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Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

exerpts from the novel
The Electronic Windmill

By Pete McKinley



Chapter XVI



��At the first cross street he turned left and headed for Spike Swensen’s house. Spike was general manager of Swensen’s Trucking Corporation whose primary business was moving freight to and from the docks. The last time he had seen Spike and Lenore Swensen was at the Borgias’ wedding reception and he remembered that Lenore had shoved Spike through the front of the building out the large plate glass window. He switched his thoughts to the problem at hand and five minutes later parked in front of the Swensen home. He should have called ahead, he thought, but remembered he hadn’t seen any phones along the way. He walked to the front door and pushed a button. It seemed to be in working order because he heard a lilting chime come from inside. The door opened almost immediately.
��“Cole, darling, come in - how nice to see you,” Lenore Swensen gushed in apparent happy surprise. She was partially covered with a filmy negligee, opened and unbelted, showing an even more filmy nightgown with only Lenore inside. He was acutely conscious of the lightly-covered spiky nipples and lower down, the tantalizingly protruding dark vee. Cole stood outside and thought of the contrast between her platinum hair and the dark spot.
��“Come on in,” Lenore demanded. “It’s getting cold in here.” When he stepped inside she closed the door and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the lips and pressing her body as close as she could get it.
��Cole was too startled to react quickly but finally got her arms from around his neck and sort of held her off while he looked about the hallway and into the rooms beyond. “Where’s Spike?” he asked with some concern.
��“You don’t need to worry about him, he took off for the office an hour ago.” Cole licked his lips and tasted coffee and brandy. “We had a tee-off time at the club for eleven o’clock but it’s like this every weekend and even on holidays and I’m getting damn tired of it,” she complained. “Come on in and sit down - I’m just having coffee.” She held his hand and guided him through two mussed-up rooms into a breakfast area where a table was set for two and an electric coffee pot was bubbling.
��Cole followed cautiously and when he saw the table set-up he asked rather inanely, “Were you expecting someone?”
��“Just you, darling. That’s why I sent Spike off to the office,” and she moved in a little closer.
��Cole backed off. “I wanted to see Spike,” he said. “I should have called but since I was in the neighborhood....” He paused...”I’ll just go on down to his office now,” he said, backing away a little farther.
��“No you won’t. You’ll sit down and have a cup of coffee with me,” she said determinedly, pulling out a chair for him. “A half hour won’t make any difference and you can call Spike from here and tell him you’re on the way.”
��“O.K.,” Cole relented at the prospect of talking to Spike. He moved forward to the table, pulling out a chair and holding it for Lenore in turn. With a curtsying swoop reminiscent of a bunny, she accepted the seat reaching for the coffee and cups while Cole returned to his chair.
��“God, do you remember the night we spent on the beach wrapped in one blanket?” she giggled.
��Cole was a little surprised at her reference to that night since it had never been spoken of before. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. But that was a long time ago. Before you were married,” he added.
��“That’s right,” she said with some asperity. “And nothing as exciting has happened to me since.”
��Cole took a sip of coffee. “Maybe I’d better call Spike and tell him I’m on my way.”
��“You’ve only been here five minutes.” She looked disgusted. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t be home until one or two o’clock - he never comes back before that time when we have a golf date. What did you want to see him about?”
��“I need a truck for about twenty-four hours. I thought maybe he might rent one.”
��“He doesn’t rent trucks but there are plenty of them down there. I’m sure he’ll give you one to use.” She took a deep swallow and set the cup down carefully before she asked, “Are you moving?”
��“No, as I say, I just need it for a little while - in my business.” Then, seeing a phone on a desk in the corner of the room, he jumped up. “I’d better call him and let him know I’ll be down.”
��“Tell him you’ll be there in about an hour. I’ve been dying to talk over old times with you.” Leaving the table on her way to the kitchen she brushed past him, trailing a faint fragrance that he liked, and her body touching his gave off an electric shock.
��“I’ll tell you what,” he said quickly. “I don’t think there’s any need to call him. I’ll just go on down there.”” Hurriedly he replaced the receiver and started for the front door. He had it open and was already sliding out when Lenore grabbed his arm.
��“Damn you, Cole Rain. Don’t you dare leave without having a cup of coffee and chatting with me.”
��“I’m sorry, Lenore,” he said. “But this is really important and we can do all that some other time. Thanks for everything and goodbye for now.”
��The last he heard was, “Goodbye forever, you bastard.”
��He trotted to the car, jumped in, and left the Swensen home for the Swensen’ Trucking Corporation’s offices and yard. As he drove he couldn’t help thinking about the night on the beach. When some of the details really began pressing in on him he decided he better stop thinking about it and concentrate on the plan he wanted to follow. Spike’s car was parked beside a one-story stucco building in the space reserved for the general manager. Cole circled in alongside, slid out and started for the front door when he heard Spike yell:
��“If you’re looking for me, I’m over here.” He looked back and saw Spike leaning against a truck talking with two men. Spike waved and called, “I’ll be right there - go on in and have a chair.”
��Cole signaled and went on into the office. The small lobby was furnished with a lounge and a couple of leather-like plastic-covered chairs. He dropped in one, picked up a magazine, stared at it and continued thinking about what he was going to do. Five minutes later Spike came through the door.
��“Hi, Cole, where you been? Lenore was just asking the other day if I’d run into you recently.”
��“I just saw Lenore,” Cole said easily. “I stopped by the house - should have called first, but I was in the neighborhood and took a chance you’d be there. She’s looking great,” he said. Pausing for only a moment, he went on hurriedly, “But you better get home - she’s anxious to go play golf.”
��“I know it, damnit. Something always comes up just when we’ve got a game planned, but I’ve got to wait around here for about a half hour. We can still go, though. Why don’t you make it a threesome?”
��“Can’t,” Cole said shortly. “I’m like you, always working.”
��“Yeah,” Spike said and took the other chair. “What can I do for you? What did you want to see me about?”
��“I’d like to rent one of your trucks, or maybe just one of those big vans that you leave sitting around down at the docks.”
��“You want a tractor and a semi?” Spike asked.
��“Well, I’ve got a problem. I need to go down on the Embarcadero and be able to see what’s going on and still be inconspicuous - you know, as though I belonged there. I’ve noticed that sometimes you leave your - what do you call them - semis? just parked on the dock.”
��Spike nodded. “Right, sometimes they’re loaded and sometimes they’re waiting to be unloaded. We just drop the landing gear until we’re ready to move them again. But you’d still be conspicuous if you were just loafing around one of those things.”
��“I was wondering if there was someway I could be inside and still see out.”
