Binary - Michael Crichton [2]
Beta Scenario treated the possibility that a relatively small number of men, either criminal figures or political extremists, might steal these materials for blackmail, sabotage, or terrorist purposes. The consequences of theft were considered uniformly disastrous. Therefore the scenario outlined ways to prevent this occurrence.
The chief preventive mechanism was deemed secrecy in transport schedules and methods. That is, the thieves would not know where, or when, the material was being shipped. As a result of the Beta Scenario conclusions, timetables for shipment were established by a closed-code computer mechanism operating from a table of random numbers. That mechanism was regarded as foolproof and unbreakable.
However, it is obvious that these seven men received instructions derived from breaking the timetable. It is not known how the timetable was broken, enabling the men to easily, almost effortlessly, steal one half-ton of the most potent nerve gas in the world.
HOUR 12
LOS ANGELES
5 AM PDT
The grey government sedan was waiting in a deserted corner of Los Angeles International Airport. Seen from the air, it cast a long shadow across the concrete runway in the pale morning light. He watched the sedan as his helicopter descended and landed a short distance from the car.
The driver came running up, bent over beneath the spinning blades, and opened the door. A gust of warm, dry August air swirled into the interior of the helicopter.
'Mr Graves?'
'That's right.'
'Come with me please.'
Graves got out, carrying his briefcase, and walked to the car. He climbed into the back seat and they drove off away from the runway towards the freeway.
'Do you know where we're going?' Graves asked.
The driver consulted a clipboard. 'One-oh-one-three-one Washington, Culver City, I have.'
'I think that's right.' Graves settled back in the seat. California numbering: he'd never get used to it. It was as bad as a zip code. He opened his early edition of The New York Times and tried to read it. He had tried on the helicopter but had found it impossible to concentrate. He assumed that was because of the noise. And the distractions: when they passed over San Clemente, halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego, he had been craning his neck, peering out the window like an ordinary tourist. The President was there now, had been for the last week.
He looked at the headlines: trouble in the UN, arguments in the German parliament about the mark, Britain and France squabbling... He put the paper aside and stared out the window at Los Angeles, flat and bleak in the early morning light.
'Good trip, sir?' the driver asked. It was perfectly said - no inflection, no prying, just detached polite interest. The driver didn't know who Graves was. He didn't know where he had come from. He didn't know what his business was. All the driver knew was that Graves was important enough to have a government helicopter fly him in and a government sedan pick him up.
'Fine, thanks.' Graves smiled, staring out the window. In fact the trip had been horrible. Phelps had called him just an hour before and asked him to come up and give a briefing on Wright. That was the way Phelps worked - everything was a crisis, there were no routine activities. It was typical that Phelps hadn't bothered to let Graves know beforehand that he was even in Los Angeles.
Although on reflection, Graves knew he should have expected that. With the Republican Convention in San Diego, all the activity of the country had shifted from Washington to the West Coast. The President was in the Western White House in San Clemente; the Convention was eighty miles to the south; and Phelps - what would Phelps do? Obviously, relocate discreetly in the nearest large city, which was Los Angeles. As Graves considered it, Los Angeles became