by André Caroff
Akamatsu jumped out in turn, snatched up the journalist’s gun and shot off following Beffort’s track. The latter had a big head start, but the Tokkoka man was as fast as a cheetah and made up ground at every stride. Beffort, after waffling for an instant, pulled himself together. His initial impetus, which had really been just a kind of headlong escape, had changed into a commando mission. Without trying to discover why the atoms were not stopping him, he forced himself to stay as long as possible under the cover of the trees and then reached the lawn without a hitch. There he paused. 20 yards away the lifeless corpse of Slatt was slowly climbing the stairs that led to the main door. The silence was still as heavy, the sky blue and the breeze smelled of resin. Beffort thought that nature remained indifferent to human dramas and immediately wondered how he was going to be able to cross the lawn without being seen by a possible lookout.
Without Akamatsu, his hesitation could have been fatal. The Japanese, who was able to analyze the situation better during the short period of time in which he was playing spectator arrived on the scene with a plan all laid out. Hearing his footsteps, Beffort swung around swiftly, which proved how nervous and tense he was, and instantly relaxed when he saw his colleague.
Akamatsu had the feeling that the G-man was waking up from an exhausting nightmare. He approached him and said, “Let’s keep going, Smith. It’s now or never!”
“The lawn is dangerous, Yosho.”
“The whole area is dangerous and will be even more so in…” He looked at his watch and continued, “less than four minutes. We have to strike now, Smith. We’ll attack with the explosives. Give me two sticks of dynamite. I’m going to go in behind Dick Slatt. You take care of the dome… Good God, Smith! Snap out of it! This is our last chance!”
He grabbed the dynamite, pushed Beffort toward the dome and ran to the stairs. His energy literally galvanized the G-man who crossed the lawn, went along the front of the building and snuck around the side. He knew that his chances of hitting the target were slim if he threw the dynamite from the ground, so he was forced to climb onto a balcony. Beffort slung the sub-machine gun over his shoulder, shimmied up the ladder and landed on the narrow ledge that encircled the dome. He heard a muffled conversation and crouched down to avoid being seen. He took out two sticks of dynamite, each of which was powerful enough to pulverize men and materials within 15 feet, but he had to light a short fuse, aim straight and take cover quickly.
It was ridiculous to attack Madame Atomos with such outdated weapons, but Beffort had no choice. He pulled out his lighter, lit the fuse, threw the dynamite in the opening and jumped…
At that very second Fujimoto was finishing his short conversation with Madame Atomos and Akamatsu was coming across the electronic brain that emitted the atoms controlling Dick Slatt. The Japanese realized then that he was on the brink of death. If Slatt reached the emitter, the atoms would leave him and attack any foreign body found in the danger zone. Akamatsu carried out the movements that Beffort had done a second before: he lit the fuse, threw the dynamite and dove through a window on the opposite side of where Beffort was working.
The four explosions went off almost simultaneously.
The electronic brain blew up and the freed atoms disintegrated. A miniature atomic explosion destroyed the south wing of the Observatory, which collapsed to the ground. On the north side the dynamite thrown by Beffort killed Okabe and Fujimoto and demolished the emitter of paralyzing rays.
In her office Madame Atomos was badly shaken up by the explosions. With terror in her eyes she saw the ceiling crack open. She leapt into the hallway and opened one of the windows facing the platform where the vehicles were parked. The fiendish woman instantly regained her composure. She watched the atomic mushroom cloud blackening the sky, the debris flying in the air, and she knew that this unforeseeable incident had just stolen away her favorite weapons and she was in danger of radiation.
She jumped to the ground, ran to the director’s car, started it up and sped off wildly. In the rear-view mirror she had time to see that the dome was collapsing and that two men who were not Okabe or Fujimoto were climbing into one of the other vehicles. Then she took the first turn and concentrated on driving the car.
For the first time Madame Atomos was being flushed out and chased by her adversaries.
