The Hammer of Eden (48 page)

Bo nodded. “It makes sense, or a kind of sense, the kind that appeals to wackos.”

“Granger has the criminal experience to steal the seismic vibrator, and the personal magnetism to persuade other cult members to go along with the scheme.”

Bo looked thoughtful. “They probably don’t own their home,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, imagine they live someplace close to where this nuclear plant is going, so they have to move away. If they owned their house, or farm, or whatever, they’d get compensation, and they could start again somewhere else. So I’m guessing they have a short lease, or maybe they’re squatters.”

“You’re probably right, but it doesn’t help. There’s no statewide database of land leases.”

Carl Theobald came up with a notebook in his hand. “Three hits in the phone book. Stella Higgins in Los Angeles is a woman of about seventy with a quavery voice. Mrs. Higgins in Stockton has a strong accent from some African country, maybe Nigeria. And S. J. Higgins in Diamond Heights is a man called Sidney.”

“Damn,” Judy said. She explained to Bo: “Stella Higgins is the voice on the John Truth tape—and I’m sure I’ve seen the name before.”

Bo said: “Try your own files.”

“What?”

“If the name seems familiar, that could be because it has already come up during this investigation. Search the case files.”

“Good idea.”

“I gotta go,” he said. “With all these people getting out of the city and leaving their homes empty, the San Francisco PD is going to have a busy night. Good luck—and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Bo.” Judy activated the find function on the computer and had it search the entire Hammer of Eden directory for “Stella Higgins.”

Carl watched over her shoulder. It was a big directory, and the search took a while.

Finally the screen flickered and said:

1 file(s) found

Judy felt a burst of elation.

Carl shouted: “Christ! The name is already in the computer!”

Oh, my God, I think I’ve found her
.

Two more agents looked over Judy’s shoulder as she opened the file.

It was a large document containing all the notes made by agents during the abortive raid on Los Alamos six days ago.

“What the hell?” Judy was mystified. “Was she at Los Alamos and we missed her?”

Stuart Cleever appeared at her side. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“We’ve found the woman who called John Truth!” Judy said.

“Where?”

“Silver River Valley.”

“How did she slip through your fingers?”

It was Marvin Hayes, not me, who organized that raid
. “I don’t know, I’m working on it, give me a minute!” She used the search function to locate the name in the notes.

Stella Higgins had not been at Los Alamos. That was why they had missed her.

Two agents had visited a winery a few miles up the valley. The site was rented from the federal government, and the name of the tenant was Stella Higgins.

“Damn, we were so close!” Judy cried in exasperation. “We almost had her a week ago!”

“Print this so everyone can see it,” Cleever said.

Judy hit the print button and read on.

The agents had conscientiously noted the name and age of every adult at the winery. Some were couples with children, Judy saw, and most gave their address as that of the winery. So they were living there.

Maybe it was a cult, and the agents simply had not realized that.

Or the people had been careful to conceal the true nature of their community.

“We’ve got them!” Judy said. “We were sidetracked, the first time by Los Alamos, who seemed perfect suspects. Then, when they turned out to be clean, we thought we must be barking up the wrong tree. That made us careless about checking for
other
communes in that valley. So we overlooked the real perpetrators. But we’ve found them now.”

Stuart Cleever said: “I think you’re right.” He turned to the SWAT team table. “Charlie, call the Sacramento office and organize a joint raid. Judy has the location. We’ll hit them at first light.”

Judy said: “We should raid them now. If we wait until morning, they may be gone.”

“Why would they leave now?” Cleever shook his head. “Nighttime is too risky. The suspects can slip away in the darkness, especially in the countryside.”

He had a point, but instinct told Judy not to wait. “I’d rather take that risk,” she said. “Now that we know where they are, let’s go get ’em.”

“No,” he said decisively. “No further discussion, please, Judy. We raid at dawn.”

She hesitated. She was sure it was the wrong decision. But she was too tired to argue anymore. “So be it,” she said. “What time do we head out, Charlie?”

