The Hammer of Eden (50 page)

“I can’t do that!” Melanie hissed. “You’re out of your mind!”

“Come on.
I’m
out of my mind? You’re the one who’s causing earthquakes!”

“I can’t talk anymore.” There was a click.

Judy replaced the handset on the bedside phone and rolled over onto her back, her mind racing. Melanie had given away a great deal of information. She was somewhere in downtown San Francisco, and although that did not make her easy to find, it was a smaller haystack than the whole of California. She had said the earthquake would be triggered somewhere on the San Francisco peninsula, the broad neck of land between the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay. The seismic vibrator had to be somewhere in that area. But most intriguing, to Judy, had been the hint of some division between Melanie and Granger. She had obviously been making the call without telling him, and she had seemed to be afraid he might overhear. That was hopeful. There might be a way Judy could take advantage of a split.

She closed her eyes, concentrating. Melanie was worried about Dusty. That was her weakness. How could it be used against her?

She heard footsteps and opened her eyes. Michael came into the room. He gave her a strange look.

“What?” she said.

“This may seem inappropriate, but you look great lying on a bed.”

She remembered she was in his parents’ house. She stood up.

He wrapped his arms around her. It felt good. “How’s your face?” he said.

She looked up at him. “If you’re very gentle …”

He kissed her lips softly.

If he wants to kiss me when I look this bad, he must really like me
.

“Mm,” she said. “When this is all over …”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she started thinking about Melanie again.

“Michael …”

“Still here.”

She detached herself from his embrace. “Melanie is worried that Dusty might be in the earthquake zone.”

“He’s going to be here.”

“But you didn’t confirm that. She asked you, but you said if she was worried, she should tell you where the seismic vibrator is, and you never answered her question properly.”

“Still, the implication … I mean, why would I take him into danger?”

“I’m just saying, she may have a nagging doubt. And, wherever she is, there’s a TV.”

“She leaves the news on all day sometimes—it relaxes her.”

Judy felt a stab of jealousy.
He knows her so well
. “What if we had a reporter interview you, at the emergency operations center in San Francisco, about what you’re doing to help the Bureau … and Dusty was, like, just in the background somewhere?”

“Then she’d know he was in San Francisco.”

“And what would she do?”

“Call me and scream at me, I guess.”

“And if she couldn’t reach you …”

“She’d be real scared.”

“But would she stop Granger from operating the seismic vibrator?”

“Maybe. If she could.”

“Is it worth a try?”

“Is there another choice?”

*  *  *

Priest had a do-or-die feeling. Maybe the governor and the president would not give in to him, even after Felicitas. But tonight there would be a third earthquake. Then he would call John Truth and say: “I’ll do it again! Next time it could be Los Angeles, or San Bernardino, or San Jose. I can do this as often as I like. I’m going to keep on until you give in. The choice is yours!”

Downtown San Francisco was a ghost town. Few people wanted to shop or sightsee, though plenty were going to church. The restaurant was half-empty. Priest ordered eggs and drank three Bloody Marys. Melanie was subdued, worrying about Dusty. Priest thought the kid would be fine, he was with his father.

“Did I ever tell you why I’m called Granger?” he said to Melanie.

“It’s not your parents’ name?”

“My mother called herself Veronica Nightingale. She told me my father’s name was Stewart Granger. He had gone on a long trip, she said, but one day he would come back, in a big limousine loaded with presents—perfume and chocolates for her, and a bicycle for me. On rainy days, when I couldn’t play in the streets, I used to sit at the window watching for him, hour after hour.”

For a moment Melanie seemed to forget her own problems. “Poor kid,” she said.

“I was about twelve when I realized that Stewart Granger was a big movie star. He played Allan Quatermain in
King Solomon’s Mines
just about the time I was born. I guess he was my mother’s fantasy. Broke my heart, I can tell you. All those hours looking out the damn window.” Priest smiled, but the memory hurt.

“Who knows?” Melanie said. “Maybe he
was
your father. Movie stars go to hookers.”

“I guess I should ask him.”

“He’s dead.”

