Goodbye California - Alistair [82]
‘Simple, surely. Just to prove to people that I have nuclear explosive power available. And if I can prove that, what is to prevent them from believing that I have unlimited nuclear armament power available? One creates a climate first of uncertainty, then of apprehension, then of pure fear, finally of outright terror.’
‘You have more of those devices available?’
‘I shall satisfy the scientific curiosity of you and your three physicist colleagues this evening.’
Schmidt said: ‘What in God’s name are you trying to play at, Morro?’
‘I am not trying, and I am not playing, as the citizens of this State and indeed of the whole world will soon know.’
‘Aha! And therein lies the psychological nub of the matter, is that it? Let them imagine what they like. Let them brood on the possibilities. Let them imagine the worst. And then tell them that the worst is worse than they ever dreamed of. Is that it?’
‘Excellent, Schmidt, quite splendid. I shall include that in my next broadcast. “Imagine what you like. Brood on the possibilities. Imagine the worst. But can you imagine that the worst is worse than you ever dreamed of?” Yes. Thank you, Schmidt. I shall take all the credit for myself, of course.’ Morro rose, went to the helicopter pilot, bent to listen to a few whispered words, nodded, straightened and approached Susan. ‘Come with me, please, Mrs Ryder.’
He led her along a passage. She said, curiously: ‘What is it, Mr Morro? Or do you want to keep it as a surprise for me? A shock, perhaps? You seem to delight in shocking people. First you shock us all by bringing us here, then you shock the four physicists with your hydrogen weapon plan, now you shock millions of people in the State. Does it give you pleasure to shock people?’
Morro considered. ‘No, not really. The shocks I have administered so far have been either inevitable or calculated to further my own designs. But a warped and sadistic pleasure, no. I’ve just been wondering how to tell you. You are in for a shock, but not a serious one, for there’s nothing serious to be worried about. I have your daughter here, Mrs Ryder, and she’s been hurt. Not badly. She’ll be all right.’
‘My daughter! Peggy? Here? What in God’s name is she doing here? And how hurt?’
For answer, Morro opened a door in one side of the passageway. Inside was a small private hospital ward. There were three beds but only one in use. The occupant was a pale-faced girl with long dark hair, in which point lay the only difference from her remarkable resemblance to her mother. Her lips parted and brown eyes opened wide in astonishment as she stretched out her right arm: the bandages round her left shoulder were clearly visible. Mother and daughter exchanged the exclamations, endearments, murmurs and sympathies which mothers and daughters might be expected to exchange in such circumstances while Morro considerately maintained a discreet distance, using his right hand mutely to bar the further progress of a man who had just entered: the newcomer wore a white coat, wore a stethoscope round his neck and carried a black bag. Even without the trappings he had indefinably the word ‘doctor’ written large upon him.
Susan said: ‘Your shoulder, Peggy. Does it hurt?’
‘Not now. Well, a little.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘I was shot. When I was kidnapped.’
‘I see. You were shot when you were kidnapped.’ Susan squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head and looked at Morro. ‘You, of course.’
‘Mummy.’ The girl’s face showed a complete lack of understanding. ‘What is all this? Where am I? What hospital –’
‘You’re not in hospital. This is the private residence of Mr Morro here. The man who broke into the San Ruffino refinery. The man who kidnapped you. The man who kidnapped me.’
‘You!’
Susan said bitterly: ‘Mr Morro is not a piker. He doesn’t do things on a small scale. He’s holding seven others hostage too.’
Peggy slumped back on her pillows. ‘I just don’t understand.’
The doctor touched Morro