For the first time she was feeling fear and it was this feeling that troubled her. Her mind was working in slow motion, with only one idea occupying it: to get to Captain Osuma’s yacht anchored at Pescadero Point as fast as possible. She was alone and defenseless.
Defenseless?
Would the United States sacrifice 50 children to have Madame Atomos’ hide? Moreover, no one had taken this hide yet! The road unrolled under the Chevrolet’s wheels and the car in pursuit could not be seen in the dull rear-view mirror. Madame Atomos accelerated, speeding by the clearing where three families had gone mad. She took the turns at a crazy speed and suddenly saw herself heading straight for a pile of rocks with strange plates jutting out it, glittering in the sunlight.
The thing was so unexpected that Madame Atomos did not have the reflexes to brake in time. Her foot hit the pedal too late and way too hard. The Chevrolet lost control, its tires screeched and it skidded off, hitting a tree that straightened it out before it crashed into the barricade and shattered the plates.
Dr. Soblen had his eye fixed on the big hand of his watch and heard all this. It was not at all what he was expecting. He sprang out onto the embankment and saw the car smashed against the rocks with a woman knocked senseless behind the wheel. Before he had time to move, another car came around the bend and pulled to a stop. Both Akamatsu and Beffort got out. The two special agents ran to the Chevrolet, leaned over the passed out woman, straightened up and looked at the doctor.
Silence followed until Beffort broke it respectfully. “Bravo, doctor! I don’t know how you did it, but thanks to you we’ve finally caught Madame Atomos.”
His legs went weak and Soblen flopped down on the road.
A black journalist from the Texas Chronicle telephoned his paper at 6:10 p.m. It was not an earth-shattering act, but it still had a huge impact all across the USA because Tom Keston (that was the journalist’s name) was speaking from San Francisco!
Aloofly Tom announced that everything running on electricity was working perfectly—proof being that he was telephoning—and the few injured whites, too sick to be transported but being cared for by black doctors, had not lost consciousness. This proved that Madame Atomos had not been able to carry out her threats. Tom added that in his opinion the diabolical Japanese woman must have fallen off her chair when she tried to sit down to turn on the emitters. He hoped she had not broken her neck. Ha, ha! It was a useless, naïve and stupid thing to say, but Tom knew that some white Americans did not like blacks who were too intelligent and he had a smashing success.
A few heroic Whites were the first to cross the dangerous border while a dozen cameras filmed them and the commentators, running out of superlatives, compared them to the famous pioneers of the Old West. The men got 30 feet inside the enemy’s sector and survived. Turning around they threw their hats in the air. The crowd let out a victory cry and once again invaded the liberated territory.
The enthusiasm was indescribable as the evacuees got ready to go back home. The traffic jams started again, but this time there were no brawls, except between the police and the black rebels. The latter, refusing to admit that everything was over, were still convinced that Madame Atomos would keep her promises. Against all logic they confronted the police and the army and were wiped out on Baker Beach.
The appropriate authorities took back the reins and very quickly everything was back in order. Max Ritter got back to the San Francisco FBI headquarters, entered his office and almost died of a heart attack. Sitting there calmly in his armchair Madame Atomos stared him down icily.
Ritter had never seen the Japanese woman except in photographs, but he knew instantly that it was her. And his sus
picion was confirmed when he saw Smith Beffort, Doctor Alan Soblen and Yosho Akamatsu standing alert.
“Come in, Ritter,” Beffort said in a low voice, “and close the door. No one should find out that she’s here.”
Ritter could feel somehow that things were not quite right. He pushed the door closed, locked it and looked at Madame Atomos. She had every appearance of a calm, gentle woman whom you could trust completely. She could have been knitting peacefully by the fireside or watching a pie bake that she had lovingly prepared for the grandchildren.
“Get a good look,” Beffort said, “because if what she told us is true, we’re going to have to let her go.”
Ritter jumped, “You’re kidding!”
