"Now look at this." He brought a third chart up on the screen. It showed a neat pattern of even vibrations, just like the Owens Valley chart.
"What made those vibrations?" Judy said.
"A seismic vibrator," Michael announced triumphantly.
Bo said: "What the hell is that?"
Judy almost said, I don't know, but I think I want one. She smothered a grin.
Michael said: "It's a machine used by the oil industry to explore underground. Basically, it's a huge jackhammer mounted on a truck. It sends vibrations through the earth's crust."
"And those vibrations triggered the earthquake?"
"I don't think it can be a coincidence."
Judy nodded solemnly. "That's it, then. They really can cause earthquakes." She felt a cold chill descend as the news sank in.
Bo said: "Jesus, I hope they don't come to San Francisco."
"Or Berkeley," said Michael. "You know, although I told you it was possible, I never really believed it, in my heart, until now."
Judy said: "The Owens Valley tremor was quite minor."
Michael shook his head. "We can't take comfort from that. The size of the earthquake bears no relation to the strength of the triggering vibration. It depends on the pressure in the fault. The seismic vibrator could trigger anything from a barely perceptible tremor to another Loma Prieta."
Judy remembered the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 as vividly as if it were last night's bad dream. "Shit," she said. "What are we going to do?"
Bo said: "You're off the case."
Michael frowned, puzzled. "You told me that," he said to Judy. "But you didn't say why."
"Office politics," Judy said. "We have a new boss who doesn't like me, and he reassigned the case to someone he prefers."
"I don't believe this!" Michael said. "A terrorist group is causing earthquakes and the FBI is having a family spat about who gets to chase after them!"
"What can I tell you? Do scientists let personal squabbles get in the way of their search for the truth?"
Michael gave one of his sudden unexpected grins. "You bet your ass they do. But listen. Surely you can pass on this information to Marvin Whatever?"
"When I told my boss about Los Alamos, he ordered me not to interfere again."
"This is incredible!" Michael said, becoming angry. "You can't just ignore what I've told you."
"Don't worry, I won't do that," Judy said curtly. "Let's keep cool and think for a moment. What's the first thing we need to do with this information? If we can find out where the seismic vibrator came from, we may have a lead on the Hammer of Eden."
"Right," Bo said. "Either they bought it, or more likely they stole it."
Judy asked Michael: "How many of these machines are there in the continental United States? A hundred? A thousand?"
"In there somewhere," he said.
"Anyhow, not many. So the people who manufacture them probably have a record of every sale. I could track them down tonight, get them to make a list. And if the truck was stolen, it may be listed on the National Crime Information Center." The NCIC, run by FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C., could be accessed by any law enforcement agency.
Bo said: "The NCIC is only as good as the information that's put in. We don't have a license plate for this, and there's no telling how it might be categorized on the computer. I could have the San Francisco PD put out a multistate query on the CLETS Computer." CLETS was the California Law Enforcement Telecommunications System. "And I could get the newspapers to print a picture of one of these trucks, get members of the public looking out for it."
"Wait a minute," Judy said. "If you do that, Kincaid will know I'm behind it."
Michael rolled his eyes in an expression of despair.
Bo said: "Not necessarily. I won't tell the papers that this is connected with the Hammer of Eden. I'll just say we're looking for a stolen seismic vibrator. It's kind of an unusual auto theft, they'll like the story."
"Great," Judy said. "Michael, can I have a printout of the three graphs?"
"Sure." He touched a key and the printer whirred.
Judy put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm through the cotton of his shirt. "I sure hope Dusty feels better," she said.
He covered her hand with his own. "Thanks." His touch was light, his palm dry. She felt a frisson of pleasure. Then he took his hand away and said: "Uh, maybe you should give me your pager number, so I can reach you a little faster, if necessary."
She took out a business card. After a moment's thought, she wrote her home number on it before giving it to him.
Michael said: "After you two have made these phone calls ..." He hesitated. "Would you like to meet for a drink, or maybe dinner? I'd really like to hear how you get on."