��“They don’t have any windows or holes in them. How long would you want to be on the dock?”
��“I’m not sure - maybe all night.” And there was a flash-back to the all-night he and Lenore had spent on the beach.
��“Why don’t you drive a tractor down and park it? We’ve got some cab-over engines with a sleeper in back and if anyone saw you they’d just think you were waiting to pick up a load.”
��“That would be great, Spike,” getting back to business. “Do you think that would do it?”
��“The only thing is, you don’t look like a truck driver. You’d have to change your clothes.” Spike didn’t question, knowing that Cole sometimes did crazy things in his business, whatever his business was. He went on: “We’ve got a shower room out back. There’s always plenty of old clothes hanging around. You could change and look exactly like a big rough truck driver,” he grinned.
��Thirty minutes later a cab-over engine diesel tractor looking overburdened with huge rubber-tired wheels rolled slowly out of Swensen’s yard, rhythmically puffing black smoke from an exhaust stack pointing straight up. The man at the controls was wearing boots, baggy pants, an old leather jacket trimmed with brass rivets and a peaked cap that had a round metal button pinned on the side marked STC 23. The rig was unusual in its bigness but was common enough moving towards the dock. The driver, in his shower-room clothes, had lost his identity.
��Cole had been surprised that it had taken less than fifteen minutes to learn to operate the tractor and he had driven cars that weren’t as easy to handle. The dizzying height above the pavement was the most unique sensation. In back of the seat was a bunk with a couple of blankets and best of all, the cab was equipped with a radio phone. Spike had checked him on procedures in calling the special operator to connect directly with any telephone in the country - or out of the country, for that matter. His first thought had been not to chance the wharf until late afternoon but when he checked the mirror and hardly recognized himself and found the tractor easy to operate and loaded with bed and phone, he decided to drive immediately to China Basin Street. Bumping along the Embarcadero, looking down on everything, he saw a one-man sandwich shop with an ‘Open’ sign in the window reminding him he was hungry. Cutting across the imbedded rails in the road he tried to bring the big rig carefully to the curb by pressing the air brakes gently, but the tractor snapped to a stop forcing him against the steering wheel. As he eased on the brakes slightly it coasted in, touching the curb and sat panting like an overgrown puppy. He switched off the engine and climbed down a narrow ladder to the street.
��The sandwich man had been watching through the dirty window and when Cole came in he said, “I can give you eggs any style with ham, bacon, or sausage and a hot stack if you can wait a few minutes.”
��“All I want is a couple of sandwiches to go,” Cole explained.
��“Burger, cheeseburger, ham and cheese, egg - what’ll you have?”
��“Make it one cheeseburger and one ham and cheese grilled. And can I get a coke and a couple of beers to go?”
��“No beer. Can’t afford a license for a small place like this,” the sandwich man said, opening the refrigerator to get burger patties, sliced cheese, and thin ham. “There’s a liquor store down near Fisherman’s Wharf if you’re going that way.”
��“I was going the other direction but while you’re fixing those I might run back down to the Wharf.”
��“O.K. They’ll be ready when you get back.”
��Cole wasn’t sure if trucks were allowed on Fisherman’s Wharf and when he found the liquor store there was no place to park. He doubled in back of a convertible with the top down and since convertibles are a little unusual for San Francisco, especially on a foggy day, he climbed down and checked it. There were a couple of tennis rackets and three cans of balls lying carelessly in back of the bucket seats. It was Larry’s car and Cole assumed Larry was in one of the Wharf restaurants. He went into the liquor store and took a six-pack from the cooler. He placed the beer near the cash register and waited his turn to pay. Coming out of the store carrying the beer, he saw Larry and Kang in the open car. Kang was making a point by drawing a figure in the dust on top of the dash. Larry was shaking his head in disagreement. They both glanced up when he started between the cars to get to the tractor.
��“Is that your truck?” Kang asked in a loud voice.
��“Yeah,” Cole said hoarsely trying to disguise the sound as he climbed on up.
��“You’re only breaking the law three ways,” Larry shouted up disgustedly. “That truck’s illegal here, you’re double parked, and you can’t drink beer in a motor vehicle.”
��They must be in a hurry to get to the courts, Cole thought. “Screw you,” he said shortly, starting the big diesel and moving it on down the street. In the rear view mirror he saw them both scrambling for the convertible and as he turned the corner he stuck out his left hand with middle finger pointed toward the sky. He wasn’t sure if they’d come after him or not. It was too bad they couldn’t help but what he had to do was better done alone.
��The sandwiches and coke were ready in a bag and, placing them on the seat beside him, he opened the diesel up to fifty miles an hour on the deserted Embarcadero. When he reached the basin the Crescent Moon was still being unloaded. She was higher in the water and her prow loomed above the street. He slowed to watch the trucks move on and off the pier and to see the guard at the gate exchange slips of paper with the drivers. The high-boarded storage area with the barbed wire on top was directly across the street, reminding him of the cut hand which still hurt from the barbs ripping it the night before. About fifty feet from the driveway leading to the gate in the fence was a row of parked cargo containers with their landing gear down. He wheeled the tractor in front of them and carefully backed in alongside, and was surprised at how visible everything was from his high perch in the glassed-in cab. He was just as visible, but the meeting with Kang and Larry had given him confidence in his camouflage. If anybody noticed him, they paid no attention, considering the tractor and its operator a natural phenomenon. He selected the still-hot cheeseburger from the sack, opened the coke and set it on the lip of the dash. He took a man-sized bite from the combination bun, meat, cheese, onion and tomato and then a gurgle of coke, relishing it all, and then settled back in the comfortable seat for the long wait.
��Nothing seemed to change about the routine truck movement in front of him and the minutes and hours dragged. The fog lifted some as one, two, and then three o’clock checked off, but there wasn’t a break as he watched and waited. Once a lighter spot in the sky portended a thinning of the overcast but the fog quickly moved in to blot it out. The trucks continued to roll and the guards and drivers continued to pass pieces of paper back and forth. He even wondered idly if there could be heroin concealed in the papers, but seeing them flutter slightly as they were handed about, decided they were clean. He felt sure the paper-passers were clean too. Until Bronte’s report was accepted; clearing the SS crescent Moon, undercover agents were watching the dry clay being sucked up and blown from the holds of the ship into the trucks, and other agents were watching the unloading at the McWhorter Brown plant. And he knew that it didn’t matter a damn. After this last surveillance, with Bronte’s report in, they’d give up. The method for getting dope off the ship was foolproof in its simplicity but if he was right, after the transfer was made this time, the amateurs who had planned it would be trapped in the China Basin Street. Again he went over in his mind the possibilities for moving the stuff out of the area. There were railroads for sure but there were only two exits and if he went overland or even decided on one of the these normal exits he’d be awfully conspicuous and easy to aprehend. Practically the only movement in the basin was motor vehicles of one kind or another. If smuggling was going on, and now he was sure, there was no way to accomplish it other than the method he’d deduced. And yet, some small doubts persisted. He finally decided that thinking on it any more was a waste of time. Now was a time for quiet observation and action when the opportunity came. Suddenly he wished he had bought more coke instead of so much beer. The beer made him sleepy, but then it also made him climb down once in a while to relieve himself between the tractor and the parked semis, breaking the monotony. There had been maybe three cars all afternoon cruise slowly by and he assumed their drivers were either lost or taking a Sunday sightseeing trip along the wharf and somehow had stumbled into the Basin.
