The Hammer of Eden (23 page)

She did not like the idea of being paraded like some kind of circus freak, but at this point she was not going to say so. “Thanks, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She broke the connection.

As she drove over the bridge, she reflected that neither Raja nor Michael had seemed scared. Raja was excited, Michael intrigued. She, too, was electrified by the sudden reanimation of the case; but when she remembered the earthquake of 1989, and the television pictures of
rescue workers bringing corpses out of the collapsed double-deck Nimitz Freeway right here in Oakland, and she contemplated the possibility of a terrorist group having the power to do that, her heart felt cold and heavy with foreboding.

To clear her mind she tried to guess what Michael Quercus’s girlfriend would be like. She had seen a picture of his wife, a striking redhead with a supermodel figure and a sulky pout.
He seems to like the exotic
. But they had broken up, so perhaps she was not really his type. Judy could see him with a woman professor, in fashionable thin-framed spectacles, with well-cut short hair but no makeup. On the other hand, that type of woman would not cross the street to meet an FBI agent. Most likely he had picked up a sexy airhead who was easily impressed. Judy visualized a girl in tight clothes, smoking and chewing gum at the same time, looking around his apartment and saying: “Have you
read
all these books?”

I don’t know why I’m obsessing about his girlfriend when I’ve got so much else to worry about
.

She found Euclid Street and parked under the same magnolia tree as last time. She rang his bell, and he buzzed her into the building. He came to the apartment door barefoot, looking pleasantly weekendish in blue jeans and a white T-shirt.
A girl could have fun spending the weekend fooling around with him
. She followed him into his office-cum-living room.

There, to her astonishment, she saw a little boy of about five, with freckles and fair hair, dressed in pajamas with dinosaurs all over them. After a moment she recognized him as the child in the photograph on the desk. Michael’s son. This was his weekend guest. She felt embarrassed about the dumb blonde she had imagined.
I was a little unfair to you, Professor
.

Michael said: “Dusty, meet Special Agent Judy Maddox.”

The boy shook hands politely and said: “Are you really in the FBI?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wow.”

“Want to see my badge?” She took her shield from her shoulder bag and gave it to him. He held it reverently.

Michael said: “Dusty likes to watch
The X-Files.”

Judy smiled. “I don’t work in the Alien Spacecraft Department, I just catch regular earth criminals.”

Dusty said: “Can I see your gun?”

Judy hesitated. She knew that boys were fascinated by weapons, but she did not like to encourage such an interest. She glanced at Michael, who shrugged. She unbuttoned her jacket and took the weapon out of its shoulder holster.

As she did so, she caught Michael looking at her breasts, and she felt a sudden sexual frisson. Now that he was not being curmudgeonly, he was kind of appealing, with his bare feet and his T-shirt untucked.

She said: “Guns are pretty dangerous, Dusty, so I’m going to hold it, but you can look.”

Dusty’s face as he stared at the pistol wore the same expression as Michael’s when she opened her jacket. The thought made her grin.

After a minute she holstered the gun.

Dusty said with elaborate politeness: “We were just going to have some Cap’n Crunch. Would you care to join us?”

Judy was impatient to question Michael, but she sensed he would be more forthcoming if she was patient and played along. “How nice of you,” she said. “I’m real hungry, I’d love some Cap’n Crunch.”

“Come into the kitchen.”

The three of them sat at a plastic-topped table in the little kitchen and ate breakfast cereal and milk out of bright blue pottery bowls. Judy realized she was hungry: it was past suppertime. “My goodness,” she said. “I’d forgotten how good Cap’n Crunch is.”

Michael laughed. Judy was amazed at the difference in him. He was relaxed and amiable. He seemed a different person from the grouch who had forced her to drive back to the office and phone him for an appointment. She was beginning to like him.

When supper was eaten, Michael got Dusty ready for bed. Dusty said to his father: “Can Agent Judy tell me a story?”

Judy suppressed her impatience.
I’ve got seven days, I can wait another five minutes
. She said: “I think your daddy wants to tell you a story, because he doesn’t get to do it as often as he’d like.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said with a smile. “I’ll listen in.”

