Goodbye California - Alistair [103]
‘A rush on the stores for fishermen’s waders?’ Dunne turned towards the TV. I’m sure our friend Morro is about to enlighten us on that one.’
The newscaster, this time, was a much older man, which boded ill in itself. What boded worse was that he was dressed for a funeral in a suit of sombre hue, a colour in which the normal Califomian newscaster would not normally have been found dead. What boded worse still was the Doomsday expression customarily reserved for those occasions when the local gridiron heroes had been crushingly defeated by some out-of-State upstarts. The tone of voice accorded well with both clothes and expression.
‘We have received another communication from this criminal Morro.’ The newscaster clearly held in contempt the fundamental tenet of Anglo-Saxon law that a man is presumed innocent until found guilty.
‘It contains a dire warning, an unprecedently grave threat to the citizens of California and one that cannot be taken lightly in view of what occurred this morning in Yucca Flat. I have with me in the studio a panel of experts who will later explain the implications of this threat. But first, Morro.’
‘Good evening. This is a pre-recorded message.’ As before, the voice was calm and relaxed: he could have been discussing some minor change in the Dow Jones index. ‘It is pre-recorded because I am completely confident of the outcome of my little experiment in Yucca Flat. By the time you hear those words you will know that my confidence has not been misplaced.
‘This little demonstration of my nuclear resources inconvenienced nobody and hurt nobody. The next demonstration will be on a vastly larger scale, may well inconvenience millions and may well prove disastrous for an untold number of people if they are so stupid as to fail to appreciate the gravity of this warning. However, I am sure you would first like scientific confirmation, on the highest level, that I do have the means to hand. Professor Burnett?’
‘He’s got the means, all right, the blackhearted bastard.’ For a man of unquestionably brilliant intellect Burnett was singularly lacking in resource when it came to the selection of suitable epithets. ‘I hate to use the word “beg” in the presence of a monstrous lunatic but I do beg you to believe me that he has the resources he claims. Of that my fellow physicists and I are in no doubt. He has no fewer than eleven hydrogen nuclear devices here, any one of which could, say, turn Southern California into a desert as lifeless as Death Valley. They are in the three-and-a-half megaton range – that is, each has the explosive potential of three-and-a-half million tons of TNT. You will appreciate the significance of what I mean when I say this bomb is about two hundred times as powerful as the one that destroyed Hiroshima. And he has eleven of those monsters.
‘Correction. He has only ten here. The other is already in position. Where this crazy bastard intends to put it –’
Morro interrupted. ‘Revealing the location of the weapon is a privilege I reserve for myself. Dr Schmidt, Dr Healey, Dr Bramwell, perhaps you would be so kind as to confirm your colleague’s statement.’ With varying degrees of forcefulness, gravity and outrage all three left listeners in no doubt as to the chilling genuineness of the threat. When Bramwell had finished Morro said: ‘And now, the most telling confirmation of all, that of Professor Aachen, probably the country’s leading nuclear weaponry physicist, who personally supervised every step in the building of the bombs. Professor Aachen, you may recall, vanished some seven weeks ago. He has been working with me ever since.’
‘Working with you? Working with you?’ Aachen’s voice held the high quavering note of senility. ‘You monster! You – you – I would never work with you –’ He broke into a weak sobbing and