Yvette sat down on the grass and opened her purse for the second 3time. The first time had been when she produced the tape cassettes in the bar.
From the purse, where it had weighed heavily, she lifted out a device she had removed several days ago from Georgos' workshop and had hidden until this morning. It was a bangalore torpedo-simple but deadly, a stick of dynamite inside a section of pipe. The pipe was sealed at both ends, but at one end a small hole had been left to allow for entry of a blasting cap. Yvette had inserted the cap carefully herself-something else Georgos taught her-baving attached to the cap a short fuse, which now protruded through the end of the pipe. It was a five-second fuse. Long enough.
Reaching into the purse again, Yvette found a small cigarette lighter. As she fumbled with it, her hands were trembling.
The lighter was hard to get going in the wind. She put the pipe bomb down and cupped the lighter with her hand. It sputtered, then flamed.
Now she picked up the pipe bomb again, having difficulty because she was trembling even more, but managed to bring the end of the fuse to the lighter. The fuse ignited at once. In a single, swift movement Yvette dropped the lighter and held the bomb against her chest. Closing her eyes, she hoped it would not be .
4
The second day of the National Electric Institute convention was winding down.
All of the day's official business was concluded. The Christopher Columbus Hotel meeting balls were deserted. A majority of delegates and wives, a few with families, were in their rooms and suites. among them, some hardy spirits were still partying. Many others were already asleep.
Some of the younger delegates and a handful of older roisterers remained spread around the city-in bars, restaurants, discotheques, strip joints. But even they were beginning to drift back to the Christopher Columbus and, when late-night places closed at 2 am, the remainder would join them.
* * *
"Good night you characters." Nim kissed Leah and Benjy, then turned out the lights in the hotel suite's second bedroom, which the children were sharing.
Leah, almost asleep, murmured something inaudible. Benjy, who was more chirpy, even though it was well past midnight said, "Dad, living in a hotel is real neat."
"Gets kind of expensive after a while," Nim said. "Especially when someone called Benjamin Goldman keeps signing room service checks."
Benjy giggled. "I like doing that."
Nim had let Benjy sign the breakfast bill this morning, and the same thing happened tonight when Benjy and Leah had steak dinners in the suite while Nim and Ruth attended an NEI reception and buffet. Later, the whole family left the hotel to take in a movie, from which they had just returned.
"Go to sleep now," Nim said, "or your signing arm won't be any good tomorrow."
In the living room, Ruth, who had heard the conversation through the open bedroom door, smiled as Nim returned.
"I may have mentioned it before," she said, "but I suppose you know your children adore you?"
"Doesn't everybody?"
"Well . . ." Ruth considered. "Since you mention it, there could be one or two exceptions. Like Ray Paulsen."
Nim laughed aloud. "By golly! You should have seen Ray's face when he came back to the convention with Eric Humphrey, thinking the chairman was going to chew my balls off because of what I said this morning, and instead Eric did the opposite."
"What did he actually say?"
"Something about having received so many complimentary remarks about my speech, how could he be in a minority and take exception? So he congratulated me instead."
"If Eric has come around that much, do you think there could be a change in policy now-to more outspokenness, the way you've wanted?"
Nim shook his head. "I'm not sure. The don't-rock-the-boat faction, led by Ray, is still strong. Besides which, only a few people in our organization understand that a future electric power crisis is almost a certainty." He stretched, yawning. "But no more worrying tonight!"
"It's early morning," Ruth corrected him. "Nearly one o'clock. Anyway, yesterday was a good day for you, and I'm pleased you got a fair press."
She motioned to a late afternoon edition of the California Examiner beside her.
"That was a fat surprise." Nim had read the Examiner's report of his speech several hours ago. "Can't figure out that Molineaux dame. I was certain she'd stick in the knife again, and twist it."
"Don't you know by now that we women are unpredictable?" Ruth said, then added mischievously, "I should have thought all your research would have shown you that."
"Maybe I'd forgotten. Perhaps you noticed I've restricted my research lately." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the neck, then sat down in a facing chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Normal most of the time. I tire easily, though, compared with the energy I used to have."
“There's something I want to ask you about." Nim described his conversation with Leah, and his conviction that the children ought to be told about Ruth's health in case a sudden change for the worse should find them unprepared. "I hope it won't happen, just as much as you do, but it's something we should consider."
"I've been thinking much the same thing," she told him. "You can leave it to me. In the next few days I'll pick a time and tell them."
He supposed he should have known. Ruth, with her good judgment, her ability to cope, would always do what was best for the family.
"Thank you," he said.
They went on talking-quietly, easily, enjoying each other's company -until Nim reached out and took Ruth's hands. "You're tired and so am I. Let's go to bed."
They went, band in hand, into the bedroom where, just before turning out the lights, he noticed the time: 1:30 am.
They fell asleep, almost at once, in each other's arms.
* * *
A quarter mile from the hotel, Georgos Winslow Archambault was seated alone in the red "Fire Protection Service, Inc." truck. He could hardly wait for 3 am and the explosions to begin. Georgos' excitement simmered like a cauldron, arousing him sexually, so that a few minutes ago he had had to masturbate.
It was almost unbelievable how well and smoothly everything had gone. From the moment when the police cleared a way for the Friends of Freedom truck to reach the hotel's service entrance-and, oh, what a priceless joke that was only twice had the freedom fighters been stopped as they moved around the hotel. Ute was queried briefly by a plainclothes security man, Georgos by an assistant manager whom be encountered in a service elevator. Both incidents gave Ute and Georgos some nervous moments, but the work orders they promptly showed were glanced at and passed back without further questioning. In neither case was the letter on hotel stationery needed or produced.
The general-and predictable-thinking seemed to be: Who would want to stop a fire extinguisher being put in place? The few who might think about it at all would assume that someone else had ordered or approved the extra fire precautions.
Now there was merely the waiting-the hardest part of all. He had deliberately parked some distance from the hotel, partly to avoid the possibility of being noticed, partly to get away quickly when be needed to. He would go closer, on foot, for a better view just before the fun began.
As soon as the hotel was well ablaze, with people trapped inside, Georgos intended to phone a radio station with the communiqué he had already drafted. It contained his new demands-the old ones, plus some more. His orders would be obeyed instantly, of course, when the fascist power structure at last grasped the strength and resourcefulness of Friends of Freedom. In his mind, Georgos could see those in authority groveling before him . . .
Only one small matter bothered him. That was the sudden disappearance of Yvette; he felt uneasy about it, conscious that where his woman was concerned be had been guilty of weakness. He ought to have eliminated her weeks ago. When she returned, as he was sure she would, he would do it immediately. He was glad, though, that he had kept from Yvette his plans for this latest valiant battle.
Oh, what a day for history to remember!
For what must be the twentieth time since coming here, Georgos checked his watch: 1:40 am Another hour and twenty minutes to go.
* * *
Just as a precaution, though he didn't really believe it necessary, Davey Birdsong was giving himself an alibi.
He was outside the city, twenty-odd miles from the Christopher Columbus Hotel, and he intended to keep that distance until the action was over.