“Is he? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I read it in
People
magazine, a few years ago.”

Priest felt a pang of loss. Stewart Granger was the nearest thing to a father he had ever had. “Well, now I’ll never know.” He shrugged and called for the bill.

When they left the restaurant, Priest did not want to return to the warehouse. He could easily sit doing nothing when he was at the commune, but in a dingy room in an industrial wasteland he would get cabin fever. Twenty-five years of living in Silver River Valley had spoiled him for the city. So he and Melanie walked around Fisherman’s Wharf, making like tourists, enjoying the salty breeze off the bay.

They had altered their appearance, as a precaution. She had put up her distinctive long red hair and concealed it under a hat, and she wore sunglasses. Priest had greased his dark hair and plastered it to his head, and he had three days’ growth of dark stubble on his cheeks, giving him a Latin lover air that was quite different from his usual aging-hippie look. No one gave them a second glance.

Priest listened in to the conversations of the few people walking around. Everyone had an excuse for not leaving town.

“I’m not worried, our building is earthquake-proof.…”

“So’s mine, but at seven o’clock I’m going to be in the middle of the park.…”

“I’m a fatalist; either this earthquake has my name on it or it doesn’t.…”

“Exactly, you could drive to Vegas and get killed in a car wreck.…”

“I’ve had my house retrofitted.…”

“No one can cause earthquakes, it was a coincidence.…”

They got back to the car a few minutes after four.

Priest did not see the cop until it was almost too late.

The Bloody Marys had made him strangely calm, and he felt almost invulnerable, so he was not looking out for the police. He was only eight or ten feet from the pickup truck when he noticed a uniformed San Francisco cop staring at the license plate and speaking into a walkie-talkie.

Priest stopped dead and grabbed Melanie’s arm.

A moment later he realized that the smart thing to do was walk right by; but by then it was too late.

The cop glanced up from the license plate and caught Priest’s eye.

Priest looked at Melanie. She had not seen the cop. He almost said,
Don’t look at the car
, but just in time he realized that would be sure to make her look. Instead he said the next thing that came into his head. “Look at my hand.” He turned his palm up.

She stared at it, then looked at him again. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Keep looking at my hand while I explain.”

She did as he said.

“We’re going to walk right past the car. There’s a cop taking the number. He’s noticed us; I can see him out of the corner of my eye.”

She looked up from his hand to his face. Then, to his astonishment, she slapped him.

It hurt. He gasped.

Melanie cried: “And now you can just go back to your dumb blonde!”

“What?” he said angrily.

She walked on.

He watched her in astonishment. She strode past the pickup truck.

The cop looked at Priest with a faint grin.

Priest walked after Melanie, saying: “Now just wait a minute!”

The cop returned his attention to the license plate.

Priest caught up with Melanie, and they turned a corner.

“Very cute,” he said. “But you didn’t have to hit me so hard.”

*  *  *

A powerful portable spotlight shone on Michael, and a miniature microphone was clipped to the front of his dark green polo shirt. A small television camera on a tripod was aimed at him. Behind him, the young seismologists he had brought in worked at their screens. In front of him sat Alex Day, a twentysomething television reporter with a fashionably short haircut. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, which Judy thought was overly dramatic.

Dusty stood beside Judy, holding her hand trustingly, watching his daddy being interviewed.

Michael was saying: “Yes, we can identify locations where an earthquake could most easily be triggered—but, unfortunately, we can’t tell which one the terrorists have chosen until they start up their seismic vibrator.”

“And what’s your advice to citizens?” Alex Day asked. “How can they protect themselves if there is an earthquake?”

“The motto is ‘Duck, cover, and hold,’ and that’s the best counsel,” he replied. “Duck under a table or desk, cover your face to protect
yourself from flying glass, and hold your position until the shaking stops.”

Judy whispered to Dusty: “Okay, go to Daddy.”

Dusty walked into the shot. Michael lifted the boy onto his knee. On cue Alex Day said: “Anything special we can do to protect youngsters?”

