to slow down. It always seemed it was going straight through the airport buildings. MacGowan undid his seat belt before the green light came on. A stewardess leaned over to reprove him, but he forestalled her.' ^ You ^ are supposed to be seated while we're landing – and don't forget I'm the first off this aircraft…'

^ He was on his feet as the machine taxied to a halt, a short, heavily-built man with a large head, thick hair and thick eyebrows and a wide, grim-looking mouth. In build he was not dissimilar to LeCat. He ran down the mobile staircase and past a group of reporters. Inside Miriam apologised to the stewardess.

^ MacGowan used one of the phones in TWA's back office – the reporters had run after him, intrigued by his haste. His first call was to Peretti. 'I want that ship stopped. It's not coming into the Bay with an army of terrorists aboard… Don't argue, Peretti -if I have to, I'll call out the National Guard…'

^ He called in rapid succession General Lepke at the Presidio, the US Coast Guard, the Harbor Police, and finally, Police Commissioner Bolan. Nobody had a chance to express an opinion; nobody really tried. But he did explain to Bolan what he was doing, telling him to phone Peretti the moment the call was over. This was simply to bring more pressure to bear on the mayor.

^ 'I want this thing put on ice till I get a grip on it. So the ship stays where it is for the moment. I've told Peretti to signal those bastards that there's been a collision – that no ship can enter or leave Golden Gate till the channel is cleared. They may not believe it but they won't be sure. And it will throw them off balance -first they get permission, then a temporary refusal. I'm coming in now…'

^ It was typical of MacGowan to be in a fury but still to be thinking clearly – to freeze the situation and throw his opponent off balance at the same time. 'I've stuck my head in a political noose,' he told his wife during the drive into the city, 'but I don't care. I know I'm doing the right thing.'

^ 'Peretti will pull the skids from under you, give him half a chance,' she warned.

^ 'You've forgotten something – politically I'm finished anyway after the Grove Park business. Now I'm thinking of the hostages' problem.'

^ 'In the wrong way, in the Peretti way – let's all sit down over a cup of coffee and talk things out, I've got a hunch about this thing

…' They were passing through Brisbane and he saw her looking at him, 'I mean we may have to kill every terrorist aboard that tanker…'

^ Ten miles ahead of them a yellow cab was moving into San Francisco with four strangers sharing the vehicle. On the back seat was a passenger off the same flight as MacGowan, but ^

^ When he arrived in the lobby of the Hotel St Francis on Union Square, he reserved a room in the name of Seebohm and was taken up in the glass elevator which crawled up the outside of the building. The experience terrified Riad as he gazed down at the tiny rooftop of a car turning into the car park under the square. Riad had a pathological fear of heights. Still, he would only be in this place one night. In the morning he would inform the Englishman of the change of plan, telling him to catch the first plane back to Europe.

^ Aboard the ^ Challenger ^ LeCat had waited confidently for Mackay to receive permission to enter the Bay when the burnt embers of the Carley floats had been hauled up on the main deck. The signal granting permission had arrived later; the captain had prepared to sail into the channel; the next signal – refusing permission -had arrived just after midnight. It had been a thunderbolt for the Frenchman. His face working with fury, he waited on the bridge while Mackay absorbed the message.

^ 'You will take the ship into the Bay at once,' the terrorist ordered.

^ 'Impossible.' Mackay handed back the signal to LeCat. 'I cannot steam inside Golden Gate until they have cleared the channel. You've read it yourself – there's been a collision.'

^ 'I do not believe it! This is a trick the Americans are playing on me. First they say yes, then they say no. They cannot do this to LeCat…'

^ Mackay glanced at him, careful to conceal his growing anxiety. The Frenchman's personality seemed to be changing – these constant references to 'me', to 'LeCat', as though a power complex which had remained submerged was surfacing now Winter's restraining hand was gone. He tried quiet reason.

^ 'Listen to me. The moment they give permission I will take the ship in through Golden Gate. If I take it in now – without permission – we may well collide with those damaged ships somewhere in the channel…'

^ LeCat raised his Skorpion, aimed it point blank at Bennett. 'If you do not immediately sail this ship to San Francisco I will shoot three of your men…'

^ 'If I sail this ship in now and there is another collision – which there will be in this fog, for God's sake – ^ Challenger ^ may go down, taking you and all your men with you. We would go down as well. So, shoot every hostage on this ship if you like, but I will not sail my ship through fog under these conditions.'

