The Hammer of Eden (18 page)

Brian Kincaid had told her the time of the meeting, so he would be late, too. They were traveling separately because he had a second appointment in Sacramento, at the FBI field office there. Judy dialed the San Francisco office and spoke to the SAC’s secretary. “Linda, this is Judy. Would you call Brian and tell him the governor’s aide is expecting us at eleven-thirty, not twelve noon, please?”

“I think he knows that,” Linda said.

“No, he doesn’t. He told me twelve. See if you can reach him and warn him.”

“Sure will.”

“Thanks.” Judy hung up and concentrated on her driving.

A few minutes later she heard a police siren.

She looked in her mirror and saw the familiar tan paint job of a California Highway Patrol car.

“I do not fucking believe this,” she said.

She pulled over and braked hard. The patrol car pulled in behind her. She opened her door.

An amplified voice said: “STAY IN THE CAR.”

She took our her FBI shield, held it at arm’s length so the cop could see it, then got out.

“STAY IN THE CAR!”

She heard a note of fear in the voice and saw that the patrolman was alone. She sighed. She could just imagine some rookie cop pulling a gun and shooting her out of nervousness.

She held out her shield so he could see it. “FBI!” she shouted. “Look, for Christ’s sake!”

“GET BACK IN THE CAR!”

She looked at her watch. It was ten-thirty. Shaking with frustration, she sat in her car. She left the door open.

There was a maddeningly long wait.

At last the patrolman approached her. “The reason I stopped you is that you were doing ninety-nine miles per hour—”

“Just look at this,” she said, holding out her shield.

“What’s that?”

“For Christ’s sake, it’s an FBI shield! I’m an agent on urgent business and you’ve just delayed me!”

“Well, you sure don’t look like—”

She jumped out of the car, startling him, and waved a finger under his chin. “Don’t you tell me I don’t look like a fucking agent. You don’t recognize an FBI shield, so how would you know what an agent looks like?” She put her hands on her hips, pushing her jacket back so that he could see her holster.

“Can I see your license, please?”

“Hell, no. I’m leaving now, and I’m going to drive to Sacramento at ninety-nine miles per hour, do you understand?” She got back into the car.

“You can’t do that,” he said.

“Write your congressman,” she said, and she slammed the door and drove off.

She moved into the fast lane, accelerated to a hundred, then checked her watch. She had wasted about five minutes. She could still make it.

She had lost her temper with the patrolman. He would tell his superior, who would complain to the FBI. Judy would get a reprimand. But if she had been polite to the guy, she would still be there. “Shit,” she said feelingly.

She reached the turnoff for downtown Sacramento at eleven-twenty. By eleven twenty-five she was entering the parking garage on Tenth Street. It took her a couple of minutes to find a slot. She ran down the staircase and across the street.

The Capitol Building was a white stone palace like a wedding cake, set in immaculate gardens bordered by giant palm trees. She hurried along a marble hall to a large doorway with
GOVERNOR
carved over it. She stopped, took a couple of calming breaths, and checked her watch.

It was exactly eleven-thirty. She had got there on time. The Bureau would not look incompetent.

She opened the double doors and stepped inside.

She found herself in a large lobby presided over by a secretary behind an enormous desk. On one side was a row of chairs where, to her surprise, she saw Brian Kincaid waiting, looking cool and relaxed in a crisp dark gray suit, his white hair combed neatly, not at all like someone who had rushed to get here. She was suddenly conscious that she was perspiring.

When Kincaid caught her eye, she saw a flash of surprise in his expression, swiftly suppressed.

She said: “Uh … hi, Brian.”

“Morning.” He looked away.

He did not thank her for sending a message to warn him that the meeting was earlier.

She asked: “What time did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.”

That meant he had known the correct time for the meeting. But he had told her it was half an hour later. Surely he had not deliberately misled her? It seemed almost childish.

Before she had time to reach a conclusion, a young black man emerged from a side door. He spoke to Brian. “Agent Kincaid?”

He stood up. “That’s me.”