Marsh looked at his watch. “Leaving here at two
A.M
.”

“I may grab a couple of hours’ rest.”

She seemed to remember parking her car outside on the parade ground. It felt like months ago, but in fact it had been Thursday night, only forty-eight hours ago.

On the way out she met Michael. “You look exhausted,” he said. “Let me drive you home.”

“Then how will I get back here?”

“I’ll nap on your couch and drive you back.”

She stopped and looked at him. “I have to tell you, my face is so sore I don’t think I could kiss, let alone anything else.”

“I’ll settle for holding your hand,” he said with a smile.

I’m beginning to think this guy cares for me
.

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Well, what do you say?”

“Will you tuck me into bed, and bring me hot milk and aspirins?”

“Yes. Will you let me watch you sleep?”

Oh, boy, I’d like that better than anything in the world
.

He read her expression. “I think I’m hearing yes,” he said.

She smiled. “Yes.”

*  *  *

Priest was mad as hell when he got back from Sacramento. He had been sure the governor was going to make a deal. He felt he was on the very brink of victory. He had been congratulating himself already. And it had all been a sham. Governor Robson had had no thought of making a deal. The whole thing had been a setup. The FBI had imagined they could catch him in a dumb-ass trap like some two-bit crook. It was the disrespect that really got to him. They thought he was some dope.

They would learn the truth. And the lesson would be dear.

It would cost them another earthquake.

Everyone at the commune was still stunned by the departure of Dale and Poem. It had reminded them of something they had been pretending to forget: that tomorrow they were all supposed to leave the valley.

Priest told the Rice Eaters how much pressure they had put on the governor. The freeways were still jammed with minivans full of kids and suitcases escaping from the earthquake to come. In the semideserted neighborhoods they had left behind, looters were walking out of suburban homes loaded with microwave ovens and CD players and computers.

But they also knew the governor showed no signs of giving in.

Although it was Saturday night, nobody wanted to party. After supper and evening worship, most of them retired to their cabins. Melanie went to the bunkhouse to read to the children. Priest sat outside his cabin, watching the moon go down over the valley, and slowly calmed down. He opened a five-year-old bottle of his own wine, a vintage with the smoky flavor he loved.

It was a battle of nerves, he told himself when he was able to think
calmly. Who could tough it out longer, him or the governor? Which of them could best keep their people under control? Would the earthquakes bring the state government to its knees before the FBI could track Priest down to his mountain lair?

Star came into view, backlit by moonlight, walking barefoot and smoking a joint. She took a deep pull on the joint, bent over Priest, and kissed him, opening her mouth. He inhaled the intoxicating smoke from her lungs. He breathed out, smiled, and said: “I remember the first time you did that. It was the sexiest thing that ever happened to me.”

“Really?” she said. “Sexier than a blow job?”

“A lot. Remember, when I was seven years old I saw my mother giving a blow job to a john. She never kissed them, though. I was the only person she kissed. She told me that.”

“Priest, what a hell of a life you’ve had.”

He frowned. “You make it sound as if it’s over.”

“This part of it is over, though, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“It’s almost midnight. Your deadline is about to run out. The governor isn’t going to give in.”

“He has to,” Priest said. “It’s only a matter of time.” He stood up. “I have to listen to the radio news.”

She walked with him as he crossed the vineyard in the moonlight and climbed the track to the cars. “Let’s go away,” she said suddenly. “Just you and me and Flower. Let’s get in a car, right now, and leave. We won’t say good-bye, or pack a bag, or even take spare clothes or anything. We’ll just take off, the way I did when I left San Francisco in 1969. We’ll go where the mood takes us—Oregon, or Las Vegas, or even New York. What about Charleston? I’ve always wanted to see the South.”

Without answering, he got in the Cadillac and turned on the radio. Star sat beside him. Brenda Lee was singing “Let’s Jump the Broomstick.”

“Come on, Priest, what do you say?”

The news came on, and he turned up the volume.