"Not me," Bo said. "I have a bowling match."
"Judy, how about you?"
Is he asking me for a date?
"I was planning to visit someone in hospital," she said.
Michael looked crestfallen.
Judy realized that there was not a thing she would rather do this evening than have dinner with Michael Quercus.
"But I guess that won't take me all night," she said. "Okay, sure."
*
It was only a week since Milton Lestrange's cancer had been diagnosed, but already he looked thinner and older. Perhaps it was the effect of the hospital setting: the instruments, the bed, the white sheets. Or maybe it was the baby blue pajamas that revealed a triangle of pale chest below the neck. He had lost all his power symbols: his big desk, his Mont Blanc fountain pen, his striped silk tie.
Judy was shocked to see him like this. "Gee, Milt, you don't look so great," she blurted.
He smiled. "I knew you wouldn't lie to me, Judy."
She felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry, it just came out."
"Don't blush. You're right. I'm in bad shape."
"What are they doing?"
"They'll operate this week, they haven't said what day. But that's just to bypass the obstruction in the bowel. The outlook is poor."
"What do you mean, poor?"
"Ninety percent of cases are fatal."
Judy swallowed. "Jesus, Milt."
"I may have a year."
"I don't know what to say."
He did not dwell on the grim prognosis. "Sandy, my first wife, came to see me yesterday. She told me you had called her."
"Yeah. I had no idea whether she'd want to see you, but I figured at least she'd like to know you were in the hospital."
He took Judy's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. Not many people would have thought of that. I don't know how you got to be so wise, so young."
"I'm glad she came."
Milt changed the subject. "Take my mind off my troubles, tell me about the office."
"You shouldn't be concerning yourself--"
"Hell, I won't. Work doesn't worry you much when you're dying. I'm just curious."
"Well, I won my case. The Foong brothers are probably going to spend most of the next decade in jail."
"Well done!"
"You always had faith in me."
"I knew you could do it."
"But Brian Kincaid recommended Marvin Hayes as the new supervisor."
"Marvin? Shit! Brian knows you were supposed to get that job."
"Tell me about it."
"Marvin's a tough guy, but slipshod. He cuts corners."
"I'm baffled," Judy said. "Why does Brian rate him so high? What is it with those two--are they lovers or something?"
Milt laughed. "No, not lovers. But one time, years ago, Marvin saved Brian's life."
"No kidding?"
"It was a shoot-out. I was there. We ambushed a boat unloading heroin on Sonoma Beach up in Marin County. It was early one morning in February, and the sea was so cold it hurt. There was no jetty, so the bad guys were stacking kilos of horse on a rubber dinghy to bring them ashore. We let them land the entire cargo, then we moved in." Milt sighed, and a faraway look came into his blue ey
es. It occurred to Judy that he would never see another dawn ambush.
After a moment he went on. "Brian made a mistake--he let one of them get too close to him. This little Italian grabbed him and pointed a gun at his head. We all had our weapons out, but if we shot the Italian, he would probably have pulled the trigger before he died. Brian was really scared." Milt lowered his voice. "He pissed himself, we could see the stain on his suit pants. But Marvin was as cool as the devil himself. He starts walking toward Brian and the Italian. 'Shoot me instead,' he says. 'It won't make any difference.' I've never seen anything like it. The Italian fell for it. He swung his gun arm round to aim at Marvin. In that split second, five of our people shot the guy."
Judy nodded. It was typical of the stories that agents told after a few beers in Everton's. But she did not dismiss it as macho bravado. FBI agents did not often get involved in shoot-outs. They never forgot the experience. She could imagine that Kincaid felt intensely close to Marvin Hayes after that. "Well, that explains the trouble I've been having," she said. "Brian gave me a bullshit assignment, and then, when it turned out to be important, he took it from me and gave it to Marvin."
Milt sighed. "I could intervene, I guess. I'm still SAC, technically. But Kincaid is an experienced office politician, and he knows I'm never coming back. He'd fight me. And I'm not sure I have the energy for that."