��He had just climbed into the cab from his third relief trip and the sky was beginning to darken a little when he saw a panel truck approaching from the left. Leaning back to be less noticeable, he watched it come toward him at a moderate speed. It was a fairly new blue panel truck and he assumed it would go on by, but the driver braked and turned into the gravel drive leading to the fenced storage area. It rolled on up a little way and the lights were switched on. The driver got out and walked to the gate. Sorting through a ring of keys, he inserted one in the bottom of the heavy padlock, took it off the hasp and pushed the gates inward. It was hard to believe, but on the side of the panel truck in large letters ‘JOLLO ALLEYS’ was advertised. It was so damned blatant Cole began to doubt his reasoning again. Either they were stupid or so over-confident of their ingenious plan that they felt no need to conceal the identity of the truck. The driver drove the panel through, stopped again just inside the enclosure, got out to close the gates and bolted them tight. Cole felt better; there had to be a subconscious reason for making the gates that secure since they wouldn’t keep the fog out. It was the only suspicious thing the driver had done and it was so trivial that it would generally go unnoticed. Cole picked up the radio phone and gave the special operator both the numbers Bocana had given him, but Bocana was in the office and answered on the first ring. Bocana sounded more relaxed, as though the pressure were off, but Cole still asked if he should call back with his report.
��“You sound as though you’ve got something,” Bocana said. “Go ahead.”
��While Cole was describing the situation a long black car came into the street from the opposite direction from which the panel had come and pulled up alongside the guard house. Cole’s attention was divided between the telephone conversation and what was happening across the street. Since the trucks were still moving on and off the pier the passengers from the black car were unloading right where they parked. Three couples got out and the men started removing luggage. there was the usual conglomerate of bags and then there were the long narrow gun cases and two square boxes probably containing special shells for the hunting. If anyone in the party could shoot, the Mexican ducks were in for trouble. Cole reported to Bocana that he could see Mike Crowder and his wife and thought he recognized one of the other couples but couldn’t recall their names; he was sure he had never seen the third couple. Mike Crowder had gone on to the pier and now he came back with one of the longshoreman who was pushing a low-wheeled cart. First they placed the two boxes of shells on the cart and then the guns in their cases and finally what luggage it would hold. Leaving the rest of the bags sitting by the car, they followed the longshoreman with the loaded cart and passed out of sight around the corner of the covered pier.
��Cole recounted all of this and then went back to the panel truck and told what he knew about Jollo’s dope connection and his apparent break-away from the syndicate. Then he asked Bocana if he thought the panel truck with ‘JOLLO ALLEYS’ printed on the side was too obvious.
��“Hell no, Cole, it only seems stupid. It’s so obvious it throws you off. I’ll probably owe you an apology. There’s got to be a reason for what’s going on and you’ve got the only logical explanation.”
��“Glad you’re beginning to think so. That’s the way I figured it, but I butted in on you when you’re busy with other things.”
��“Don’t make excuses for me, Cole. What do you want us to do? I’ll alert the local narcotics people and you’ll have all the help you need in thirty minutes.”
��“Not yet,” Cole said hurriedly. “If I’m right, the transfer hasn’t been made and won’t be until tonight. Everything should stay exactly as it is here in the Basin. Later I’ll need people ready to intercept the truck at either end of the street. There’s an intersection of China Basin Street by Mission Rock on the north and by Illinois Street on the South. I believe they’re keeping it very simple. Only one man came in the panel and he’s going to go out that way. But just in case he decides to walk out we should have some people posted on Michigan Street.”
��“Maybe someone should be in the tractor with you,” Bocana suggested.
��“No, don’t do that. I don’t need anybody. I’m not trying to do this all by myself but if anything else unusual moves along this street, it could cause them to change their plans. Oh, and also, whoever is on the intercept should be posted as inconspicuously and naturally as possible.”
��Bocana laughed, “Right, Chief.”
��Cole caught himself before he went on, “Hell, I should try to tell you your business.”
��But Bocana was sincere, “Keep in touch,” he said. “I’ll be here until the super-heist breaks, which might be a week from now.” Then he added, “And good luck.”
��Thanking him for the promised help Cole replaced the transceiver and switched off. Across the street he saw the big black limousine still there, but the rest of the bags were gone. And now the unloading operation seemed to be winding down, he remembered only two trucks rolling out in the last five minutes and none going in. Peering out the side window at the fenced storage area, all he could see beyond the bolted gate was a dim light that must be coming from the shack in the farthest corner of the lot. He settled down and prepared to wait some more.
��It was almost dark now and he imagined Kang and Larry finished with tennis, showered down and sitting in Borgia’s. He decided to drink another beer. Right after he had drained the last drop and tucked the empty back in the carton, he had to relieve himself again. Climbing down he let go but before he was half finished the whole area around him was bathed in sudden blinding light. It was so unexpected that he jerked back too soon and felt the continuing wet flow trickling down his leg. Looking up disgustedly he saw that he was directly under a high bright arc light. To hell with it. Hauling out he tried to start up again but finally decided he was finished for now and climbed back up in the cab and then noticed he was still unzipped. Correcting that, he cursed himself for not having seen the light before parking under it. While he was debating if the tractor should be moved he realized that inside the cab itself there was complete shadow - the light sprayed down on the outside. He decided he was more invisible in this location than he would be if he were parked on either side of the light allowing it to shine through the windows at an angle. Then speculating on whether, if he had seen the light first, would he have been smart enough to pick this very spot directly under it, he finally decided he would have been. It was hard to believe time was passing so slowly. Nothing was stirring, lights were off in the guard’s shack and the big gates to the open pier were closed and chain-locked. Perhaps the guard had moved inside the covered pier because there was now a light coming from a window of the building and shining faintly through the cracks of a door beside it. He assumed anyone coming from or going to the ship would have to go through the building past the guard, but all this idle speculation was getting pretty boring. He rolled down both windows to allow the cold damp air to blow through and bent forward to look up at the fog that had now descended to a point where the top of the ship’s stack was no longer visible. There was nothing to see and, hoping he wouldn’t relax too much, he climbed over the back of the seat and swiveled into the bunk, pulling one of the blankets around him. The cold air would keep him awake and any noise from the outside coming through the open windows would be an alert. If he was correct there wasn’t actually going to be anything to do. It was just a matter of waiting, but there was always the off chance that the smuggler’s plans might be altered in some way, and staying close to the scene of action he could hope that any change would be visible or audible from his outpost.
