The Hammer of Eden (39 page)

*  *  *

Priest expected Melanie to return to the commune around midafternoon. When suppertime came and she still had not arrived, he started to worry.

By nightfall he was frantic. What had happened to her? Had she decided to go back to her husband? Had she confessed everything to him? Was she even now spilling the beans to Agent Judy Maddox in an interrogation room at the Federal Building in San Francisco?

He could not sit still in the cookhouse or lie on his bed. He took a candle lamp and walked across the vineyard and through the woods to the parking circle and waited there, listening for the engine of her old Subaru—or the throb of the FBI helicopter that would herald the end of everything.

Spirit heard it first. He cocked his ears, tensed, then ran up the mud road, barking. Priest stood up, straining his hearing. It was the Subaru. Relief swamped him. He watched the lights approach through the trees. He had the beginnings of a headache. He had not had a headache for years.

Melanie parked erratically, got out, and slammed the car door.

“I hate you,” she said to Priest. “I hate you for making me do that.”

“Was I right?” he said. “Is Michael making a list for the FBI?”

“Fuck you!”

Priest realized he had goofed. He should have been understanding and sympathetic. For a moment he had allowed his anxiety to cloud his judgment. Now he would have to spend time talking her around. “I asked you to do it because I love you, don’t you understand that?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand anything.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from him, staring into the darkness of the woods. “All I know is, I feel like a prostitute.”

Priest was bursting to know what she had found out, but he made himself calm. “Where have you been?” he said.

“Driving around. I stopped for a drink.”

He was silent for a minute. Then he said: “A prostitute does it for money—then she spends the money on stupid clothes and drugs. You did it to save your child. I know you feel bad, but you’re not bad. You’re good.”

At last she turned to him. There were tears in her eyes. “It’s not just that we had sex,” she said. “It’s worse than that. I liked it. That’s what makes me feel ashamed. I came. I really did. I screamed.”

Priest felt a hot wave of jealousy and strained to suppress it. He would make Michael Quercus suffer for that one day. But now was not the time to say so. He needed to cool things down here. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Really, it’s okay. I understand. Weird things happen.” He put his arms around her and hugged her.

Slowly she relaxed. He could feel the tension leaving her bit by bit. “You don’t mind?” she said. “You’re not mad?”

“Not a bit,” he lied, stroking her long hair.
Come on, come on!

“You were right about the list,” she said.

At last
.

“That FBI woman had asked Michael to work out the best locations for an earthquake, just the way you imagined it.”

Of course she did. I’m so damn smart
.

Melanie went on: “He was sitting at his computer when I got there, just finishing.”

“So what happened?”

“I made him dinner, and like that.”

Priest could imagine. If Melanie decided to be seductive, she was irresistible. And she was at her most alluring when she wanted something. She probably took a bath and put on a robe, then moved around the apartment smelling of soap and flowers, pouring wine or making coffee, letting the robe fall open now and again to show him tantalizing glimpses of her long legs and her soft breasts. She would have asked Michael questions and listened intently to his answers, smiling at him in a way that said
I like you so much, you can do anything you want with me
.

“When the phone rang I told him not to answer, then I took it off the hook. But the damn woman came over anyway, and when Michael didn’t answer the door she broke it down. Boy, did she have a shock.” Priest figured she needed to get all this off her chest, so he did not hurry her. “She almost died of embarrassment.”

“Did he give her the list?”

“Not then. I guess she was too confused to ask. But she called this morning, and he faxed it to her.”

“And did you get it?”

“While he was in the shower, I got to his computer and printed out another copy.”

So where the hell is it?

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out a single sheet of paper folded in four, and gave it to Priest.

Thank God
.

He unfolded it and looked at it in the light of the lamp. The typed letters and numbers meant nothing to him. “These are the places he’s told her to watch?”

“Yes, they’re going to stake out each of these locations, looking for a seismic vibrator, just the way you predicted.”

Judy Maddox was clever. The FBI surveillance would make it very difficult for him to operate the seismic vibrator, especially if he had to try several different locations, as he had in Owens Valley.

