The Hammer of Eden (46 page)

“They want to make a deal,” he had said to Melanie. “That’s it—we’ve won!”

While Melanie drove around downtown, surrounded by hundreds of cars and thousands of people, Priest made the call from her mobile phone. Even if the FBI was tracing the call, he figured, they would not be able to pick one car out of the traffic.

His heart was in his mouth as he listened to the ringing tone.
I won the lottery and I’m here to pick up my check
.

The call was answered by a woman. “Hello?” She sounded guarded. Maybe she had received a lot of crank calls in response to the radio spot.

“This is Peter Shoebury from Eisenhower Junior High.”

The response was instant. “I’m going to connect you with Al Honeymoon, the governor’s cabinet secretary.”

Yes!

“I just need to verify your identity first.”

It’s a trick
. “How do you propose to do that?”

“Would you mind giving me the name of the student reporter who was with you a week ago?”

Priest remembered Flower saying, “I’ll never forgive you for calling me Florence.”

Warily he said: “It was Florence.”

“Connecting you now.”

No trick—just a precaution
.

Priest scanned the streets anxiously, alert for a police car or a bunch of FBI men bearing down on his car. He saw nothing but shoppers and tourists. A moment later the deep voice of Honeymoon said: “Mr. Granger?”

Priest got right to the point. “Are you ready to do the sensible thing?”

“We’re ready to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

“The governor wants to meet with you today, with the object of negotiating a resolution to this crisis.”

Priest said: “Is the governor willing to announce the freeze we want?”

Honeymoon hesitated. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “But there must be conditions.”

“What kind?”

“When you and I spoke in my car, and I told you that the governor could not give in to blackmail, you mentioned spin doctors.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a sophisticated individual, you understand that the governor’s political future is at risk here. The announcement of this freeze will have to be handled very delicately.”

Honeymoon had changed his tune, Priest thought with satisfaction. The arrogance was gone. He had developed respect for his opponent. That was gratifying. “In other words, the governor has to cover his ass and he wants to make sure I won’t blow it for him.”

“You might look at it that way.”

“Where do we meet?”

“In the governor’s office here at the Capitol Building.”

You’re out of your frigging mind
.

Honeymoon went on: “No police, no FBI. You would be guaranteed freedom to leave the meeting without hindrance, regardless of the outcome.”

Yeah, right
.

Priest said: “Do you believe in fairies?”

“What?”

“You know, little flying people that can do magic? You believe they exist?”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

“Me either. So I’m not going to fall into your trap.”

“I give you my word—”

“Forget it. Just forget it, okay?”

There was silence at the other end.

Melanie turned a corner, and they drove past the grand classical facade of the Capitol Building. Honeymoon was in there somewhere, talking on the phone, surrounded by FBI men. Looking at the white columns and the dome, Priest said: “I’ll tell you where we’ll meet, and you’d better make notes. Are you ready?”

“Don’t worry, I’m taking notes.”

“Set up a little round table and a couple of garden chairs in front of the Capitol Building, on the lawn there, right in the middle. It’ll be like a photo opportunity. Have the governor sitting there at three o’clock.”

“Out in the open?”

“Hey, if I was going to shoot him, I could do it easier than this.”

“I guess so.…”

“In his pocket the governor must have a signed letter guaranteeing me immunity from prosecution.”

“I can’t agree to all this—”

“Talk to your boss. He’ll agree.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Have a photographer there with one of them instant cameras. I want a picture of him handing me the letter of immunity, for proof. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“You better play this straight. No tricks. My seismic vibrator is already in place, ready to trigger another earthquake. This one will strike a major city. I’m not saying which one, but I’m talking thousands of deaths.”

“I understand.”

“If the governor doesn’t appear today at three o’clock … 
bang.”

He broke the connection.

“Wow,” said Melanie. “A meeting with the governor. Do you think it’s a trap?”

