exerpts from the novel
The Electronic Windmill
By Pete McKinley
Chapter XIX
Less than seven hours later Cole struggled from his coma of sleep to escape the brilliant inferno rising from out of the sea that threatened to swallow him. A harsh white light beat down on his upturned fact. Groaning and covering his eyes he left the terrifying dream and finally pushed to a seat on the side of the bed. Squinting around through the glare he saw a short fat guy standing in the center of the room.
“Sorry if I startled you,” the short fat guy said. “Doc thought it would be all right if I brought you some food. Doc said after fatigue like yours you probably shouldn’t sleep too long at one stretch anyway.”
Cole felt of the bandage on his head and of the cool damp skin around it. “What time is it?” he croaked.
The short fat man placed a couple of sacks on the table and curving his left arm, pulled back the sleeve of an expensive sport jacket exposing a watch. “It’s not quite eight,” he said. “I brought some cheeseburgers and beer figuring you’d like them better than the chow you get in this Joint.
“What I need most is a drink of water and a john.” Cole got off the bed and went to the bathroom, fairly steady this time. He filled a paper cup from the dispenser and drank and then did it all over. Relieving himself with the door still open he washed and dried his hands and then walked back to the bed and sat on the edge again. “How about turning that light on in the corner,” he said to the short fat man and when it was on he reached over and switched off the overhead light. “Who are you? You didn’t come by just to feed me, did you?”
“My name is Tuperman. I’m with the Enquirer.” He opened one of the sacks and placed four sandwiches wrapped in transparent plastic on the table. “Do you like cheeseburgers and beer? I brought a six pack.”
“Great. I haven’t had a cheeseburger and a cold beer since before the cataclysm.”
“That’s it. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Tuperman said.
“About it?” Cole asked. “Were you out of town?”
“I was sound asleep. I woke up just about like you did a few minutes ago. When I dressed and got to the paper, it was something like wild. No one knew exactly what had happened or what might follow. But after the first hour everybody started to guess, especially the hams on television. You got to give them credit though. Some of them really expected to be turned into cinders at any minute but they wouldn’t give up their place in front of the camera for hell or high water and we were having both.”
“How was the town?” Cole asked, “How did people take it?”
“After the tangle on the bridges, which was a nightmare, everybody wanted to go back from where he came. Oh sure, the first shock caused a lot of people to run around crazy-eyed screaming ‘What is it?’ But then they settled down in front of their television sets and took it pretty calm. Except along the coast the city itself is in fairly good shape. The water in the bay was raised quite a bit but it wasn’t hit like the beaches with a solid wall of water.”
“What was the damage along the coast?”
“Millions and millions of property damage but the latest, less hysterical figure, is probably somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand killed or drowned.”
“God, I was hoping it wouldn’t be that bad.”
“I looked at it from the air,” Tuperman continued, and my first estimate was at least ten thousand dead. You couldn’t believe the things that happened to people and the way they worked to help each other. Are you ready for another cheeseburger and beer?”
“Might as well - no use wasting them.”
“Have you seen the paper?” Tuperman asked and pulled some folded newsprint from his side pocket. “Eight sheets. We got this out A C.”
“What do you mean A C?”
“’After the Cataclysm’. You named it.”
“You pick up words fast,” Cole said as he glanced through the paper. The front page was a photograph of the cataclysm. There were no headlines just the paper’s normal format and then the picture.
Tuperman anticipated the question. “A birdwatcher up on Twin Peaks with his expensive camera and telephoto lens. It was all of thirty minutes before we had it in the lab.”
Cole leafed through the rest of the paper shuddering at the scenes of devastation. He quickly scanned some of the first-hand accounts that wouldn’t be believed if you hadn’t been there. On page five there was a photograph of a building that fronted on Market Street near Powell. He remembered having seen a banner over the door, printed in big letters, BAN THE BOMB. In the picture a smaller sign had been placed on the window:
Norm&Norma, Numerologists
Have relocated. Planned return 2/2/2222
On the last page he saw his picture and an account of the arrest of Jollo and three accomplices for illegal possession of ten million dollars worth of heroin.
