Goodbye California

‘It is indeed. All of them, so far, have proved to be hoaxes. But some day the threat may prove to be real – that is, either the Government or private industry may have to pay up or suffer the effects of a nuclear detonation or nuclear radiation. We list six types of threat – two as highly improbable, four reasonably credible. The highly improbable are the detonation of a home-made bomb made from stolen weapons-grade materials or the detonation of a ready-made nuclear bomb stolen from a military ordnance depot: the credible are the dispersion of radio-active material other than plutonium, the release of hi-jacked radio-active materials from a spent fuel shipment, the detonation of a conventional high explosive salted with strontium-ninety, krypton-eighty-five, cesiumone-three-seven or even plutonium itself, or simply by the release of plutonium for contamination purposes.’

‘From the business-like way those criminals behaved in San Ruffino it might be that they mean business.’

‘The time has to come – we know that. This may be the time we receive a threat that really is a threat. We have made preparations, formulated in nineteen-seventy-five. “Nuclear Blackmail Emergency Response Plan for the State of California”, it’s called. The FBI have the overall control of the investigation. They can call on as many Federal, State and local agencies as they wish – including, of course, the police. They can call on nuclear experts from such places as Donner in Berkeley and Lawrence at Livermore. Search and decontamination teams and medical teams, headed by doctors who specialize in radiology, are immediately available as is the Air Force to carry those teams anywhere in the State. We at ERDA have the responsibility of assessing the validity of the threat.’

‘How’s that done?’

‘Primarily on checking with the government’s computerized system that determines very quickly if unexpected amounts of fissionable material is missing.’

‘Well, Dr Durrer, in this case we know already how much is missing so we don’t have to ask the computers. Just as well; I believe the computers are useless anyway.’

For the second time Durrer removed his pincenez. ‘Who told you this?’

Ryder looked vague. ‘I don’t remember. It was some time ago.’ Jeff kept his smile under covers. Sure, it was some time ago. It must have been almost half an hour since Ferguson had told him. Durrer looked at him thoughtfully then clearly decided there was no point in pursuing the subject. Ryder went on, addressing himself to Mahler. ‘I’d like to be assigned to this investigation. I’d look forward to working under Major Dunne.’

Donahure smiled, not exactly an evil smile, just that of a man savouring the passing moment. His complexion had reverted to its customary mottled red. He said: ‘No way.’

Ryder looked at him. His expression wasn’t encouraging. ‘I have a very personal interest in this. Forgotten?’

‘There’ll be no discussion, Sergeant. As a policeman, you take orders from only one person in this county and that’s me.’

‘As a policeman.’ Donahure looked at him in sudden uncertainty.

Dunne said: ‘I’d appreciate having Sergeant Ryder working with me. Your most experienced man and your best in Intelligence – and with the best arrest record in the county – any county; come to that.’

‘That’s his trouble. Arrest-happy. Trigger-happy. Violent. Unstable if he was emotionally involved, as he would be in a case like this.’ Donahure tried to assume the expression of pious respectability but he was attempting the impossible. ‘Can’t have the good name of my force brought into disrepute.’

‘Jesus!’ It was Ryder’s only comment.

Dunne was mildly persistent. ‘I’d still like to have him.’

‘No. And with respects, I needn’t remind you that the authority of the FBI stops on the other side of that door. It’s for your own sake, Major Dunne. He’s a dangerous man to have around in a delicate situation like this.’

‘Kidnapping innocent women is delicate?’ Durrer’s dry voice made it apparent that he regarded Donahure as something less than a towering intelligence. ‘You might tell us how you arrive at that conclusion?’

‘Yes, how about that, Chief?’ Jeff could restrain himself no longer; he was visibly trembling with anger. Ryder observed him in mild surprise but said nothing. ‘My mother, Chief. And my father. Dangerous? Arrest-happy? Both of those things – but only to you, Chief, only to you. My father’s trouble is that he goes around arresting all the wrong people – pimps, drug-pushers, crooked politicians, honest, public-spirited members of the Mafia, respected business-men who are no better than scofflaws, even – isn’t it sad? – corrupt cops. Consult his record, Chief. The only time his arrests have failed to secure either a conviction or a probation order was when he came up against Judge Kendrick. You remember Judge Kendrick, don’t you, Chief? Your frequent house-guest who pocketed twenty-five thousand dollars from your buddies in City Hall and finished up with penitentiary. Five years. There were quite a lot of people who were lucky not to join him behind bars, weren’t there, Chief?’