Priest frowned. “It might be,” he said. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

*  *  *

Judy could not fault the setup. Charlie Marsh had worked on it with the Sacramento FBI. There were at least thirty agents within sight of the white garden table with the umbrella that sat prettily on the lawn, but she could not see any of them. Some stood behind the windows of the surrounding government offices, others crouched in cars and vans on the street and in the parking lot, more lurked in the pillared cupola of the Capitol Building. All were heavily armed.

Judy herself was playing the part of the photographer, with cameras and lenses around her neck. Her gun was in a camera bag slung from her shoulder. While she waited for the governor to appear, she looked through her viewfinder at the table and chairs, pretending to frame a shot.

In the hopes Granger wouldn’t recognize her, she wore a blond wig. It was one she kept permanently in her car. She used it a lot on surveillance work, especially if she spent several days following the same targets, to reduce the risk that she might be noticed and recognized. She had to put up with a certain amount of teasing when she wore it.
Hey, Maddox, send the cute blonde over to my car, but you can stay where you are
.

Granger was watching, she knew. No one had spotted him, but he had called, an hour ago, to protest against the erection of crowd
barriers around the block. He wanted the public using the street, and visitors touring the building, just as normal.

The barriers had been taken away.

There was no other fence around the grounds, so tourists were wandering freely across the lawns, and tour parties were following their prescribed routes around the Capitol, its gardens, and the elegant government buildings on adjacent streets. Judy surreptitiously studied everyone through her lens. She ignored superficial appearances and concentrated on features that could not easily be disguised. She scrutinized every tall, thin man of middle age, regardless of hair, face, or dress.

At one minute to three she still had not seen Ricky Granger.

Michael Quercus, who had met Granger face-to-face, was also watching. He was in a surveillance van with blacked-out windows parked around the corner. He had to stay out of sight, for fear Granger would recognize him and be spooked.

Judy spoke into a little microphone under her shirt, clipped to her bra. “My guess is that Granger won’t show until after the governor appears.”

A tiny speaker behind her ear crackled, and she heard Charlie Marsh reply. “We were just saying the same thing. I wish we could have got this done without exposing the governor.”

They had talked about using a body double, but Governor Robson himself had nixed that plan, saying he would not allow someone else to risk dying in his place.

Now Judy said: “But if we can’t …”

“So be it,” said Charlie.

A moment later the governor emerged from the grand front entrance of the building.

Judy was surprised that he was a little below average height. Seeing him on television, she had imagined him a tall man. He looked bulkier than usual on account of the bulletproof vest under his suit coat. He walked across the lawn with a relaxed, confident stride and sat at the little table under the umbrella.

Judy took a few pictures of him. She kept her camera bag slung from her shoulder so that she could get to her weapon quickly.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

An old Chevrolet Impala was approaching slowly on Tenth Street.

It had a faded two-tone paint job, sky blue and cream, rusting around the wheel arches. The face of the driver was in shade.

She darted a glance around. Not a single agent was in sight, but everyone would be watching the car.

It stopped at the curb right opposite Governor Robson.

Judy’s heart beat faster.

“I guess this is him,” said the governor in a remarkably calm voice.

The door of the car opened.

The figure that stepped out wore blue jeans, a checked workshirt open over a white T-shirt, and sandals. When he stood upright, Judy saw that he was about six feet tall, maybe a little more, and thin, with long, dark hair.

He wore large-framed sunglasses and a colorful cotton scarf as a headband.

Judy stared at him, wishing she could see his eyes.

Her earpiece crackled. “Judy? Is it him?”

“I can’t tell!” she said. “It could be.”

He looked around. It was a big lawn, and the table had been placed twenty or thirty yards back from the curb. He started toward the governor.

Judy could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her sign.

She moved, placing herself between him and the governor. The man noticed her move, hesitated, then continued walking.

Charlie spoke again. “Well?”