^ Mackay turned his back on the terrorist and went to the bridge window. For the second time in only a few hours he felt his back muscles brace themselves for a bullet. Behind him LeCat's eyes flickered. If there was a collision the whole operation was finished. He left the bridge and went to his cabin. To soothe his fury he began drinking cognac.

^ LeCat stood in the open doorway of Betty Cordell's cabin. He had opened the door quietly and she was lying full length on her bunk, exhausted, half asleep. When she saw him she whipped her long legs over the edge quickly. 'Well, what is it?'

^ He closed the door, locked it, came swiftly over to the bunk and looked down at her. She tried to stand up but he placed a spread hand over her chest and pushed her hard. She fell back into the bunk, caught her head on the woodwork and was dazed. 'If Winter finds you here…' Then she remembered that Winter had gone, flown away. She tried to keep calm but the blow on the head had addled her, she was having trouble focusing on the heavily-built figure which loomed over her.

^ The knife point tickled her cheek and the full horror of what was coming hit her. The blurred figure came closer, lowered itself, then his hand ripped her blouse down the front. She clawed for his eyes but he moved his head and again the knife pressed against her cheek. 'Ruin your good looks for life,' he whispered. She sank back and he came on top of her.

^ She tried to think of something else – anything – to think that she was at home, that this was only a nightmare, to switch her ^ mind to anything except what was happening. It didn't work, she knew where she was, what was happening. The bloody gun… far too far away. 'Scream and I'll cut you…' One day she would forget it, pretend to herself it had never happened, that it had all been a nightmare.. . Oh, Daddy, you made it sound so easy -looking after yourself. It went on for eternity.

^ LeCat climbed off the bunk. She lay with her eyes shut, trying to control her breathing. She pulled a handful of sheet and blanket over herself, her eyes still tightly shut. He was moving about the cabin. She heard the clink of the water carafe, a loathsome swallow. She kept her eyes shut very tight indeed.

^ 'You tell Mackay…' LeCat paused, still whispering, somewhere close to her. 'You tell Mackay and I will kill little Foley. I will shoot him low down and he will die slowly – if you tell Mackay…'

^ The knife tip touched her cheek. 'Answer me, you cold bitch. You heard what I said?'

^ 'Go away.' She swallowed, her eyes still closed. Anything to be alone again. 'I heard you. Now go away…'

^ The cabin door closed. She had not even heard him unlock it. She opened her eyes only a fraction, frightened he was still there. The cabin was empty. Very faintly she heard the slap of the ocean against the hull, a strangely peaceful sound.

^ She lay in her bunk a long time before she got up and went under the cold shower. Then she peeled off her sodden clothes, screwed them into a tight bundle and dropped them out of the porthole. She went back again to the shower until the cold water made her tremble. Drying herself automatically, she carefully selected new clothes and put them on. Fresh underclothes, slacks, two sweaters.

^ She wouldn't tell Mackay, wouldn't tell anyone – she decided that while she was under the shower. And not entirely because of poor Foley. Going to the door, she tried the handle carefully and the door was locked. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. No sound of a guard stirring restlessly. She went to her suitcase, opened it, extracted the rifle under the spare clothes.

^ She stood with it in her hands for a long time, resisting the temptation to assemble it. In this suddenly confined world where the past no longer seemed to mean anything the weapon was her only friend. Life had closed in, had become only the ship – and the men on board. She had no feeling of panic or hysteria, only a dead sensation, and she had come to a decision.

^ No one, however clever, was perfect – because you couldn't be sure of what would happen next, however much you planned things. At some unguarded moment LeCat would make a slip, a slip which might last for no longer than a minute, but he would make that slip, she felt sure of it. So she would have to wait and watch and use any feminine skill she had to deceive them, to make them forget her, to think that, being a woman, she was of no account at all. She would live for that moment, then she would kill as many of them as she could.

