Overload

Georgos wasn’t sure as he debated, within himself, the pros and cons.

He intended to make his final approach to the La Mission plant pump house underwater. Therefore, if he could get safely on the river and reasonably close to the plant, be would submerge and, from then on, the likelihood of his being seen was minimal, even in daylight. In fact, daylight, filtering downward, would help him locate his underwater point of entry more easily than in total darkness.

But could he launch the dinghy and get into it, wearing scuba gear, unobserved? Although the spot he had chosen as a launch-point-a half-mile from La Mission-was normally deserted, there was always the possibility of someone being there and seeing him, especially during the daytime. Georgos assessed that particular risk as: fair.

The really big hazard in daylight-a horrendous one-was to drive his Volkswagen van through North Castle, and then to La Mission, another fifty miles. A description of the van, and undoubtedly its license number, was in the possession of police, sheriff’s departments and the Highway Patrol. If he were spotted, there was no way he could outrun pursuit. On the other hand, it was eight weeks since the description had been issued and the pigs could have forgotten, or be inattentive. Something else in his favor: there were a lot of beat-up VW vans around and the sight of one more would not be unusual.

Just the same, Georgos assessed the first part of his mission, if undertaken now, as: high risk.

He continued pacing and debating, then abruptly made up his mind. He would trust his instincts about danger. The decision was to go!

Georgos left the apartment at once and went into the adjoining garage.

There he began what he had intended doing tonight: Checking his equipment carefully before departure. He hurried, however, the sense of danger still persisting.

17

“There’s a telephone call for you, Mrs. Van Buren," a waitress announced, "and I was told to tell you it’s important."

"Everybody thinks their call is important," the PR director grumbled, "and most times they’re dead wrong."

But she got up from the table in the GSP & L officers’ dining room where she was lunching with J. Eric Humphrey and Nim Goldman, and went to the telephone outside.

A minute or two later she returned, excitement in her eyes. "One of those Consumer Surveys came back and we’ve got a match on the Archambault handwriting. A half-wit in my department has been sitting on the thing all morning. I’ll ream her out later, but she’s on the way to the Computer Center with it now. I said we’d meet her there."

"Get Sharlett," Eric Humphrey said, rising from the table. "Tell her to leave her lunch." the executive vice president of finance could be seen a few tables away.

While Van Buren did so, Nim went outside to the telephone and called Harry London. The Property Protection chief was in his office and, when informed of what was happening, said he would go to the Computer Center too.

Nim knew that Oscar O’Brien, the only other member of the "think group," was out of town for the day.

He joined the others-the chairman, Sharlett Underhill and Van Buren-at the elevator outside the dining room.

* * *

They had gone through the usual security formalities in entering the Computer Center. Now, the four who had interrupted lunch, plus Harry London, gathered around a table as Teresa Van Buren opened out the Consumer Survey form and a photographed handwriting sample which a chastened Elsie Young had delivered to her a few minutes ago.

It was Eric Humphrey who expressed what was obvious to everyone. “There’s no doubt of it being the same handwriting. Absolutely none."

Even if there were, Nim thought, what was written was a giveaway.

The terrorists you presumptuously describe as small-time, cowardly and ignorant are none of those things. They are important, wise and dedicated heroes. You are the ignoramuses, as well as criminal exploiters of the people. Justice shall overtake you! Be warned there will be blood and death . . .

"Why the bell," Harry London said to no one in particular, "did he take so long?"

Sharlett Underhill held out a hand. "Give that to me."

Van Buren passed her the questionnaire and the finance chief took it to the portable "black light" which Nim had seen used during his previous visit to the center. Mrs. Underhill snapped the light on and held the form under it. At the top of the sheet the number "9386" stood out.

She led the way to a computer terminal-a keyboard with a cathode ray screen above it-and sat down.

First, Mrs. Underhill trapped in her personal code: 44SHAUND. (It was her age and a corruption of her two names.)

The screen instantly signaled: READY. ENTER REQUEST.

She typed in the project name-NORTH CASTLE SURVEY followed by the secret code, known only to herself and one other, which would release the needed information. The words NORTH CASTHE SURVEY appeared on the screen; the secret code didn’t the computer’s precaution against others observing and memorizing it.

Immediately the computer signaled: ENTER QUESTIONNAIRE NUMBER.

Sharlett Underhill typed in: 93tle screen flashed back:

OWEN GRAINGER

12 WEXHAM RD, APT E

The city’s name and a zip code followed.

"I got it," Harry London said. He was already running to a phone.

* * *

Slightly more than an hour later Harry London reported personally to Eric Humphrey and Nim, who were in the chairman’s office suite.

"Archambault’s flown the coop," London said. "If that woman had only opened the questionnaire when it came in this morning . . ."

Humphrey said sharply, "Recriminations will do us no good. What did the police find at that address?"

"A warm trail, sir. According to a neighbor, a man who’s been seen occasionally before, drove away in a Volkswagen van half an hour before the place was raided. The police have issued an APB for the van, and they have the building staked out in case be comes back. But" -London shrugged-"that guy Archambault has slipped through their hands before."

"He must be getting desperate," Nim said.

Eric Humphrey nodded. "I was thinking that too." He considered, then told Nim, "I want an immediate warning sent to all our plant managers and security personnel. Give them a report of what has happened and repeat Archambault’s description; also get a description of the vehicle he’s driving. Instruct our people everywhere to increase their vigilance and to report anything suspicious or unusual. We’ve been that man’s target before.

He may decide to make us one again."

"I’ll get on it right away," Nim said, as he wondered: Was there no end to what could happen in a single day?

* * *

Georgos hummed a little tune and decided that today his luck was holding.

He had been driving for an hour and a quarter and was almost at the point, near La Mission, where he planned to launch the dinghy. Apparently his VW van had attracted no attention, probably-in part because he had driven carefully, observing traffic rules and speed limits. He had also avoided freeways where encountering a California Highway Patrol car would have been more likely. Now he was traversing a gravel road, his first objective less than a mile ahead.

A few minutes later he caught a glimpse of the Coyote River through a tangled growth of underbrush and trees which bordered it in this area. The river was wide at the point he had chosen and soon he could see much more of it. He stopped, where the gravel road ended, about thirty yards from the riverbank.

To Georgos’ relief, no other vehicles or human beings were in sight.

As he began unloading the dinghy and supplies, carrying them in a half-dozen trips toward the river, his excitement and a sense of elation grew.

After the initial trip, be removed the dinghy from its container and inflated it with the pump which was in the package. No problem. Then be pushed the dinghy into the water, tying the painter to a tree, and transferred the equipment into it. There was a compressed-air tank and regulator-the tank filled with an hour’s air supply, a face mask, fins, a snorkel for use if he was near the surface, a waterproof flashlight, a mesh belt, an inflatable balloon with a C02 cartridge to give him buoyancy because of the weight be was carrying, a hydraulic metal cutter, and wire cutters.

Last of all, Georgos loaded aboard the cylindrical Tovex bombs. He had brought eight of them, weighing five pounds each, and they would be fastened to his webbed belt. Georgos had decided that eight bombs were all he could carry; to attempt to take more would be inviting disaster. As it was, the bombs would destroy eight of the eleven water pumps-putting most, if not all, of La Mission’s four operating generators out of action.