“Is this the item you wanted me to see?” he asked, pointing to his outdated photograph.
“Yes, that’s one of them. I was responsible for getting that in the paper,” Tuperman said.
“I’m a little surprised you managed with only eight sheets and all the other news you had to print.”
“Believe it or not, we needed a fill in. Eight pages is a lot of news when you’re hurrying to get on the street. There are no ads or sports included.” He looked at Cole speculatively. “But I’m interested in your reaction to the wild stories with their explanations of the cataclysm.”
“I only read completely through the one about China testing its first nuclear warhead missile that went astray and damned near wiped out San Francisco,” Cole said. “I thought the reporter’s demand that the President order one of our missiles dropped near Shanghai was pretty equitable thinking.”
“Yeah, well, there’s another story speculating that the Russians actually pinpointed a missile as a warning of what we could expect if and when trouble starts. This writer demands that the President immediately have all nuclear systems, offensive and defensive, dismantled and put to peaceful use as a show of good faith.”
“I don’t think there’s any question, that if the President did as suggested, it would show good faith,” Cole said.
“But the one I like best,” Tuperman said, “is the one about a munition ship having just left the harbor and once outside, ran into some sort of trouble and blew up.” He paused, studying Cole. “And I think you know something about it.”
Cole couldn’t think of any real reason why he shouldn’t tell Tuperman what he knew; but then again, he couldn’t think of any real reason why he should. Ever since the short fat man had switched on the overhead light jarring him awake and offering to feed him, something in his manner had grated on Cole. A couple of times he’d felt like belting him for no apparent reason at all, but now looking at him Cole could understand how people might hesitate to hit the short fat fellow.
“Give me the story and your picture will be on the front page of every paper in the country,” Tuperman interrupted Cole’s thoughts. “It’ll be the biggest story since the fire and quake.”
“The earthquake and fire,” Cole corrected. And immediately decided he should not tell Tuperman what he knew. Trying to think now how he would eventually tell the story, it came to him that the truth wasn’t nearly as plausible as some of the bullshit in the paper. Tuperman wouldn’t believe him anyway. Hell, it was hard for him to believe and he’d gone through it. “What makes you think I know anything about the cataclysm?” he asked.
“A lot of little things. The guy that brought the story in about Jollo’s arrest and the heroin find said the stuff was smuggled off a ship.” Then he suddenly asked, “It was the ship that blew up, wasn’t it?” And he tried to level a wavering gaze on Cole.
“Look, Tuperman,” Cole said becoming weary of the sparring, “Your name is Rafe, isn’t it? I’ve seen your column.”
“That’s right - ‘Life with Rafe’.”
“O.K., Rafe. I’m not interested at the moment in talking about what I know. I’ve been mostly either unconscious or asleep since it happened and I want to think about it and get things straight in my mind. When I do that and if anybody is still interested, you’ll be among the first to know,” and he stressed the ‘among’.
“Look, Rain, you don’t understand. I picked up your story and traced you here. I want an exclusive and it’s worth something to me and my paper. If you’ve got the story I think you’ve got, it could be worth several thousands of dollars to you.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Cole said shortly. “Sleep and privacy is worth something. What do I owe you for the sandwiches and beer?”
“The public has a right to know the truth and, like you, I don’t believe a one of these stories. But I need a first-hand account to give credence to my theory.”
“You’ve got a hell of a head start,” Cole said.
“You mean by finding you?”
“No, I mean by not believing anything you read in the newspapers.”
“You reject the public’s right to know the truth?” Tuperman asked sanctimoniously.
“Telling you what I know and getting the truth to the public isn’t the same thing. Hell, you just said you’d use my account to bolster your own theory. And since when does the public have a right to know anything? The only rights I ever heard of are the freedom of speech ones, where you can say or write any damn thing you please. The public’s protection from lies, innuendo, twisted opinion and slanted news is nil. So let’s talk about your right of free speech and then tell me what the hell your duty is to tell the truth to the public.”
“Man, you really get wound up, don’t you? I thought I was doing you a favor. I could put you on the front page and throw some money your way. I made a mistake, Rain, in finding you. Do you know why?”