“Suspected Hammer of Eden terrorist leader Richard Granger slipped through the fingers of the FBI in Sacramento today. Meanwhile, residents fleeing neighborhoods near the San Andreas fault have brought traffic to a standstill on many freeways within the San Francisco Bay Area, with miles of cars blocking long sections of Interstate Routes 280, 580, 680, and 880. And a Haight-Ashbury rare-record dealer claims FBI agents bought from him an album with a photograph of another terrorist suspect.”

“Album?” Star said. “What the fuck …?”

“Store owner Vic Plumstead told reporters the FBI called him in to help track down a sixties album, which they believed featured the voice of one of the Hammer of Eden suspects. After days of effort, he said, he found the album, by an obscure rock band,
Raining Fresh Daisies.”

“Jesus Christ! I’d almost forgotten them myself!”

“The FBI would not confirm or deny they are seeking the vocalist, Stella Higgins.”

“Shit!” Star burst out. “They know my name!”

Priest’s mind was racing. How dangerous was this? The name was not much use to them. Star had not used it for almost thirty years. No one knew where Stella Higgins lived.

Yes, they did.

He suppressed a groan of despair. The name Stella Higgins was on the lease for this land. And he had said that to the two FBI agents who had come here on the day they raided Los Alamos.

This changed everything. Sooner or later someone at the FBI would make the connection.

And if by some mischance the FBI failed to figure it out, there was a Silver City sheriff’s deputy, currently on vacation in the Bahamas, who had written the name “Stella Higgins” on a file that was due to come up in court in a couple of weeks’ time.

Silver River Valley was a secret no more.

The thought made him unbearably sad.

What could he do?

Maybe he
should
run away with Star now. The keys were in the car.
They could be in Nevada in a couple of hours. By midday tomorrow they would be five hundred miles away.

Hell, no. I’m not beat yet
.

He could still hold things together.

His original plan had been that the authorities would never know who the Hammer of Eden were or why they had demanded a ban on new power plants. Now the FBI was about to find out—but maybe they could be forced to keep it secret. That could become part of Priest’s demand. If they could bring themselves to agree to the freeze, they could swallow this, too.

Yes, it was outrageous—but this whole thing was outrageous. He could do it.

But he would have to stay out of the clutches of the FBI.

He opened the car door and got out. “Let’s go,” he said to Star. “I’ve got a lot to do.”

She got out slowly. “You won’t run away with me?” she said sadly.

“Hell, no.” He slammed the door and walked away.

She followed him across the vineyard and back to the settlement. She went to her cabin without saying good night.

Priest went to Melanie’s cabin. She was asleep. He shook her roughly to wake her. “Get up,” he said. “We have to go. Quickly.”

*  *  *

Judy watched and waited while Stella Higgins cried her heart out.

She was a big woman, and though she might have been attractive in different circumstances, she now looked destroyed. Her face was contorted with grief, her old-fashioned eye makeup was running down her cheeks, and her heavy shoulders shook with sobs.

They sat in the tiny cabin that was her home. All around were medical supplies: boxes of bandages, cartons of aspirin and Rolaids, Tylenol and Trojans, bottles of colic water, cough syrup, and iodine. The walls were decorated with kids’ drawings of Star taking care of sick children. It was a primitive building, without electric power or running water, but it had a happy feel.

Judy went to the door and looked out, giving Star a minute to
recover her composure. The place was beautiful in the pale sunlight of early morning. The last ribbons of a light mist were vanishing from the trees on the steep hillsides, and the river flashed and glittered in the fork of the valley. On the lower slopes was a neat vineyard, the ordered rows of vines with their shoots tied to wooden trellises. For a moment Judy was taken by a sense of spiritual peace, a feeling that here in this place things were as they should be, and it was the rest of the world that was weird. She shook herself to get rid of the spooky sensation.

Michael appeared. Once again he had wanted to be here to take care of Dusty, and Judy had told Stuart Cleever that he should be indulged because his expertise was so important to the investigation. He was leading Dusty by the hand. “How is he?” Judy asked.

“He’s just fine,” Michael said.

“Have you found Melanie?”