“Well, you could practice the ‘Duck, cover, and hold’ drill with them right now, so they’ll know what to do if they feel a tremor. Make sure they’re wearing sturdy shoes, not thongs or sandals, because there will be a lot of broken glass around. And keep them close, so you don’t have to go searching for them afterward.”

“Anything people should avoid?”

“Don’t run out of the house. Most injuries in earthquakes are caused by falling bricks and other debris from damaged buildings.”

“Professor Quercus, thank you for being with us today.”

Alex Day smiled at Michael and Dusty for a long frozen moment, then the cameraman said: “Great.”

Everyone relaxed. The crew started rapidly packing up their equipment.

Dusty said: “When can I go to Grandma’s in the helicopter?”

“Right now,” Michael told him.

Judy said: “How soon will that be on the air, Alex?”

“It hardly needs editing, so it will go right out. Within half an hour, I’d say.”

Judy looked at the clock. It was five-fifteen.

*  *  *

Priest and Melanie walked for half an hour without seeing a taxi. Then Melanie called a cab service on her mobile phone. They waited, but no car came.

Priest felt as if he was going mad. After all he had done, his great scheme was in jeopardy because he could not find a goddamn taxi!

But at last a dusty Chevrolet pulled up at Pier 39. The driver had an unreadable Central European name, and he seemed stoned. He understood no English except “left” and “right,” and he was probably
the only person in San Francisco who had not heard about the earthquake.

They got back to the warehouse at six-twenty.

*  *  *

At the emergency operations center, Judy slumped in her chair, staring at the phone.

It was six twenty-five. In thirty-five minutes Granger would start up his seismic vibrator. If it worked as well as it had the last two times, there would be an earthquake. But this one would be the worst. Assuming Melanie had told the truth, and the vibrator was somewhere in the San Francisco peninsula, the quake would almost certainly hit the city.

Around two million people had fled the metropolitan area since Friday night, when Granger had announced on the John Truth show that the next earthquake would hit San Francisco. But that left more than a million men, women, and children who were unable or unwilling to leave their homes: the poor, the old, and the sick, plus all the cops, firefighters, nurses, and city employees waiting to begin rescue work. And that included Bo.

On the TV screen, Alex Day was speaking from a temporary studio set up at the mayor’s emergency command center on Turk Street, a few blocks away. The mayor was wearing a hard hat and a purple vest and telling citizens to duck, cover, and hold.

The interview with Michael ran every few minutes on all channels: the television editors had been told its real purpose.

But it seemed Melanie was not watching.

Priest’s pickup had been found parked at Fisherman’s Wharf at four o’clock. It was under surveillance, but he had not returned to it. Right now, every garage and parking lot in the neighborhood was being searched for a seismic vibrator.

The ballroom of the officers’ club was full of people. There were at least forty suits around the head shed. Michael and his helpers were clustered around their computers, waiting for the inappropriately
cheerful musical warning sound that would be the first sign of the seismic tremor they all feared. Judy’s team was still working the phones, following up sightings of people who looked like Granger or Melanie, but there was an increasingly desperate tone to their voices. Using Dusty in the TV interview with Michael had been their last shot, and it seemed to have failed.

Most of the agents working in the EOC had homes in the Bay Area. The admin desk had organized the evacuation of all their families. The building they were in was considered as safe as any: it had been retrofitted by the military to make it earthquake-resistant. But they could not flee. Like soldiers, like firefighters, like cops, they had to go where the danger was. It was their job. Outside, on the parade ground, a fleet of helicopters stood ready, with their rotors turning, waiting to take Judy and her colleagues into the earthquake zone.

*  *  *

Priest went to the bathroom. While he was washing his hands, he heard Melanie scream.

He ran to the office with wet hands. He found her staring at the TV. “What is it?” he said.

Her face was white, and her hand covered her mouth. “Dusty!” she said, pointing at the screen.

Priest saw Melanie’s husband being interviewed. He had their son on his knee. A moment later the picture changed, and a female anchor said: “That was Alex Day, interviewing one of the world’s leading seismologists, Professor Michael Quercus, at the FBI’s emergency operations center in the Presidio.”