Donahure made an indeterminate sound as if he were suffering from some constriction of the vocal cords. His fists were clenching and unclenching again and his complexion was still changing colour – only now with the speed and unpredictability of a chameleon crawling over tartan.

Dunne said: ‘You put him there, Sergeant?’

‘Somebody had to. Old Fatso here had all the evidence but wouldn’t use it. Can’t blame a man for not incriminating himself.’ Donahure made the same strangled noise. Ryder took something from his coat pocket and held it hidden, glancing quizzically at his son.

Jeff was calm now. He said to Donahure: ‘You’ve also slandered my father in front of witnesses.’ He looked at Ryder. ‘Going to raise an action? Or just leave him alone with his conscience?’

‘His what?’

‘You’ll never make a cop.’ Jeff sounded almost sad. ‘There are all those finer points that you’ve never mastered, like bribery, corruption, kickbacks and having a couple of bank accounts under false names.’ He looked at Donahure. ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Chief? Some people have lots of accounts under false names?’

‘You insolent young bastard.’ Donahure had his vocal cords working again, but only just. He tried to smile. ‘Kinda forgotten who you’re talking to, haven’t you?’

‘Sorry to deprive you of the pleasure, Chief.’ Jeff laid gun and badge on Mahler’s table and looked at his father in no surprise as Ryder placed a second badge on the table.

Donahure said hoarsely: ‘Your gun.’

‘It’s mine, not police property. Anyway, I’ve others at home. All the licences you want,’ Ryder said.

‘I can have those revoked tomorrow, copper.’ The viciousness of his tone matched the expression on his face.

‘I’m not a copper.’ Ryder lit a Gauloise and drew on it with obvious satisfaction.

‘Put that damned cigarette out!’

‘You heard. I’m not a copper. Not any more. I’m just a member of the public. The police are servants of the public. I don’t care to have my servants talk to me that way. Revoke my licences? You do just that and you’ll have a photostat of a private dossier I have, complete with photostat of signed affidavits. Then you’ll revoke the order revoking my licences.’

‘What the devil’s that meant to mean?’

‘Just that the original of the dossier should make very interesting reading up in Sacramento.’

‘You’re bluffing.’ The contempt in Donahure’s voice would have carried more conviction if he hadn’t licked his lips immediately afterwards.

‘Could be.’ Ryder contemplated a smoke-ring with a mildly surprised interest.

‘I’m warning you, Ryder.’ Donahure’s voice was shaking and it could have been something else other than anger. ‘Get in the way of this investigation and I’ll have you locked up for interfering with the course of justice.’

‘It’s just as well you know me, Donahure. I don’t have to threaten you. Besides, it gives me no pleasure to see fat blobs of lard shaking with fear.’

Donahure dropped his hand to his gun. Ryder slowly unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back to put a hand on each hip. His .38 was in full view but his hands were clear of it.

Donahure said to Lieutenant Mahler: ‘Arrest this man.’

Dunne spoke in cold contempt. ‘Don’t be more of a fool than you can help, Donahure, and don’t put your lieutenant in an impossible position. Arrest him on what grounds, for heaven’s sake?’

Ryder buttoned his jacket, turned and left the office, Jeff close behind him. They were about to climb into the Peugeot when Dunne caught up with them.

‘Was that wise?’

Ryder shrugged. ‘Inevitable.’

‘He’s a dangerous man, Ryder. Not face to face, we all know that. Different when your back’s turned. He has powerful friends.’

‘I know his friends. A contemptible bunch, like himself. Half of them should be behind bars.’

‘Still doesn’t make them any less dangerous on a moonless night. You’re going ahead with this, of course?’

‘My wife, in case you have forgotten. Think we’re going to leave her to that fat slob’s tender care?’

‘What happens if he comes up against you?’

Jeff said: ‘Don’t tempt my father with such pleasant thoughts.’

‘Suppose I shouldn’t. I said I’d like you to work with me, Ryder. You, too, if you wish, young man. Offer stands. Always room for enterprising and ambitious young men in the FBI.’

‘Thanks. We’ll think it over. If we need help or advice can we contact you?’

