‘A pity you couldn’t ask the hundreds who died at Xuan Loc because of them. The Cambodian Government made frequent use of them in South-East Asia. The bombs, I regret to say, were supplied then by the United States Navy’
‘This classified information?’
‘No. Hanoi made plenty of noise about it at the time.’
‘And you’re going to use those bombs?’
‘Yes. I’m trying to have them denatured, you know, their lethal potential lessened. At least, the experts are.’
‘Can they do it?’
‘There’s a certain lack of optimism.’
‘Who thought this one up? You?’ Revson nodded, just once. ‘You, Revson, are a coldblooded bastard. Hasn’t it occurred to you that the innocent will suffer, maybe die, as well as the guilty?’
‘Not for the first time, I repeat that all doctors should be given an intelligence test before they’re allowed to practise. The innocent will not suffer. The innocent will be in their coaches and, because it’s going to be hot, they’ll have the air-conditioning on. That means closed doors and the recirculation of cleaned used air. When you see the first smoke bomb drop, make for cover.’
Revson walked away and touched Grafton on the arm. ‘May I have a word with you?’ Graftonhesitated, shook his head in puzzlement, then followed. When he judged they were out of earshot of the nearest person, Revson stopped.
Grafton said: ‘Do we have to take a walk to talk?’
‘In this case, yes. We haven’t been introduced. You’re Mr Grafton of AP, doyen of the newsmen on this bridge?’
‘If you want to flatter me, yes. And you’re Mr Revson, food-taster to Royalty.’
‘Just a sideline with me.’
‘You have another business. Don’t tell me.’ Grafton regarded him with cool grey, judicial eyes. ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation.’
‘Thank you for sparing me the trouble of convincing you. I’m glad your name’s not Branson.’
General Cartland said: ‘If you can’t have those CUB-55s denatured, as you call it, some local funeral parlour is in for a brisk bit of business.’
‘You prepared to use that cyanide pistol?’
‘Touché. ‘
Several minutes before nine Branson had his usual stage set. He seemed as calm and relaxed as ever, the only change in his normal behaviour being that he had been polite, almost deferential, in his seating of the President. At nine o’clock the cameras began to turn.
At nine o’clock, too, Reston and Harrison, sweating profusely and complaining bitterly of the pain in their legs, reached the top of their last ladder. Rogers, eyeing them over his silenced pistol, said sympathetically: ‘You must be exhausted after your long climb, gentlemen.’
Giscard whispered in Branson’s ear: ‘You better get on with it, Mr Branson. Looks as if that fog is coming in just about bridge level.’
Branson nodded, then carried on speaking into the microphone. ‘So I’m sure you will be all as delighted as I am to know that the Government has acceded to our very reasonable requests. However, until we receive final confirmation, we feel we might as well pass our time profitably and instruct and entertain you at the same time. In show-business jargon, there will be repeat performances at eleven and one o’clock. I really do urge you to watch those. You will certainly never see other performances like them in your lives.
‘As before, you can see the electric truck with its explosives and equipment leaving for the south tower. Now if we can have the zoom camera we shall be seeing two of my colleagues appearing on top of the south tower.’ The zoom camera obliged but the top of the tower was bereft of any sign of life. A minute later it was still bereft.
Branson said easily: ‘There seems to be a slight hold-up. A temporary delay. Please don’t go away’ He was smiling the confident smile of one who knew that not one of his millions of watchers would have dreamed of going away when the phone on the road beside his chair rang. Branson smiled at the unseen millions, said: ‘Excuse me,’ covered the microphone with his hand and picked up the phone.
‘Hendrix here. Lift’s fixed.’
‘Now you tell me. Do you know how long it should take a man to climb up to the top?’
‘Don’t tell me your men have – rather are trying to climb to the top. They must be mad. You must be mad to have sent them.’
‘They have a manual.’
‘What manual?’
‘A copy of the original.’
‘Then they can be lost for days. Because of internal changes that manual was scrapped twenty years ago. They can be lost all day in there.’