“No. She claims that 50 children will be murdered if she isn’t in a certain place by midnight.”
“Anybody could say that!” Ritter raised his voice. “How can you believe her?”
Beffort lit a cigarette and said, “We’ve been waiting for you so you can make some inquiries. The children are students at a school in the city. A teacher named Veronica Mac Connell was taking care of them. A bus from Baxter & Strong was supposed to evacuate them. Madame Atomos says that one of her men was driving the bus and that the kids are now in the hands of her accomplices.”
Ritter turned purple with anger. He went up to the Japanese woman and spit out, “You know the name of the teacher and the bus company, so you can certainly let us know the name of the school, can’t you?”
Madame Atomos did not blink. Doctor Soblen answered for her after consulting a notebook on Max Ritter’s desk. “It’s a coeducational school on Monterey Boulevard. Do you know it?”
Max Ritter clenched his teeth. That was the school where he was first put through the grinder. He took a deep breath and said, “I’ll get my boys on the kids’ trail. This criminal will not leave here as long as I’m alive!”
Smith Beffort gripped his shoulder. “No slipups, Ritter. No one should know that we’re holding Madame Atomos. If people find out about it, this office will be taken by storm. Think about the children. I know it’s a bitter pill, but if we have to swallow it, it’s better that we do it alone. But for now, before anything else, we have to find out if these children really have disappeared. Then we will tell the Boss. He’s the one who’ll decide.”
Ritter was a father. He hunched his shoulders like under a great weight and his voice became flat. “Okay, Beffort, okay. I hope I can get some information before nightfall, but I wouldn’t bet on it. The city is in complete chaos. I’m going to have a hard time finding the school principal. I’ll need a list of students, the names of those who took the bus and the where it was headed. I have to talk with the parents, any possible witnesses… Damn! It’s a huge job!”
“You have enough men to do a thorough job,” Beffort said dryly. “Don’t forget that we have to be set before midnight.”
Madame Atomos looked up. “Before 10 p.m.” she corrected quietly. “By midnight I should be safe and sound, Mr. Beffort…” She shifted a little in the chair and continued. “I’ll need a car. I hope you’ll be kind enough to lend me one.”
Beffort sat down heavily and ground out his cigarette with his heel. “When will you let the children go?”
“Tomorrow morning at the break of dawn. Provided that nothing is tried against me in the meantime.”
Her tone was ironic. Beffort knew that the Japanese woman held all the cards and that no action could be taken against her as long as she held the hostages. “Six months ago,” he had to force himself to stay calm, “you promised my friend Sam Forbes to give him back his fiancée. But Maggie Fairbanks was already dead when you promised to free her! What faith can we put in your word?”
Madame Atomos lowered her eyes to hide the ferocity in her glare. She knew all too well that the 50 little Americans would be killed the minute she stepped in Captain Osuma’s boat. “The death of Maggie Fairbanks was an accident,” she lied. “As far as the children are concerned, I swear to you that I will personally see to it that the same thing won’t happen to them.”
Sickened by this, Max Ritter left the office and slammed the door. If it were up to him, he would have hanged Madame Atomos on the spot.
Chapter XI
Captain Osuma scanned the perimeter of the marina with his binoculars. On the outside he displayed an Olympian calm, but inside he was seething. His machine gunner was in irons (more worried than the 50 children crammed into the hull like cattle) waiting to be punished by Madame Atomos for his incompetence. Osuma hated not having more modern weapons available, but in spite of his shy demands, Madame Atomos continually refused to grant him the dreadful disintegrating guns.
The white yacht was the ultimate refuge for the Japanese woman. It was supposed to be able to face any kind of inspection. In case of emergency the machine guns could be instantly tipped overboard, which would not have been the case with a more advanced set-up. Anyway, Madame Atomos had an untraceable hideout at her disposal, short of putting the yacht in dry-dock and dismantling it.
