Binary - Michael Crichton [12]
With a low whine the plane began its descent towards San Diego, skimming in over the roofs of the highest buildings. Graves didn't much like San Diego. It was a utilitarian town dominated by the needs of the Navy, which ran it with a firm, conservative hand. Even its sins were dreary: the downtown area was filled with bars, pool halls, and porno movie houses which advertised 'Beaver films - direct from Frisco!' as if San Francisco were six thousand miles away and not just an hour up the coast. Fresh-faced sailors wandered all over the downtown area looking for something to do. They never seemed to understand that there was nothing to do. Except, possibly, to get drunk.
Despite the early hour San Diego was hot, and Graves was grateful for the car's air conditioning. Lewis drove away from the airport, glancing occasionally at Graves. 'The marshals checked in with us an hour ago.'
'So you know?'
'Everybody knows. They're just waiting for you to say the word.'
As they left the airport they passed beneath a banner stretched across the road: WELCOME REPUBLICANS. Graves smiled. 'I'm going to hold off for a while,' he said. 'At least until this afternoon.'
Lewis nodded and said nothing. Graves liked that about him, his silence. He was young and enthusiastic - characteristics Graves severely lacked - but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. 'We'll go directly to his apartment,' he said.
'All right,' Lewis said. He didn't ask why.
'What time did Wright quit last night?'
'Nine. Lights out at nine.'
'Rather early.' Graves frowned. It was rare for Wright to go to bed before midnight.
'Duly noted on the time-clock sheets,' Lewis said. 'I checked them myself this morning.'
'Has he ever done that before? Gone to bed at nine?'
'July fifth. He had the flu then, you remember.'
'But he's not sick now,' Graves said, and tugged at his ear. It was a nervous habit he had. And he was very nervous now.
There were a lot of cops stationed on the road from the airport to the city. Graves commented on it. 'You haven't heard?' Lewis said.
'Heard what?' 'The President's coming in today.'
'No,' Graves said. 'When was that decided? This is only the second day. I'm surprised he'd show before he's nominated.'
'Everybody's surprised. Apparently he intends to address the Convention delegates before the balloting.'
'Oh?'
'Yeah.' Lewis smiled. 'It's also apparently true that there are some squabbles in the rules committee and the platform committee. He's going to straighten that out.'
'Ah.' It was making more sense. The President was a practical politician. He'd sacrifice the drama of a grand entrance if he had to get a political job done earlier.
'We just got the word a couple of hours ago,' Lewis said. 'Same with the police. They're furious. The Chief has been making statements about how hard it is to provide security...' He gestured at all the waiting cops. They were stationed every thirty yards or so along the road. 'I guess he managed.'
'Looks like it. What time is he due?'
'Around noon, I think.'
They drove on in silence for a while, leaving the coast road and heading into the centre of town. Graves noticed that Broadway had been dressed up, its honkytonk glitter subdued a little. But there were a lot of tough-looking girls around.
Lewis commented on it. 'The City Fathers are going crazy,' he said: 'About that.' He jerked his thumb towards one spectacularly constructed girl in a tightly clinging pants suit.
'I thought it wasn't allowed.' Traditionally San Diego was free of hookers despite the large sailor population. Tijuana was just twenty minutes away; those services were usually provided across the border.
'Nothing they can do about it,' Lewis said. 'Just in the last few hours they've all been coming in. Every damned hooker for a thousand miles is here. All the girls from Vegas and Reno and Tahoe. It's the Convention.'
'But the City Fathers