Branson replaced the phone. Still covering the microphone he said to Giscard: ‘Lift’s working. Get Bartlett and Boyard here at the double. Tell them not to forget the weight.’ He spoke into the microphone again. ‘Sorry, viewers. A slight hitch.’
The viewers spent the next ten minutes being rewarded with a variety of panoramic shots of the Golden Gate and the marvellous surrounding scenery, with Branson giving an occasional commentary. After ten minutes he said: ‘Right. South tower again.’
Bartlett and Boyard were there, hands held high in salute. Then, along with Peters, they repeated their previous day’s performance and had the second strap of explosives alongside the first in a remarkably short space of time. Bartlett and Boyard waved again and disappeared inside the tower. Rogers eyed them over his silenced pistol. ‘You really are experts. What a pity. Now you’ve put us to the trouble of having to remove a second set of detonators.’
The phone by Branson rang as he was delivering a farewell speech to the camera. He picked it up.
‘Hagenbach here. Sorry to have to cut in and cut you off but we have our own little show to watch. You’re off the air now and your viewers are now seeing and watching us. Same channel. We’ve just watched your splendid production. Now, perhaps, you’d like to watch our little show.’
The screen’s picture changed to a close-up of Hagenbach. To San Franciscans, at least, his background was unquestionably that of the Presidio.
Hagenbach said: ‘There seems little we can do to prevent this criminal Branson from achieving his criminal ends. But from all this, some good might yet come. I give you Mr Richards, the Vice-President of the United States.’
Richards made an imposing figure at the microphone. A convivial and highly articulate man at the best of times, years of dominating conferences and campaigning across the nation had honed his natural abilities as a speaker until he had reached a stage where he could have recited the alphabet backwards and still held his audience spellbound. But he put his gifts into cold storage that morning: this was a moment that was neither for conviviality nor rhetoric. As became a man at the very heart of a national crisis, he was stern, quiet and, exceptionally for him, brief and to the point.
‘Unfortunately, what you have just heard is correct. No matter how distasteful and humiliating this present situation may be, there is no possibility in the world of endangering the President, his royal guests and the good name of America. We submit to blackmail. This criminal Branson would appear to have got away with the blackmailing equivalent of murder but I wish him to listen to me very carefully. On information I have received this morning, information, as I shall shortly prove, of the most reliable kind, I believe that Branson is very near the end of his road. I believe he will very soon be alone and friendless. I believe he will have no one left in the world to turn to. I believe every man’s hand will be against him. And I believe that those hands that will be reaching out most eagerly to strike him down, as they most surely will, are the hands of his devoted criminal followers who misguidedly imagine their leader to be a man of honour and integrity’ Richards lapsed into momentary rhetoric. ‘Those are hands that will literally cut him down just as he, figuratively, intends to stab them all in the back.’
Some of Branson’s men were looking at him in a vague and baffled incomprehension. Revson and O’Hare exchanged enquiring glances. Only Branson seemed entirely at hi
s ease, lounging back in his chair, a faintly contemptuous smile on his lips.
‘I said that I had information of the most reliable kind. As your Vice-President, I have been accused more than once of not exactly being given to understatement. In this case I was. What I have is impeccable proof. Ladies and gentlemen and, indeed, viewers, throughout the world, may I present to you the man who, until the early hours of this morning, was Branson’s most devoted lieutenant. Mr Johann Van Effen.’
The camera changed to a picture of five men in medium shot sitting in adjoining chairs. The man in the centre was unquestionably Van Effen, who appeared to be his normal relaxed self and to be chatting with seeming amiability to his companions. The picture wasn’t close enough to show the glazed eyes, the fact that he was still under the influence of drugs, the drugs which had made him talk his head off during three long hours of probing by a skilled police psychiatrist who, in turn, had received continual prompting from Hagenbach.
