Goodbye California - Alistair [73]
‘Would you have proved it?’ Morro was silent. ‘Would you have had us tortured?’
‘I wouldn’t even contemplate it.’
‘Don’t believe him, don’t believe him!’ Julie’s voice shook. ‘He’s a monster and a liar.’
‘He’s a monster all right.’ Susan was very calm, even thoughtful. ‘He may even be a liar. But in this case I believe him. Odd.’
In a kind of despair, Julie said: ‘You don’t know what you’re saying!’
‘I think I do. I think Mr Morro will have no further use for us.’
‘How can you say that?’
Morro looked at Julie. ‘Some day you may be as wise and understanding as Mrs Ryder. But first you will have to meet a great number of people and read a great number of characters. You see, Mrs Ryder knows that the person who laid a finger on either of you would have to answer to me. She knows that I never would. She will, of course, convince those disbelieving gentlemen we’ve just left and they will know I couldn’t use this threat again. I do not have to. You are of no more use to me.’ Morro smiled. ‘Oh, dear, that does sound vaguely threatening. Let us rather say that no harm will come to you.’
Julie looked at him briefly, the fear and suspicion in her eyes undimmed, then looked abruptly away.
‘Well, I tried, young lady. I cannot blame you. You cannot have heard what I said at the breakfast table this morning. “We do not wage war on women.” Even monsters have to live with their monstrous selves.’ He turned and walked away.
Susan watched him go and murmured: ‘And therein lies the seeds of his own destruction.’
Julie looked at her. ‘I – I didn’t catch that. What did you say?’
‘Nothing. I’m just rambling. I think this place is getting to me also.’ But she knew it wasn’t.
‘A complete waste of time.’ Jeff was in a black mood and didn’t care who knew it. He had almost to raise his voice to a shout to make himself heard above the clamorous racket of the helicopter engine. ‘Nothing, just nothing. A lot of academic waffle about earthquakes and a useless hour in Sassoon’s office. Nothing, just nothing. We didn’t learn a thing.’
Ryder looked up from the sheaf of notes he was studying. He said, as mildly as one could in a necessarily loud voice: ‘Oh, I don’t know. We discovered that even learned academics can tamper with the truth when they see fit. We learned – leastways I did – about earthquakes and this earthquake syndrome. As for Sassoon, nobody expected to learn anything from him. How could we? He knew nothing – how could he? He was learning things from us.’ He returned his attention to his notes.
‘Well, my God! They’ve got Susan, they’ve got Peggy and all you can do is to sit there and read that load of old rubbish just as if –’
Dunne leaned across. No longer as alert and brisk as he had been some hours ago, he was beginning to show the effects of a sleepless night. He said: ‘Jeff. Do me a favour.’
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up.’
There was a pile of papers lying on Major Dunne’s desk. He looked at them without enthusiasm, placed his briefcase beside them, opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of Jack Daniels and looked interrogatively at Ryder and his son. Ryder smiled but Jeff shook his head: he was still smarting from the effects of Dunne’s particular brand of curtness.
Glass in hand, Dunne opened a side door. In the tiny cubicle beyond was a ready-made-up camp bed. Dunne said, I’m not one of your superhuman FBI agents who can go five nights and days without sleep. I’ll have Delage’ – Delage was one of his juniors – ‘man the phones here. I can be reached any time, but the excuse had better be a good one.’
‘Would an earthquake do?’
Dunne smiled, sat and went through the papers on his desk. He pushed them all to one side and lifted a thick envelope which he slit open. He peered at the contents inside and said: ‘Guess what?’
‘Carlton