“Yeah, you spent your newspaper’s money on sandwiches and beer and you’re ashamed to ask for it back.”
“No, Rain, that’s not it. I’ve got to admit you’re pretty funny - but you’re also a phony. You don’t know anything. That’s why you can’t tell me anything. You don’t know anything,” he repeated. “If you did you’d be the first one to grab the money and the headlines. I run into loudmouth guys like you every day,” and he reached a pudgy hand for the door. “You’re a phony,” he said as he wedged through and closed the door quickly.
Cole looked around the empty room, the sack lying on its side with one sandwich left, the half empty six pack, the closed door; and then his gaze fell on the black telephone and he burst out laughing. He reached for the receiver and dialed Bocana’s office. Bocana wasn’t there but the operator asked, “Is this Mr. Rain?”
“Yes it is.”
“Mr. Bocana left a message that if you called you could find him at home.”
“Thanks,” Cole said and dialed the Bocana residence.
“Mr. Bocana, please,” when a woman answered.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Bocana retired early. Could I take a message?” Cole hesitated and then the voice came back, “Is this Mr. Rain by any chance?”
“Yes, it is,” he said.
“Just a moment. He left instructions that if you called I should waken him.”
In less than a minute Cole heard Bocana’s hoarse voice.
“Hello, Cole, it’s great to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Thad, but we’re probably having problems all over northern California and you’re sound asleep.”
“Yeah, well, my problem-handling equipment is worn out. I decided you citizens could take care of things for a while. And, by the way, you and Pilar Jones have been doing a pretty good job of it.”
“That was my next question. Where is Pilar Jones? And why was she arrested?”
“Didn’t you get my message? I left it there with the doctor at the clinic.”
“He probably forgot. I think his message-passing-on equipment is worn out, too. But what about Pilar?”
“We explained the situation to her sometime yesterday, or whenever it was, and asked her to go to Washington; she very graciously assented.”
“Yes, but what was the reason for it?”
There was a long pause. “Well, Cole, you gave us the lead to the Jones girl. You told us she had been working with Glass preparing for the demonstration of the nuclear gun. We wanted her testimony. All information and evidence was being funneled to Washington. She was just one of the witnesses we asked to testify - and the only one from this part of the country. We at first thought it was an international plot but have since come to the conclusion that it was a local action and that all or most of the people involved were on the SS Crescent Moon. This conclusion was arrived at mainly from the information Pilar Jones gave us and from the things that happened subsequently.” Bocana caught his breath and then went on. “I’ll admit we reacted pretty fast - she probably was on her way to Washington by the time you got aboard the police helicopter.”
“Where is she now? When will she be back?”
“That’s in the message, too. Her flight’s due tomorrow morning at eight-fifty. We’re picking her up at the airport and bringing her to my office. We’d like you to be there at nine-thirty. The doctor says he’s satisfied with your condition and he’s sure you can make it.”
“What the hell is this, Thad? Why should I come to your office? And why are you taking Pilar there?”
“You’re really a hard man to do business with, Cole. It was supposed to be more or less of a surprise. The FBI, the Federal Narcotics Bureau and the local police are very appreciative of the help you gave them and the President of the United States wants to present a preliminary citation to both of you for all you did on the matter.”
“What the hell are you talking about? The President of the United States? Have you been smoking lettuce?”
“Something happened, Cole, that you’re not aware of...something that nobody could know or could have foreseen. You both just happened to be in the right place at the right time and your courage and honesty have made you heroes.... maybe accidental heroes but damn deserving ones nevertheless.” Then he concluded, “If you’ll look at the record, Cole, you’ll find that all heroes are more or less accidents of their time.
“I’m sorry I kidded you about going to bed, Thad, you really need the rest. Does your head feel all right?”
“My head’s fine and it’ll all be clear to you tomorrow. Go back to bed and get a good night’s sleep so you can be at my office by nine-thirty in the morning.”
Cole looked at the empty basket where the borrowed truck driver’s clothes had been. “Wait a minute - I don’t have a thing to wear. Am I supposed to travel through this polluted air with no protection?”