��The night stood still and he didn’t know how long it was, but the fog finally enshrouded the floodlight overhead and there were wisps of it filtering down almost even with the top of the cab and now the light was dispersed and ghostly. But under the mist he could still see both closed gates; the one to the storage area from the side window and through the windshield to the chained gate closing off the pier. The black limousine was just an outline in front of the covered pier and there was only a faint glow marking the shack at the back of the storage area. After this last check he glanced at his watch and was again surprised to see that the luminous indicators had moved so little.
��The comfortable bunk made him uncomfortable and rolling back into the seat he picked up the transceiver from the radio phone, got the special operator and called Bocana. Bocana was at the office sounding tired but maybe mostly bored.
��“China Basin is sealed off,” he told Cole. “I got a report forty-five minutes after I talked with you that everything you suggested was covered.”
��“Thanks,” Cole said softly. “I wish to hell something would happen. This rig I’m boxed in is getting a little cramped.”
��“This business is ninety percent patience and ten percent action. Try to relax.”
��“That’s one of my problems. I’m getting too damned relaxed.”
��“Well, hell, you’ve got a phone - call your friends. I’m going to be here the rest of the night; keep calling me if you don’t know any girls.”
��After he had hung up Cole decided that Bocana’s suggestion wasn’t too bad so he got the operator back and gave her Pilar’s number and listened to it ring eight times before giving up. Then he began wondering if she might have a date with Virgent Eddington, that stupid bastard. He didn’t try to call anyone else, just let the night stay fixed. The fog never got any lower while he watched and sometime during the night, as he rested his chin on the steering wheel he must have dozed off.



Chapter XVII



��Suddenly, with the first shock of wakefulness from impending disaster, Cole became aware that the scene in front of him was changed. The ship at the dock was distinct in every detail and the fog had lifted and must be two hundred feet above where he sat. Concentrating his gaze on the ship’s bow, he had the feeling that the truck was moving backwards. He watched intently and it came to him that the ship was moving; she was backing out of her berth into the bay and doing it so quietly he hadn’t heard. With some panic he turned to look toward the storage area. The shack was dark but in the first light of day he could just barely see the top of the panel truck. Slight relief trickled through but then he realized that it wouldn’t have made any difference if the truck had got out without him seeing it since there was no way for it to leave the Basin unmolested.
��Either the transfer of the dope had been made or it hadn’t. The ship was sailing and the waiting was over and also he needed to piss again but decided to hold off to watch the ship back slowly into the harbor. She was beginning to turn, showing the length of her, triggering him to reach for the radio phone to call Bocana. Just as he got the operator he heard an engine start somewhere in back of him. In the storage area, the top of the panel truck was no longer visible. He gave the operator the office number and again Bocana answered and this time his voice was tired and full of sleep. Cole explained what was happening.
��“Good. We’re not going to pick him up.” Bocana was wide awake now. “The intercept people have orders only to follow. You may be right about who’s responsible for all this but we need evidence. We’ve alerted a police traffic helicopter to hover by. He’s already up and has reported that the fog is lifting enough for him to operate.”
��While they were going over all the possibilities, Cole watched the gates from the storage area open and the truck slide through. The driver stopped on the outside, got out but didn’t relock the gates, merely closed them.
��Getting back into the truck he drove to the street and turned left. Cole was giving a running account of this and he could hear Bocana relay it to someone else who in turn was in contact with the intercept people. Cole was feeling good and confident and a little less tense although he had never doubted that he was right. Then he thought of Bocana’s double ordeal and his all night vigil and was considerate enough to ask if the major problem Bocana had been working on was resolved.
��“No, nothing has turned up,” he said wearily. “Several false starts in other areas, but nothing at all here.” And then evidently feeling the need to talk to someone, he continued: “Hell, we’ve got airlines, railroads, bus stations, charter plane services, even automobile traffic being checked and that’s the toughest.”
��While Cole listened he could see the SS Crescent Moon out in the harbor picking up speed and heading for the Golden Gate. He let Bocana unwind and then asked: “What about the ship? She’s headed for the Gate and the open sea.”
��“A Coast Guard cutter is trailing along right now,” Bocana explained. “We don’t need to stop her yet. We’ll see what happens here and we can board her later if we have to, even beyond the Gate. I’m requesting...”
��Cole’s thoughts had shifted again and he broke in excitedly, “What was it that was stolen?”
��Bocana was a little slow, “You mean on the case here?”
��“Yes, something damned funny just occurred to me. Can you tell me what it was?”
��“It’s not funny. I can only tell you it’s a top secret weapon.”
��“But it must be pretty important with all the hell it’s causing. Is it a nuclear weapon?”
��“I would presume so,” Bocana said cautiously. “I understand part of the missing items came from the Atomic Energy Proving Grounds in Nevada and part from a defense laboratory here in California. Sorry, I couldn’t tell you more about it even if I knew.”
��“Are these items small enough so that they could be carried by one person?” Cole insisted.
��“I suppose so, at least by a couple of people,” Bocana admitted. “Now that you think you’ve got your problem solved do you want to solve ours too?” he asked with only slight amusement.
��“Listen, Thad, believe it or not, maybe I can help. This is the damnedest thing and it all ties together.” He hesitated, trying to think how to put it.
��“You mean the dope smuggling and the theft of top secret weapons is somehow connected?” Bocana asked.
��“That’s exactly what I mean.”
��“Let me have it if you’ve got something,” and Bocana’s voice conveyed his new respect for Cole.
��Cole’s explanation was fast but complete and from the beginning. He told about Pilar Jones and the fact that she was working on the design model of a small nuclear weapon and then of her status with Rain, Carver, Shu-li and Jones. He explained how her services had been requested by a young scientist whom she had known in college. And as things began to fall in place Cole became even more convinced of what he was suggesting.