Judy shook her head. "I wouldn't want you to. I can handle this."
"What's the assignment he gave Marvin?"
"The Hammer of Eden, the people who cause earthquakes."
"The people who say they cause earthquakes."
"That's what Marvin thinks. But he's wrong."
Milt frowned. "Are you serious?"
"Totally."
"What are you going to do?"
"Work the case behind Brian's back."
Milt looked troubled. "That's dangerous."
"Yeah," Judy said. "But not as dangerous as a goddamn earthquake."
*
Michael wore a navy blue cotton suit over a plain white shirt, open at the neck, and no tie. Had he thrown on this ensemble without a moment's thought, Judy wondered, or did he realize it made him look good enough to eat? She had changed into a white silk dress with red polka dots. It was about right for a May evening, and she always turned heads when she was wearing it.
Michael took her to a small downtown restaurant that served vegetarian Indian dishes. She had never tasted Indian food, so she let him order for her. She put her mobile phone on the table. "I know it's bad manners, but Bo promised to call me if he got any information about stolen seismic vibrators."
"Okay by me," Michael said. "Did you call the manufacturers?"
"Yeah. I got a sales director at home watching baseball. He promised me a list of purchasers tomorrow. I tried for tonight but he said it was impossible." She frowned in annoyance. We don't have much time left--five days, now. "However, he faxed me a picture." She took a folded sheet of paper from her purse and showed it to him.
He shrugged. "It's just a big truck with a piece of machinery on the back."
"But after Bo puts this picture out on CLETS, every cop in California will be watching for one. And if the newspapers and TV carry the picture tomorrow, half the population will be on the lookout, too."
The food came. It was spicier than she was used to but delicious. Judy ate with gusto. After a few minutes she caught Michael looking at her with a faint smile. She raised an eyebrow. "Did I say something witty?"
"I'm pleased you're enjoying the cuisine."
She grinned. "Does it show?"
"Yeah."
"I'll try to be more dainty."
"Please don't. It's a pleasure to watch you. Besides ..."
"What?"
"I like your go-for-it attitude. It's one of the things that attracts me to you. You seem to have a big appetite for life. You like Dusty, and you have a good time hanging out with your dad, and you're proud of the FBI, and you obviously love beautiful clothes ... you even enjoy Cap'n Crunch."
Judy felt herself flush, but she was pleased. She liked the picture he painted of her. She asked herself what it was about him that had attracted her. It was his strength, she decided. He could be irritatingly stubborn, but in a crisis he would be a rock. This afternoon, when his wife had been so heartless, most men would have quarreled, but he had been concerned only for Dusty.
Plus, I'd really love to get my hands inside his jockey shorts.
Judith, behave.
She took a sip of wine and changed the subject. "We're assuming that the Hammer of Eden have data similar to yours about pressure points along the San Andreas fault."
"They must have, to pick the locations where the seismic vibrator could trigger an earthquake."
"Could you go through the same exercise? Study the data and figure out the best place?"
"I guess I could. Probably there would be a cluster of five or six possible sites." He saw the direction her thoughts were taking. "Then, I suppose, the FBI could stake out the sites and watch for a seismic vibrator."
"Yes--if I were in charge."
"I'll make the list anyway. Maybe I'll fax it to Governor Robson."
"Don't let too many people see it. You might cause a panic."
"But if my forecast turned out to be right, it could give my business a shot in the arm."
"Does it need one?"
"It sure does. I have one big contract that just about pays the rent and the bill for my ex-wife's mobile phone. I borrowed money from my parents to start the business, and I haven't begun to pay it back. I was hoping to land another major client, Mutual American Insurance."
"I used to work for them, years ago. But go on."
"I thought the deal was in the bag, but they're delaying the contract. I guess they're having second thoughts. If they back out, I'm in trouble. But if I predicted an earthquake and turned out to be right, I think they'd sign. Then I'd be comfortable."