“And you must be Agent Maddox. Mr. Honeymoon will see you both now.”

They followed him along the corridor and around a corner. As they walked, he said: “We call this the Horseshoe, because the governor’s offices are grouped around three sides of a rectangle.”

Halfway along the second side they passed another lobby, this one occupied by two secretaries. A young man holding a file waited on a leather couch. Judy guessed that was the way to the governor’s personal office. A few steps on, they were shown into Honeymoon’s room.

He was a big man with close-cropped hair turning gray. He had taken off the coat of his gray pinstripe suit to reveal black suspenders. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled, but his silk tie was fastened tight in a high pin-through collar. He removed a pair of gold-rimmed half-glasses and stood up. He had a dark, sculptured face that wore a don’t-fuck-with-me expression. He could have been a police lieutenant, except he was too well dressed.

Despite his intimidating appearance, his manner was courteous. He shook their hands and said: “I appreciate your coming here all the way from San Francisco.”

“No problem,” said Kincaid.

They sat down.

Without preamble Honeymoon said: “What’s your assessment of the situation?”

Kincaid said: “Well, sir, you particularly asked to meet with the agent at the sharp end, so I’ll let Judy here fill you in.”

Judy said: “We haven’t caught these people yet, I’m afraid.” Then she cursed herself for beginning with an apology.
Be positive!
“We’re fairly sure they’re
not
connected with the Green California
Campaign—that was a weak attempt to lay a false trail. We don’t know who they are, but I can tell you some important things we have found out about them.”

Honeymoon said: “Go ahead, please.”

“First of all, linguistic analysis of the threat message tells us we’re dealing not with a lone individual, but with a group.”

Kincaid said: “Well, two people, at least.”

Judy glared at Kincaid, but he did not meet her eye.

Honeymoon said irritably: “Which is it, two or a group?”

Judy felt herself blush. “The message was composed by a man and typed by a woman, so there are at least two. We don’t yet know if there are more.”

“Okay. But please be exact.”

This was not going well.

Judy pressed on. “Point two: These people are not insane.”

Kincaid said: “Well, not clinically. But they sure as hell aren’t normal.” He laughed as if he had said something witty.

Judy silently cursed him for undermining her. “People who commit crimes of violence can be divided into two kinds, organized and disorganized. The disorganized kind act on the spur of the moment, use whatever weapons come to hand, and choose their victims at random. They’re the real crazies.”

Honeymoon was interested. “And the other kind?”

“The organized ones plan their crimes, carry their weapons with them, and attack victims who have been selected beforehand using some logical criteria.”

Kincaid said: “They’re just crazy in a different way.”

Judy tried to ignore him. “Such people may be sick, but they are not looney tunes. We can think of them as rational, and try to anticipate what they might do.”

“All right. And the Hammer of Eden people are organized.”

“Judging by their threat message, yes.”

“You rely a great deal on this linguistic analysis,” Honeymoon said skeptically.

“It’s a powerful tool.”

Kincaid put in: “It’s no substitute for careful investigative work. But in this case, it’s all we’ve got.”

The implication seemed to be that they had to fall back on linguistic analysis because Judy had failed to do the legwork. Feeling desperate, she struggled on. “We’re dealing with serious people—which means that if they can’t cause an earthquake, they may attempt something else.”

“Such as?”

“One of the more usual terrorist acts. Explode a bomb, take a hostage, murder a prominent figure.”

Kincaid said: “Assuming they have the capability, of course. So far we’ve nothing to indicate that.”

Judy took a deep breath. There was something she had to say, and she could not avoid it. “However, I’m not prepared to rule out the possibility that they really could cause an earthquake.”

Honeymoon said:
“What?”

Kincaid laughed scornfully.

Judy said stubbornly: “It’s not likely, but it’s conceivable. That’s what I was told by California’s leading expert, Professor Quercus. I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell you.”

Kincaid leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Judy has told you the textbook answers, Al,” he said in a we’re-all-boys-together tone of voice. “Now maybe I should tell you how it looks from the perspective of a certain amount of age and experience.”