��Then the name he’d been seeking popped out. “Glass did some kind of work or performed a service for McWhorter Brown,” he said. “And I think he took a vacation on the Crescent Moon one time, or at least what was ostensibly a vacation. That’s the name....Cecil Glass.” Then he reverted to Pilar’s work for McWhorter Brown and the fact that she and Glass had become reacquainted there. Glass had asked her to do some design work on a nuclear weapon that was top secret. After her clearance, probably by the FBI, she had accepted the assignment and as far as he knew was still working on it. In fact, he was sure she was still devoting part of her time to it.
��“And you think the weapon they’re working on is the one that was stolen?” Bocana asked.
��“I don’t know,” Cole said. “But there’s a hell of a lot going on that suggests it could be.”
��“Well, assuming that it is,” Bocana said logically, “how does that help us find out where it is and who took it? Are you suggesting that one of your partners was in on the heist?”
��“No, I’m not,” Cole said confidently, and then remembered he’d been unable to reach Pilar by phone. “I’m sure Pilar Jones has nothing to do with it. But I told you about the people that came in the black limousine last night and the luggage they unloaded and took on board. The gun cases and what I assumed were shotgun shells in boxes....”
��Bocana broke in a little impatiently, “Hell, Cole, you said they were going hunting. Why wouldn’t they have guns and shells?”
��“But that’s the point. The ship’s a perfect way out of the country. It’s always leaving with passengers going hunting and loaded down with guns and shells. Anybody seeing them go aboard with a small arms arsenal wouldn’t suspect a damn thing.”
��“O.K., Cole, why so you suspect anything?” The crackle had gone out of Bocana’s voice and he sounded weary again.
��“It just came to me who one of the other couples were getting on the ship with the Crowders last night, that I didn’t recognize,” Cole said slowly.
��“Who were they?” Bocana asked.
��“Cecil Glass and his wife. I only met them once at the entrance of Borgias. I know now that they’d been having dinner with the Crowders. They had forgotten their theatre tickets and were going home to get them. Later I met the Crowders inside the restaurant and they told me they were going to the theatre with some people who had forgotten the tickets and had just left to pick them up. It all ties in. There’s too much to be coincidental.”
��“You might have something.” Bocana was short and crisp again, going up and down like a yo-yo.
��“Let me call Pilar,” Cole said hastily. “She sees Glass almost every day. I want to find out if she knows he’s taking a vacation.” He was also praying that the call would find her home in bed.
��“That should help pin it. I’ll get things moving here. Call me right back,” Bocana said and hung up.
��Cole switched off and then on again and began signalling the special operator. She was there on the second signal and he gave Pilar’s number and then sat tensely waiting through the faint rings. It rang five times before he heard Pilar’s low voice.
��“Hello.”
��“Pilar?”
��“Yes.” She paused. “Is this Cole?”
��“This isn’t a social call,” he said. “Although I wish to hell it were.”
��“You mean we’re doing business before breakfast?” she asked.
��He asked his own question. “Are you still working on the aiming mechanism for the nuclear weapon?”
��She was evidently getting her thoughts together. “The design work’s over. We’ve got a test model and it should be demonstrated either today or tomorrow. Is that really why you called to ask me that?”
��Again he ignored her question. “Will Cecil Glass be there?”
��“Yes, he’s setting up the demonstration.”
��“Thanks, Pilar. Go back to sleep.”
��Pilar took the receiver from her ear and brought it around and rested it on the pillow where she could look at it. A minute later she replaced it, closed her eyes, but couldn’t go to sleep.
��In the cab of the tractor Cole was reporting to Bocana what he’d learned from Pilar. When he finished, Bocana asked, “How well do you know these people?”
��“I think I know Crowder pretty well. As I said, I met Glass only once but have heard about him off and on from Pilar.”
��“Hold it a minute,” Bocana said. “We’ve already asked the Coast Guard to pick up the ship and talk to her.”
��Cole could hear voices in the background and Bocana saying something and then he was back on the radiophone.
��“It’s pretty well confirmed,” he said matter-of-factly. “We have a report from the Coast Guard that they signalled the ship. The ship told them to standoff, denying their request. The Coast Guard made a second demand that they haulto. This also was refused and they told the Coast Guard to stay clear or suffer the consequences. We’ve given an order that they’re to stay clear but keep her in radar range.”
��“But hell, isn’t there some way you can stop her?”
��“Not if you’re right. Not without endangering the lives of everybody aboard, not to mention the possible destruction of the Coast Guard cutter. I understand there are innocent people on the ship - probably most of the crew and the harbor pilot hasn’t been taken off yet.” Then he added, “If you’re wrong there’s no need to stop her.”
��Cole ignored this last comment. “Can you get in radio contact with her from your office?”
��“We’re trying, but no luck so far. The Coast Guard communicated by radio so we’re assuming the operator aboard must either be part of the group or under their control.”
��“I’d like to talk with Mike Crowder,” Cole said.
��“For what reason?”
��“I don’t know exactly but all this doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense and he seems like a reasonable guy. Maybe something would come out of talking with him.”
��“You couldn’t do it very well from where you are. Unless we get counterorders we’re going to let her go. Wait a second.”
��Three minutes later Bocana came back. “We don’t seem to have any alternatives. Do you really want to try talking to Crowder?”
��“Sure. It can’t do any harm.”
��“Are you still in the Basin?”
��“Yes.”
��“How long would it take you to get to the heliport at the Ferry Building?”
�� “With this rig....between five and ten minutes.”
��“Get there and we’ll have a traffic control helicopter pick you up. It’s loaded with communication equipment.”
��Before Cole could answer, Bocana cut him off. For a minute he forgot how to start the diesel and then he saw the keys still in the ignition. He fired the engine, got her rolling and raced down China Basin Street. Coming into the Embarcadero he pressed the throttle to the floor. Traffic was light and the only thing he passed was a black and white police car coming from the opposite direction. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw it wheel around in back of him. His only reaction was to try to push the throttle through the floor. As the Ferry Building loomed ahead he could hear the siren and see the red flashes almost directly behind his high perch. At the last moment he jammed on the airbrakes and braced himself as the tractor skidded to a halt in front of the building. The police car swerved and blurred past the window wildly weaving a hundred yards beyond before it shuddered to a screeching halt. Cole was already on the ground running for the heliport and as he sprinted past the last corner the chopper was gently settling down in the marked-off landing space. The rotors continued to turn slowly and the door opened when Cole ran up to scramble in. The pilot didn’t comment, just reached across and locked the door as he manipulated the lift-off. Looking down Cole could see two heavy-set cops trot into view gesticulating with hands moving palms downward, signalling that the chopper should land again.
��The young police pilot grinned at Cole. “You might have some explaining to do when we get back.”
��“I’m glad you said ‘when’.” Cole grinned too.