“I understand the polluted air and contamination has been mostly washed away by the storm that started at six o’clock.”
“Is it raining out?”
“I forgot you’re in that pile of stone and iron. We’ve had a real Pacific storm blowing in for the last four and a half hours. The weather man says it’s the three-day variety.”
“We’ll be washed clean,” Cole mused. “But what about the poor damn fish? What will we eat for the next six months?”
“Will I see you in the morning?” Bocana asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there, even though you can’t imagine how depleted my wardrobe is. I’ll manage somehow.”
“Good,” Bocana said and hung up.
Cole sat on the edge of the bed thinking and feeling the bandage on his head. Trying to concentrate on his physical condition he couldn’t come to any conclusion other than that he felt all right. The conversation with Bocana didn’t make any sense. He could understand somewhat about the several agencies wanting to thank him for his help on the dope arrests, but from then on the only thing heroic about his actions were that they had ended in a cataclysm of destruction and death. He’d be lucky if some insurance company didn’t file a suit against him for the loss of the SS Crescent Moon, alleging that he was the catalyst that had caused the fumble that had in turn caused the eruption and disintegration of their insured property and on, and on, and on. This led him to examine the reasons why it had all happened and he decided that most of the time he had been working to bring the smugglers to justice and it hadn’t been any vacation. Myron Brown owed him for the two week boat trip plus the subsequent time he had spent solving the problem. Myron didn’t have to worry about his ship’s reputation any more; it’s place in history was assured. After Cole settled all this and decided to go back to sleep, the door opened and the bearded Doc Carsey came in.
“I see you’re awake. My assistant said you had a visitor.”
“Yes, I did. He told me the food was lousy in this place and that he had come to feed me.”
“The food isn’t that bad. We didn’t wake you for the evening meal because we thought you needed the rest more.”
“That I did - and still do - I think.”
“I can have a tray prepared for you. What would you like?”
“I’m not hungry, Doc. Everything’s fine. But you’re right about my needing more sleep.”
“Before you turn in, could we get a few pictures of your head?”
“My head’s fine. Do you think it’s necessary?”
“I think we should. I don’t believe there’s a fracture and I doubt the concussion was so severe that natural rest won’t dissipate it. But I’d feel better having the x-rays.”
“O.K., let’s do them. I wouldn’t want you to worry.”
Cole lay on the cold slab under the x-ray camera, turned on both sides, flat on his back and then stretched out on his stomach to have pictures shot of his head. When it was all finished he wended his way back through the bare corridors, not clogged with old men now. He wore only the white gown tied up the back with coarse tough strings. Doc Carsey was sitting at his desk and glanced up as Cole went by.
“Here’s a message for you,” handing Cole the note. It’s from a Mr. Bocana.”
“Did he just call?”
“No, I’m sorry. This came in about six o’clock. I forgot to give it to you.”
“No problem. I’ve already talked with him.”
“He asked if you’d be well enough to go to his office tomorrow morning at nine-thirty. I told him I wanted to look at the pictures first but from what I could observe you’d be O.K.”
“Did you happen to see my clothes around here anyplace?”
“I had them destroyed,” Doc said. “I didn’t know how badly they were contaminated and didn’t want to take a chance on your wearing them again. I’ve got your wallet and keys and some other valuables here. Sorry about the clothes.”
“That’s all right. They weren’t mine anyway,” Cole said, deciding he’d find the owner and pay for them.
“Oh? I was sure they were the ones you wore in here.”
“I was wearing them. What I mean is....well, anyway it doesn’t really matter. Maybe in the morning I can borrow something to wear and then take a taxi home to get mine.”
“My things wouldn’t fit you but my assistant’s got some fresh whites around someplace that should do.”
Cole covered a yawn. “Thanks. I’ll worry about it in the morning.” He went on into the little room and opened the piece of paper to read Bocana’s message. It conveyed nothing he didn’t already know, even though he had the feeling he knew very little. He thought about what Bocana had said: ‘Something happened that you’re not aware of....something that nobody could know or could have foreseen.’ To hell with it. Placing the message on the night stand he switched off the light and went to sleep without any more thinking.