But he was even cleverer than Judy. He had anticipated this move by
her. And he had thought of a way around it. “You understand how Michael picked these sites?” he said.

“Sure. They’re the places where the tension in the fault is highest.”

“So you could do the same thing.”

“I already have. And I picked the same places he did.”

He folded the paper and gave it back to her. “Now, listen very carefully. This is important. Could you look over the data again and pick the five
next
best locations?”

“Yes.”

“And could we cause an earthquake at one of them?”

“Probably,” she said. “It’s maybe not as sure, but the chances are good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow we’ll take a look at the new sites. Right after I talk to Mr. Honeymoon.”

16

A
t five
A.M.
, the guard at the entrance to the Los Alamos place was yawning.

He became alert when Melanie and Priest pulled up in the ’Cuda. Priest got out of the car. “How are you, buddy?” he said as he walked across to the gate.

The guard hefted his rifle, assumed a mean expression, and said: “Who are you and what do you want?”

Priest hit him in the face very hard, crushing his nose. Blood spurted. The guard cried out, his hands flying to his face. Priest said: “Ow!” His fist hurt. It was a long time since he had punched anyone.

His instincts took over. He kicked the guard’s legs from under him. The man fell on his back, and his rifle went flying through the air. Priest kicked him in the ribs three or four times, fast and hard, trying to break the bones. Then he kicked his face and head. The man curled up in a ball, sobbing in pain, helpless with fear.

Priest stopped, breathing hard. It all came back to him in a flood of remembered excitement. There had been a time when he had done this sort of thing every day. It was so easy to frighten people when you knew how.

He knelt and took the handgun from the man’s belt. This was what he had come for.

He looked at the weapon in disgust. It was a reproduction of a long-barreled
.44-caliber Remington revolver originally manufactured in the days of the Wild West. It was a stupid, impractical firearm, the kind owned by collectors and kept in a felt-lined display case in the den. It was not for shooting people.

He broke it open. It was loaded.

That was all he really cared about.

He returned to the car and got in. Melanie was at the wheel. She was pale and bright-eyed, breathing fast, as if she had just taken cocaine. Priest guessed she had never witnessed serious violence. “Will he be okay?” she said in an excited voice.

Priest glanced back at the guard. He was lying on the ground, his hands to his face, rocking slightly. “Sure he will,” Priest said.

“Wow.”

“Let’s go to Sacramento.”

Melanie pulled away.

After a while she said: “Do you really think you can talk this Honeymoon guy around?”

“He’s got to see sense,” Priest said, sounding more confident than he felt. “Look at the choice he has. Number one, an earthquake that will do millions of dollars of damage. Or, number two, a sensible proposal to reduce pollution. Plus, if he picks number one, he faces the same choice all over again two days later. He has to take the easy road.”

“I guess,” Melanie said.

They reached Sacramento a few minutes before seven A.M. The state capital was quiet this early. A few cars and trucks moved unhurriedly along the broad, empty boulevards. Melanie parked near the Capitol Building. Priest put on a baseball cap and tucked his long hair up inside it. Then he donned sunglasses. “Wait for me right here,” he said. “I may be a couple of hours.”

Priest walked around the Capitol block. He had hoped there would be a surface-level parking lot, but he was disappointed. The ground around was all garden, with magnificent trees. On either side of the building, a ramp led down to an underground garage. Both ramps were monitored by security guards in sentry booths.

Priest approached one of the large, imposing doors. The building was open, and there was no security check at the entrance. He went into a grand hall with a mosaic-tiled floor.

He took off the sunglasses, which looked conspicuous indoors, and followed a staircase down to the basement. There was a coffee shop where a few early workers were getting a charge of caffeine. He walked past them, looking as if he belonged here, and followed a corridor he thought must lead to the parking garage. As he approached the end of the corridor, a door opened and a fat man in a blue blazer came through. Behind the man, Priest saw cars.

Bingo.

He slipped into the garage and looked around. It was almost empty. There were a few cars, a sport utility, and a sheriff’s car parked in the marked spaces. He saw no one.