��The dock, the bay, and the city sank and swayed away below. The chopper banked towards the Gate and Cole saw that the tops of the bridge towers extended up into the fog. The pilot was talking to someone on the ground and when he replaced the mike he swiveled to Cole and pointed up.
��“We’ll go through this, it’s not very thick. Farther out there’s even less ceiling but it’s more broken.”
��Cole looked ahead trying to spot the Crescent Moon but could see nothing on the water but some small fishing boats heading out. Suddenly a swirling light gray surrounded them and a few seconds later they popped on top of the thin layer of fog into a blue morning sky. The sun was in back of them, low on the eastern horizon. Going west the chopper flew directly between two dark areas, barely discernible in the white blanket below, that marked the location of the bridge towers. Peering through the plastic bubble Cole saw the tops of the coast protruding north and south above the fog. The pilot, searching in a tray beside his seat, came up with a pair of dark glasses similar to ones he was wearing and handed them to Cole. The glare from the morning sun on the white mass below was reduced. The chopper hunted slightly from side to side while maintaining an approximate altitude of a thousand feet above the fog as they whirled westward.
��“How did you know I was the guy you were supposed to pick up?” Cole raised his voice slightly, addressing the pilot’s right ear.
��“I was told you’d be coming down the Embarcadero in a diesel tractor, but I didn’t believe it until I saw you park and get out. What’s this all about?” the pilot asked. “Why is part of the department chasing you and I’m ordered to give you a ride and follow a ship we can’t see?”
��“It’s a long story,” Cole said. “Don’t you know anything of what’s going on?”
��“I guessed that a ship is being hijacked and that I’m supposed to get you in direct radio contact if I can. I’ve got their frequency and I’ve heard them talking to the Coast Guard. What did they steal, a ballteship? I understand the big chief asked the Coasty Guard to back off.”
��“It’s not a battleship but it’s presumed they do have some powerful authority aboard. I know some of the people and volunteered to talk to them. Do you think you can get me in contact?”
��“I’ll try. We should be at the point where the harbor pilot will be dropped off.”
��The pilot put the chopper in a long slow circle, switched on the radio, adjusted the frequency, picked up the transceiver and placed one end of it to his ear. Pressing the button in the center he said something into the mouthpiece. Cole couldn’t hear what was said but assumed the pilot was trying to raise the ship. The pilot called for several minutes and finally he was listening to someone and then he said something else and handed the transceiver to Cole. “Do you know how to operate this?” he asked. “Hold the button down while you’re talking and release it when you want to receive.”
��Cole nodded; this type of equipment was in his own plane except he generally used a speaker to receive. In this case he decided it would be better if the receiving were private. He pressed the button. “SS Crescent Moon, this is Cole Rain in a chopper approximately a thousand feet above your present position. Do you read me? Over.” There was a long wait and Cole was ready to repeat when:
��“We read you, Rain. Why are you following us and what do you want?”
��“I’m a friend of Mike Crowder’s. I’d like to speak with him. Is he available? Over.”
��“I’d have to check that.” The voice sounded negative.
��“I’d appreciate your checking with Mike. Please ask him to talk with me. I’d also appreciate your maintaining radio contact while you check. Standing by.”
��Cole glanced at the pilot and nodded his head. “It looks O.K.,” he said. “Waiting for my friend.” The pilot merely blinked his eyes and continued to circle.
��Mike must have been in the radio cabin all the time because they made less than one circle when Cole heard his voice.
��“This is Crowder calling Rain in the police chopper. Do you read me?”
��“Loud and clear, Mike. How do you know I’m in a police chopper?”
��“What else would be following us? Unless you’ve enlisted in the Air Force.”
��“You were right the first time, Mike.”
��“I thought so. I’m waiting to hear why.”
��“They want to question you about smuggling.” Cole hit him with the lesser charge.
��“Me? Why would they want to question me? Smuggling what?”
��“Probably heroin, Mike, but maybe cocaine or some other hard drug.”
��“You’re hallucinating, Cole. I’ve known for a long time that the ship was suspected of smuggling but no trace was ever found.” Then in true surprise he said, “I didn’t suspect you of being part of the fuzz.”
��“Mike, I’m not. But to explain it would take a long time. I’ll admit I was looking for evidence. How I found it was pretty accidental.” Cole noticed that they had stopped circling and were heading west. He couldn’t judge their speed but was aware that the SS Crescent Moon was one of the fastest cargo vessels in the Pacific.
��“It’s been nice talking to you, Cole, but I’ve got other things to do and we’re outside the terrirorial waters of the United States, or soon will be, so I’m going to close down this conversation.”
��“Hold it, Mike. Let me tell you what we know for sure. We know that you refused to talk with the Coast Guard and then refused to stop. What you must know is that they’re keeping you within radar range.”
��“They have no reason to stop us,” Mike broke in.
��“Wait, Mike I’ll hurry it up. The dope was flown in from the ship.”
��“You’re crazy.”
��“No, wait. You were evidently desperate for money for some other project.” Cole decided to hint at the major charge. “And that’s why you did it. While the ship was tied up at the dock you sent those little plastic ducks winging over China Basin Street, in the dark, through the fog and rain; which was the best cover you could get, and landed them in that fenced-in storage area directly opposite.”
��“You’re crazy,” Mike said again, but it was weaker this time.
��“You had those plastic ducks all over the ship as ornaments and some even made up as decoys. The Mexican manufacturers didn’t know what you were doing with them. They thought they were producing a toy and I saw the toy in Golden Gate Park, and watched it fly straight as an arrow, even when a little kid threw it on the end of a springy stick.” He had to hurry to get it all said. “You scooped the insides out of the ducks and filled them with half a pound of dope, resealed the seam, which is a simple process, and launched them through your forward stateroom window. The same as you sailed out clay pigeons with that funny mechanism you had on board that you were always fiddling with and repairing in your cabin.” Cole paused, “Are you listening, Mike?”
��“Listening and laughing, but go ahead.”
��“You had the perfect setup to use all that paraphernalia - the plastic ducks, the clay pigeon launcher, the hunters as camouflage. It was amateurish but it was so damn innocent looking. It took a series of coincidences to put it all together.”
��“But you did it,” Mike came in.
��“You got overconfident. You even got Jollo overconfident. The police right now are picking up Jollo along with his panel truck and the million dollars or so worth of stuff you flew in last night in all the little ducks. Why don’t you make a one-eighty, Mike, and come on back - you have no chance of getting away with this.”
��“Sorry, Cole, I wouldn’t admit anything to you. But to demure to your wild imaginings - suppose they were true - we’re beyond the jurisdiction of the United States and we have no intention of turning back. So goodby, Cole. Over and out.”
