"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
Priest 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 s
weat 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.
The thought hit him like a punch. He knew that this earthquake plan was dangerous, of course, but he had mainly considered the peril to himself and the risk of leaving the commune leaderless. He had not imagined Flower alone in the world at the age of thirteen.
"What'll I do with her?" he said.
"She wants to learn the guitar."
That was news to Priest. He was not much of a guitarist himself, but he could play folk songs and simple blues, enough to get her started anyway. He shrugged. "Okay, we'll start tonight."
They went back to work, but a few minutes later they were interrupted when Slow, grinning from ear to ear, shouted: "Hey, lookit who's here!"
Priest looked across the vineyard. The person he was waiting for was Melanie. She had gone to San Francisco to take Dusty to his father. She was the only one who could tell Priest exactly where to use the seismic vibrator, and he would not feel comfortable until she was back. But it was too early to expect her, and anyway, Slow would not have gotten so excited about Melanie.
He saw a man coming down the hill, followed by a woman carrying a child. Priest frowned. Often a year went by without a single visitor coming to the valley. This morning they had had the cop; now these people. But were they strangers? He narrowed his eyes. The man's rolling walk was terribly familiar. As the figures got closer, Priest said: "My God, is that Bones?"
"Yes, it is!" Star said delightedly. "Holy moley!" And she hurried toward the newcomers. Spirit joined in the excitement and ran with her, barking.
Priest followed more slowly. Bones, whose real name was Billy Owens, was a Rice Eater. But he had liked the way things were before Priest arrived. He enjoyed the hand-to-mouth existence of the early commune. He reveled in the constant crises and liked to be drunk or stoned, or both, within a couple of hours of waking up. He played the blues harmonica with manic brilliance and was the most successful street beggar they had. He had not joined a commune to find work, self-discipline, and a daily act of worship. So after a couple of years, when it became clear that the Priest-Star regime was permanent, Bones took off. He had not been seen since. Now, after more than twenty years, he was back.
Star threw her arms around him, hugged him hard, and kissed his lips. Those two had been a serious item for a while. All the men in the commune had slept with Star in those days, but she had had a special soft spot for Bones. Priest felt a twinge of jealousy as he watched Bones press Star's body to his own.
When they let each other go, Priest could see that Bones did not look well. He had always been a thin man, but now he looked as if he were dying of starvation. He had wild hair and a straggly beard, but the beard was matted and the hair seemed to be falling out in clumps. His jeans and T-shirt were dirty, and the heel had come off one of his cowboy boots.
He's here because he's in trouble.
Bones introduced the woman as Debbie. She was younger than he, no more than twenty-five, and pretty in a pinched-looking way. Her child was a boy about eighteen months old. She and the kid were almost as thin and dirty as Bones.
It was time for their midday meal. They took Bones to the cookhouse. Lunch was a casserole made with pearl barley and flavored with herbs grown by Garden. Debbie ate ravenously and fed the child, too, but Bones took just a couple of spoonfuls, then lit a cigarette.
There was a lot of talk about the old times. Bones said: "I'll tell you my favorite memory. One afternoon right on that hillside over there, Star explained to me about cunnilingus." There was a ripple of laughter around the table. It was faintly embarrassed laughter, but Bones failed to pick up on that, and he went on: "I was twenty years old and I never knew people did that. I was shocked! But she made me try it. And the taste! Yech!"
"There was a lot you didn't know," Star said. "I remember you telling me that you couldn't understand why you sometimes got headaches in the morning, and I had to explain to you that it happened whenever you got falling-down drunk the night before. You didn't know the meaning of the word 'hangover.' "
She had deftly changed the subject. In the old days it had been perfectly normal to talk about cunnilingus around the table, but things had changed since Bones left. No one had ever made an issue of cleaning up their conversation, but it had happened naturally as the children started to understand more.
Bones was nervy, laughing a lot, trying too hard to be friendly, fidgeting, chain-smoking. He wants something. But he'll tell me what it is soon enough.
As they cleared the table and washed the bowls, Bones took Priest aside and said: "Got something I want to show you. Come on."
Priest shrugged and went with him.
As they walked, Priest took out a little bag of marijuana and a pack of cigarette papers. The communards did not usually smoke dope during the day, because it slowed down the work in the vineyard, but today was a special day, and Priest felt the need to soothe his nerves. As they walked up the hill and through the trees, he rolled a joint with the ease of long practice.
Bones licked his lips. "You don't have anything with, like, more of a kick, do you?"
"What are you using these days, Bones?"
"A little brown sugar now and again, you know, keep my head straight."
Heroin.
So that was it. Bones had become a junkie.
"We don't have any smack here," Priest told him. "No one uses it." And I'd get rid of anyone who did, faster than you can say spike.
Priest lit the joint.
When they reached the clearing where the cars were parked, Bones said: "This is it."
At first Priest could not work out what he was looking at. It was a truck, but what kind? It was painted with a gay design in bright red and yellow, and along the side was a picture of a monster breathing fire and some lettering in the same gaudy colors.
Bones, who knew that Priest could not read, said: "The Dragon's Mouth. It's a carnival ride."
Priest saw it then. A lot of small carnival rides were mounted on trucks. The truck engine powered the ride in use. Then the parts of the ride could be folded down and
the truck driven to the next site.
Priest passed him the joint and said: "Is it yours?"
Bones took a long toke, held the smoke down, then blew out before answering. "I been making my living from this for ten years. But it needs work, and I can't afford to get it fixed. So I have to sell it."
Now Priest could see what was coming.
Bones took another draw on the joint but did not hand it back. "It's probably worth fifty thousand dollars, but I'm asking ten."
Priest nodded. "Sounds like a bargain ... for someone."
"Maybe you guys should buy it," Bones said.
"What the fuck would I do with a carnival ride, Bones?"
"It's a good investment. If you have a bad year with the wine, you could go out with the ride and make some money."
They had bad years, sometimes. There was nothing they could do about the weather. But Paul Beale was always willing to give them credit. He believed in the ideals of the commune, even though he had been unable to live up to them himself. And he knew there would always be another vintage next year.
Priest shook his head. "No way. But I wish you luck, old buddy. Keep trying, you'll find a buyer."
Bones must have known it had been a long shot, but all the same he looked panicky. "Hey, Priest, you want to know the truth of it.... I'm in bad shape. Could you loan me a thousand bucks? That'd get me straight."
It would get you stoned out of your head, you mean. Then, after a few days, you'd be right back where you were.
"We don't have any money," Priest told him. "We don't use it here, don't you remember that?"
Bones looked crafty. "You gotta have a stash somewhere, come on!"
And you think I'm going to tell you about it?
"Sorry, pal, can't help."
Bones nodded. "That's a bummer, man. I mean, I'm in serious trouble."
Priest said: "And don't try to go behind my back and ask Star, because you'll get the same answer." He put a harsh note into his voice. "Are you listening to me?"
"Sure, sure," Bones said, looking scared. "Be cool, Priest, man, be cool."
"I'm cool," Priest said.
*
Priest worried about Melanie all afternoon. She might have changed her mind and decided to go back to her husband or simply got scared and taken off in her car. Then he would be finished. There was no way he or anyone else here could interpret the data on Michael Quercus's disk and figure out where to place the seismic vibrator tomorrow.