He slipped behind the back of the sport utility. It was a Dodge Durango. From here, peering through the car windows, he could see the entrance to the garage and the door that led inside the building. Other cars parked on either side of the Durango would shield him from the gaze of new arrivals.

He settled to wait.
This is their last chance. There’s still time to negotiate and avoid a catastrophe. But if this doesn’t work … boom
.

Al Honeymoon was a workaholic, Priest figured. He would arrive early. But there was a lot that could go wrong. Honeymoon could be spending the day at the governor’s residence. He might call in sick today. Perhaps he had meetings in Washington; maybe he was on a trip to Europe; his wife could be having a baby.

Priest did not think he would have a bodyguard. He was not an elected official, just a government employee. Would he have a chauffeur? Priest had no idea. That would spoil everything.

A car pulled in every few minutes. Priest studied the drivers from his hiding place. He did not have to wait long. At seven-thirty a smart dark blue Lincoln Continental drove in. Behind the wheel was a black man in a white shirt and tie. It was Honeymoon: Priest recognized him from the newspaper photos.

The car pulled into a slot near the Durango. Priest put on his
sunglasses, crossed the garage swiftly, opened the nearside door of the Lincoln, and slid into the passenger seat before Honeymoon could get his seat belt off. He showed him the gun. “Pull out of the garage,” he said.

Honeymoon stared at him. “Who the hell are you?”

Arrogant son of a bitch in a chalk-stripe suit with a pin through the collar of your shirt, I’ll ask the frigging questions
.

Priest cocked the hammer of the revolver. “I’m the maniac who’s going to put a bullet in your guts unless you do as I say. Now drive.”

“Fuck,” Honeymoon said feelingly. “Fuck.” Then he started the car and pulled out of the garage.

“Smile nicely at the security guard and drive slowly by,” Priest said. “You say one word to him and I’ll kill him.”

Honeymoon did not reply. He slowed the car as it approached the sentry booth. For a moment, Priest thought he was going to try something. Then they saw the guard, a middle-aged black man with white hair. Priest said: “If you want this brother to die, just go ahead with what’s on your mind.”

Honeymoon cursed under his breath and drove on.

“Take Capitol Mall out of town,” Priest told him.

Honeymoon drove around the Capitol Building and headed west on the broad avenue that led to the Sacramento River. “What do you want?” he said. He hardly seemed afraid—more impatient.

Priest would have liked to shoot him. This was the asshole who had made the dam possible. He had done his best to ruin Priest’s life. And he was not a bit sorry. He really did not care. A bullet in the guts was hardly punishment enough.

Controlling his anger, Priest said: “I want to save people’s lives.”

“You’re the Hammer of Eden guy, right?”

Priest did not answer. Honeymoon was staring at him. Priest guessed he was trying to memorize his features.
Smart-ass
. “Watch the goddamn road.”

Honeymoon looked ahead.

They crossed the bridge. Priest said: “Take I-80 toward San Francisco.”

“Where are we going?”

“You ain’t going nowhere.”

Honeymoon pulled onto the freeway.

“Drive at fifty in the slow lane. Why the hell won’t you give me what I’m asking for?” Priest had intended to stay cool, but Honeymoon’s arrogant calm enraged him. “Do you
want
a frigging earthquake?”

Honeymoon was deadpan. “The governor can’t give in to blackmail, you must know that.”

“You can get around that problem,” Priest argued. “Give out that you were planning a freeze anyway.”

“No one would believe us. It would be political suicide for the governor.”

“It would like hell. You can fool the public. What are spin doctors for?”

“I’m the best there is, but I can’t do miracles. This is too high-profile. You shouldn’t have brought John Truth into it.”

Priest said angrily: “No one listened to us until John Truth got on the case!”

“Well, whatever the reason, this is now a public face-off, and the governor can’t back down. If he did, the state of California would be open to blackmail by every idiot with a hunting rifle in his hand and a bug up his ass about some damn cause. But
you
could back off.”