��Cole pressed the button and shouted, “Hold it, Mike. That’s only half the story - the minor half. You and your friends carried stolen property on board last night - a gun that fires rocket-propelled bullets with a nuclear warhead. You’d better talk about this, Mike. Over.”
��He looked down and could see through the thinning fog to the dark sea below, but nothing moved on the surface. He worried that he’d been cut off and that Mike might not have heard the last charge. It didn’t occur to him any more that he could be wrong about the stolen nuclear gun. He was sure now that it was on the Crescent Moon, but even if it was, what could be accomplished by talking with Mike? He glanced at the pilot and was about to ask him to try raising the ship again when out of the corner of his eye he caught a ghostly white shape moving under the broken mist a thousand yards to the south. He pointed to his left and down and the pilot immediately picked her up and nodding, banked the whirlybird in the direction of the ship. It was only a matter of minutes to get on her tail. Cole glanced at their airspeed and was sure, even with a headwind, that the ship was beyond her cruising speed making knots at full throttle. She was a pattern of white against the blue sea with lacy white lines angling from her bow and white bubbles churning up from her stern.
��Cole had just decided to ask the pilot to drop down on a level with the ship’s deck to try to get their attention when Mike’s voice came back. It was hollow and wary now.
��“You’re babbling, Cole. You’re not making any sense to us. What are you trying to say?” But he didn’t sound as though he really wanted to know.
��Cole was thinking hard before answering and seemed absorbed in starding at the gray smoke streaming from the ship’s stack and listening to the rotor blades swishing overhead. He was conscious of the calm sea, the thin fog imparting the look of a ship gliding as in a dream, and he knew he’d been through it all before. Doubts nudged him; maybe it wasn’t true. His stomache ached and his mouth was dry. Gripping the transceiver tightly, he closed his eyes and pressed the button.
��“You and your friends have stolen United States property. It consists of top-secret equipment that gives your country a breakthrough in tactical nuclear defense. The contraband is on board the SS Crescent Moon and you’re taking it out of the country for your own personal gain.” Cole said this with slow cold conviction, and then his voice became harsh with urgency. “The international waters you’re in won’t protect you from this criminal act. You have only a few minutes of initiative left. Use it wisely, Mike. Over.”
��Cole held the receiver to his ear but all he could hear was a faint hum as he waited for Mike to answer. A minute went by and the ship sailed almost exactly due west. The chopper maintained a position of a hundred yards off her stern with an altimeter reading of four hundred feet. Again Cole had almost decided to break the silence when there was a flow of static and he heard a new voice.
��“We still do not understand what you are trying to say.”
��Cole was sure it was Cecil Glass speaking. “You know exactly what I’m saying, Mr. Glass. You’ve committed criminal acts against your country and your people. Had they been perpetrated against almost any other people in the world, your chance to talk would have been long gone.”
��“Now you’re trying to frighten us, Mr. Rain. If what you’re saying were true, we could wipe you out of the sky in an instant.”
��“Yes, I’ve thought of that, and it’s not that comfortable sitting up here talking to you knowing what you’ve done.” Then a thought popped, “But I’m still willing to drop aboard to talk anytime you people come to you senses.”
��“And if we refuse to discuss it and go our merry way, are you telling me that the great government of the United States and all its little people would try to destroy this ship - just for something that you suspect?” The voice dripped venom and sarcasm. “And even to be so ridiculous as to suppose you were right about your fantastic nuclear weapon, you can’t be accusing everybody aboard this ship. Some of us are certainly innocent of your stupid accusations. By the way, we still have the harbor pilot on board.”
��“You’re the one who’s scaring the hell out of me, Mr. Glass.” Cole made a quick decision. “If my opinion is of any comfort to you I’d lay odds that the commander-in-chief of the United States armed forces wouldn’t order that you be blown out of the water - even though the Air Force could do it with impunity. As you suggest, there might be innocents aboard.”
��“You sound like a true redblooded American patriot, Mr. Rain. Mike Crowder’s got the wrong impression of you. He believes you think for yourself.”
��“I’m just beginning to realize how much of a patriot I am, and the distorted thinking of your group doesn’t appeal to me worth a damn.”
��“As you realize, Mr. Rain, it seems we have the upper hand - so we’ll continue on our way.”
��Cole was thinking desperately of a way to resolve the impasse. They were many miles from shore and getting further away by the minute. The pilot was maintaining the chopper’s position in relation to the ship and seemed to be unconcerned as to what was going on. Cole’s racing mind wondered what the pilot’s reaction would be if he could listen in on the conversation and then again he spoke to the ship. “You have the upper hand at the moment, but with our sure knowledge of what you’ve done, you won’t escape forever.”
��“We may have stronger protection in the future,” Glass countered.
��“You mean you plan to turn the weapon over to an opposition government? If you do, don’t change your mind and try to retrieve it later. In this same situation with any opposition government you and any innocent comrade party members would last only as long as it took to get a missile on you.”
��“If we give anything to an opposition government, as you call it, we won’t want it back.”
��“That would be very wise of you. In fact, that’s the wisest thing you’ve said so far.” There was no answer and Cole waited, but he couldn’t wait too long. “Let me come aboard,” he urged. “Your plans are all shot to hell anyway. What can you lose? Maybe we can work a compromise.”
��“You mean throw ourselves on the mercy of the United States government?”
��“Think about it. You’d do a lot better here than where you’re going - now that the word is out.” There was another long pause and Cole was just about to break in again when Glass came back and asked warily, “How would you propose to get aboard?”
��“From the chopper. I think there’s a rig that can lower me down to the deck.”
��The pilot had turned his head and was looking questioningly and Cole realized that he had been overheard; at least some of his conversation had filtered to the pilot.
��“Do you have a winch and a cable that could drop me down on the deck?” Cole pointed below.
��“There’s a winch but the cable rig is back in the barn. I didn’t think I’d need it.”
��“I didn’t either,” Cole admitted wryly. “How long do you think it would take to get it? We must be thirty or forty miles from home.”
��“It would take all of an hour or more. We’d have to refuel and then catch up again.”
��Cole pressed the button. “I’m sure I can get permission from my end to come aboard and talk but we’ll have to go back and pick up the equipment to lower me to the deck. If you’ll stay on this frequency, I’ll get clearance and report back to you in forty-five minutes. Give me an hour,” he corrected.
��“We would expect you to come alone, Cole.” It was Mike’s voice again. “Just you and the pilot in a single chopper. We don’t want anything else in the sky or on the sea. Do you understand?” This time his voice was hard and uncompromising and then, as an afterthought, “What assurances can you give us that this will be done just as I’ve described it?”