Richards went on: ‘From left to right: Admiral Newson, naval commander, west coast: San Francisco Chief of Police Hendrix: Mr Van Effen: Mr Hagenbach, head of the FBI: and General Carter, officer commanding, west coast. If I may be permitted a feeble joke, I doubt whether Van Effen has ever found himself in such law-abiding company in his life.’
Branson had very definitely stopped both lounging and relaxing. He was sitting far forward in his chair and for once his feelings were showing: the expression on his face could be described as nothing else other than stunned disbelief.
‘Van Effen,’ Richards said, ‘defected in the very early hours of this morning. He defected for what he, and indeed I, believe to have been very compelling reasons. He departed for the excellent reason that he is still a comparatively young man and would like to live a little longer. Incidentally, as the acting Head of State, I have already guaranteed Van Effen immunity from the due processes of the law. His information has been invaluable, as has been his information on eight major robberies in the past three years in each of which – as we now know – Branson was the leader.
‘But I digress. He defected because he feared for his life. He defected because Branson had suggested to him that he and Van Effen share the ransom money equally. The rest could go to hell and, presumably, prison. Apart from the fact that Van Effen does appear to be possessed of a belief in honesty between thieves, he was only too well aware that if he went along with this the next back to feel the blade of a knife – literally – would be his own. Van Effen feels strongly that his ex-comrades should be made aware of what lies in store for them. He has, he tells me, already persuaded four of Branson’s men to defect along with him and we expect them shortly. When they arrive we shall show them on the screen. If you can at all, I suggest you don’t stray too far from your television sets.’
O’Hare said: ‘Jesus! Talk about sowing seeds of dissension. How’s Branson going to cope with this, recover from this? Brilliant. As the Veep says, who’s going to trust him now among his own men. This your idea, Revson?’
‘I wish it were. But even I am not as crafty, evil and devious as that. The unmistakable hand of Hagenbach.’
‘I never thought that Van Effen -’
‘Whatever you’re about to say, he didn’t. Hagenbach made sure that there were no close-ups of Van Effen. Had there been, even a layman would have seen that Van Effen was doped to the eyes.’
‘Doped? If he defected -’
‘An involuntary defection. I gassed him and lowered him down to an – ah – passing submarine.’
‘Of course. What else? An – ah – passing submarine.’ O’Hare favoured him with the look of a psychiatrist who finds himself with an intractable case on his hands.
‘Dear, dear. You don’t believe me.’
‘But of course, old boy.’
‘You’re under stress again,’ Revson said kindly. ‘Talking English English.’ He patted the base of his camera. ‘How do you think I got hold of a brand-new radio transceiver in the middle of the night?’
O’Hare stared at him. He said with an effort: ‘And the four other promised defectors. Submariners all?’
‘Hell, no. Forcible abduction, all within the past half hour.’
O’Hare got back to his staring.
In the Mount Tamalpais radar station, Parker, until lately Giscard’s number two, looked away from the TV set and at the four men gathered around him. He said: ‘Sold down the river.’
From the silence that met this observation, it was clear that the others agreed with him. But it could hardly have been called an agreeable silence.
Richards was trying hard to show that he was not actively enjoying himself. He said into his microphone: ‘I can see that the fog is going to pass over the bridge so you won’t be able to see me in a couple of minutes. Don’t suppose it will last long, though. When it clears, we’ll show you your four other faithful henchmen who have defected from you. I will leave you with one last observation. Your money’s guaranteed, but watch how you go: I understand it takes exactly six minutes to block the major runways at Havana Airport.’
Branson, his face quite without expression, rose and walked to the rear coach, Giscard following. It was noticeable that his own men either looked at him with puzzlement or thoughtfulness or just averted their eyes. After entering the coach, Giscard went to the back and returned with scotch and two glasses. He poured two large drinks and said: I’m against drinking in the morning, too.’
Branson, most uncharacteristically, drained half his glass in one gulp. He said: ‘How does your back feel, Giscard?’