Judy stared at him.
I’ll get you for this if it’s the last thing I do, Kincaid. You’ve spent this entire meeting putting me down. But what if there really is an earthquake, you asshole? What will you say to the relatives of the dead?

“Please go on,” Honeymoon said to Kincaid.

“These people can’t cause an earthquake and they don’t give a flying fuck about power plants. My instinct tells me this is a guy trying to impress his girlfriend. He’s got the governor freaked out, he’s got the FBI running around like blue-assed flies, and the whole thing is on the John Truth radio show every night. Suddenly he’s a big shot, and she’s, like, wow!”

Judy felt totally humiliated. Kincaid had let her lay out her findings
and then poured scorn on everything she had said. He had obviously planned this, and she was now sure that he had deliberately misled her about the time of the meeting in the hope that she would show up late. The whole thing was a strategy for discrediting her and at the same time making Kincaid look better. She felt sick.

Honeymoon stood up suddenly. “I’m going to advise the governor to take no action on this threat.” He added dismissively: “Thank you both.”

Judy realized it was too late to ask him to open the door to dialogue with the terrorists. The moment had passed. And any suggestion of hers would be nixed by Kincaid anyway. She felt despairing.
What if it’s real? What if they actually can do it?

Kincaid said: “Any time we can be of assistance, you just let us know.”

Honeymoon looked faintly scornful. He hardly needed an invitation to use the services of the FBI. But he politely held out his hand to shake.

A moment later Judy and Kincaid were outside.

Judy remained silent as they walked around the Horseshoe and through the lobby into the marble hallway. There Kincaid stopped and said: “You did just fine in there, Judy. Don’t you worry about a thing.” He could not conceal his smirk.

She was determined not to let him see how rattled she was. She wanted to scream at him, but she forced herself to say calmly: “I think we did our job.”

“Sure we did. Where are you parked?”

“In the garage across the street.” She jerked a thumb.

“I’m the opposite side. See you later.”

“You bet.”

Judy watched him walk away, then she turned and went in the other direction.

Crossing the street, she saw a See’s candy store. She went in and bought some chocolates.

Driving back to San Francisco, she ate the whole box.

7

P
riest needed physical activity to keep him from going crazy with tension. After the meeting in the temple he went to the vineyard and started weeding. It was a hot day, and he soon worked up a sweat and took off his shirt.

Star worked beside him. After an hour or so she looked at her watch. “Time for a break,” she said. “Let’s go listen to the news.”

They sat in Priest’s car and turned on the radio. The bulletin was identical to the one they had heard earlier. Priest ground his teeth in frustration. “Damn, the governor has to say something soon!”

Star said: “We don’t expect him to give in right away, do we?”

“No, but I thought there would be some message, maybe just a hint of a concession. Hell, the idea of a freeze on new power plants ain’t exactly wacko. Millions of people in California probably agree with it.”

Star nodded. “Shit, in Los Angeles it’s already dangerous to breathe because of the pollution, for Christ’s sake! I can’t believe people really want to live that way.”

“But nothing happens.”

“Well, we figured all along we’d need to give a demonstration before they’d listen.”

“Yeah.” Priest hesitated, then blurted: “I guess I’m just scared it won’t work.”

“The seismic vibrator?”

He hesitated again. He would not have been this frank with anyone but Star, and he was already half regretting his confession of doubt. But he had begun, so he might as well finish. “The whole thing,” he said. “I’m scared there’ll be no earthquake, and then we’ll be lost.”

She was a little shocked, he could see. She was used to him being supremely confident about everything he did. But he had never done anything like this.

Walking back to the vineyard, she said: “Do something with Flower tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Spend time with her. Do something with her. You’re always playing with Dusty.”

Dusty was five. It was easy to have fun with him. He was fascinated by everything. Flower was thirteen, the age when everything grown-ups did seemed stupid. Priest was about to say this when he realized there was another reason for what Star was saying.

She thinks I may die tomorrow
.