Sergeant Dickson was still behind his desk. He said:
‘Where have you two been?’
‘Detecting,’ Ryder said. ‘Why?’
‘The brass have been trying to reach you at San Ruffino.’ He lifted a phone. ‘Sergeant Ryder and Patrolman Ryder, Lieutenant. They’ve just come in.’ He listened briefly and hung up. ‘The pleasure of your company, gentlemen.’
‘Who’s with him?’
‘Major Dunne.’ Dunne was the area head of the FBI. ‘Plus a Dr Durrer from Erda or something.’
‘Capitals,’ Ryder said. ‘E-R-D-A. Energy Research and Development Administration. I know him.’
‘And, of course, your soul-mate.’
Four men were seated in Mahler’s office. Mahler, behind the desk, was wearing his official face to conceal his unhappiness. Two men sat in chairs – Dr Durrer, an owlish-looking individual with bottle-glass pince-nez that gave his eyes the appearance of those of a startled fawn, and Major Dunne, lean, greying, intelligent, with the smiling eyes of one who didn’t find too much in life to smile about. The standing figure was Donahure, Chief of Police. Although he wasn’t very tall his massive pear-shaped body took up a disproportionate amount of space. The layers of fat above and below his eyes left little space for the eyes themselves: he had in addition a fleshy nose, fleshy lips and a formidable array of chins. He was eyeing Ryder with distaste.
‘Case all sewn up, I suppose, Sergeant?’
Ryder ignored him. He said to Mahler: ‘You sent for us?’
Donahure’s face had turned an instant purple. ‘I was speaking to you, Ryder. I sent for you. Where the hell have you been?’
‘You just used the word “case”. And you’ve been phoning San Ruffino. If we must have questions do they have to be stupid ones?’
‘My God, Ryder, there’s no man talks to me –’
‘Please.’ Dunne’s voice was calm, quiet but incisive. ‘I’d be glad if you gentlemen would leave your bickering for another time. Sergeant Ryder, Patrolman, I’ve heard about Mrs Ryder and I’m damned sorry. Find anything interesting up there?’
‘No,’ Ryder said. Jeff kept his eyes carefully averted. ‘And I don’t think anyone will. Too clean a job, too professional. No violence offered. The only established fact is that the bandits made off with enough weapons-grade material to blow up half the State.’
‘How much?’ Dr Durrer said.
‘Twenty drums of U-Two-Three-Five and plutonium; I don’t know how much. A truck-load, I should think. A second truck arrived after they had taken over the building.’
‘Dear, dear.’ Durrer looked and sounded depressed.
‘Inevitably, the threats come next?’
Ryder said: ‘You get many threats?’
‘I wouldn’t bother answering that,’ Donahure said. ‘Ryder has no official standing in this case.’
‘Dear, dear,’ Durrer said again. He removed his pince-nez and regarded Donahure with eyes that weren’t owlish at all. ‘Are you curtailing my freedom of speech?’ Donahure was clearly taken aback and looked at Dunne but found no support in the coldly smiling eyes. Durrer returned his attention to Ryder. ‘We get threats. It is the policy of the State of California not to disclose how many, which is really a rather stupid policy as it is known – the figures have been published and are in the public domain – that some two hundred and twenty threats have been made against Federal and commercial facilities since nineteen-sixty-nine.’ He paused, as if expectantly, and Ryder accommodated him.
‘That’s a lot of threats.’ He appeared oblivious of the fact that the most immediate threat was an apopletic one: Donahure was clenching and unclenching his fists and his complexion was shading into an odd tinge of puce.
‘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