^ At nine o'clock on Wednesday morning January 22, Winter picked up the ^ San Francisco Chronicle ^ which had been delivered to his bedroom with his breakfast and started reading. The ^ Challenger ^ was headline news. ^ TERRORISTS SEIZE BRITISH TANKER OFF SAN FRANCISCO. ^ The detailed story which followed was garbled, mostly inaccurate, but that was to be expected at this early stage. Winter read with interest that Governor Alex MacGowan had arrived dramatically in the city at midnight, that he had countermanded the mayor's permission to let the tanker into the Bay, that he had now established a headquarters in his offices in the Transamerica Pyramid building. The fact that the ship was still outside the Bay didn't worry him; he was prepared for setbacks and it might soon be necessary to radio LeCat fresh instructions.

^ Half an hour earlier Winter had received a phone call from the Hotel St Francis, from a Mr Seebohm. He was expecting the call because two months earlier it had been agreed that Ahmed Riad would come to San Francisco at this stage of the operation – to receive an on-the-spot report of progress which he would then fly back with to Beirut. Winter suspected that Riad might try to linger, to jog his elbow, and had already decided that if this happened he would have to persuade Mr Seebohm to catch an early plane back home. He went on drinking his coffee, turning to the inside pages.

^ The news item which made him freeze with his cup half-way to his mouth was tucked away at the bottom of an inside page. His reflection in the dressing table mirror showed a man whose features might have turned to stone, the bones sharp in the morning light coming through the window, the jaw rigid. He sat perfectly still, re-reading the news item, then he put the coffee cup down carefully on the table without drinking.

^ He sat there for some time, staring into space, then he got up and looked out of the window. The window carried a security device allowing it to be opened only a few inches – to discourage suicide cases – but Winter, who liked a lot of fresh air, had used a certain tool he always carried to neutralise the device, so now it was wide open. Geary Street yawned ten storeys below. Winter went on staring at the strange, mosaic-like panorama of San Francisco stepped up in a series of terraces towards Nob Hill, an intricate collection of buildings of varying heights so close together they resembled some bizarre jigsaw. Then he went back for the ^ Chronicle ^ and read the news item for the third time.

^ Charles Swan, British radio operator, and his wife Julie were found murdered late today in a remote barn on the outskirts of the city. Both victims were discovered by the police with their throats cut. – Anchorage, Alaska.

^ He sat down again, lit a cigarette, checked his watch. Ahmed Riad, travelling under the name Seebohm, would be arriving in a few minutes. Winter waited, sat in the chair for a quarter of an hour, smoking, his eyes cold, showing nothing of the terrible fury inside him. Then the phone rang. A Mr Seebohm was waiting in the lobby. Winter asked them to send up Mr Seebohm.

^ The Englishman closed the door, locked it as Riad, a careful man, walked into the bathroom, checked behind the door, then came out again and walked over to the window. Glancing down at the sheer, ten-storey drop into Geary, he shuddered and turned away. These American buildings are too tall. They have a megalomania for height. Perhaps it is something sexual…' Winter stared at the Arab. 'Are you feeling all right?' Riad assumed an air of command. He had arrived to give the Englishman his final instructions. 'We have no time to waste. Is everything correct on board the ship? Is LeCat reacting correctly ? I would have expected the ship to be in the Bay by now.' The Arab, always nervous in Winter's presence, was wearing sharp-pointed, highly polished shoes and they squeaked when he moved.

^ 'Everything is the way you want it, the way you planned It,' Winter said slowly.

^ Riad thrust both hands inside his raincoat pockets, hands which had been fluttering as though unsure who they belonged to. Standing stiffly, he spoke in what he imagined was a voice of authority. The feet also, Winter observed, seemed unsure where to put themselves.

^ 'There has been a change of plan, Winter. You are no longer needed in San Francisco. You are to take the first available flight to Los Angeles. There you will board a plane for Paris.'

^ Winter sat down, sprawling out his legs and looking up at Riad with a cigarette in his mouth. 'Why?'

^ 'I'll break those shiny teeth of yours and poke them down your throat – if I feel like it. Actually, I feel just like that.'

^ Winter spoke so mildly that for a moment Riad could not believe he had understood. He moved forward and Winter lifted his foot. The movement was so quick Riad had no time to dodge. The heel of Winter's right foot smashed down on the shiny shoe and Riad squealed. 'I like people who keep still,' Winter remarked. 'Seen today's newspaper?' He folded the paper to the Anchorage news item and shoved it at the Arab. 'Read it! That bit at the bottom.'

