by Ken Follett
Judy figured out how Granger had got away.
The wound to his face was nasty but not serious. The bullet to his shoulder had nicked a vein, and the sudden loss of blood caused him to lose consciousness. Judy should have checked his pulse before going to help Michael, but she was weakened by her injuries and confused because of loss of blood, and she failed to follow routine.
Granger's slumped position caused his blood pressure to rise again, and he came around a few seconds after she left. He crawled around the corner to Third Street, where he was lucky enough to find a car waiting at a stoplight. He got in, pointed his gun at the driver, and demanded to be taken to the city. En route he used Melanie's mobile to call Paul Beale, the wine bottler who was a criminal associate of Granger's from the old days. Beale had given him the address of a crooked doctor.
Granger made the driver drop him at a corner in a grungy neighborhood. (The traumatized citizen drove home, called the local police precinct house, got a busy signal, and did not get around to reporting the incident until the next day.) The doctor, a disbarred surgeon who was a morphine addict, patched Granger up. Granger stayed at the doctor's apartment overnight, then left.
Judy never found out where he went after that.
*
The water is rising fast. It has flooded all the little wooden houses. Behind the closed doors, the homemade beds and chairs are floating. The cookhouse and the temple are also awash.
He has waited weeks for the water to reach the vineyard. Now it has, and the precious plants are drowning.
He had been hoping he might find Spirit here, but his dog is long gone.
He has drunk a bottle of his favorite wine. It is difficult for him to drink or eat, because of the wound to his face, which has been sewn up badly by a doctor who was stoned. But he has succeeded in pouring enough down his throat to make himself drunk.
He throws the bottle away and takes from his pocket a big joint of marijuana laced with enough heroin to knock him out. He lights it, takes a puff, and walks down the hill.
When the water is up to his thighs, he sits down.
He takes a last look around his valley. It is almost unrecognizable. There is no tumbling stream. Only the roofs of the buildings are visible, and they look like upturned shipwrecks floating on the surface of a lagoon. The vines he planted twenty-five years ago are now submerged.
It is not a valley anymore. It has become a lake, and everything that was here has been killed.
He takes a long pull on the joint between his fingers. He draws the deadly smoke deep into his lungs. He feels the rush of pleasure as the drug enters his bloodstream and the chemicals flood his brain. Little Ricky, happy at last, he thinks.
He rolls over and falls in the water. He lies face down, helpless, stoned out of his mind. Slowly his consciousness fades, like a distant lamp becoming dimmer, until, at last, the light goes out.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to the following people for help with this book:
Governor Pete Wilson of California; Jonathan R. Wilcox, deputy director, Office of Public Affairs, Office of Governor Pete Wilson; Andrew Poat, chief deputy director, Department of Transportation; Mark D. Zoback, professor of geophysics, chairman, Department of Geophysics, Stanford University; In the San Francisco field office of the FBI: Special Agent George E. Grotz, director of press relations and public affairs, who opened many doors; Special Agent Candice DeLong, profiling coordinator, who generously spent much time helping me with the details of an agent's life and work; Bob Walsh, special agent in charge; George Vinson, assistant special agent in charge; Charles W. Matthews III, associate special agent in charge; Supervising Special Agent John Gray, crisis management coordinator; Supervising Special Agent Don Whaley, chief division counsel; Supervising Special Agent Larry Long, Tech squad; Special Agent Tony Maxwell, evidence response team coordinator; Dominic Gizzi, administrative officer; In the Sacramento field office of the FBI: Special Agent Carole Micozzi; Special Agent Mike Ernst; Pearle Greaves, computer specialist, Information Resources Division, FBI headquarters; Sierra County sheriff Lee Adams;
Lucien G. Canton, director, Mayor's Office of Emergency Services, San Francisco; James F. Davis, Ph.D., California State geologist; Ms. Sherry Reser, information officer, Department of Conservation; Charles Yanez, manager, South Texas, Western Geophysical; Janet Loveday, Western Geophysical; Rhonda G. Boone, manager, corporate communications, Western Atlas International; Donnie McLendon, Western Geophysical, Freer, Texas; Mr. Jesse Rosas, bulldozer driver; Seth Rosing DeLong;
Dr. Keith J. Rosing, director of emergency services, Irvine Medical Center;
Brian Butterworth, professor of cognitive neuropsychology, University College, London.
Most of the above were found for me by Dan Starer, of Research for Writers, New York City.
As always, my outlines and drafts were read and criticized constructively by my agent, Al Zuckerman; my editors, Ann Patty in New York and Suzanne Baboneau in London; and numerous friends and relatives, including George Brennan, Barbara Follett, Angus James, Jann Turner, and Kim Turner.
Visit the Ken Follett website at https://www.ken-follett.com