"All the same, I hope you'll be discreet. If everyone tries to leave San Francisco at the same time, there'll be riots."
He gave a devil-may-care grin that was infuriatingly attractive. "Got you rattled, haven't I?"
She shrugged. "I'll admit it. My position at the Bureau is vulnerable. If I'm associated with an outbreak of mass hysteria, I don't think I could survive there."
"Is that important to you?"
"Yes and no. Sooner or later I plan to get out and have children. But I want to quit by my timetable, not someone else's."
"Do you have anyone in mind to have the children with?"
"No." She gave him a candid look. "A good man is hard to find."
"I imagine there'd be a waiting list."
"What a nice compliment." I wonder if you'd join the line. I wonder if I'd want you to.
He offered her more wine.
"No thanks. I'd like a cup of coffee."
He waved at a waiter. "Being a parent can be painful, but you never regret it."
"Tell me about Dusty."
He sighed. "I have no pets, no flowers in the apartment, very little dust because of my computers. All the windows are closed tight, and the place is air-conditioned. But we walked down to the bookstore, and on the way home he petted a cat. An hour later he was the way you saw him."
"It's too bad. The poor kid."
"His mother recently moved to a place in the mountains, up near the Oregon border, and since then he's been okay--until today. If he can't visit me without having an attack, I don't know what we'll do. I can't go and live in fucking Oregon; there aren't enough earthquakes there."
He looked so troubled that she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You'll work something out. You love him, that's obvious."
He smiled. "Yeah, I do."
They drank their coffee, and he paid. He walked her to her car. "This evening has gone so fast," he said.
I think the guy likes me.
Good.
"Do you want to go to a movie sometime?"
&nb
sp; The dating game. It never changes. "Yes, I'd like that."
"Maybe one night this week?"
"Sure."
"I'll call you."
"Okay."
"May I kiss you good night?"
"Yes." She grinned. "Yes, please."
He bent his face to hers. It was a soft, tentative kiss. His lips moved gently against hers, but he did not open his mouth. She kissed him back the same way. Her breasts felt sensitive. Without thinking, she pressed her body against his. He squeezed her briefly, then broke away.
"Good night," he said.
He watched her get into her car and waved as she drew away from the curb.
She turned a corner and pulled up at a stoplight.
"Wow," she said.
*
On Monday morning Judy was assigned to a team investigating a militant Muslim group at Stanford University. Her first job was to comb computer records of gun licenses, looking for Arab names to check out. She found it hard to concentrate on a relatively harmless bunch of religious fanatics when she knew the Hammer of Eden were planning their next earthquake.
Michael called at five past nine. He said: "How are you, Agent Judy?"
The sound of his voice made her feel happy. "I'm fine, real good."
"I enjoyed our date."
She thought of that kiss, and the corners of her mouth twitched in a private smile. I'll take another of those, anytime. "Me, too."
"Are you free tomorrow night?"
"I guess." That sounded too cool. "I mean, yes--unless something happens with this case."
"Do you know Morton's?"
"Sure."
"Let's meet in the bar at six. Then we can pick a movie together."
"I'll be there."
But that was the only bright spot in her morning. By lunchtime she could no longer contain herself, and she called Bo, but he still had nothing. She called the seismic vibrator manufacturers, who said they had almost completed the list and it would be on her fax machine by the end of the business day. That's another damn day gone! Now we've only got four days to catch these people.
She was too worried to eat. She went to Simon Sparrow's office. He was wearing a natty English-style shirt, blue with pink stripes. He ignored the unofficial FBI dress code and got away with it, probably because he was so good at his job.
He was talking on the phone and watching the screen of a wave analyzer at the same time. "This may seem like an odd question, Mrs. Gorky, but would you tell me what you can see from your front window?" As he listened to the reply, he watched the spectrum of Mrs. Gorky's voice, comparing it with a printout he had taped to the side of the monitor. After a few moments he drew a line through a name on a list. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Gorky. I don't need to trouble you any further. Good-bye."