Dunne looked at them consideringly then nodded. ‘Sure. You have my number. Well, you have the option. I don’t. Like it or not I’ve got to work with that fat slob as you so accurately call him. Carries a lot of political clout in the valley.’ He shook hands with the two men. ‘Mind your backs.’

In the car, Jeff said: ‘Going to consider his offer?’

‘Hell, no. That would be leaving the frying-pan for the fire. Not that Sassoon – he’s the Californian head of the FBI – isn’t honest. He is. But he’s too strict, goes by the book all the time and frowns on free enterprise. Wouldn’t want that – would we?’

Marjory Hohner, a brown-haired girl who looked too young to be married, sat beside her uniformed CHP husband and studied the scraps of paper she had arranged on the table in front of her. Ryder said: ‘Come on, god-daughter. A bright young girl like you –’

She lifted her head and smiled. ‘Easy. I suppose it will make sense to you. It says: “Look at back of your photograph”.’

‘Thank you, Marjory.’ Ryder reached for the phone and made two calls.

Ryder and his son had just finished the re-heated contents of the casserole Susan had left in the oven when Dr Jablonsky arrived an hour after the departure of the Hohners, briefcase in hand. Without expression or inflection of voice he said: ‘You must be psychic. The word’s out that you’ve been fired. You and Jeff here.’

‘Not at all.’ Ryder assumed an aloof dignity. ‘We retired. Voluntarily. But only temporarily, of course.’

‘You did say “temporarily”?’

‘That’s what I said. For the moment it doesn’t suit me to be a cop. Restricts my spheres of activities.’

Jeff said: ‘You did say temporarily?’

‘Sure. Back to work when this blows over. I’ve a wife to support.’

‘But Donahure –’

‘Don’t worry about Donahure. Let Donahure worry about himself. Drink, Doctor?’

‘Scotch, if you have it.’ Ryder went behind the small wet bar and pulled back a sliding door to reveal an impressive array of different bottles. Jablonsky said: ‘You have it.’

‘Beer for me. That’s for my friends. Lasts a long time,’ he added inconsequentially.

Jablonsky took a folder from his briefcase. ‘This is the file you wanted. Wasn’t easy. Ferguson’s like a cat on a hot tin roof. Jumpy.’

‘Ferguson’s straight.’

‘I know he is. This is a photostat. I didn’t want Ferguson or the FBI to find out that the original dossier is missing.’

‘Why’s Ferguson so jumpy?’

‘Hard to say. But he’s being evasive, uncommunicative. Maybe he feels his job is in danger since his security defences were so easily breached, Running scared, a little. I think we all are in the past few hours. Even goes for me.’ He looked gloomily. ‘I’m even worried that my presence here’ – he smiled to rob his words of offence – ‘consorting with an ex-cop might be noted.’

‘You’re too late. It has been noted.’

Jablonsky stopped smiling. ‘What?’

‘There’s a closed van about fifty yards down the road on the other side. No driver in the cab – he’s inside the van looking through a one-way window.’

Jeff rose quickly and moved to a window. He said: ‘How long has he been there?’

‘A few minutes. He arrived just as Dr Jablonsky did. Too late for me to do anything about it then.’ Ryder thought briefly then said: ‘I don’t much care to have those snoopers round my house. Go to my gun cupboard and take what you want. You’ll find a few old police badges there, too.’

‘He’ll know I’m no longer a cop.’

‘Sure he will. Think he’d dare to say so and put the finger on Donahure?’

‘Hardly. What do you want me to do? Shoot him?’

‘It’s a tempting thought, but no. Smash his window open with the butt of your gun and tell him to open up. His name is Raminoff and he looks a bit like a weasel, which he is. He carries a gun. Donahure reckons he’s his top undercover man. I’ve had tabs on him for years. He’s not a cop – he’s a criminal with several sentences behind him. You’ll find a policeband radio transmitter. Ask him for his licence. He won’t have one. Ask him for his police identification. He won’t have that either. Make the usual threatening noises and tell him to push off.’

Jeff smiled widely. ‘Retirement has its compensations.’

Jablonsky looked after him doubtfully. ‘You sure got a lot of faith in that boy, Sergeant.’

‘Jeff can look after himself,’ Ryder said comfortably. ‘Now, Doctor, I hope you’re not going to be evasive about telling me why Ferguson was being evasive.’

‘Why should I?’ He looked glum. ‘Seeing that I’m a marked man anyway.’

‘He was evasive with me?’