��“My word, Mike. That’s all I’ve got. If the authorities won’t agree to my coming aboard on your terms, I’ll wash out of it.”
��“Can I trust you?” Mike asked.
��Cole’s laugh released some of his tension. “The only answer I’ve got is, yes. The decision is now yours.”
��The chopper whirled on lazily. The white ship below slipped cleanly through the blue water still trailing an angry white wake. The last traces of fog were almost gone and on the vast spread of ocean way off to the horizon there was no other visible object. Where the sky took over it all merged into a huge dome of lighter blue. Nothing moved in it. Far to the north he could see small fluffy white clouds. Suddenly, the receiver crackled again.
��“O.K., Cole. We’ll take your word, and we’ll leave this frequency open for one hour.”
��“Will you maintain this course?” Cole asked.
��“I’m not promising that,” Mike said. “I’m sure you can find us if you’re sincere.”
��“Roger. I’ll get back to you in less than an hour if I can. Over and out for now.”
��Cole dropped the transceiver in his lap and switched on the overhead speaker in case the ship wanted to call back. The pilot again looked at him questioningly.
��“Let’s head for the barn,” Cole said.
��The pilot moved the controls and the chopper went into a tight turn. Cole watched the sun’s rays creep into the plastic bubble and when they were slanting into his eyes, just slightly south of their course, the pilot established a level straight-on heading, tilting the rotor blades forward. Their speed picked up as they made for San Francisco. Both, settling back for the run home, had for the first time, a chance to appraise each other.
��“My name is Cole Rain. Sorry I didn’t think to mention it before.”
��“I’ve been wondering who you were. I’m Kevin McDowell,” the pilot said with a slight burr extending his hand. Cole took it and they grinned at each other.
��“Are we going to pick up the cable rig and then come back and put you aboard?” Kevin McDowell asked.
��“I think so, but I’ll have to check first.”
��“Do you want me to radio in to your people?”
��“I’d like to keep this frequency open to the ship. We might as well wait until we get to the hangar and I can call while you’re refueling and putting the equipment aboard.”
��“Right,” Devin McDowell said, squinting ahead through his dark glasses trying to shut out the slanting rays of the sun.
��Cole listened to the faint cracklings of the overhead speaker, turned it up a little and then settled back to think. Would Bocana want him to go aboard, he wondered? If he got the okay, what the hell could he say to Crowder and Glass and the others that would induce them to turn back? There had to be others. At least the other couple that had arrived with them in the black limousine had to be part of the group. Were the captain and crew in on it too? Or were they completely unaware of the deadly cargo they carried? If they were not aware, were they being forced to comply with Mike’s orders or were they accepting his authority as an executive of McWhorter Brown? The captain was in complete tactical command at sea but would he sail to Cuba or China if Mike so ordered?
��Both Mike Crowder and Cecil Glass had been jarred loose from their teeth when he had mentioned the nuclear rifle. And in their present state of shock the sooner he got back to them the better. His chance of success, of at least retrieving the weapon and ammunition, would diminish with the passage of each hour, he thought. During all his pondering upon the action he was about to take, he hadn’t considered his own personal peril, or, if he were unsuccessful, how he might be returned from the ship after he once got aboard.
��Kevin McDowell tapped him on the arm, pointing ahead to the coastline. The fog was mostly dissipated over the distant land but there was still a thin broken layer below them that extended only to the water’s edge. The Golden Gate Bridge was visible in the distance to the left and the shadowed green Coast Range covered the horizon as far north and south as could be seen. Kevin McDowell established a heading that would take them directly over the center of the city.
��“Holy Mother of Jesus’” Kevin McDowell choked out in an awed voice as he crossed himself and turned to Cole Rain.
��Cole was staring straight ahead in horrified bewilderment. The sun that had been so brilliant before had taken on the look of a full moon and the surrounding sky seemed dark from a scintillating brightness of light eminating from someplace behind them. Kevin McDowell, reacting to the terror in front of him, turned the chopper sharply back on its course. To the west a hundred fiery suns were boiling up from the shattered sea and as their position in the sky became completely reversed, that first incredibly intense light flashed again. They both snapped their eyes closed and threw their arms up to cover them but the burning searing brightness was everywhere.
��“Go back!” Cole screamed. “For God’s sake, turn her back!”
��But this time Kevin McDowell reacted instinctively and the whirling ship was already in a violent turn. The terrifying yellow, red and purple inferno was finally in back of them again but the scene to the east was just as grotesquely repellent in the macabre light. The white wispy fog, the orange bridge, the blue sea, the white and red-roofed city, and the dark green hills, were all something different. The colors had been twisted tortuously until their earthly shapes were diabolical and the churning light moving into them created obscene forms. The once familiar landscape ceased to exist as it was bombarded by radiations from the west.
��“What the hell’s happening?” Kevin McDowell shouted.
��Cole shook his head in disbelief. “They exploded,” he shouted back. “We ought to get the hell out of here.”
��Before he finished his shout the first hot blast hit them and they were driven deep into their seats as the chopper pushed forward and up. The booming, moaning sound engulfing them was almost unbearable and they watched the altimeter in dismay as it spun past two thousand, three thousand and through five thousand feet. Cole straining forward checked vibrating rotors that looked like the whirling skeletal ribs of a giant umbrella turned inside out, the fabric blown away in a super typhoon. While he watched, the end of a blade broke off, twisting down in front of them. The shaking became even more intense and the hurtling speed increased as the chopper suddenly reached the top of its upward surge and began to plunge toward the sea.
��Concentrating directly ahead Kevin McDowell said calmly, “I’ll try to make the beach. We can set her down there.”
��“Not the beach,” Cole screamed in his ear. “Go beyond to the highest ground try to make the park get her down on the highest point you can find.”
��Kevin McDowell frowned before a stricken look of horrible understanding seeped over his face. The mass of water was already on its way. Unsuspecting people on the beach or close to it would be swallowed up by the sea. He continued working to halt the chopper’s downward plunge and to guide it to some uninhabited high ground. Within seconds they passed the water’s edge and crossed a sandy beach. Only a few people were visible and most of them were hurrying inland. Seeing a little boy running toward the beach Cole screamed futilely for him to go back, and at that moment the chopper was jarred by an impact with something reaching above the trees. Whatever it was hit on the pilot’s side breaking the chopper’s wild plunge and then they were crashing and ripping into the stunted windblown trees below. Cole was hurtled forward, his head smacking cruelly against the crash pad. Kevin McDowell was already dead, impaled on a piece of splintered wood that had thrust through the side of the chopper when it failed to clear an extended arm of the old windmill down by the beach.





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