Captain Osuma was perfectly in order, perfectly calm before the children were brought on board and the two warships started cruising around and the American woman killed two of his men and escaped the deadly fire of his machine gun. Now, he was examining the marina and his rage was slowly giving way to anxiety.
Osuma tried to fight against the enervating feeling, but the radio operator suddenly wiped out his brave efforts. He sprang onto the bridge like a jack-in-the-box, bounded toward Osuma and yelled, “Captain, Madame Atomos isn’t responding!”
Osuma shot him a ferocious glance. “You got the wrong wavelength, idiot.”
“No, captain. I tried four times respecting the 30 second interval between calls…”
“Your radio is broken…”
“I checked it. It works fine.” The man was sure of himself. He knew his job like the back of his hand.
Osuma felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine. “Start again,” he said. “Maybe you called too early.”
“That’s impossible,” the man answered nervously. “At 5 p.m. Fujimoto contacted me from the Observatory and we synchronized our clocks. In one hour…”
“Try again!” Osuma howled. “The Observatory has to answer!”
The radio operator turned around and went away stiff-necked. Osuma pretended not to see the worried looks from the crew. He picked up his binoculars—it was like a mask that he was using to hide his growing panic. Such a thing had never happened before. The plans drawn up by Madame Atomos were always flawless.
“Captain,” a voice said, “the children are crying. They’re hungry and thirsty. What should we do?”
“Make them shut up!” Osuma barked. “My ship is not a crib.” Seeing that the mechanic was not budging, he added meanly, “Give them some bread and water and whip any of them that give you a hard time. I want discipline on board my ship!”
He was furious and uneasy and wondered what Madame Atomos wanted to do with the children. He was about to pick up his binoculars again, but stopped his movement when he saw the radio operator reappear on the bridge. He was pale and Osuma got cold all over. “Well?”
“The Observatory is still not answering,” the man stated slowly, “but I caught a transmission coming from the US Navy Receiving Station located in the San Francisco Bay…”
“Is that right…” Osuma cut in.
The radio man looked at his comrades over Osuma’s shoulder and quickly spit out, “At 6 p.m. nothing happened in the evacuated sector and the people were being asked to go back to their homes. The army, air force and navy have sent numerable forces to San Francisco. Before nightfall, every oriental citizen, American or not, has to show up voluntarily in the centers to verify their identities. After nightfall the area between San Jose, Richmond, Berkeley and Mount Hamilton will be under siege. It is henceforth to be called the “Atomos Zone” and no one can leave without special authorization.” He gulped, licked his dry lips with his rough tongue and poi
nting out to sea said, “That goes for ships as well. The navy has received orders to sink any ship that tries to weigh anchor.”
Osuma did not budge, but his mouth twisted around a silent curse. From his vantage point he could see the two warships approaching. The yacht was caught in the jaws of a steep trap that it could not escape even under cover of darkness. The warning that forbade the ships to weigh anchor also would not let them start their engines. All violators would be spotted and summarily sunk.
It was a threat, but not for the time being.
Osuma took his binoculars, pointed them toward the marina and said loudly enough to be heard by everyone, “If we don’t move, we have nothing to fear. It will be a long time before they come to pay us a visit, unless someone turns us in. Now, those two women who killed Sato and Obayashi will do it! They are the real danger because they know that the bus is at the bottom of the sea and that we have the children. So, we have to neutralize them very quickly. Yamaguchi?”
The second-in-command left his machine gun to get his orders.
“Launch the big dinghy,” Osuma said.
“How many men, Captain?”
“We’re all going except for the mechanic, who will watch the children, and the radio man, who will stay on the lookout. Hurry up!”
Yamaguchi got the five sailors together and lowered the dinghy from the davit. It was a fine boarding, not very easy and pretty slow, but good enough to take men and materials. Osuma put the mechanic at the machine gun with instructions to cut the two women off from the road to town when the dinghy landed. Then he rejoined his men.