‘Yes. I feel more upset about your wife than you realize. I think you have the right to know anything that can help you.’

‘And I think that deserves another drink.’ It was a measure of Jablonsky’s preoccupation that he’d emptied his glass without being aware of it. Ryder went to the bar and returned. ‘What didn’t he tell me?’

‘You asked him if any nuclear material had been hi-jacked. He said he didn’t know. Fact is, he knows far too much about it to be willing to talk about it. Take the recent Hematite Hangover business, so-called, I imagine, because it’s given a headache to everybody in nuclear security. Hematite is in Missouri and is run by Gulf United Nuclear. They may have anything up to a thousand kilograms of U-235 on the premises at any given time. This comes to them, bottled, in the form of UF-Six, from Portsmouth, Ohio. This is converted into U-235 oxide. Much of this stuff, fully enriched and top weapons-grade material, goes from Hematite to Kansas City by truck, thence to Los Angeles as air cargo then is again trucked a hundred and twenty miles down the freeways to General Atomic in San Diego. Three wide-open transits. Do you want the horrifying details?’

‘I can imagine them. Why Ferguson’s secretiveness?’

‘No reason really. All security men are professional clams. There’s literally tons of the damned stuff missing. That’s no secret. The knowledge is in public domain.’

‘According to Dr Durrer of EKDA – I spoke to him this evening – the government’s computer system can tell you in nothing flat if any significant amount of weapons-grade material is missing.’

Jablonsky scowled, a scowl which he removed by fortifying himself with some more Scotch. ‘I wonder what he calls significant. Ten tons? Just enough to make a few hundred atom bombs, that’s all. Dr Durrer is either talking through a hole in his hat, which, knowing him as I do, is extremely unlikely, or he was just being coy. ERDA have been suffering from very sensitive feelings since the GAO gave them a black eye in, let me see, I think it was in July of ’76.’

‘GAO?’

‘General Accounting Office.’ Jablonsky broke off as Jeff entered and deposited some material on a table. He looked very pleased with himself.

‘He’s gone. Heading for the nearest swamp I should imagine.’ He indicated his haul. ‘One police radio: he’d no licence for it so I couldn’t let him keep that, could I? One gun: clearly a criminal type so I couldn’t let him keep that either, could I? One driving licence: identification in lieu of police authorization which he didn’t seem to have. And one pair of Zeiss binoculars stamped “LAPD”: he couldn’t recall where he got that from and swore blind that he didn’t know that the initials stood for Los Angeles Police Department.’

‘I’ve always wanted one of those,’ Ryder said. Jablonsky frowned in heavy disapproval but removed that in the same way as he had removed his scowl.

‘I also wrote down his licence plate number, opened the hood and took down the engine and chassis numbers. I told him that all the numbers and confiscated articles would be delivered to the station tonight.’

Ryder said: ‘You know what you’ve done, don’t you? You’ve gone and upset Chief Donahure. Or he’s going to be upset any minute now.’ He looked wistful. ‘I wish we had a tap on his private line. He’s going to have to replace the equipment, which will hurt him enough but not half as much as replacing that van is going to hurt him.’

Jablonsky said: ‘Why should he have to replace the van?’

‘It’s hot. If Raminoff were caught with that van he’d get laryngitis singing at the top of his voice to implicate Donahure. He’s the kind of trusty henchman that Donahure surrounds himself with.’

‘Donahure could block the enquiry.’

‘No chance. John Aaron, the Editor of the Examiner, has been campaigning for years against police corruption in general and Chief Donahure in particular. A letter to the editor asking why Donahure failed to act on information received would be transferred from the readers’ page to page one. The swamp, you say, Jeff? Me, I’d go for Cypress Bluff. Two hundred feet sheer into the Pacific, then sixty feet of water. Ocean bed’s littered with cars past their best. Anyway, I want you to take your own car and go up there and drop all this confiscated stuff and the rest of those old police badges to join the rest of the ironmongery down there.’

Jeff pursed his lips. ‘You don’t think that old goat would have the nerve to come around here with a search warrant?’

‘Sure I do. Trump up any old reason – he’s done it often enough before.’

Jeff said, wooden-faced: ‘He might even invent some charge about tampering with evidence at the reactor plant?’

‘Man’s capable of anything.’

‘There’s some people you just can’t faze.’ Jeff left to fetch his car.