They went into the bedroom. “I don’t know many stories, but I remember one my mommy used to tell me,” Judy said. “It’s the legend of the kindly dragon. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, please,” said Dusty.

“Me too,” said Michael.

“Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a kindly dragon who lived in China, where all dragons come from. One day the kindly dragon went wandering. He wandered so far that he left China and got lost in the wilderness.

“After many days he came to another land, far to the south. It was the most beautiful country he had ever seen, with forests and mountains and fertile valleys, and rivers for him to splash about in. There were banana palms and mulberry trees laden with ripe fruit. The weather was always warm with a pleasant breeze.

“But there was one thing wrong. It was an empty land. No one lived there: no people, and no dragons. So although the kindly dragon loved the new land, he was terribly lonely.

“However, he didn’t know the way home, so he roamed all around, looking for someone to keep him company. At last, one lucky day, he found the one person who lived there—a fairy princess. She was so beautiful that he fell in love with her at once. Now, the princess was lonely, too, and although the dragon looked fearsome, he had a kind heart, and so she married him.

“The kindly dragon and the fairy princess loved each other, and they had a hundred children. All the children were brave and kindly like their dragon father, and beautiful like their fairy mother.

“The kindly dragon and the fairy princess looked after their children until they were all grown up. Then, suddenly, both parents vanished. They went away to live in love and harmony in the spirit world for all eternity. And their children became the brave, kindly, beautiful people of Vietnam. And that’s where my mommy came from.”

Dusty was wide-eyed. “Is it true?”

Judy smiled. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“It’s a beautiful story anyway,” Michael said. He kissed Dusty good night.

As Judy left the room, she heard Dusty whisper: “She’s really nice, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Michael replied.

Back in the living room, Michael said: “Thank you for that. You were great with him.”

“It wasn’t difficult. He’s a charmer.”

Michael nodded. “Gets it from his mother.”

Judy smiled.

Michael grinned and said: “I notice you don’t argue with that.”

“I’ve never met your wife. In the picture she looks very beautiful.”

“She is. And … faithless.”

That was an unexpected confidence, coming so suddenly from a man she took to be proud. She warmed to him. But she did not know what to say in reply.

They were both silent for a moment. Then Michael said: “You’ve had enough of the Quercus family. Tell me about the earthquake.”

At last
. “It took place in Owens Valley this afternoon at twenty minutes past two.”

“Let’s get the seismograph.” Michael sat at his desk and tapped the keys of his computer. She found herself looking at his bare feet. Some men had ugly feet, but his were well shaped and strong looking, with neatly clipped toenails. The skin was white, and there was a small tuft of dark hair on each big toe.

He did not notice her scrutiny. “When your terrorists made their threat four weeks ago, did they specify the location?”

“No.”

“Hmm. In the scientific community, we say that a successful earthquake forecast would have to specify date, location, and magnitude. Your people only gave the date. That’s not very convincing. There’s an earthquake
somewhere
in California more or less every day. Maybe they just claimed responsibility for something that happened naturally.”

“Can you tell me exactly where today’s tremor took place?”

“Yes. I can calculate the epicenter by triangulation. Actually, the computer does it automatically. I’ll just print out the coordinates.” After a moment his printer whirred.

Judy said: “Is there any way of knowing how the earthquake was triggered?”

“You mean, can I tell from the graph whether it was caused by human agency? Yes, I should be able to.”

“How?”

He clicked his mouse and turned from the screen to face her. “A normal earthquake is preceded by a gradual buildup of foreshocks, or lesser tremors, which we can see on the seismograph. By contrast, when the earthquake is triggered by an explosion, there is no buildup—the graph begins with a characteristic spike.” He turned back to his computer.

He was probably a good teacher, Judy thought. He explained things clearly. But he would be mercilessly intolerant of student foibles. He would give surprise tests and refuse to admit latecomers to his lectures.

“That’s odd,” he said.

Judy looked over his shoulder at the screen. “What’s odd?”

“The seismograph.”