“I don’t know!” she whispered, trying not to move her lips. “Give me a few more seconds!”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I don’t think it’s him,” Judy said. All the pictures had shown a nose like the blade of a knife. This man had a broad, flat nose.

“Sure?”

“It’s not him.”

The man was within touching distance of Judy. He stepped around her and approached the governor. Without pausing in his stride, he put his hand inside his shirt.

In her earpiece Charlie said: “He’s reaching for something!”

Judy dropped to one knee and fumbled for the pistol in her camera bag.

The man began to pull something out of his shirt. Judy saw a dark-colored cylinder, like the barrel of a gun. She yelled: “Freeze! FBI!”

Agents burst out of cars and vans and came running from the Capitol Building.

The man froze.

Judy pointed her gun at his head and said: “Pull it out real slow and pass it to me.”

“Okay, okay, don’t shoot me!” The man drew the object out of his shirt. It was a magazine, rolled up into a cylinder, with a rubber band around it.

Judy took it from him. Still pointing her gun at him, she examined the magazine. It was this week’s
Time
. There was nothing inside the cylinder.

The man said in a frightened voice: “Some guy gave me a hundred dollars to hand it to the governor!”

Agents surrounded Mike Robson and bundled him back into the Capitol Building.

Judy looked around, scanning the grounds and the streets.
Granger is watching this, he has to be. Where the hell is he?
People had stopped to stare at the running agents. A tour group was coming down the steps of the grand entrance, led by a guide. As Judy watched, a man in a Hawaiian shirt peeled off from the group and walked away, and something about him caught Judy’s eye.

She frowned. He was tall. Because the shirt was baggy and hung loose around his hips, she could not tell whether he was thin or fat. His hair was covered by a baseball cap.

She went after him, walking fast.

He did not seem to be in a hurry. Judy did not raise the alarm. If she
got every agent here chasing some innocent tourist, that might permit the real Granger to get away. But instinct made her quicken her pace. She had to see this man’s face.

He turned the corner of the building. Judy broke into a run.

She heard Charlie’s voice in her earpiece. “Judy? What’s up?”

“Just checking someone out,” she said, panting a little. “Probably a tourist, but get a couple of guys to follow me in case I need backup.”

“You got it.”

She reached the corner and saw the Hawaiian shirt pass through a pair of tall wood doors and disappear into the Capitol Building. It seemed to her that he was walking more briskly. She looked back over her shoulder. Charlie was talking to a couple of youngsters and pointing at her.

On the side street across the garden, Michael jumped out of a parked van and came running toward her. She pointed into the building. “Did you see that guy?” she yelled.

“Yes, that was him!” he called back.

“You stay here,” she shouted. He was a civilian; she did not want him involved. “Keep the hell out of this!” She ran into the Capitol Building.

She found herself in a grand lobby with an elaborate mosaic floor. It was cool and quiet. Ahead of her was a broad carpeted staircase with an ornately carved balustrade. Did he go left or right, up or down? She chose left. The corridor dog-legged right. She raced past an elevator bank and found herself in the rotunda, a circular room with some kind of sculpture in the middle. The room extended up two floors to a richly decorated dome. Here she faced another choice: had he gone straight ahead, turned right toward the Horseshoe, or gone up the stairs on her left? She looked around. A tour group stared fearfully at her gun. She glanced up to the circular gallery at second-floor level and caught a glimpse of a brightly colored shirt.

She bounded up one of the paired grand staircases.

At the top of the stairs she looked across the gallery. On the far side was an open doorway leading to a different world, a modern corridor with strip lighting and a plastic-tiled floor. The Hawaiian shirt was in the corridor.

He was running now.

Judy went after him. As she ran, she spoke into her bra mike, panting. “It’s him, Charlie! What the hell happened to my backup?”

“They lost you, where are you?”

“On the second floor in the office section.”

“Okay.”

The office doors were shut, and there was no one in the corridors: it was Saturday. She followed the shirt around a corner, then another, and a third. She was keeping him in view but not gaining on him.