Jablonsky said: ‘What was that meant to mean?’

‘Today’s generation? Who can tell? You mentioned the GAO. What about the GAO?’

‘Ah, yes. They produced a report on the loss of nuclear material for a government department with the memorable name of the “House Small Business Subcommittee on Energy and Environment”. The report was and is classified. The Subcommittee made a summary of the report and declassified it. The GAO would appear to have a low opinion of ERDA. Says it doesn’t know its job. Claims that there are literally tons of nuclear material – number of tons unspecified – missing from the thirty-four uranium and plutonium processing plants in the country. GAO say they seriously question ERDA’s accountability procedures, and that they haven’t really a clue as to whether stuff is missing or not.’

‘Dr Durrer wouldn’t have liked that.’

‘ERDA were hopping. They said there was – and I know it to be true – up to sixty miles of piping in the processing system of any given plants, and if you multiply that by thirty-four you have a couple of thousand miles of piping, and there could be a great deal of nuclear material stuck in those pipes. GAO completely agreed but rather spoiled things by pointing out that there was no way in which the contents of those two thousand miles could be checked.’

Jablonsky peered gloomily at the base of his empty glass. Ryder rose obligingly and when he returned Jablonsky said accusingly but without heat: ‘Trying to loosen my tongue, is that it?’

‘What else? What did ERDA say?’

‘Practically nothing. They’d even less to say shortly afterwards when the Nuclear Regulatory Commission compounded that attack on them. They said in effect two things: that practically any plant in the country could be taken by a handful of armed and determined men and that the theft-detection systems were defective.’

‘You believe this?’

‘No silly questions, please – especially not after what happened today.’

‘So there could be tens of tons of the stuff cached around the country?’

‘I could be quoted on my answer?’

‘Now it’s your turn for silly questions.’

Jablonsky sighed. ‘What the hell. It’s eminently possible and more than probable. Why are you asking those questions, Sergeant?’

‘One more and I’ll tell you. Could you make an atom bomb?’

‘Sure. Any competent scientist – he doesn’t have to be a nuclear physicist – could. Thousands of them. School of thought that says that no one could make an atomic bomb without retracing the Manhattan project – that extremely long, enormously complicated and billion-dollar programme that led to the invention of the atom bomb in World War Two. Rubbish. The information is freely available. Write to the Atomic Energy Commission, enclose three dollars and they’ll be glad to let you have a copy of the Los Alamos Primer, which details the mathematical fundaments of fission bombs. A bit more expensive is the book called Manhattan District History, Project Y, the Los Alamos Project. For this you have to approach the Office of Technical Services of the US Department of Commerce, who will be delighted to let you have a copy by return post. Tells you all about it. Most importantly, it tells you of all the problems that arose in the building of the first atomic bomb and how they were overcome. Stirring stuff. Any amount of works in public print – just consult your local library – that consist of what used to be the supersecret information. All else failing, the Encyclopedia Americana will probably tell any intelligent person as much as he needs to know.’

‘We have a very helpful government.’

‘Very. Once the Russians had started exploding atom bombs they reckoned the need for secrecy was past. What they didn’t reckon on was that some patriotic citizen or citizens would up and use this knowledge against them.’ He sighed. ‘It would be easy to call the government of the day a bunch of clowns but they lacked the gift of Nostradamus: “hindsight makes us all wise”.’

‘Hydrogen bombs?’

‘A nuclear physicist for that.’ He paused then went on with some bitterness: ‘Provided, that is, he’s fourteen years of age or over.’

‘Explain.’

‘Back in nineteen-seventy there was an attempted nuclear blackmail of a city in Florida. Police tried to hush it up but it came out all the same. Give me a million dollars and a safe conduct out of America or I’ll blast your city out of existence, the blackmailer said. Next day came the same threat, this time accompanied by a diagram of a hydrogen bomb – a cylinder filled with lithium hydride wrapped in cobalt, with an implosion system at one end.’

‘That how they make a hydrogen bomb?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Isn’t that sad? And you a nuclear physicist. They nailed the blackmailer?’

‘Yes. A fourteen-year-old boy.’

‘It’s an advance on fireworks.’ For almost a minute Ryder gazed into the far distance, which appeared to be located in the region of his toe-caps, through a drifting cloud of blue-grey smoke, then said:

‘It’s a come-on. A con-job. A gambit. A phoney. Don’t you agree?’