“I don’t see a spike.”

“No. There was no explosion.”

Judy did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “So the earthquake happened naturally?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. There are foreshocks, yes. But I’ve never seen foreshocks like this.”

Judy was frustrated. He had promised to tell her whether the Hammer of Eden’s claim was plausible. Now he was maddeningly uncertain. “What’s peculiar about the foreshocks?” she asked.

“They’re too regular. They look artificial.”

“Artificial?”

He nodded. “I don’t know what caused these vibrations, but they don’t look natural. I believe your terrorists did
something
. I just don’t know what it is.”

“Can you find out?”

“I hope so. I’ll call a few people. Plenty of seismologists will be studying these readings already. Between us we ought to be able to figure out what they mean.”

He didn’t sound too sure, but Judy guessed she would have to be content with that for now. She had got all she could out of Michael tonight. Now she needed to get to the scene of the crime. She picked up the sheet that had emerged from the printer. It showed a series of map references.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“I enjoyed it.” He smiled at her, a big hundred-watt smile showing two rows of white teeth.

“Have a good weekend with Dusty.”

“Thanks.”

She got in her car and headed back to the city. She would go to the office and look up airline schedules on the Internet, see if there was a flight to somewhere near Owens Valley early tomorrow morning. She would also need to check which FBI field office had jurisdiction over Owens Valley and talk to them about what she was doing. Then she would call the local sheriff and get him on her side.

She reached 450 Golden Gate Avenue, parked in the underground garage, and took the elevator up. As she walked past Brian Kincaid’s office, she heard voices. He must be working late.

This was as good a time as any to bring him up to speed. She entered the anteroom and tapped on the open door to the inner office.

“Come in,” he called.

She stepped inside. Her heart sank when she saw that Kincaid was with Marvin Hayes. She and Marvin disliked each other intensely. He was sitting in front of the desk, wearing a tan summer suit with a white button-down shirt and a black-and-gold power tie. He was a good-looking man, with bristly dark hair cut short and a neat mustache. He looked the picture of competence, but in fact he was everything a law enforcement officer should not be: lazy, brutal, slapdash, and unscrupulous. For his part, he thought Judy was prissy.

Unfortunately, Brian Kincaid liked him, and Brian was now the boss.

The two men looked startled and guilty when Judy walked in, and she realized they must have been talking about her. To make them feel worse, she said: “Am I interrupting something?”

“We were talking about the earthquake,” Brian said. “Did you hear the news?”

“Of course. I’ve been working on it. I just interviewed a seismologist who says the foreshocks are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but he’s sure they’re artificial. He gave me the map coordinates for the exact location of the tremor. I want to go to Owens Valley in the morning to look for witnesses.”

A significant glance passed between the two men. Brian said: “Judy, no one can cause an earthquake.”

“We don’t know that.”

Marvin said: “I’ve talked to two seismologists myself, tonight, and they both told me it was impossible.”

“Scientists disagree—”

Brian said: “We think this group never went near Owens Valley. They found out about the earthquake and claimed credit for it.”

Judy frowned. “This is my assignment,” she said. “How come Marvin is calling seismologists?”

“This case is becoming very high-profile,” Brian said. Suddenly Judy knew what was coming, and her heart filled with impotent fury. “Even though we don’t believe the Hammer of Eden can do what they claim, they can get a hell of a lot of publicity. I’m not confident you can deal with that.”

Judy struggled to control her rage. “You can’t reassign me without a reason.”

“Oh, I have a reason,” he said. He picked up a fax from his desk. “Yesterday you got into an altercation with a California Highway Patrolman. He stopped you for speeding. According to this, you were uncooperative and abusive, and you refused to show him your license.”

“For Christ’s sake, I showed him my badge!”

Brian ignored that. Judy realized he was not really interested in the
details. The incident with the CHP was just a pretext. “I’m setting up a special squad to deal with the Hammer of Eden,” he went on. He swallowed nervously, then lifted his chin in an aggressive gesture and said: “I’ve asked Marvin to take charge. He won’t be needing your help. You’re off the case.”