^ Riad read it and the newspaper rustled as he tried to hold it steady. Then he dropped the paper on the table, took out an airline folder and handed it towards Winter. 'These are your tickets – in the name of Stanley Grant…'

^ 'You haven't commented on the news item.' Winter stayed flopped in his chair, making no attempt to take the folder Riad was holding.

^ 'They must have tried to escape,' Riad muttered. 'I do not wish to discuss this thing…'

^ 'What you wish doesn't matter any more…' Winter stood up, walking towards Riad who backed away and then realised he was moving towards the open window. 'No one in Anchorage tried to escape,' Winter told him. 'Swan wouldn't have risked it – not with his wife being there. So, what happened?'

^ 'I was not there…' Riad was trembling, trying not to catch Winter's blank gaze as he backed into an alcove which contained a writing desk. 'I have to leave at once…'

^ 'And you didn't say you knew this filthy thing in Anchorage was going to happen – but you did know. You weren't surprised or appalled when you read that paper – you were just worried that I had found out about it.'

^ 'I know nothing about Anchorage…' Riad's arrogance had dissolved. Backed into the alcove by the cold-eyed Englishman, his nerve was going rapidly. He pulled at his collar which felt like a noose round his neck, his legs were trembling, there was a sharp pain of tension in his chest. Behind him he felt the wall; there was nowhere else to go and Winter kept coming towards him. 'I know nothing about Anchorage,' the Arab repeated. 'Nothing…'

^ 'They will make the demand, the Americans will accept…' He choked on his own words as Winter grasped him by the throat, dragged him towards the open window. Riad, quick-witted, immediately understood. 'No! No! Please! I beg you…' Winter had both hands round his throat now, ignoring the frantic beat of Riad's fists, dragging him closer and closer to the wide-open window. The Arab obviously had a horror of heights. Winter stood Riad with his back to the window and bent him at the waist over and outwards, his own legs pressed hard against Riad's which were supported by the lower wail. Riad's upper half went further and further outwards over the ten-storey drop until his head was upside down and above the thump of blood pounding in his ears he heard the blare of traffic horns over a hundred feet below. He saw the sky, the drunken slant of buildings and felt Winter's hand on his throat pushing him down and down. Bile came into his mouth, the pain in his chest was appalling, the pounding in his ear-drums was like a drum-beat, then he felt Winter's other hand grasping his belt, lifting his feet off the bedroom floor and he knew he was going down into the chasm – hurtling through space – until his skull met the sidewalk and was crushed and he was dead for ever and ever.

^ Winter hauled him back inside, shook him like a child's doll while the doll drooled with terror, hardly sane at this moment as he saw Winter's bony face through a shimmering mist of near-faintness. 'What is going to happen aboard the ship?' the Englishman hissed through his teeth. He shook him with cold intensity. 'What is going to happen aboard the ^ Challenger ^ that I don't know about?'

^ Riad was now choking for breath like a drowning man as his heart pounded so fast and heavily it felt it would burst out of his rib cage. He tried to speak, tried to tell Winter to stop shaking and he would speak… He gasped, started taking in such violent, wheezing gasps of air that Winter was alarmed that he would faint so he held him still. The Arab looked up at him with a pathetic look of a child. They were both human beings, caught up in a plot of unimaginable violence planned by a man a third of the way across the world who thought nothing mattered but the freeing of sacred Jerusalem from the grip of the intruder.

^ Riad collapsed, went limp in Winter's grip, sagging while the Englishman still held him up, more of a weight than Winter would have imagined, but a dead man is always heavy.

^ Ahmed Riad had not been well when he alighted from the plane at Los Angeles after his eleven-hour flight from London. The tension in the United States did nothing to improve his condition. The ordeal of hanging out of the window brought on the final, massive coronary which killed him – before he had a chance to say a word about the nuclear device which LeCat had smuggled aboard the tanker now waiting to enter the Bay.

^ Believing that Riad had only fainted, in a great hurry to make a phone call, Winter left the unfortunate Arab lying on the carpet ^ while he lifted the receiver. The operator came on the line at once and Winter was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief when he spoke.