‘With eleven years working for you and a seven-figure bank balance, my back feels okay. I suggest we cut the comedy, Mr Branson. This could be damned serious. With the exception of Van Effen, Yonnie and myself, none of your men has known you for even as long as a year. I forgot Chrysler. But the rest – did you watch their faces as we came here?’
Branson shook his head slowly. ‘They just didn’t know what to think. Blame them?’
‘No. Blame Van Effen?’
‘If I believed the sun wasn’t going to set tonight, I’d believe he defected. He didn’t. Notice that the camera showed no close-up, and that he wasn’t invited to speak?’ He broke off as Chrysler appeared at the doorway.
Branson said: ‘It’s all right. Come in. You look unhappy.’
‘I am unhappy. I heard what Giscard just said. They let Van Effen stay in the background because he was drugged. I’ll bet he told them his life story without realizing one word of what he was saying. Van Effen defect? Never. And there’s another thing I’m unhappy about. Bartlett and Boyard should have been back by this time. They haven’t even appeared at the south tower. What’s more, they’re not going to. I know who the next four so-called defectors are going to be.’
Branson said: ‘Drugs. No defection. Coercion. We’re all agreed on that. But – how did Van Effen leave the bridge!’
Giscard said: ‘God knows. I wasn’t here. Could it have been during one of the two blackouts you had that night?’
Branson said: ‘He was with me on both occasions. Any ideas, Chrysler?’
‘None. It’s as I said, Mr Branson. There’s a rotten apple in the barrel somewhere.’ He looked out moodily at the fog drifting over the bridge. ‘It’s getting so that I don’t like this bridge much any more.’
Carmody removed the last of the detonators from the second strap of explosives and gingerly rejoined Rogers on the top of the south tower. He picked up the walkie-talkie. ‘General Carter, please.’ There was a few seconds’ delay then Carter came through. Carmody said: ‘We’ve got them, sir. Shall Rogers and I take a stroll across to the other side? Branson, I believe, has promised another show at eleven. It’ll be the west cable, this time, and we quite like our job of being a reception committee.’
‘It’s a sensible precaution although I somehow don’t think that Branson is going to risk any more of his men in the south tower.’
‘Ah! Our four friends made it to terra-firma, sir?
’
‘With me now. Pity you haven’t a TV up there, you and Rogers. Some splendid shows on today.’
‘There’ll be repeats. We must leave, sir. Fog’s thinning quickly down below.’
The fog, in fact, moved into the bay in less than five minutes leaving the bridge brilliant in the bright sunshine. Branson, pacing up and down a short section of the bridge, stopped as Chrysler approached.
‘Hagenbach on the phone, Mr Branson. He says to switch on the television in two minutes’ time.’
Branson nodded. ‘We all know what this is going to be.’
This time Hagenbach was the master of ceremonies. He hadn’t prepared his lines as well as the Vice-President but he made his point with considerable impact.
‘It does look as if Branson’s criminal empire, if not at least crumbling, is showing signs of coming apart at the seams. The Vice-President promised you that more defectors would appear. That Van Effen had talked four more into deserting the sinking ship. Well, they have just so done as you can see for yourselves.’
Another camera picked up a table with four men sitting around it, each with a glass in his hand. A bottle stood in the middle of the table. They could hardly be described as a gay and happy group but then they had no reason to be.
Hagenbach moved into camera range. ‘There they are then, ladies and gentlemen. Left to right, Messrs Reston, Harrison, Bartlett and Boyard. Incidentally, one of Branson’s top men is in hospital with a fractured skull. One does wonder what will happen next. Thank you for your kind attention.’
The cameras had just stopped turning when a policeman came running up to Hagenbach. ‘Telephone for you, sir. It’s Mount Tamalpais.’
Ten seconds later Hagenbach was inside the communications wagon, listening intently. He replaced the receiver and looked at Hendrix, Newson and Carter. ‘How long would it take to provide two helicopters, one with a TV camera and crew, the other with armed police?’
Carter said: ‘Ten minutes. Twelve at the most.’
The Golden Gate Page 24